Halloween

So Halloween is over. Let the official stuffing of the face begin. Actually, I've done pretty good restraining myself so far. Tate only trick-or-treated at about 20 houses, so he didn't get too huge of a load. The only candy we have left over is a gigantic mound of Dum-Dums. There is Mount Dum-Dum on our shelf right now. But those don't count as candy...they're too small. You pop one in your mouth, suck for about a minute and poof! Gone. Then you have to go grab another one, because, really...can one be satisfied with just one Dum-Dum?

We had a fun week. We had a couple costume parties with the playgroup, and then our huge trunk-or-treat on Friday. It was a lot of fun. Everyone decorated their trunk all Halloween-y and put out candy and all the kids went around to each trunk and filled their little paws with goodies. I'm shocked I didn't win for best trunk. I had two pumpkins. Two WHOLE pumpkins, people. Yeah, I don't do creative stuff. Although I did make an apple crisp to bring, and as word spread that "Melissa? OUR Melissa??" actually baked something that A) didn't catch on fire or B) wasn't something that had the possibility of chipping someone's tooth, people dove in. I felt very proud of myself. That shit was good.

Then that night Eric took Tate out while Nora and I stayed and gave out candy. It was wonderful weather...warm and clear so we were able to sit outside the whole time and let people coo over Nora the Banana. Oh, I totally scared the crap out of some punks, though. There was a group of that annoying age (11ish, 12ish) of boys who thought that drawing a moustache on their face or ripping up a shirt constituted an actual costume and were out getting candy. I hate when kids do that. If you're too old to put a costume on, you're too old to trick or treat. And you're punks.
Anyway, they stopped at my neighbors house, who just had a bowl sitting out on their step while they took their daughter out. The boys took one look at the unaccompanied bowl and freaking attacked it. I saw them scooping handfuls of candy out of the bowl into their bags til there was nothing left. I then took the law into my own hands, stood up and shouted "HEY!! DON'T YOU DARE TAKE ALL THAT CANDY!! PUT IT BACK NOW NOW NOW!!!". I've never seen pre-teen boys jump that high. And they actually put it back and went on their way. They skipped coming up to my door, though. Guess they thought I was too scary.

So yesterday was pretty much spent on a sugar high for both me and Tate. We went through about 20 Dum Dums between the two of us. Although those things are so small they're easily lost. I was upstairs folding laundry on my bed when Tate says "Where's the supper (sucker), Mama? Where did it go? Hmmmm....", and stars looking around in earnest for his sucker. Well, in earnest for about 20 seconds before giving up and trotting downstairs for a new one. Cause like I say, we have 345479 of them. I could not find that damn sucker for the life of me. It was completely gone.

Oh, until I crawled into bed later that night. I was absolutely wiped out from being with the kids all day and not getting any sleep the night before. All I wanted to do was get into bed and lay my head on the pillow and relax. So I did.

And found the sucker. In my hair.

6 Month Stats

I took Nora for her 6 month check up today...only a half month late! Whoo hoo! I decided to compare the two kids stats again. The gap between sizes of the two of them at 6 months isn't quite as monsterous, but still pretty big. Tate was gargantuan.

Nora's length: 27'' (79%ile)
Tate's length: 28 1/2'' (91%ile)

Nora's weight:16#7oz (46%ile)
Tate's weight: 22# (94%ile)

Nora's head: 44cm (81%ile)
Tate's head: 46.8cm (97%ile)

My kids have big heads.

These Are My Thoughts

There will be no rhyme, reason, or general organization of any sort in this post.

I'm already starting to oink out on Halloween candy. I hate that stuff. That sweet, savory, calling-my-name-seductively-until-I-succumb-to-it's-whorish-wiles-stuff. You know what I mean. I even bought the cheapest crap at Sam's Club I could find...no chocolate, not even any stinkin' Skittles. No, it's the hard as rocks suckers, those NASTY-ass flavored Tootsie Rolls (seriously, blue Tootsie Rolls? All kinds of wrong) and those Now & Later things that are named that because you realize that if you bite into them Now, you'll be finding little chips of teeth on your tongue Later.
So, not great stuff. Yet I delve into the bag with the intensity and despereration of a starving, sugar-deprived woman. I'm so weak.

I was in Nora's room rocking her with her bottle (which took 45 minutes tonight, incedentally. Don't know what's going on there) when I realized her room smelled pretty rank. Then I felt bad because the rank odor was eminating from my shoes that were by her crib.

Tate has this video game type thingie for toddlers. It's the work of the Devil. Huh, guess that's why he likes it so much. It's these freaky animal type creatures cavorting around begging people to count, sing, find things, worship at their altar of evil, etc. Their voices are what make me crazy. They sound like kids with stuffy noses hopped up on acid or something. And there's this line in one of the songs about "Having a Special Kind of Fun". Uh, no thanks. I'm not into badly animated blue rabbits who can't EVER find the red balloon that's ALWAYS in the same tree.
And now the thing is, Tate likes to turn "Bunny" on, but he doesn't actually play it anymore. He just likes the main menu page to play over and over. And over and over. The woman says "Slide the mode selector to select the mode of play". Redundant, yes? That's all it is. That one line. Slowly driving me insane. It's like Chinese Water Torture. American Bunny Torture.

I got up in the middle of the night last night to get Nora a bottle because the stinker refuses to sleep through the night. I came downstairs, saw Bob on the couch, yelled at him to get his ass OFF, and then ran after him to keep him from going upstairs. I don't like him sleeping in our bed because he breathes weird. Yes, I'm mean. But the dog breathes weird.
So I'm running through the front hall, and all of a sudden go flying through the air and land on my butt. I slid in freakin' dog pee. I think I yelled so loud people in Cuba heard me. So Eric comes bolting down the stairs in his undies, probably expecting to see me fighting off some scary intruder dude, and sees me sitting on the floor screaming at Bob to go to dog hell.
Yeah, for a few minutes last night all four people were awake in this house and REALLY not happy about it.

My friend Pam and her daughter Bella came over today, along with my friend Sara. I put Tate in time-out, mmmm....14 times? Something like that. At least the kid's honest. I would ask if he had just pinched Bella and he would look at me and say "yes" with a very "DUH, Mama!" type voice. Plus Nora's in her Strangers-Are-All-Evil-Doers-Who-Are-Out-To-Get-Me phase so everytime I would leave the room to put Tate in time-out she would flip out. At least Pam was cool about her kid getting pummeled. And Bella actually fought back once, which was sweet.

The kids' pictures from the other day turned out wonderfully. For anyone in Green Bay looking for a photog., go to www.photobyaubrey.com You can see some of our pics in her blog. Nora's rockin' the fuzz-head like it's nobody's business.

Oh, and Nora is now OFFICIALLY crawling. For a few weeks she was doing this thing where she'd do an actual crawl up on her hands and knees for a few steps, then collapse spectacularily on her belly and pull herself along by her arms, ala Lieutenant Dan. Yes, I compare my baby girl to a fictional character who's an alcoholic/drug addict who lost his legs in the war and cleaned up to run a shrimp boat with his slow friend. Doesn't everyone do that?

I'm going to see Neil Diamond one week from tonight. I'm going to Chicago 2 weeks from Friday.

Ok, here's the sad thing. I had more thoughts. Now I can't remember them. I'm thoughtless. I have run out of thoughts. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

Banana Baby

So I had a bunch of stuff in my head to blog about, but I think I Zumba'd it all out of my head tonight. I'm sitting here on the couch marinating in my own sweat and I don't really think I can form a coherant thought. Yes, I know coherance isn't always my strong point, but shut up. So, untill I find something fun to write about, here's the world's cutest picture to tide you all over:

Are you a total pile of goo yet? That's just too much cuteness in one picture. I particularily enjoy Cooper (third from right). He looks like the hood of his costume is eating his face.

Photos from the Brink

Well, I got the pictures back of the kids in their costumes and I couldn't help but squee at the sublime cuteness of some of them. I don't know how it happened, but we got a couple of really great shots. It was a matter of excellent timing on the photographer's part, actually, since in a couple of the pictures I can tell Tate's just about to pinch Nora, which means she's just about to scream and faceplant on the floor while he scampers away cackling merrily. So for the 2 people on the planet who haven't seen any of the shots yet, there they are for ya.

I decided to be a complete and total idiot and try and get the kids pictures taken again for their 6-month and 2 1/2-year photos. This time I had a photographer come to the house since I thought they may actually do better in a familiar setting. Stop laughing. A woman can dream, can't she? Needless to say, the session did not go that well, not for trying on Aubrey and my's part. The kids were just not having it. Again. Again with the crabbiness and the stone-facedness and the pinching and nose-picking and just general disregard for Mom's sanity and pleas for cooperation.

Aubrey (the photographer) kindly agreed to come back another time and give it another go. I agreed. I just don't think a framed 11'x14' portrait of Tate pulling Nora's hair while she screams would really compliment the decor of my family room, you know? I see that in real life everyday anyway, and therefore don't really need it captured for posterity.

In other news, we moved Nora into Tate's old car seat and out of the infant carrier. It's pretty funny to watch her in the little mirror we have set up above the seat. She just kind of looks around in amazement, because she can actually see stuff now. You can just see the inner dialouge in her head. "Hey! There's a window right here! And, wha-is that-is that a TREE? I can see a TREE from my carseat now! And lookie! If I turn my head, I can see my BROTHER! Hey, this means I can have advance warning when he chucks his sippy cup at my head! Haha, sucker...I got your number now, pal!"

