Happy Sunday

Today we went to Mom's for what shall now be known as the traditional Labor Day weekend dinner -- turkey! Mom and Herb invited us over for the yummiest meal in the history of this holiday. It was the perfect Sunday afternoon.









Please note, Nico is using the ever-fabulous Snoopy spoon I so loved as a child. More proof that he has the world's best Grandmom. And yes, Aunt Liz, that is sausage stuffing your nephew is feeding himself with said spoon. Check this out... am I crazy or did having a second child actually make me thinner? Why thank you, I think so, too. * Brown tank top photo is from summer '07, when Nico was in his hat phase. The white shirt photo is from this past weekend. *

Showers? Short. Posts? Long.

Just noticed... posts lately have been way long. Either I have more to say, or am just having trouble paring down.

Other news... An exciting turn of events, I have officially mastered the art of the five-minute shower. The bath tub used to be my "me time" haven. I can still enjoy extended bathing time on the weekends once in a while, but lately I just want to get in and get out. There's no charm in it anymore.

And still more excitement... I have been up since 5:30 this morning and finally see fit to go to bed. On food shopping night, there are always plenty of snack combinations so it's tough to stop stuffing my face and get to sleep. Luckily I did get that afternoon nap, but f*ck naps unless they're longer than an hour. Anything less is just a tease.

The hurtin's on me, yeah.

I think everybody fights with their significant other. Maybe I fight with mine more that the average bear, so I have it in my head that it's normal. Often times I wonder if we argue because we're too different, or because we're too much the same. I don't know. Somehow we found each other even though he was born and raised three thousand miles away. Maybe I'm a sucker for a dude with an accent, who knows? Shoot.

What was once my ability to drink beers has, in my 30s, translated in some odd fashion to a skill I never really possessed in my mid 20s. Back then, my best strategy for winning a fight was (shame on me) crying. Hubby fell for it every time. I know that losing to a cryer is completely unsatisfying, but I didn't care. How selfish of me! As I matured, so did my way of putting up a fight. It's a weird game, this arguing thing. Today I can proudly say that, while it takes one drink for me to get wasted, you'd have to break one of my bones or poke me in the eye to get me to cry during a standard verbal disagreement.

After explaining that I felt The Hub was bullying his way through the morning, I hopped in the car and drove off to run errands with the kids. Just to let the mundane details take my mind off my anger, and to try to forget just how irritated I was. We also stopped at my mom's house for a little while. When I got home, Frank was making a late lunch -- chicken, rice and beans, and fried yucca. For dessert, a sincere apology. *Forgiven!* After family nap time (which almost never happens these days) we went to Wegman's for Cheerios, pears, and juice and wound up doing a week's worth of shopping.

I'll preface this last part by saying that Wegman's has, hands down, the best supermarket music ever. I challenge you to show me the ShopRite that plays "Roots, Rock, Reggae" and "This is Radio Clash". Snap, I thought so. Ok so we were walking through the cheese aisle when "These Eyes" by The Guess Who came on. We both busted out simultaneous "Superbad" Michael Cera impressions, and I swear I almost peed my pants laughing. So I guess we, brown boy and white girl, are not so different after all.

What the Christ?

When I say I've got the house to myself, it doesn't mean I'm here alone. It just means Frank is not around. Anyway, I've got the house to myself tonight. It's one o'clock in the morning and I should be asleep. What the Christ am I still doing up? I keep checking my email, but I still don't see that personal invitation (or e-vite, as the case may be) from my bed, saying "La Rivera, you're invited... to get some much needed rest!"

My challenge mate Swisscake Mama has retired early tonight, both from her part-time data entry work and from our IM blog challenge. And now I cry for you in the style of my beloved Mr. Wong. A-boo-woo-wooooo. I'm trying to silence the static in my brain and make myself peaceful enough to actually lie down in bed without grinding my teeth. That's a tough one. I've been gnashing my choppers all night lately, and this is finally beginning to wear on both my teeth and my head in general. Ow and ow. Since I plan on living into my late 90s - early 100s, and would love to still have all my own teeth, I should probably reschedule that appointment I canceled in April to get fitted for a bite guard. Before all my teeth crack in half. I'm trying to replace the gnashing with some other fitful habit, but nothing seems to catch on. Making tight fists, pointing my toes for extended periods of time, pushing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, flexing my abs, crossing and uncrossing my big toe and my pointer toe, and even gently tapping my front teeth together... still haven't found a suitable replacement for the painful jaw clenching.

I bet you the solution is a decent night's sleep. Sha-zam! Good night, sweetheart, good night.

Mrs. Pill Popper

I have the worst headache in recent memory, so tonight I took one of the painkillers I saved from when Olivia was born. These things come in handy from time to time, and they last a lot longer when I A) hide the bottle from my hubby and B) write on the bottle the number of pills left inside. 'B' actually helps keep me from popping all the pills at once (there's like four left in there, big whoop) on really difficult days.