Tate's in a new carseat that does the harness thing and then converts to a booster. We found one where they can be in the harness til 65 lbs. Most of the other ones said only to 40lbs. Considering that Tate is massive and already weighs almost 36 lbs, I think we made a wise decision there. Graco Nautilus, if anyone's looking for a new carseat.

And get this, people. Get freakin' this. Tate has napped for the last two days in a row. Amen, Hallelujah, Rejoice, etc etc etc. Here's how it goes down. Around 3 pm he starts to get whiny, crabby, and generally making me want to chuck him out the window. So nothing new there. Then he gets really really upset about something, whether it be his toy caterpiller isn't playing the right song, or Mama's sitting on the wrong couch, or the whole economy crisis, what have you, and throws the mother of all tantrums until he's red-faced and panting like a fat man running after the ice-cream truck. Then he crawls into my lap, commands me to turn on Sesame Street, and passes out. Honestly, it's worth the tantrum. I can take 10 minutes of screaming no problem, if it leads to sleep. I barely even notice the whole banging his head against the floor thing anymore.

Of course, he wakes up in a totally foul mood so that kind of sucks too. But it's the nap, man. The nap. It's all about the nap.

So There Was This Monkey and This Banana....

I got the bright idea of bringing the kids to JCPenney to get some pictures taken of them in their Halloween costumes. Mostly I wanted to get them taken to use for humiliation purposes when they're teenagers. I had decided that Tate was going to be a monkey and Nora was going to be his banana. Pretty funny stuff.

So the morning of the photos, Nora woke up at 4:30, slept for about 20 minutes, blah blah blah. Tate woke up crabby and swingin'. I think he was in time out about 34 times before we even left the house. I drove to the store with that feeling of "OhGodIthinkthisisgoingtobenotsuchagoodideamaybeIshouldreschedule". Ever have that feeling? So then you know what I'm saying.

We get to Penney's, and as I park I realize I'm going to be having to do diaper damage control once we get inside. Ok, if you've ever read any of my other posts, you're probably realizing where this is going. Remember, this is my daughter of the majestic poos, and me, the most unprepared person on the planet. So we get inside, check in at the photo place and I take Nora into the dressing room to change her. Oh Lord. This was the mother of all blowouts. Down her legs, into her socks, up her back to her neck...I was shocked it hadn't somehow gotten in her ears. I swear, it's like that girl's intestines just explode and go shooting out of her butt. Do not stop, do not pass Go.

I clean her up and wrangle her into her banana costume and do the same to Tate with his monkey costume. Well, I do the same to Tate after I find him behind the counter opening the dwarers of the filing cabinet. If anyone comes to Penney's to pick up their pictures and gets pictures of some random unknown person instead, you have my kid to thank for it. We go into the photo room, put Tate on the floor, Nora next to him and prepare to take the cutest pictures ever.

Well, except for the fact that Tate refuses to do anything besides pinch Nora, and she refuses to do anything except scream about it. We'd get them in some semblance of a pose and it would last for about two seconds...just long enough for me to run back behind the photographer. As soon as I got back there, Nora would do a faceplant on the floor and Tate would see a piece of Kleenex or a fuzz or something else fascinating and get up to go grab it. When we would get them to sit for more than two seconds, they would reward us by refusing to smile. Tate would just look at us stone-faced while Nora stared at the crazy people behind the camera jumping around and acting like frenzied idiots with her mouth open and a general air of "duh?".

And of course it was 200 degrees in that little cabinet of a room. And according the the photographer lady, Nora "didn't like he costume" and Tate "didn't like sharing the limelight with his sister". Well, gee, thanks lady. Now I know everything that is wrong with my kids, and all because YOU told me!

I finally got to the point where I saw that we got a couple decent pics, and said "ok, done." So then comes the part where we have to sit and wait while they upload the pictures and do all that annoying stuff to them where they add fuzzy borders and fake crap to the pictures when all I want is ONE FREAKING PICTURE of my kids without them sitting in a superimposed pumpkin frame with the caption "The Monkey Loves The Banana". As I'm selecting pictures and deflecting suggestions from the photographer about buying this or that with this $80 frame and getting it as a 20x30 poster size blah blah blah, Tate starts meltdown 10.0.

He gets mad about something, who knows what...probably the fact that his goldfish crackers were broken or something and throws himself on the floor screaming. I try in vain to ignore it but seeing as I'm standing 3 feet away trying to talk to someone while holding a squirming baby, it proves a little difficult. I prevail, though, and push on. Must get this done.

We finally get everything squared away and I'm trying to get Nora in her carrier, the costumes on the hanger, my purse, the diaper bag, and oh yeah, Satan in his two year old form out the door. It was fun. Really. I was that lady dragging her screaming two year old through the store with grim look of determination on her face and the air of "God get me a drink nownownow!" about her. I always swore I'd never be that pathetic mom snapping at her kid to behave in public but there I was. All I needed was some stretched out stirrup pants and a sweatshirt with appliqued kittens and bunnies on it to complete the picture. Cause I already had the screaming kid and the baby in nothing but a diaper to start off the whole white-trash theme.

And then I got to the car, and realized that maybe instead of making my daughter look like Trailer Trash Baby 2008, I could have, oh...I don't know, BOUGHT her an outfit to wear since we were in a STORE? But again, dragging the devil by the hand through a public venue tends to kill a few brain cells.

And that is the story of the moneky and the banana.

This One Isn't Funny

I'm not enjoying being a mother right now. This will not be a very lighthearted entry so beware.

I mean, it's 6 am and I've been up for an hour and a half. I think most people will understand that I'm not in the most chipper mood. Nora doesn't sleep worth shit and it's just deja vu all over again around here. I cannot go through this again. Can't do it. When I think back to when Tate was around this age and the horrible sleeping patterns started, I just get this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach realizing that it may be starting again. Nora does not get enough sleep and it worries me. She is developing permanent bags and circles under her eyes and just looks...tired and not well. And she isn't well. She doesn't sleep long enough to fight off this cold she has, or to develop or grow or fucking give me more than 20 minutes to sit down and try to keep Tate at bay for just a minute so I can take a breath and collect my thoughts.

I get so jealous of moms who get the revered afternoon break while their kids sleep. I have never ever known what it's like to constantly get that hour or two after lunch to have time to do things around the house, or to just sit and not have two sets of hands pulling and pinching and grabbing and wanting and needing and demanding. Tate never gave me good naps, and now he gives me no naps at all. Nora's on the same path...it's eerie, actually. She and I are EXACTLY where Tate and I were two years ago. Up by 5, not on any type of sleep schedule because she refuses to adhere to one, her screaming bloody murder when she realizes that I'm about to put her down to sleep...it's all the same. And it's going to make me crazy. Again.

I've mentioned this before, but I got hit with the post-partum depression stick pretty bad the first time around. It didn't really start to get serious til Tate was about 4 months or so. Oh, and guess what? That's the time he started not sleeping so great. I'm thinking there just might be a correlation between the two. Sleep deprivation is something I cannot handle. I physically and emotionally start to shut down until I'm like a walking zombie. That's hard enough with one kid, but two? I feel like I can't let myself get to that point again because it would be crippling for all of us. So I'm fighting it but I feel myself losing the battle again. And I feel like it could so easily be remedied, if Nora would just cut me a break and sleep. That's all I want, is a baby who sleeps more than 11 or 12 hours in a 24 hour period. I don't understand why I don't get that.

When Nora was first born, she was a great sleeper, and I would brag about her sleeping 14 or so hours a night, 3 hour naps during the day, etc etc. I would smugly say "Well, Tate wasn't a great sleeper so I guess I just deserved on this time around!" Well, someone up there decided to screw me with the karma stick, because lookie at me eat my words now!

I've tried getting her on a schedule. Putting her down at the same times everyday when she normally displays signs of getting sleepy. But if I put her down too early and she's not tired enough, she goes nuts and I feel like all I'm accomplishing is her hating her crib even more. I've never been able to put her down awake and not have her cry before falling asleep. Ever. She just won't do the same thing day to day. I've cut way back on going out during the day so we can work on it, but it's not happening. If I put her down for a nap at nine and she doesn't want a nap at nine, she will not take one. She'll stay in her crib and complain til I go get her, and then there's no nap whatsoever at that time. Tate did the same thing...I think his record was 2 and a half hours of sitting in his crib bitching for me to come get him. And he never fell asleep.

But, there's nothing I can do. She hates to sleep. She hates her crib, hates being rocked before bed, hates it all. And I have no choice but to deal with it. And now I just wait for her to get tired enough to get wrestled into sleep. It could be 10 minutes from now or 2 hours. But whenever it is, you can bet your bippy that Tate will be waking up 2 minutes after that. Because that's how my kids roll. Roll me right into the looney bin. Hey, maybe there I'd at least get some sleep.

Photographic Genius

Tate got ahold of our camera last week and started snapping away. I think he possesses real talent, no?




There was another one that he took that was actually really cool, with the sunlight coming in through the windows in an unintentionally etherial way but the total right half of the shot was my crotch. In jeans of course, but crotch nonetheless. Not something people want to see.

In other news, I cleaned my house yesterday.

I'll sit here patiently while you pick yourself up off the floor.

Shocking, isn't it? Well, I shouldn't claim too much. I actually only cleaned the first floor. And I didn't vacuum the front office. Oh, and I didn't bother with the laundry room either. But I got tired of seeing the clumps of dog hair come rolling towards me with a definite air of evil. Those things were about to grow legs and a tail and become brand new dogs. Kinda gross. I spent 20 minutes shedding Spencer outside and when I was done the deck was literally covered in dog hair and Spencer was about 15 lbs lighter. Lighter, but still stupid. Too bad I can't scrape out the stupidity from his brain along with the hair from his back.

Nora's upstairs rolling around in her crib. She slept for 20 minutes. Again. She had being doing so well lately...napping 2 and 3 hours at a stretch. Of course I let myself get all excited, which was my stupid mistake. Once my kids realize that what they're doing is making my life easier and less stressful, they put a screeching halt to that activity right away. I'm sure Nora's up there thinking, "GOD, Mom's such a sucker. Hasn't she realized yet that sleep is the work of the Devil in this house? That's why I woke up at 11:30 last night, then again at 3:00 and finally at 6:00. Poor, gullible Mom. I really must train her better."

Yeah, Nora's been partying like it's April, 2008 around here. Constantly eating, never sleeping...it's like she's 6 days old instead of 6 months. It better freaking be a growth spurt or something. She's getting heavy lately, so I'm thinking it must be. What happened to my little slip of a baby that I could carry around without really noticing she was there? She's starting to rock the Rolls 'o Doom on her thighs, and I love it.

Ok, I suppose I should go get her and release her from prison. I mean her crib. It's all the same to her.

It's OK. He's Got It.

So I know I'm always lamenting the Terrible Twos and how there are so many days where Tate wants to make me gauge my ears out with a banana just to not have to listen to him whine anymore, but this morning I had a "they grow up so fast" moment and it kinda made me sad. Tate was sitting at the laptop where I had my friend Gina's blog up on the screen and he saw a picture of her baby. He's all about babies at the moment so was saying "Baby, Mama! Baby!" He tried to scroll down the page to see more pictures but couldn't quite figure it out, so he graciously allowed me to come over and move the arrow to the scroll bar so he could just click it down the page. Once I did that, he kind of moved me away from the chair and said "Ok Mama, go away. I got it."

After I laughed for a minute I got a little teary. I mean, yes, Tate is a handful (and is currently standing next to me trying to chew on Carmex), but he still lets me hug him and snuggle him and kiss his boo-boos. He actually gets quite agitated when I DON'T kiss his boo-boos quickly enough. But I know this will not always be so. There will come a time when he won't want me offering to help or offering up a hug. Or to, you know, talk to him, look at him or breathe the same air as him. Thinking about it breaks my heart a little. I wonder when that day will come. When he won't lay on the couch with me for an hour watching Project Runway or take my face in his little hands and plant a smacker on my lips. We all go through stages of hating our parents as kids and teens and I have a feeling that with Tate having the fiery disposition he does, he's gonna hate us with the power of a thousand burning suns. Should be a good time. Maybe I should start stocking up on wine now.

On a lighter note, Tate's been really growing in leaps and bounds, and his vocabulary continues to astound me. Yesterday we were driving to a playdate and he says "We'll see Jamison? Let's go to HuHot first with Jamison. I'll have noodles with Jamison. HuHot, please?" The kid's got great taste. HuHot does indeed rock. Funnily enough, he just came scampering in here saying "HuHot first? When Dada gets home, we go to HuHot first?". Well, hey...it gives me an excuse to go to HuHot. How can I turn down such a sweet request?

And here's the conversation we just had about 30 minutes ago:

Me: "Tate. do you want cereal or toast for breakfast"
Tate: "Ummm...want FUCK"
Me: "Come again?"
Tate: "Fuck, Mama! Want Fuck!"
Me, as I'm trying to shield Nora's virgin ears: "Honey, you'll have to show Mama where the fuck is, cause last I looked, we were clean out." (Just ask Eric. Har har har).

Apparently, Tate's juce container with an alien on the top is also known as a fuck. Who knew? Hopefully he had enough this morning so he won't be yelling "FUCK!" at the top of his lungs out in public today.
And no, I don't think he was actually saying fuck...it sounded like a cross between fork and...I don't know. I got nothin'. I'm just trying to make myself feel better here.

Nora has become addicted to Orajel. Is there a 12-step program for that? As soon as I get the bottle, she opens her mouth and tries to grab my finger to cram it in her mouth faster. I swear her eyes glaze over just a little bit as she gets a hit of the good stuff. Poor thing is getting 4 teeth in at one time. She's a trooper, though...still as smiley and sweet as ever. Her new favorite thing is when Tate blows on her head. She'll laugh for like an hour. I keep expecting her to wipe the tears out of her eyes and say "Ohhh, man, that was a good one! I tell ya!".

Finally, here are my rules for taking an aerobics class with me at the Y. Specifially, the abs/glute class.

-When there are only four people in the class, do not put your mat down 2 inches away from my mat when there's like 70 square feet of open space
-Do not grunt loudly each time you come up from a crunch
-Do not softly count along with the instructor.
-Do not go "ahhhhhh!!! I'm totally feeling the burn! Man! Oh yeah!" or any varient of such comment
-Do not smell like dirty feet dipped in armpit sweat rubbed in garlic with a little bit of asparagus thrown in.

Thanks.

Blah.

I have a cold. Allow me to whine about said cold. My nose is stuffy, which is creating some very interesting blocks of snot around my nose stud. I keep going to blow and wipe my nose forgetting that I have a fresh piercing there, so the blowing usually ends up with me swearing and perhaps wiping a tear or two from my eye.

Speaking of eye (smooooth segue), I took the kidlets to Target again yesterday. Yeah, yeah, you think I'd learn but no. Why would I do that? Tate was actually pretty good. I had a little fun at his expense in the Halloween aisle. I told him to go up and say hi to the skeleton dude they had at one of the displays, and while he was standing in front of him I pushed the button to make his eyes start flashing and his disembodied voice basically start telling Tate he was going to eat him. I've never seen that kid run so fast without me chasing him. But you're probably wondering what this has to do with eyes. I was really stretching for a good lead-in to my Target story. Anyway.

We were at the checkout and I stupidly thought TAte was standing right behind me. Why I would think that when it has never, EVER been true I do not know. But I turn around and see him about four check-out lanes over, in the little space where the checker-outer stands with the scan gun in his hand. He then proceeds to scan his eyeball over and over. I'm thinking that shooting a laser gun straight into one's cornea isn't the most sensible move to make, so I boogie over there and pry the gun out of his hand. What ensues? Why, screaming and kicking, of course! Well, hopefully he'll thank me later when his retina ISN'T falling out due to prolonged exposure to searing lights.

I decide to prolong my torture session and head to the grocery store. On the way there I start to notice that sickly sweet smell of baby poo permiating the car. Great. I pull into the parking lot and lay Nora on the floor to change her quick. Well, I hook two fingers inside the waistband of her pants to pull them down, take my fingers out and happen to notice that they are completely dripping with poo. Upon closer inspection, the poo is all down her legs, up her back, and thanks to her grabbing onto my hand, all over her fingers which leads to being all over her face. Oh, and there's a nice batch of poo soup puddling in the seat of her carseat.

Since I don't believe in ever being prepared for such situations, I had no spare clothes for Nora, only about 4 wet wipes, and nothing to get the damn poo off my hands. So I plop the poor kid back in poo soup and drive home to do damage control. Luckily the store is only about a mile from our house. Tate is fine during all this, singing his latest favorite little ditty, which is "Mamma Mia" by ABBA. He like to switch it up and say things like "Dadda Mia! Spencer Mia! Baby Mia!" Apparently we all belong to him.

Anyway, we got through that little incident unscathed. Today Tate and Eric are going to the Brewers game in Milwaukee while Nora and I hit the neighborhood block party. Everyone has to dress up in '80s gear and I got the MOST kickass dress ever. Bright teal, silk, huge sequined thingie on the shoulder, shoulder pads, shirred bodice, etc. I look like I should be pushing some broad into the pool on "Dynasty". Totally hot. Or should I say gnarly.

Catching Up

Yes, people, I know it's been two weeks since my last entry. I've gotten frantic, pleading, pathetic phone calls, emails, visits to my front door, death threats, etc, from people going through some serious withdrawal. So rejoice, all ye who read my ramblings.

Things have just been chugging along here. Tate has caused me moments of great joy and extreme despair. The hitting is not getting better. He's like Jackie Chan, only as a bad guy. Which, come to think of it, I don't know if Jackie Chan has ever played. Isn't he always the good guy? He's just such a jolly little fellow. But yeah, Tate...what can I do. I've had more breakdowns over that kid. He's in time out about 3045 times a day. Today, for a fun little example. He woke up around 7:15 and was in his first time out at 7:22. I freaking kid you not. Oh, what a beautiful mooooorning....