Oh yay, Obama speech. I can't take this stuff tonight. Hang on a minute while I try to find some "Flight of the Conchords" on demand. Poo. No Jermaine and Bret. WTF. Alright, "Sex and the City" it is. Yay. But I can only stomach one episode tonight.

Since my chats with Jen have fallen by the wayside today, I'll tell you about some other word-related happening... my stay-at-home moms group's monthly newsletter. Every month there's a "Getting to Know You" page whereon two club members are spotlighted and they both fill out a questionnaire. Last month I was one of the participants. One of the questions was "What is your dream job for your children?", to which I answered: Nico - gourmet chef, and Olivia - artist. So far there have been three other spotlightees and all of them have said their dream job for their kids would be "whatever makes them happy". I think this goes without saying, so I took the time to come up with an actual creative answer to the question instead of using the obvious blanket response. Is it wrong of me to be disappointed that the other moms didn't do the same?

Now I know for a fact that my mom couldn't ever possibly be disappointed in us if she knew we were going after what we want. When I was little she actually said to me, "You could work at Burger King for the rest of your life and I'd be proud and love you just the same. Be what you want to be and do what makes you happy." It's one of the things that has always stuck in my mind and helped me listen to my own heart. So much so that I tried to use it on The Hub back when he was just The Boy. When he was trying really, really hard to start working in New York, either right before or right after graduation, I tried to say the same words to him and let him know I supported him 100%. I was trying to give him a pep talk and got as far as "Burger King" when he cut me off and said, "Take that sh*t out of your head right now. I'm never working at some punkass Burger King bullsh*t. F*ck that. NYC, baby, I'm a city dog!" That's Frank for you.

So I guess for some, any kind of reassurance involving a fast food chain is the spiritual equivalent of a backwards shove down a flight of stairs. The point is that I meant well. All I could do after that was grumble to myself. I guess some people want to hear what they already know to be true, and that gives them all the power they need. Some people are looking for something more specific. I used to think I knew which one of those I was... and now I'm not so sure. Maybe the point is that whatever you choose, it should be your heart's desire whether it's flipping burgers or drawing or raising children. You have to have heart to give heart, I guess. I must be surrounded by loving people then, 'cause I think my heart just grew three sizes. Aah, look at that, my headache is gone!

He's not a bear, he's a-wearin' a neck-a-tie.

Yes, yes, the famous Rorschach ink blot test. If there's one thing I love, it's some psychoanalysis. Being Irish, I, myself, am impervious to such things but as a tool for peering into the minds of others, there's nothing finer. Not an argument passes between me and The Hub where I'm not accused of some kind of witchcraft of the mind. What can I say? *huff, huff, buffing my nails on my shirt* I'm just that sick.

So this image above is one of my favorites, and here's why: my old Abnormal Psych professor, Dr. Zillmer, lectured once about someone giving an honest to God crazy answer for what this is a picture of -- a bear dancing with a map of Africa. Oh, Dr. Zillmer, if I had any real brains back then I might have hit on you during that time when I was one of your research assistants. But instead, I poured my efforts into chasing Dr. Colamosca and look where that got me. Oh I'm SO joking, and any of my old college friends can vouch for that. Dr. Colamosca is so not my type. But anyway, ink blots. A funny little way of seeing what's going on behind the scenes. Maybe I've got blot-on-the-brain because I have truly been going a little bit out of my mind. This is from this afternoon's chat:

Swisscake Mama:
Are you having half of this conversation in your head?

I was going to include what led up to this, but really, does it matter? It will suffice to say that we had about ten minutes of chatting where I got lost and confused several times along the way. I've been dismissing it as pure spaciness, but what if there's something else going on several layers beneath the surface? I've resolved myself to not worrying too much about it until I'm in my 80s or 90s, by which time people will kind of expect me to be a little eccentric. Yes, that's it... I'm not crazy, I'm eccentric. But when I'm 85 you can just tell your friends you know this granny who's "a little off her rocker" and giggle at how that's true on so many levels.

Bleep that bleepin' bleep

From this afternoon, around 4:40pm.

Swisscake Mama: started getting migraines over the past few weeks and they are getting more frequent...so not fun. anywho...kids want apple juice and i've got to get dinner ready so that we can walk out the door by 6pm

.