He does this thing lately, though, where he'll point at something and say "Asshat, Mama?" So I say "Purse" or "Potato" or "Crack Pipe" (Come on, I'm kidding. We hide the crack pipe in the garage. The roach clip on the other hand....). Then he'll say "Potato! YES!!!" He sounds like Ed McMahon. I keep expecting to hear "HAW HAW HAW" afterwards. And is it weird that I get a strange sense of personal satisfaction when he agrees with me so emphatically? I mean, I could really get that kid to agree to pretty much anything, yet I feel pretty cool when he assures me that I do inded know what I'm talking about and that I'm extremely proficient at identifying random things on my kitchen counter.

Nora has gotten two teeth and is in the procees of acquiring more. She chews on her hand so much I'm suprised it's not a shriveled up nub by this point. Poor thing. She can also sit up on her own for a decent amount of time before tipping over and face planting into the carpet. Still sweet and angelic, of course.

So I had my nose stud taken out and attempted to get a new one put in. It was not a success. Apparently my buddy Hank in Chicago did a pretty crappy job. It was too high up and he pierced it at a strange angle. The lady at the place I went to was trying to finagle the new stud in the hole as I writhed around in pain, trying not to scream or belt her across the face, when she finally told me it was a lost cause. She said she had been doing piercings for over 10 years (evidently most of them on herself...this lady was like half metal) and had never been not able to get a corkscrew nose stud in a hole. She suggested letting it close up and coming back in a week to get it repierced, which she would do for free. Since I was pretty much half out of my brain in agony at this point, I agreed. That hurt like a mofo, people. Getting the piercing itself was a walk in the park but having insert a "stretching needle" in the hole and wriggle it around just about made me hit the ceiling.
It was pretty cool, because for about 2 hours after getting the stud out, whenever I breathed through my nose I could feel the air whooshing out of that extra hole. I felt very effecient, having a whole extra hole serving a very significant purpose. Get the air in and out, holes!! So I think I'll go back on Friday and get it redone. My friend Heather wants to come with me to watch. She'll be getting pierced, too, although she may not realize it yet.

We're going to an open gym at a gymnastics place today with the playgroup. I'm already nervous. Tate could unleash some serious ass-whupping on innocent children. We'll see how it goes. Pray for me and my little demon. Well, mostly for me, and my rapidly dwindling sanity.

Chugga Chugga Shoot Me

I'm watching Thomas the Tank Engine. For the 5th time this morning. It's pretty much on repeat around here. We got the bright idea to DVR a couple episodes on PBS so Tate could watch them whenever he wanted, or whenever I wanted 30 seconds to pee without someone trying to climb into the toilet bowl. Well, apparently Thomas is no longer playing on PBS so we can't record any new episodes, so we watch the same two episodes over and over and over. I'm tired of hearing about stupid Thomas and James and Percy (or "Pussy" as Tate calls him).

The worst is this creepy song that plays on one of the episodes. It's a chorus of British kids intoning "Patience is a virture, so it never hurts to, take a little time to seeeee", and it's very reminiscent to those dead twin girls in "The Shining". I just imagine a bunch of English brats in pinafores and buckled shoes with, like, no eyeballs, swarming around me as they chant "Don't get too excited, just try staying calm...GOBBLE GOBBLE GOBBLE" (that's them chewing on my brain after they ripped it out of my head). I know, I'm disturbed. But this is what I think about when I'm lying in bed at night.

The funny thing that has come out of Thomas-mania is that now Tate says certain things with a British accent. He'll say " 'Allo, Tomas! 'Allo, Mum! 'Allo, Pops!" It's pretty freaking funny.

Yeah, we got the minivan. Town and County, light metallic blue. It's totally pimpin'. Remote start, automatic doors, two seperate DVD players, a hard drive for music, Sirius radio, etc etc. I still get a little shock when I go into my garage and see a middle-aged mom car in there but I'm slowling coming to terms with it.

What else...both kids have colds so there's a lot of screaming as I try to pry crusty boogers out of little nostrils. It's amazing the sense of satisfaction you feel after pulling out a nice big one. Ok, I'm making myself quesy here so enough of that.

I'm so excited...a bunch of girlfriends and I just got tickets for the Broadway preview showing of Dirty Dancing down in Chicago. Nobody freaking puts Baby in the corner. He had a dirty knife and a folding table. I'm going to sing I Feel Pretty, or What do the Simple Folk Do, or I Feel Pretty...Come on, hit me. Hit me right here.

Points for anyone who can tell me the context of all those quotes from the movie. No one will ever come close to the godliness perfection of Patrick Swayze, but I'm sure the play will still kick ass.

Well, Nora's up from her 35 minute nap. Gotta go.

Got any Toothpicks?

'Cause I think I need them to prop my eyelids open. As I'm starting to write this, it's 6:48 am and I've been up for almost 2 hours. I am cursed with bad sleepers for children.

Nora usually wakes up once during the night and then is up at 5 am, if not earlier. The little shit insists on being all smiley and coo-y and WIDE AWAKE at this time. Doesn't want to eat, doesn't want to cuddle, just wants to sit up and try and pry my nose off my face. If she insists on getting up before the sun, the least she could do is make herself useful and run out and get me coffee or something, but noooooo.

Most people at this point would say, "Well, just put her to bed later." Ok, this kid will not stay up past 7 pm. There are nights that I practically have to strip her naked and hang her upside down by about 6:30 in order to keep her awake. She's got an amazing internal clock. 7 pm and she wants her bottle and bed and God help you if you try and delay it for 30 seconds. 5 am and she's wide freaking awake. Every. Morning. I just get stressed because I'm trying to start getting her on some sort of rough nap/eat schedule, but it's hard because she starts getting tired for her morning nap around the time we have to leave to take Tate to day care on the 2 days a week he goes, and then on the other days she's usually napping at the time we have to leave for playdates. Which isn't usually too big of a problem because the kid usually blesses me with about a 45-minute nap.

Yes, it's Tate all over again. Early rising, non-napping insanity around here. I get so mad when I read "babies normally sleep 12-14 hours a night". Yeah, bite me. Mine gives me 10 hours if I'm lucky. Then I've heard rumors that babies normally take like 2 or 3 significant naps a day. Ok, suck my left one. I get 2 naps. MAYBE for an hour each. Maybe. Tate must be grooming her to be his evil underling.

Tate got up by 5:30 every morning for about 18 months. 5:30 was a good day. There were many mornings of me hearing Tate, rolling over to look at the clock and going "Fuuuuuuuck!" when I realized it was 5, or 4:45 or 4:20. And let's not forget the Infamous Morning of Waking Up at 3:30, back in '07. Yeah, that was a good day. I was curled up on the couch weeping from exhaustion by about 9 am, and it didn't get any better, because Tate did not sleep again til 7 pm. Yes, he was up for, what, 15 1/2 hours? It's insane. It's like they're robots or mutants or on crack or something. Tate has taken a nap the last two days in a row, and that's honestly the first time that's happened in months. He went 5 weeks with no nap.

I have no idea how to break Nora of this nasty habit but I really have to. Sleep deprivation was a huge contributer to my nasty PPD last time, and that little affliction just insists on hanging on and on, and I know I can't let it get as bad as it did before. Mommy gets a little crazy when she's overtired.

On a lighter note, I took Tate in for a haircut yesterday at Snips and Giggles and I love it, as always. He looks like a little man. not a homeless dog. I also asked them to do a little snip snip on the front of Nora's hair just so it wouldn't be in her eyes and ears and mouth all the time. They took off a little more than I would have liked but it's nice to be able to see her eyes without having to part her hair in the middle so she ends up looking like Hitler.

Time to go wrestle my kid into some clothes.

I Hate our Car

Ever have one of those days where you're so tired you feel like this?:

So you're all crabby and therefore people piss the hell out of you and you want to do this to them:

Yeah, I'm there.

I would preface this by saying that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, but that would involve actually waking up, meaning that I fell asleep in the first place, and I don't really think that happened last night. Nora was up every cotton'-pickin' (always wanted to use that phrase) hour. Then she decided that 3:45 am is just a lovely time of day to wake up and say "Hello world". She's done this for the past four nights. I'm wiped out.

We decided that it's time to get a minivan. We thought it would be a good day to go to the dealer, suck it up, plop some change down, and dive into middle age. Well, as we were leaving, we realized the dealer would probably want the title to the Santa Fe. No problem...it's gotta be in the file cabinet, right? No. Just no. As Nora screamed in her carseat and Tate attempted to start the car and back out of the driveway, we tore the house apart looking for the elusive title. Finally we decided enough time was wasted and agreed to just go buy a copy of the title. I hate our car. I swore it was laughing at us.

We motor over to De Pere city hall, because for some reason Eric thought that was where we were supposed to go. I thought he was nuts, but wasn't going to say anything because at that time he had the personality of a constipated gorilla. Little crabby. I hate our car. I swear it was injecting Eric with bad thoughts about his lovely wife and children.

After getting laughed at at City Hall, we went to the DMV and prepared ourselves for that certain level of hell that can only come by bringing two kids to a place where all there is to do is sit. For like 7 hours. We sat on pins and needles waiting for that "ding" and just praying our number would come up soon. Does 184 hours qualify as soon? Then we almost missed it because I was in the bathroom changing Nora's blowout diaper (why do they ALWAYS blowout in public?) and Eric was chasing Tate away from the little picture-taking station.

We finally got called up, gave the lady our info and waited. And here is a little synopsis of what happened:

Lady: "We don't have a record of any Hyundai for you in Wisconsin."
Us: "...guh?"
Me, lamely: "But we LIVE here!"
Lady's eyes, looking at me witheringly: "No shit, dumbass"
Lady: "Well, your car title is still filed in Florida. Is that where you bought the car?"
Eric: "I kinda thought the title just...followed us around."
Lady, as she realizes we're the customers she's going to be laughing about with her friends at the bar tonight: "Uh...no. The title does not just follow you around."
Eric: "Well, I guess you would know better than us."
Lady: "Yup."

Defeated, we left the den of maleficence cleverly disguised as the DMV and went home in silence. No new car today. Another week of driving around in my stupid evil car that I hate. A minivan opens its doors for you. The Santa Fe makes you actully use your own ARM. A minivan will magically stay clean forever. The Santa Fe is full of crumbled up pretzels, a dirty diaper wipe, spilled pop, and sticky little handprints all over the outside and a little noseprint on the back window. The minivan wil magically repel all such things.

After we got home I decided to run out and get coffee before Eric had to leave for work. I was running on 2 minutes of sleep and a Cheerio after all. I backed out of our driveway and ran over our garbage can, which apparently was in cahoots with the car to make my life a living hell.

I hate our garbage can.

My Snotty, Phlegmy Little Girl

Poor Nora has her first runny nose. It's quite impressive, actually. The snot just pours out of her nose and keeps coming. For awhile there I was running for the Kleenex every 30 seconds, then I just got to the point where I would lift up the hem of her dress and wipe her nose off. What? I'm lazy. She doesn't care. Oh and, those snot sucker things? AWESOME. Nothing quite as satisfying as listening to the gurgle of snot getting sucked through a baby's nose into the big bulb thing. But it's not so fun squeezing the snot out of the snot sucker though...it kinda goes everywhere. My counter and cupboards are very shiny right now.

So, because of said runny nose, Nora does not sleep. At all. We were up from 9 pm til THE END OF TIME last night because she kept waking up. Eric finally brought her into bed with us, and then of course neither of us slept because it totally would have sucked to roll over onto her. When Tate sleeps with us, we don't have this problem because A) he would probably bite us if we did roll over onto him and B) he spends all night spinning around in bed and kicking us in the head, boob, gut, nads, what have you before settling into a horizantal position across the bed, thus forcing Eric and I to sleep while clinging to the edge of the bed.

Neither of us were in very good moods this morning. Nora, oddly enough, was extremely chipper. Thanks, babe.

I was very proud of Tater today, though. I took him to a playdate with my playgroup and he only pinched like 3 times. This is about 394354758673 fewer times than he used to pinch, hit, push, kick, bite, sum0-wrestle, body slam, etc, other kids. Progress is being made. Rock on, kid. The best moment of the day was when he would take little triangles of watermelon to all the other kids and just give them to these kids. I loved it. He was like Ghandi or something. Who else was a good sharer? Whoever you think of, he was like that.

My friend Jodi came over tonight. She totally rocks, mostly because she likes to drink like me. We're all about the Mama Juice. By Mama Juice I mean wine, rum, vodka, beer, cough syrup, rubbing alcohol, whatever. It's happy hour all day long around here, baby.

Peace out.

Good Luck With Your Search, Buddy.

Ok, this? Is unreal. This guy is a piece of work. Total douchebag. You gotta read this, but it's looong, so make sure you have a spare 15 minutes or so to devote to the insane craziness. It can't be skimmed, there's just too much good stuff in there to make you wonder is happening to humanity today.
It's funny, in a unbelievably unbelievable way. Cause really, who doesn't want to dictate how many times in a certain period their wife can use the bathroom? Or how long they must be able to walk without needing to drink water?
Unfortunately, I do not meet his requirements. I'm too old and too fat. Poor me. It looks like I do have the correct boob size, though. Holla.

Where am I? Whose House is This?

My kids are sleeping. Let me say that again. My kidS ARE sleeping. That means both of them. At the same time. I feel like I've entered some parallel universe. This is out of my realm of reality. Tate has not napped since the beginning of time. Nora naps for about 40 second stretches. They have both been asleep for one hour. So now I'm sitting on the nap, trying to hurry up and get all my relaxing done. You know what I mean? You just book downstairs to the couch, slam open the laptop and start cruising through all your favorite websites before one of the kidlets wake up. I keep looking at the clock trying to determine how much time I have left to continue shaping my butt imprint on the couch. I feel like I'm living on borrowed time.

Anyhoo. We had a fun weekend this past weekend. Saturday we went to Target for the first time EVER as a foursome. Yes, it was very exciting. We didn't have any repeats of the bra incident, sadly. I'm sure Eric would have gotten a kick out of it. Then we went to look at minivans. We've decided to suck it up and buy one. Really, why not get one? We're 30 and have no one to impress anymore. It's not like we go drag-racin' down the open road anymore. No more sitting on the hoods drinking beer and listening to music. No more having sex in the backseat. Although a minivan may actually make that more of a possibility....eh, who am I kidding. So we think we're going to get a Chysler Town and Country. Yeeeeah, we are kickass.

Then we headed to our neighbors to hang out by the kiddie pool and drink. The kids had fun splashing each other and pouring water over Greg's bald head. Tate actually sat down in the water. He hasn't done that in a kiddie pool or bathtub for like a year. I guess he figured since Alice did it, he cuoldn't be shown up by a girl. Then we bbq'd on their back deck and watched the kids try and kill each other in the mini trampoline. Seriously, it was like watching the WWE. Tate got Alice's head in between his legs and kept slamming it onto the trampoline. She loved it.

Sunday Eric worked at the Chili Cook-off at a park by our house. He's a member of the Optimists Club, who sponsered it. Hasn't gone to a meeting in about 8 months, but all of a sudden decided it was his civic duty to spend a whole Sunday away from home hawking beer and eating chili. He brought Tate with him. Nora and I came, I took Tate to play on the playground, and he threw his first tantrum about .9 seconds later. Time to go back to Daddy. I lasted a whole 20 minutes before I left. I just wasn't feelin' it.

So a nice weekend in all. Not too many funny things happened. I feel like I'm losing my writing mojo. Hopefully something funny will happen soon that I'll feel like reenacting on this thing. Lately I've been feeling kinda blah in general. I need to do something new and exciting.

Random Survey Thingie. Feel Free to Not Read.

I was bored, ok, people?

One of the most random surveys you'll ever take!

Some of the most random questions you will ever be asked!
What brand of toilet paper does your family buy?: Whatever's on sale that won't give butt owies
What is your favorite kitchen utensil?: Uh, the spoon.
Is your freezer/refrigerator door right next to each other, or on top?: Next to each other. I hate those kinds of freezers cause you can't fit a damn thing in them
What color is the chair you're sitting in?: green/tan stripey kinda. It's not as ugly as it sounds
Have you ever worn underwear on your head?: Are you not supposed to?
What about over your pants?: I'm not really a crazy person like that...
Have you ever eaten grass?: Yep. Fiberlicious.
Does your dog eat grass?: Yeah.
Do you yell at it when it eats grass?: I yell at them all the time.
My mom used to tell me the dogs teeth would get sharp if it ate grass.
Did your mom tell you that?: My mom didn't really talk about dogs.
Have you ever wondered why the letter Q always has to be followed with u?: I have other things on my mind, thank you.
Q is such a wimp.
When asked "Wut do yew wanna tlk abouutt", what do you think of first?: Why the hell can't you spell properly?
Is there anything broken around you?: My sanity. Can that be broken? Let's just say yes.
What's your favorite brand of pencil?: The kind that writes.
Eraser?: Non-yucky-smelling kinds.
Do you like Dunkaroos?: I'd tell you if I knew what they were!
Do you enjoy cleaning your belly button?: I really liked it when I was preggo cause I could flip it inside out and explore the contents.
Type ex-boyfriends mother's name with your chin. NOW.: Vrjd
Have you ever yawned and not been able to hear momentarily?: Yes. I feel like I'm at the ocean, serenely at peace.
Have you ever used the word 'duper' without super in front of it?: No. I'm not a geek.
Why do people named Thomas go by the nickname Tom. Why not Thom?: I knew a Thom.
Have you ever used a type writer, and not messed up typing?: It's 2008. Who has a typewriter?
Does your dad watch the History Channel everynight?: I'm thinking no.
Mine does.
Talk Sex With Sue- Good or bad?: Eh?
Do you fear shutting your head in the car door?: Already done it, bitches.
Do you ever find yourself sitting around making funny faces for no reason?: Only when I'm playing with my nose ring.
Does anyone ever catch you?: Just my kid.
Have you played "A Sailor Went to Sea Sea Sea" Lately?: Oh my God, like 3 minutes ago.
Did you know the ABC's and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star have the same tune?: So does Baa Baa Black Sheep. Get with the program, people.
If I told you I had a Pokemon mousepad, what would you say?: Nice knowin' ya. Have a nice life.
Gee, thanks, I have a Pokemon mousepad, you jerk!
Have you ever made a project out of wood?: Heh...you said wood.
Have you ever ridden on a donkey?: Yeah.
Do you purposely NOT use good punctuation/grammar?: NO.
Have you ever dislike someone you adn't met in person?: oh yeah.
Have you ever swan dived off of your roof into oncoming traffic?: More like a belly flop.
Go look in the nearest closet. What's the 3rd clothing article on the left?: A shirt I can't fit into anymore unless I want my belly flab hanging out the bottom.
When you were a kid, did you believe chocolate milk came from brown cows?: No.
Do you still believe it?: Yes.
Have you ever found a dead animal under your house?: Nope, but in my attic I have.
Have you ever tried to fly past the age of 8?: I flew last weekend. It's called a plane.
Do you watch Disney Channel shows, and then lie about it?: No
Has your house ever been infested with some kind of insect?: Ladybugs. Not so fun.
Have you ever passed 3 dead squirrles in a row on the road?: Bleh.
Can you laugh like Woody Woodpecker?: I hate that damn bird.
Do you walk in step with people around you?: No, they try to imitate ME

Fill out this survey yourself
Find a different survey
Brought to you by Bzoink

The Facts.