Such is motherhood. You may be suffering from debilitating head trauma, but when someone wants apple juice, migraine or no migraine, someone gets apple juice. And pronto. It's just what you do. And you tell your friend about how your head hurts, and like it's no big deal you turn around and make dinner for five. After that you take three kids to cheerleading practice, then you come home, put kids to bed, come downstairs and clean up from dinner (or maybe come down to find the Mr. has cleaned up) and by then who knows what time it is. Half past nine? Who knows, and it doesn't matter really, because you're no longer the master of your own day. Sh*t, you're not even the master of your own hour, your own car ride, your own meal time, your own life. Which is fine, 'cause that's just how it is and you actually like it. Well, most of the time anyway. hehe. Did I tell you I have to use two hands worth of fingers to count up all the pregnant/new mom friends I have right now? Cray-zay shite.

Today I was a-thinkin' about how things change once you have kids. It all seems so happy-go-lucky from the outside. Oh, children, they're so small and how could you not get them to do exactly what you want all the time... what's so hard about it? I blame it on the fact that parenthood is now marketed to death. The ads, the magazines, the commercials for all those perfect products used by perfect parents on their perfect babies. I blame it on that f*cking list of sh*t they tell you to pack in your hospital bag. For anyone who hasn't gone through childbirth yet, do yourself a favor and just throw your cellie, camera, and a pair of maternity pajamas in your bag and be done with it. Leave all your other crap at home, especially if you plan on breastfeeding, in which case pack a fourth thing: a tube of Lansinoh (and use the washable cotton pads for your bra, not the disposable ones). That be it. And by the way, you'll see plenty of articles about the joy of nursing, the ways to hold the baby, etc. and none of them will be of much use so be prepared for that. You just have to be a renegade, and you have to like being a renegade. And you should probably permanently adopt that headspace because it will make parenting easier all around.

Listen to the advice your mom gives you, and pick and choose what you like from what everyone else says because like 5% of it will apply to you. *late note, this one is for my bud Fluffy. You are so not alone, and it only gets worse once people can actually see the baby.* Without much effort, you can just give them a "f*ck you" smile and nod. People are idiots. At a picnic last weekend, someone commented on how cute Olivia is, and then asked, "Is she a girl or a boy? Oh! I guess she's a girl!" Frank looked at our daughter, who had on a pink dress with rosebuds, looked back at the lady and did the f-u smile at her. I fully approved. *late note #2, very important: You also have my permission to tell people to wash their hands if they want to hold the baby, and you can also slap their hands away if they go to touch the baby's face or put their unclean fingers in your child's mouth. More people do this than I ever imagined, and the only way they'll remember not to do it again is if you punish them immediately.*

Enjoy all those times walking around your house holding your baby even though your arms and back hurt and you haven't slept or bathed in forever. Time starts to go too fast all of a sudden. (Case in point: my niece started high school today. Whaaa?!) Fall in love with the baby, and with holding the baby, and talking to the baby, and doing every single little thing the baby wants you to do. And for the love of Pete, DO NOT BE AFRAID. It's scary. And it can be tough. And you'll feel like crying for no reason. So cry, gee darn it, and then splash some water on your face and get back to business. There's a new baby in town.

Three letter words

Surprisingly, I have not been shamed into hiding by what shall now be known as the "Annie" situation. Today Jen and I always seemed to be on chat at different times, but as we often do, we simply left messages for one another to read whenever the other person was back online. We briefly discussed the pricing for an artistic service done by someone we're both acquainted with, and when I found out the base amount this person charges I said, "eek." Some of the most commonly seen words on my chats with Jen really aren't words at all. We use a lot of "hehe" and a lot of "haha". There are also some G-rated expletives we absolutely adore.

1. "ugh." This can relate general disgust or disapproval for any number of things, or people, or with any ugghy situation in which either one of us has found herself.

2. "eek." This one is kind of a newcomer. We're working it into a surprising number of conversations lately and I have to say I like it because it makes me feel pretty darn girly.

3. "aww." Usually reserved for use as a response to each other's descriptions of general baby and kid cuteness.

4. "omg." Also used as OMG when the emphasis is fully warranted, and usually followed up with an "ugh".

5. "bah." I don't know if Jen has ever used this one, it might just be me. Say it like Ebeneezer Scrooge to get the intended effect.

Oh, how we girls do go on sometimes... last night, before I knew it, it was darn near 2am and we were both still up gabbing. No matter that we both had things to do, and things we would have to be awake for in just a few short hours. You just can't have our kind of conversations on the phone. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Chat rules.

She's an orphan, right?

I must have missed something growing up, but I swear I am the only girl I know who's never seen "Annie". I guess I just never really wanted to see it, or maybe I harbor a secret hatred for people with that short, short, red, red, curly, curly hair. Something about the name Daddy Warbucks scared me off, too... made me feel like I was going to be assaulted and then paid a great deal of money for my troubles. No, thanks. For being a musical from my childhood, it has a very Dubya Bush era ring to it. Again, thank you, but I think I'll pass.

So not only have I not seen "Annie", I don't really have that much of an idea of what the whole story is about. I've heard the songs, and I remember "Hard Knock Life" or whatever that song was called, but that's where my interest ends. I know she's an orphan, so here's what I think the story line is, and you can tell me if I have it right. Annie's parents die in a car accident. She has no close relatives, so child protective services shuffles her off to an orphanage where she is made to do horrible chores such as scrubbing the cement floors with an old scrub brush which is the size and approximate shape of an adult's shoe. One day (after enduring about six months of daily tricks and kicks, apparently) she runs away from the orphanage in search of treats and kisses, and while roaming the streets of New York City, she bumps into this Daddy Warbucks as he hurries out of his office building. She holds his attention long enough to still be standing there when his Warbucksmobile (a silver Rolls-Royce?) pulls to the curbside, and he is moved to adopt her and encourages her constant barrage of sing-songing and tap dancing. So entranced by her, he is, that he adopts every last child in that orphanage. Because he's got all that cash and all. And his heart is just that big.

How did I do?

Late-breaking news... "Daddy" Warbucks's name is really Oliver and it turns out he wasn't played by Patrick Stewart. My memory has deceived me on that one, and badly. Anyway, I thought I'd fill you in, just in case you didn't know.

*Topic taken from tonight's chat when Jen asked if I'd ever watched "Annie". We were talking about Jen's youngest, and how the baby goes for the block when presented with a sippy cup. Then Jen comically described the baby's put-'em-up fightin' fists and monster sounds. 'Cause you can't make a baby take something they don't want, and we all know this. How this all applies to "Annie", I may never know.

Oh, it's ON yet again...

Prepare yourselves for the second blog challenge between me and Swisscake Mama. This week's topics will be taken from our daily IM chats. Please to enjoy... The IM Challenge!

I'll admit I wept.

Seeing Mom and Nico drive off just now, I'll admit I broke down and wept. Completely unexpectedly. They drove off and whatever strings my son has tied around my heart completely yanked my soul out of my chest and it's now trailing behind my mom's car, bouncing down the interstate highway. 45 seconds of tears followed by boxing champion-style jumping around to shake 20 months of tension out of my muscles, and now I'm... wow, I'm fine.

For the next thirty hours or so there's just one baby in the house. Frank and I were laughing, remembering how when we had just one baby and we used to think everything was just so darn tough. Oh we have a baby, wow it's soooo much work, we have soooo little time... HA HA HA. Two babies is so much more of everything... which includes so much more love, so it makes all the difficult things worth every second. Still, I don't mind having a little break. A little breather feels so good. I love having two kids. But having just the one for tonight is a piece of cake.

Try not to fall off your chairs...

For any new readers out there, you may or may not know that when it comes to my son, I'm a little... um... protective, I suppose, is the most polite word for it. I can see it, and of course other people tend to see it as well. So try not to fall off your chair, faint, pee your pants a little, or otherwise express your general state of shock when I tell you I asked my mom if she'd like to have Nico sleep overnight tomorrow. *GASP!*

Mom was supposed to come to our house to watch the kids while The Hub and I start packing thing up around the house. This morning I was thinking to myself. "Self," I thought, "it's time for you to do this." So I called Mom and she seemed fairly pleased at the idea. She asked if she and Herb could also bring Nico to the beach with them on Sunday morning, and I shocked myself yet again by not finding instant fault with that idea. If there's one thing my kid loves to play in, it's sand. And if there's one thing he loves to swim in, it's water. And if there's one person my mom would love to take to the beach, it's Nico. So there you go. She'll pick him up tomorrow morning, and bring him back Sunday afternoon, and sure I'll miss the heck out of him but it's time to let him venture out a little and spend a night away. And there's no better place in the entire world to go than Grandmom's house. I know this from going to my Mom-Mom's house. And if my mom is anything like Mom-Mom, which you know she is, Nico is going to have a blast!

** Bonus thought... OMG Liz, I'm cracking up remembering a thing Mom-Mom used to do for us when we would visit her... it was awesome and it involved candy. Can you guess what I'm thinking?

"Costas."

Bob, that is. Every time we turn on channel 232 (NBC in HD) one of us scoffs, "Costas." Then the other one of us repeats it. The Hub just said the following:

Did you ever wish you could reach through into the television and slap the person on the screen, and have them be totally shocked by it and have no idea who just slapped them? If I could wish for a super power, that would be it. And I'd slap Costas.

Important breaking news... The Olympics have officially ceased to make me cry, thanks to the May/Walsh volleyball team. Misty, please, if you insist on tossing your mom's ashes onto the volleyball court, could you try to be a little more... um... ceremonious? A quick toss from a prescription pill bottle hardly does justice to what you're doing, and I can put myself in your place 100%, but did you ever stop to think that people standing within 10 feet of you might not want to be sprinkled with mom dust? Just a thought. But anyway, congratulations. You didn't make me cry. In fact, you're hardened my heart to the point that I want to add that I might barf a little if I see another one of your interviews.