Fact: Tate was a gigantic baby. Gargantuan. I knew it at the time since I was lugging his big ass around all the time, but I guess I kind of blocked it out of my memory. But Nora had her 4 month checkup today so I wanted to go back and compare the two kids at the same age. So, both kids' four month stats:

Nora's length: 25 1/2'' (83%tile)
Tate's length: 27 3/4'' (87%tile)

Nora's head circumference: 41.8 cm (65%tile)
Tate's big melon: 45.2 cm (92%tile)

Nora's weight: 13#14oz (45%tile)
Tate's heft: 21# (96%tile)

Apparently someone up there decided that I deserved a kid that didn't freaking give me an asthma attack after schlepping them around for 5 minutes. I mean, that kid was LARGE. Nora seems like a little peanut. She has seemed to inherit her brother's total hatred of and aversion to sleeping, though. Guess I'm screwed there.

The Red Bullseye Shall be the Death of Me

I went to Target today with both kids. Third time in three days. Don't you love how you get home from a big shopping trip and realize you forgot what you went there for? I did that. Twice.

Anyway, basically our shopping trips play out as thus. We park, get out of the car and walk about 10 feet. Then Tate decides that he must be carried because apparently his feet are about to fall off or something. So then I trek into the store with a infant carrier in one hand and a gigantic toddler in the other. I usually make it all the way inside before collapsing from exhaustion. Then I put the kids in one of those cart....thingies. The one that have the little 2-seat plastic thing before the cart? Tate sits there and Nora sits in her carseat in the seat of the cart. Then I push the damn thing and realize it's like trying to steer a semi. It's like 20 feet long. Tate is usually pretty good about sitting still for a whole 3 minutes. Nora is about 8 feet away from me so I just keep calling to her so she doesn't think she's entered some type of gigantic red hell.

I decided I needed some new bras. Tate decided that bras are the coolest toy ever. He snatched them out of my hand before I had a chance to put them in the cart, and asked "Asshat (what's that), Mama?". "Bras, my child." "Bras! BRAS BRAS BRAS!" "....gack..." "Bra hat? Bra hat?" Yes, Tate decided that a bra would make a perfect kicky little cap. Then? Then he decided that bras are really made to be thrown. Into someone else's cart. An old man's cart.

Excuse me while I continue my quiet slow death of embarrassment.

But I continue on. What other choice do I have, curling up in the fetal position in the sporting goods aisle? As I'm going through the shampoo aisle, I'm perusing the 400 different kinds of Garnier Fructis, Pantene, and Herbal Essences, I hear a noise. Clunk. Clunk clunk clunk. Oh, lookie. Bottles of shampoo are being chucked on the floor. Who's sticky little paw could that be reaching out of the cart seat thingie and gleefully hurtling innocent plastic bottles to their death? Every bottle that gets picked up, 5 more get hurled down. Ok. Time to go.

Checkout is always fun too. Today Tate took some spit out of his mouth and smeared it on the conveyer belt. What the hell do I do in that situation?? Pick the spit up and put it back in his mouth? Then he pointed at the cashier and said "ASSHAT?". She did not look amused. What, you don't like being called asshat?

I know more unbearingly embarrassing things happened, but I truely believe I've blocked them from my memory.

On a completely unrelated note: I'm worried about Tate's cheek. There's a rashy-type thing on part of it. I wonder if it's because of the sunscreen I put on him everyday in Bermuda. It seems to be getting worse and tonight after I put him to bed he started saying "Wash the face? Wash the face?" It took me awhile to figure out what he was asking, and then I was blown away. Normally when we come at his face with a washcloth he acts like we're trying to rub thorns dipped in hot oil all over his face. But I took a wet wipe to his cheek and he immediately calmed down. As soon as I stopped and started to walk away, though..."MAMA! Wash the face! Wash the face!". I think I used 10 wet wipes on him. So I wonder if it's itchy or burny or what. Any thoughts on what it could be?

It's strange to see my kid with a clean face. Usually he has remnants of popsicle, raisins, peas, dog food, what-have-you smeared all over it.

Tired...

We got back from Bermuda last night. By the time I went to bed, I had been awake for like 19 hours. I was wiped. I'm still wiped. Therefore, I will not be regaling all my faithful readers with stories of our antics in Bermuda til tomorrow or later. I feel like this:


But seriously...what is up with that kid's hair??

Oh, Honey, by the Way....

So I was chillin' with Eric today by the pool at my parents house down here in B-town (That's Bermuda to you folks) and suddenly realized something. I looked at him and said, "Oh, honey...by the way...happy anniversary." He looked at me and said "Right back at ya." Then he jumped up to stop Tate from drinking pool water out of an old cup sitting on the ground. Ah, love.

So I guess that's how it goes once you have kids, huh? Who has time to sit and reminisce about the happiest day of their lives, the day where a shlub of a guy finally gets the beautiful, mysterious, desirable girl? (Well, that's our situation anyway. Don't blame me if it's not yours). 6 years and two kids later I can't imagine my life any other way. I mean, who doesn't want their days filled with screaming kids, poopy diapers and fighting off your desperate husband who just want's a little somethin' somethin' at the end of the day?

Eric and I met when we were 17. I had a party when my parents were out of town and told my friend Dan to bring over a couple friends. I was looking for a prom date and not above getting help. Eric came in and that was it. Honestly. I saw him and knew my life was going to change. Pretty heavy stuff for a 17 year old. So we went to my prom, his prom, and then he left for the Naval Academy. Then I didn't see him again for 3 months. Good times, good times.
Somehow we made it through college long-distance, moved in together in Charleston, SC, and I started nagging him about a ring. I just wanted the ring, man.

So one night, as we were laying in bed watching "Malcolm in the Middle", Eric got up, went into the bathroom, lit a couple Glade candles (for ambiance, don't ya know) and brought out a ring. He did all this during a commerical break. We really liked that show, what can I say. He knelt down by the bed, popped the question, I cried, and that was that. Oh, we were naked at the time. I like to throw that in there just to make the story more interesting.

A year and a half later, here we were:



I know, we're so hot. Anyway, the past 6 years have been crazy, fun, irritating, awesome, annoying, and the best of my life. Love ya, honey.

I Don't Wanna Wear a Swimsuit

So the fam and I are departing for Bermuda tomorrow. We go about once a year or so and stay at my parents' place. It should be fun since my whole family will be there. Well, it'll be fun for the first few days. Then everyone will start getting on everyone's nerves, cause that's how my family works. I'm sure I'll have some fun stories.

But wearing a swimsuit will not be one of them. I am not looking forward to squeezing my gigantic butt, thunder thighs and stomach flab o' doom into a small piece of spandex. I am hoping to avoid doing that as much as possible. Should be really easy with a pool in the backyard and a beautful beach down the road, right? Why lay out in the sun and frolic in the sand and waves when I can cower in the house refusing to show any skin? Blah. I'm afraid that small children will see me thundering towards them on the beach and run away screaming for their mommies to protect them from the gigantic whale in a two-piece suit from Target.

Maybe I just won't eat this week. Then maybe I won't be able to gather all my stomach fat in two hands and shake shake shake it. Maybe I won't be afraid that the insides of my thighs rubbing together will start a fire with all the friction. Maybe I won't be able to lift up one butt cheek, drop it and feel it wobble for the next 5 minutes. Oh well. At least I have skinny fingers. Gotta take what I can get.

Anyway, must go pack. I'll rant about the time, energy and sheer genius it takes to pack for myself and two children another time. Who am I kidding...I pack for Eric too. I have to make sure he looks presentable.

The Kidlets

Ok, so I've heard from a few people that I don't post enough pictures of my kids on here. Here ya go. No more complaining.

I Got Pierced and Sang in Front of the Men's Bathroom

So I just got back from a girls weekend in Chi-town with my friends Jodi and Tricia. It. Was. So. FUN. What a great time, and what a nice break.
We got there around 5 on Friday. Let me give you a tip. Do not exit off the freeway when you're still about 15 miles from your destination because you think the freeway is too crowded. We traveled about 5 blocks in about 20 minutes because the stoplights are all evil and are green for about 10 seconds. The lady in my GPS kept trying to get us off the road and back on the highway. I swear each time we ignored her directions she kept getting more and more pissed each time she snapped "Recalculating!". I almost expected a hand to come out of the box and slap me in the face til we listened to her. We finally bowed down to the all-knowing GPS lady and slunk back onto the freeway. Then we only had to drive around the block of my parents' condo about 3 times before getting a parking spot! Whoot!