The group that plays together usually does not nap together

So Wednesdays are our playgroup day. We're supposed to have four moms and eight kids (2 per mom), but usually it's just me and April and our gang of tots. They came to our house this morning. I feel like I've lived five days already today and it's only about 2:30. After dropping Frank at the bus, I stopped at Wegman's (if you must know, yes I bought muffins. And kid snacks and fruit. And almond croissant. And zinnias. That is all.) then hit the gas station before heading home. By then it was all of 8 am, so I had an hour and a half to dress and prep the three of us and do some tidying up. The kids played inside for an hour then we ventured down the block for some beautiful day enjoyment. Climbing, swinging, mulching. Fun, fun, fun. Oh, and sliding. Lots of sliding. The kids finished up play time by running up and down the hill next to the tennis courts. Fine by me, that makes for the best naps as far as I'm concerned. Our guests went home and we went on with our day.

So here I am. Olivia just had a bottle and I made a pot of coffee. I was too busy this morning, so this will be my first cup of the day. I started making extra coffee in the mornings, then after I fix one mug for myself, I sweeten and hazelnut-ify the rest and freeze it in ice cube trays. Mmm... iced coffee. Slushy iced coffee, even. So darn good I could just about jump up and down if my upper body weren't so sorely out of whack from neck to hips and front to back. It's three hundred sixty degree discomfort, really. For now I'll just tap my feet to the Massive Attack I am playing for Olivia while she naps. Hmm... this song is called "Black Milk". I'd wake her up so we could have a good laugh about this, but, well, you know...

Intelligent conversation and we've got a weaner

Have you ever, alone or in a crowd, held both sides of a conversation among yourself? It's fun, you should try it. Today I had a fake argument with myself. And myself.

Me: Clean the kitchen.
Me: No. No, no... eat veggie burger.
Me: No... kitchen dirty.
Me: Yes... me hungry.
Me, in Chinese accent: F*cka me? F*cka you!
Me: Hehehe.
Me: Hehehe.
Me: Let's eat.
Me: Ok, you win.

Among other things happening today, I'm weaning Olivia. I started with a bottle last night, which was only semi-successful. I fed her when she woke up, then gave her a bottle later in the morning. She was unsure at first, but she wound up getting two ounces in all so we were both pretty pleased. It seems like giving her extra attention helped more than anything. That and looking her in the eyes and telling her that everything is going to be okay, that Mommy still loves her more and more, that we're still in this together and she's still my special girl. 'Cause she is, and she always will be.

Progress, or lack thereof

Belly update -- I'm still debating calling Dr. Rey, so no, things aren't going so perfectly in that dream world of cardio and pilates. My very thoughtful husband bought me three beautiful mid-calf length, flowy, summery skirts that have combination gentle elastic and drawstring waistbands. And I mean gentle elastic and drawstring in the nicest way possible. I love these skirts and have been wearing them nonstop. They do not make me feel or look like my tummy is out of control. Goooo, skirts!

The Hub has stopped pestering me about wearing what I have been calling the Industrial Strength Spanx, my other-brand Spanx which are way more powerful and holdy-inny than Spanx could ever dream of being, at half the price. When he'd note that I wasn't wearing my "thing", I'd note that he should be wearing his "thing" and get out of my face about it. Or I'd say something charming like, "Why don't YOU f*cking wear it and leave me alone?" On my way out the door for a brisk walk in 90 degree heat a few weeks ago (at around nine in the morning, remember those hot, hot days? ick.) I almost punched him in the face for suggesting wearing my "thing" would help with my workout. He means well, but buying the skirts is much more helpful and I'm so happy he took the hint after all my cursing. Thanks, Love!

We switched to brown rice as of yesterday. One small step. I'm plotting this week's best walking days... between play group, craft activity things for the mama club, and starting to pack up boxes of chatch... in between the nearly constant demands Livi has been making for eating and literally sucking up all my free time, whatever was left of it... and starting to be more diligent about getting her used to bottles... what else... I'm losing my thoughts now... way tired... me go sleepy now. Nighty night. But rest assured the tummy will still be there in the morning. Drats.

Shopping today

Today we went out to buy a few things and actually got everything we needed. I've been wanting a second video monitor for Olivia, and I just happened to have a coupon for 20% off one item at Babies R Us. Score. The video monitor is my favorite piece of baby gear, and they now make the model we have for Nico in pink so I figured that would be perfect. Only when we got to the store they didn't have any. They did, however, have a new version put out by another company. At first I didn't want anything to do with this newfangled monitor, but I took a second look and decided it was supa-dupa. It's smaller and sleeker, and the parents' handset looks like a flip phone. With features like an on-screen digital clock and alarm, zoom, and vibrate mode (and who doesn't like that?), my love for video monitors has reached a whole new level. I also picked up a carton of wipes and two greeting cards. And at the register I got more coupons, so that's exciting. Yes, genuinely exciting. I'll take a coupon for $5 off any day of the week.

Next we hit Lowe's for a new medicine cabinet and a replacement handle for the storm door. Our current medicine cabinet is... not good. The former owner used some kind of puffy double-sided adhesive strips to hang a horrible tile mosaic on the door in lieu of a mirror or other suitable decoration. We took that atrocity down, and we've had the metal door covered with fabric (equally uncool but what are you gonna do). It was that or look at sticky foam leftovers and rusty spots. But no more of that, now we've got a nice looking cabby with a mirrored door and clean shelves inside. Throw in a couple of sets of hinges for two of the kitchen cabinets, and violá, trip complete.

Even though I lost my motivation to install the new door handle this afternoon, I'm just glad I actually found such a thing today. The old one kept breaking and it was looking pretty sad finish-wise. Not shiny, not happy. But soon we'll have a front door that says, "Come on in, we're glad you're here" and a bathroom cabinet that says, "Hi, we've got some medicine just for you", and that will be two less things I'll have to keep reminding myself to replace.

OMG I'm totally tipsy.

Every time I check my cousin Jennifer's blog, I read the little side lists. I love reading all my blog buddies' side lists. Anyway, Jennifer has vanilla vodka and diet Coke as her favorite alcoholic beverage. Today on the way home from the annual Lowrey Family BBQ in Winfield Park, I was thinking shoot, some lemonade with crushed ice (I was thinking about my friend Jen's blog -- see Swisscake Mama) would be really yummy right about now. And then I thought gee, a splash of vodka would be nice in that.

So as we got off the big highway and onto the smaller highway, I started thinking out loud and told Frank about how my cousin Jennifer likes vanilla vodka and diet, and he said well stop at the liquor store and we'll get some. Aww, yeah. I'm on my second glass right now, and can I just tell you I'm so glad Livi sleeps through the night because I'm totally lit on the vanilla vodka. So yummy.

Tonight, aside from getting toasted, I'm enjoying some Olympic glory. I cried during the women's marathon, and I'm shouting, "Go, girl!" at Dara Torres. We're watching the 200 IM right now. This was one of my events in high school. These Olympic bodies, I'm in love with them! Did you see the marathoners? Amazing. Ooh here comes men's swimming. (Jen, say it like Fay saying it like Borat) Nice, I like! High five vanilla face!

This is Naughty Nico

See that blue and white checkered thing in the bottom left corner of this photo? That's one of my kitchen towels, and Nico is swirling it around and has just whipped me in the eye with it. On the other side of the camera, I'm fuming with rage at just being injured and possibly blinded by his shenanigans, and he could not possibly be more delighted. Note the devilish look in his eye. I'm saying, "Nico! Stop it with the towel! Stop it right now, no, no, no! In this family, we do not hit each other, and we especially do not hit Mommy in the face!" What he hears is, "That thing you're doing with the towel, I love it! It's fantastic! More, more, more! Awesoooome!"

Dear Disgusting Slobs,

To all you slobs out there who insist on using my area's playgrounds as a place to hang out after dark, drink your cheap-ass brands of beer, smoke your blunts, and enjoy your probably-illegal-in-this-state sexual escapades, how about you all learn to clean up after your disgusting selves? Here's an abbreviated list of things all of you have recently left among the mulch on the ground of the several playgrounds/tot lots we regularly visit: Phillies (not the baseball team) wrappers, broken-off can tabs and crushed-up empty cans from your lame brands of beer, empty 40 oz. bottles from even lamer brands of malt beverage (most often broken and mixed in with the mulch -- that's great, thanks!), sharp pieces of who knows what kind of other crap you bring along with you and use to decorate the parks, and of course let's not forget (and how could I?) your prophylactic wrappers. You really couldn't have taken that last one with you, huh? Or at least thrown it in the trash can on your way out? Pigs.

It's not just in my town, it's also in the supposedly more "money" town next door. If you want to continue to leave your peanut shells and cigarette butts on the ground, then go ahead if you must, though that still makes you a slob. But honestly, the nicest thing I can say about you is that you're like school on Saturday -- NO CLASS! Oh and to the mom who left her kid's dirty diaper out next to the sand box yesterday, you also make me sick. Look behind you, stupid, and find that trash can that is all but ten feet away and clean up after yourself and your kid.

Sincerely,
La Rivera

Spinning

My head is just spinning today. Not only have I been exhausted with the kids, but I just checked my hotmail account which I stopped using about six months ago, and among the hundred or so emails built up in there I found an e-vite to my friend Melissa's baby shower... which was in July... and then two emails from her mom with the invitation info. She's been living in Nepal and came home to have her baby. I'm crushed that I missed it.