After settling in, we got dolled up and headed out. Dinner first, then followed by a dueling piano bar. The definite highlight of the bar was the 200-year-old man wearing a kickass sailer's cap coming up to Jodi and dragging her out of her chair to dance with him. We called him Hugh Hefner. He was a total stud.

Then came the moment when I realized I was ready to do it. Time to pierce the nose! We trotted out of the bar and into a cab where I told the cabbie to go to "Uh, I think it's the Chicago Tattoo Company? On Belmont? I think?" After he pulled up to a boarded up building I figured it was time to call 411. They pointed us in the right direction and we finally found the place. Alas, it was closed. It was only 1:30 am! Wouldn't you think that would be their prime business time??
So Tricia said "Mr Cab Driver, can you take us to another tattoo/piercing place?". He drove us through some scary ass streets and I was having visions of getting taken to someone's house and getting pierced with a dirty needle in someone's basement by a man named Spike when he pulled up in front of a place that was actually nice, clean, well-lit, etc. We felt even better when we saw the cops inside flipping through the tattoo pictures. Sweet.
I sat down and made friends with the big bald dude with long goatee and multiple piercings (including genital, he felt obligated to tell us for some reason. Don't worry, we didn't have to see them) who would be piercing me. His name was Hank and he was awesome. Sweetest guy ever, and I'm telling you the piercing did not hurt at ALL. No pinch, no sting, no burn, nothing. I was afraid I was going to break Jodi's hand from squeezing it so hard, but there was no reason to!

The next night...oh boy. We headed to a little dive bar that had karaoke. It was actually pretty humorous, the number of guys who slinked over to our tables to try and pick us up, who then saw our wedding rings and found out we had kids, and promptly slinked away. We did get shots out of one, and drinks out of another, though. Yeah, we still got it, bitches.
We went up onstage (well, not so much a stage as a patch of floor in front of the men's bathroom) and regaled everyone with our rendition of "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw?". Don't every tell me we're not classy. A couple hours later, we got to go back up and sing again. We totally flopped. I couldn't believe it! We sang the hell out of "Kiss Me Deadly" and it's like we were singing to a room of dead people. Well, except the guy who, when we sang (or shouted drunkenly, more accurately) "kiss me once!" replied "NO THANKS!". Ouch.
Between that and the guys shoving us to the side to go take a whizz, and Tricia's drunken shouting of "COME ON!" at the wrong times of the song, and the fact that NOT ONE PERSON clapped when we were done, we decided it was time to move on and stumble home.

I had a great time this weekend, and I'm sure there were a million more funny moments that I can't remember...alcohol tends to fog your brain. I love my friends. I wish Sue had been able to come, but I understood why she couldn't and I love her anyways too.

But one of the best moments of the weekend? Coming home and seeing my babies and watching Tate's face light up as I came through the door. And seeing Nora stuff her whole hand in her mouth (yeah, she got that from me) with glee. Oh, and the fact that Tate has now decided that he only wants Daddy to put him to bed and go up to his room and put him back in bed for the 38546 times he got out of bed. Hee hee.

I am so Badass

I don't have time to write much at this moment, but let me just say.

I got my nose pierced. And I love it.

More details to follow later.

Splish Splash

Ever wonder why my kids are almost always grimy and sticky? It's because I hate bath time. Hate it. Let me break it down.
Since Eric's still working the bitch shift, bath time falls on my shoulders if I want my kids to ever be anything resembling fragrant and, well, clean. Tate had two popsicles tonight, which means that the majority of said popsicles ended up on his face and hands. And hair, ears, knees, feet, and stomach. I had to suck it up and give the kid a bath. So I stuck Nora in her bouncy seat on the bathroom floor and threw Tate in the tub. Now, for some reason unbeknownst to me, he refuses to sit in the tub. Will not do it. Also, when we have to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, he screams bloody murder. I keep expecting the cops to show up at my door wondering who I'm torturing and slowly killing.
So Tate's wailing and hollering, which of course is amplified times 30 in our bathroom, which makes Nora start in too. I finally dump a few buckets of water over him and haul him out of the tub. Torture over. Then comes trying to dry him off and get his jammers on. Have you ever tried to grab a wet, naked two year old as he scampers by? It's like trying to get a hold of a greased pig. But I finally wrestled him to the floor and into a diaper. Good enough for now.
Nora's turn...and of course as I'm filling up the baby tub and transferring it from the tub to counter I spill a ton of water on the floor, which Tate proceeds to run onto and go flying. More screaming. So now I have a naked crying baby, a half-naked crying toddler, and a fully-dressed me who just wants to cry.

And it's official...

...I'm old. No longer in my 20s. I'm kinda not feeling so excited about this. Where did my 20s go? What did I accomplish? Yeah, yeah, I got married, had two kids...but what BIG things did I accomplish?
No, I kid. My kids are the best work I've ever done. Eric's got his good moments, too. I've trained that boy well. It's an ongoing process, however.
So we had some friends over last night. Let me compare my 30th birthday to my 21st. When I turned 21, I had about a billion shots of various types of alcohol, got completely shitfaced, and made Eric walk me around my street for about 2 hours because I was convinced I would die if I sat down. But he couldn't touch me, because his hand was "too hot" and would sear my flesh off. I explained all of this to him through tears and snot as I blubbered on and on for no reason. Then he took my contacts out, brushed my teeth and tucked me into bed. I woke up a few hours later on the couch with no idea how I got there. My mom set out breakfast for me the next morning...cereal and a jumbo sized bottle of aspirin.
Last night, we got a keg, about 16 people came over, we sat on the deck and chatted and laughed, sat around the firepit for a bit, and people started drifting back home around 10. Gotta pay the babysitter, ya know. Gotta get up with the kids the next day. I crashed around 11. Woohoo, am I a night owl party animal. The thing is, I enjoyed last night more than my 21st. Maybe it's the fact I can actually remember what happened and I didn't spend an hour at the toilet shouting soup into it. God, I am old.
Oh well. Next weekend I'm going to Chicago with some girlfriends. Hopefully I can redeem myself then. We're all planning on consuming copious amounts of alcohol and staying up late. So in our case, that means about 1 am or so. Rock on.

Just 'cause I wanna

Tell me this girl ain't cute

I notice that you're feeling frustrated

We went to go see a parenting coach give a speech last night on how to keep your kids from turning into homicidal maniacs. I found much of it interesting, but some of it...I don't know. Like, when my two-year old throws a fit over having to come inside and put pants on, I'm supposed to say "I understand that you prefer to hang free than contain yourself in a plastic diaper, and I know you're frustrated, but inside. Now." My kid doesn't care if I understand and empathize. He just wants to sun his booty outside and water the grass his own way. So I don't know. I'll try it. It's all about "internalizing" and "tagging". I think I'll take a lot of what she suggested and try and implement it, but not all of it. Like I liked how she suggested that when Tate belts another kid, to go fawn over the victim and ignore Tate so he doesn't get the attention he wanted. Although that'll work a lot better on kids that I know...I don't know if some random mama will want me picking up their kid and cooing over them.
So Nora keeps losing her hair. It's getting ridiculous. She's got the mohawk, then sideburns and a rat tail in back. She's got a bald ring around the back of her head. I'm either gonna have to shave her head or take her in to get extensions. Plus, sometimes she kinda looks like a boy. Her hair naturally does this comb-over style on top so it looks like she's channeling Donald Trump. So I usually put her in dresses, but then I think she kinda looks like a boy in a dress. She's still the cutest damn baby ever, though. I can't get enough of her. She's started laughing and it's the best noise. Plus she can roll over now and she always looks so stinkin' proud of herself after she's done it. Oh, and she can stick her toes in her mouth, which is always a good talent to have for later in life. I can fit my whole fist in my mouth. Take from that what you will.
So tomorrow I turn 30, and we're having friends over for a drinking session. I'm excited! We love entertaining friends at our place and it should be a good time. The next day, however, will probably not be so enjoyable. Eh, it's the price you pay. I gotta spit in the face of turning 30 somehow.
Next step, minivan.

Asshat?

The silence has broken. Tate is home and we're back to insanity. No more just sitting on the floor watching Nora coo and giggle and be so proud of herself for rolling over. The tornado has returned.
I drove to Wausau to meet my aunt Trisha and pick up Tate. The babysitter came to watch Nora, and I swear that as soon as that little baby saw the sitter, her little lip stuck right out and started quivering. Now, Tate had stranger anxiety early, but not at freakin' 3 1/2 months. I'm hoping she was just PMSing or something.
Anyway, Tate was asleep when they got there, and was NOT happy about being roused awake, especially since it was me doing the rousing. He opened his eyes, looked at me, panicked, and cried "Tisha? Tisha!!". Gee, thanks, kid. I'm glad to see you too. After a bit, he grudgingly let me hold him and kiss his little cheeks.
The ride home wasn't too bad, except Tate likes to point out the window at some vague spot in the distance and ask "What's that?" Only it toddler-ese, "what's that" sounds a lot like "asshat". So after about 20 minutes of playing "Asshat?", this is the gist of our conversation:

Tate: "Asshat?"
Me: "Uh, a tree"
Tate: "Tree. Asshat?"
Me: "A...porcupine?"
Tate "Cupine. Asshat?"
Me: "I don't know! I can't see what you're pointing at!"
Tate: "ASSHAT???? ASSHAT??"
Me: "RODNEY DANGERFIELD RUNNING NAKED IN A FIELD OF CLOVER!"
Tate: "...."