This morning we went to Olivia's four month doctor appointment. She's healthy and happy, but the trip out just about broke me. Maybe I'm having a few rough days. Well not maybe, I'm definitely having a tough time over here. I feel like I'm turning into this mean mommy. I feel like all I do is raise my voice to be heard, and I know it's probably not so, but it's just overwhelming. Getting ready this morning was such an effort. I hate the thought that I'd make my kids feel like they're in my way, but it's so difficult to get out the door with little ones hanging on your leg or screaming to be held. That's what they do... they're needy and they're curious and they just want Mom. They don't understand appointments and clocks and getting dressed without stopping to play with everything they see along the way. The littlest things become a huge effort... getting everyone into the car, getting through breakfast without a bowl of cereal getting dumped out onto the carpet, changing a diaper without someone kicking or running away.

To top it all off, there's the thought of moving. The work involved in that whole process, and getting it accomplished with the babies, and being away from Frank for a little while. At the end of the day, I feel like I'm tapped out and I've got none of myself left. I used to feel replenished in the mornings, but now I feel like there's a definite attention deficit. Coffee doesn't work and unfortunately I don't snort coke, so getting out for walks and trying to keep my sanity the legal way is pretty much all i have to cling to at the moment. This feeling shall pass, and when it does I'll be all too happy to wave goodbye and kick it in the ass as it leaves.

Just too damn frustrated

It's one of those days. Nothing seems to be going right. It took me almost three hours to get out the door for our morning walk. By the time we returned home from that, it was well past noon. It's almost 3:00 and Nico is still not napping. After getting into and out of his bed several hundred times, and Livi screaming every time I put her in the bassinet so I could tend to her brother, I plopped Nico in the crib and said too bad for you wanting to sleep in the bed. I'm out of patience. He's in there whining about it right now. I just want to scream SHUT UUUUUP! but that would only serve to upset him more and make me feel like a total nut. And I'm trying real hard to remain only partially insane.

He just reached over the edge of the crib and pulled the monitor off the shelf. I went in and took the stuffed frog out of the crib (he was standing on it to reach the monitor). Olivia is finally sleeping. I'm just... arrrrgh... I'm so sick of hearing the whining all the time over every little thing. I'm taking this frustration out on myself by doing about a hundred crunches right after I'm finished typing this. I caught a glimpse of myself in a store window while we were out walking, and I still have a lot more tummy than I need. Channel it into something constructive, all the frustration and anxiety I've got today. I love my children, don't get me wrong. Today is just one of those days. Two kids just over a little more than a year apart is wearing me down. Just under 16 months between these two. Somehow they both pooed at the same time after lunch, then both did it again right after I got done changing the diapers. Livi is ALWAYS hungry. Now that she's rolling over, she barely even gets the catnaps she usually takes all day. She rolls over and cries, rolls over and cries, rolls over, looks around a few minutes, then cries.

Deep breath... crunch time.

Flip-a-dee-doo-dah

I have only one thing to tell you today. Livi rolled over!

List that could be a lot longer

Five things that always make me think of my sister:

5. The Little Mermaid. She took me to see it in the theater.
4. Fozzie Bear. Just because.
3. Tape recorders, and cassettes full of goofy songs and fake interviews.
2. Our family recipe for hot Chinese chicken with cashews.
1. We are from the planet of the toes. We're here for your daughters.

Geek hearts!
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

I went black and I wanna go back

Hello there, my morning readers... and my night time readers... and all the readers in between. This may sound silly, but yesterday I completely forgot to write. I thought about my topic for the day, as usual, but I got side tracked trying to do online grocery shopping, then at night when I would normally have been blogging, Frank distracted me with an argument and I got so fed up that I went out for a drive.

It all started when I was dabbing on some Lansinoh, trying to soothe my skin after feeding the baby. Her nickname is The Shark, and lately she's really tearing up my skin. I sense there'll be visible teeth in the near future! So instead of sitting down for the lovely dinner Frank was making, I was puttering around the dining room, putting on my pouty face and trying to give myself a little air. Frank announced that HE was sitting down, I guess implying that I should do the same, and one grumble led to another and before I knew it I was aggrevated and out the door, keys in hand. So not like me. I never leave the house like that. I'd just had it, was irritated that I was now being ignored, and decided that since both kids were asleep it would be good to just be in my own space and be alone for an hour.

I got back and thought about finishing up the online grocery shopping, but it was taking so long I decided to scrap the idea and head to bed. Glad I did, because both kids were up at 6am and both of them were really excited about that. I made a pot of coffee and cursed the fact that the only dairy product we have that's even remotely suitable for coffee is... ugh... yogurt? No. So I had my coffee black and *blech* it was gross. In the words of my hubby, "I take my coffee black. Black. Like my soul."

Playgroup highlights

Today we had the first meeting with our official playgroup. There are supposed to be four moms and their kids involved, but today it was just me and April from the group with our kids. Another mom from the club, Lauren, also came over with her little girl and we had coffee and cake while the kids had crackers and pretzels and juice. We sat outside and chatted while the kids played in April's amusement-filled yard. All in all, a fantastic morning. Here are some of the highlights:

* Nico played in the sand box. The evidence came home with us in the form of sand-filled shoes, a sand-filled onesie, and a sand-filled diaper.

* The kids kept raiding April's garden. Many a cherry tomato was sacrificed for the sake of adventure and repeated taste-testing.

* Nico fell backwards off the kiddie size picnic table. Momentary surprise was replaced almost instantaneously by the desire to climb back up on top of the table and do it again.

I have to admit it was tough to let Nico run free at someone else's house. I made a real effort not to hover, and to let him have space enough to fall down if he was going to fall down, and run where he wanted to run, and taste sand if wanted to put the toy shovel into his mouth. The reward for restraining myself was seeing Nico having a genuinely great time. He even showed off his dance moves during the impromptu boogie-down session the kids got into at the end of the play date. Once back at home, we had lunch and Nico went straight down for a nap. Tonight when Mom gets here, we're having Panera for dinner and then I'm heading out to take the CPR/First Aid class I've been wanted to attend for the past two years. For now, I'm going to make myself a glass of iced tea and remember my favorite little moments from this morning. Today feels so damn sweet I may not even need to put sugar in my drink.

Buzz hungry

Today, the only thing I want to have is coffee. I had my usual morning cup, and I guess it was just too good because that's all I feel like drinking. I wish I had some coffee ice cream... that would be perfect! I keep wanting to say that I just wanna eat coffee all day. But that's like saying your favorite flavor popsicle is red.

Today I left the stroller outside after our morning walk. We missed our usual walking club at the park because Nico had some tummy trouble, so instead of rushing him around I decided to slow things down for him until he was up for a stroll around here. For the first time he fell asleep in the stroller. Very cute. The kids are both napping right now and I know I should eat actual food, but instead I'm brewing another pot and getting my sugar spoon all set to plunk and stir. I watched the two minutes of Weeds I missed last night, and wound up finishing the episode and found myself connecting way too much with Celia... should I really drink more coffee right now? Ah what the hell, might as well. After I get the stroller back into the car, there are two bags of trash on the deck that have to go to the dumpster. Once that's done, I really need to start boxing up some books or some other non-essential items.

I'm looking at my bag o' magnets, all my fridge decorations that I took down this morning in an effort to start early on the little things. I started to get upset about leaving this house. I think I really do need that cup of coffee so I can drown my sorrows and focus on moving forward. Onward and upward we go.

A lovely home, my Lady!

It's official. I'm on my way to becoming a landlady. The title seems at once so official and so cheesy. Landlord packs a better punch, I think, but there's not much I can do about that. When I picture a landlord, I see someone in Renaissance-type dress, brown soft leather knee-high lace-up boots, small sword at the hip, ready to collect his pouch of gold coins on the first of each month. When I think of a landlady, all I see is Helen Roper.

As of today, our condo is officially on the market for rental. Once we find a suitable tenant, we'll be off to the great white north. North Jersey, where we'll rent a place until we find a new home. We'll be back in this area one day since we'd both like to have the kids go to school here, but for now the landlord has had his fill of commuting to Manhattan and he really needs a break. He also wants to spend that four hours a day with his family rather than on a bus, and we couldn't be happier about that.

So you can call me My Lady. Or Helen. We all know she was the brains of that whole operation anyway.

F*ck your Miata with a strap-on, b*tch. We gettin' a Escalade.

We play fill in the blanks all the time around here. The game of the week is, We need a bigger _____ . Bigger house, bigger car, bigger laptop bag for work. Bigger jeans (size 25? I won't try to kid myself. I'll take the 28s, thanks). We also need more _____ . More hard drive space, more bedrooms, more bananas and more milk. More coffee, too.

Maybe all this bigger and more isn't such a bad thing. The hubby and I lived a fairly compact life for years, and I think maybe now is the perfect time to stretch out a bit and let ourselves take up more space. I'm not looking to drive an Escalade, or buy a five bedroom home for the hell of it, just so I can announce to people that I could have two sets of guests overnight without even barely noticing. Excess doesn't interest me, and my overnight guests are used to sleeping on our sofa. I prefer to think of it as getting un-cramped. Upping my comfort level, if you will. One can only go so long trying to squeeze a size 28 ass into a size 25 life.

*Title spoken by Clinique, to Sanjay, from this week's episode.