Wow. The kid was rendered speechless. But thanks to the big bag of Combos I gave him, he was a happy camper for the rest of the trip. He even shared with Mommy. Of course, he had to put the Combo in his mouth and suck the salt off before handing it over. Nice.
We got home and Tate decided instead of coming in to see Daddy and Baby he'd rather go watch the neighbor mow his lawn. I mean, it is pretty intriguing, but you'd think after not seeing dad for 5 days, he'd be all over that. Not so much.
He finally agreed to come inside and made a beeline for Nora and hugged and kissed her. I just about melted. Then he pinched her leg.
And life returns to normal.

My Three-Hour Drive With the Kids (Or: How to Drive Yourself Slowly Insane While Trapped in a Speeding Vehicle With Two Screaming Maniacs)

I took the kidlets to my aunt and uncle's cabin this weekend. Eric was golfing in Door County with his friend for the weekend (my birthday gift to him; yes I know I'm the best wife ever) so I was looking for a way to pass the weekend without ripping my hair out.
My aunt invited us to her cabin, and my mom said she would join us there too to help out. Great, right? Laying around on the dock, having Grandma and Great-Aunt Trisha chase after Tate and feed Nora...couldn't wait. Only problem was, I had to get there first.
I picked Tate up after daycare, figuring after 4 hours of running around he'd be nice and tired and sleep for at least part of the 3 and 1/2 hour drive. Oh, how wrong I was. How very, very wrong.

Things were good for about the first half hour. Then Tate decided to pass the time by singing "The Wheels on the Bus". Cute, right? After the 2000th verse, not so much. And who knew? The babies on the bus go "up and down." And the wipers on the bus go "AHHHHHHHHHHH". In case you couldn't figure that out, that's a high pitched scream at the volume of a train engine. Which somehow woke Nora up. I mean, it made me almost drive off the road and scream "WHAT THE FUCK?" so I guess it makes sense that the baby sitting a foot away from the ear-piercing shriek wakes up as well.

So now Nora's screaming. Tate's still singing. I'm starting to hyperventiate. We've been in the car for 45 minutes. I start chucking Cheezits, Fruit Snacks, pretzels, margaritas, Valium, etc, in the general direction of Tate in the backseat in a futile attempt to stop the madness. All I accomplished was getting him to swith from "The wipers on the bus go AHHHHHHHHHHH!" to "Old MacDonald had a AHHHH! E-I-E-I-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!". Much better.

I finally pull over to feed the baby, since I realize that maybe the poor thing is hungry. I let Tate out of his carseat to crawl around on the front seat while I feed Nora, and he's in heaven, pushing buttons, flipping the visor, etc. His glee is short-lived though. He soon realized that if you pull on the door handle while leaning against the door, you fall out of the car. Is it bad that I laughed? Nora thought it was humorous too. She couldn't stop smiling, which is great, except she decided she'd rather smile than eat. So we were in the parking lot for about 30 minutes waiting for the kid to fill her gut.

We're cruising and all is going well when Tate starts saying "Water? Water?" Smart Mommy forgot to fill a sippy cup with water and I'm starting to realize with a sinking heart that there will be no peace on Earth till Tate gets his water. He seems to think that the louder he asks, the quicker the water will materialize before him, so it's not long before he's yelling "WATER WATER WATER". Over and over and freaking over again. Have I mentioned that he hasn't slept a wink yet? Nora keeps trying to but there's a screaming banshee about 3 inches away from her so that's not going so hot.

I finally pull over, find a gas station, run in, buy a bottle of water, and come back out, only to realize I've locked the keys inside my car. Oh, the kids are in there too. I honestly don't think I've ever felt panic quite like this before. I start banging on Tate's window, saying "Unlock the door, honey! Mama's got water! Unlock the door!" I'm knowing full well as I'm doing this that there is no way in hell the kid's gonna actually unlock the door. Until he does. Huh...whaddya know. The kid's a genius. An evil genius, yes, but genius nonetheless.

So Tate gets his water and sucks it down, and I feel guilty for making my two year old almost die of thirst. I mean, that's not so nice. So we go tooling down the highway again when I start to sniff the air. Oh, you know where this is going. Poop. Baby poop. So I freaking pull over AGAIN and open the door to haul Nora out to change her when I realize that the poo is all down her legs, all over her carseat, the ceiling, etc. Projectile poop at its finest. Four million wipes later, she is clean, stripped, and wedged back into her carseat. I'm settling back into the front seat when I hear "Mama? Poop! Change diaper!". Well, at least the kid didn't wait till I actually started driving again. I get out and do damage control on kid #2.

Tra la la. We're driving, and the end is in sight. We're off the highway and driving down all the little county roads when Nora decides that the sun shining directly in her eyes is simply not acceptable and starts screaming bloody murder at said sun, who decides to ignore her and continue shining in her face. Yes, we have a sunshade for the window. No, it wasn't in this particular car at the time. Tate starts saying "Baby! You're FINE! Stop, Baby! Noraaaa...you're FINE". Nora didn't agree. Scream scream scream.

I pull into the driveway of the cabin, bruised, battered and quivering, ready for a drink, a smoke and to be knocked unconscious for awhile, when I look in the backseat. Tate is sleeping. He literally fell asleep the moment we pulled into the driveway. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I just turned off my brain, collected the baby and went in to greet my relatives. Tate spent the rest of the weekend refusing to let me near him, since I wasn't Gigi (my mom) or "Tisha" (my aunt Trisha).

Is it any wonder that when my aunt offered to bring Tate home with her to Eau Claire for a few days, I threw Tate's clothes at her, said "Ithinkwe'realmostoutofwipesbuthehasplentyofdiapershelikescerealfruitandcheese", grabbed the baby, and ran out the door? I'll pick him up on Wednesday.

The really strange thing is I miss that little demon. A lot. I wonder if he misses me too.

The Devil Wears Osh Kosh B'Gosh

My dear husband has been working the bitch shift at work for the last three weeks. By bitch, I mean 3 pm-11pm. So he rolls out of bed around 11 am, chills with us for a bit, hops in the shower around 1 and leaves the house around 2 (he's got quite a drive). I feel like a single mother, and it ain't pretty. By about 5 pm I'm curled up in the fetal position in the corner babbling and staring at shiny pretty objects.

Tate is so freaking TWO. His new thing is grabbing spit out of his mouth and wiping on me. Or my neighbor. Or the UPS dude. Anyone, really. I try to teach my son to treat all people equally and it comes back to bite me in the ass. Just call him Lucifer, Jr. Oh, or Velcro Boy. That's another fun thing. Ever try to walk up the stairs with a basket of laundry in one arm, a 3-month-old in the other, and a 600 lb toddler hanging off your butt screaming "Up! Carryu!" Carryu means "Carry you", which in this case means "Carry me". Yeah, he gets a little confused.

Nora has started rolling over. I think she sees it as a way to escape her brother's clutches. The poor kid will be sprinting by the time she's 5 months. And will someone please tell her to stop losing all her hair?

Thank God for So You Think You Can Dance. Nothing like vegging on the couch, stuffing my face with a bowlful of popcorn, watching girls the size of a strand of my hair cavort around on stage in costumes the size of a piece of Kleenex. Next up is Project Runway, baby! Thank God for DVR. Am I a bad mom for rushing through my 395478th reading of "Slow Down, Thomas" to Tate so I could start watching SYTYCD sooner? I mean, the kid pretty much has it memorized anyway.

Where's my beer?

Oh, my aching....

Lookie! Another entry! I told you guys! Well, all one of you that read this thing.

So last night I had my good friend Jodi escape the clutches of her two small children and come over to hang. We ordered wings, sat out on the back deck, discussed life...and killed two bottles of wine. Dead. And yes, we knew as we were doing it that it would be sorely regretted the next day, but just didn't care. I also exposed her to the famous firepit gathering in my neighborhood, so it was fun watching her watching my insane neighbors. The I went home and staggered merrily into bed to fall into a deep, restful sleep.
Until 5 o'clock this morning. That's the time my dear, sweet daughter decided to start squawking and yelling for me to come pour some formula down her throat. I obliged, like any good mother would, and as I stared into her bright, happy, awake eyes through my bleary, crusty, hungover ones, I realized this kid was going to be up for awhile. And she was. Till about 7, when she finally decided to cut poor hungover Mom a break and take a little snooze. I put her down in her crib and sprinted to bed where I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. Now I'm feeling a little blah, but nothing I can't handle. Come on, I'm a pro. I think putting away a nice Mexican lunch with my friend Gina will help too. Mmmm....grease. My favorite food group.
I'm never drinking again. Well, not until next weekend anyway.

Seriously, now.

Ok, I'm getting back into this. Mylast three posts have been somewhat...sporadic, yes? But I have all these experiences and stories that I keep thinking I should write down somewhere. Mostly because having two children seems to have robbed my brain of any memory-keeping ability whatsoever. What's my phone number again?
I've got two rugrats now. TWO. Tate is two, and I'm seriously pondering whether the Devil came and impregnated me one night, because this child seems to have devil horns hiding under his hair somewhere. He gets an unbelievable kick out of, well, kicking. Among other things, namely hitting, pushing, biting, scratching...all that good stuff. Kids see him coming and run the other way. Seriously. Not cool. But the little brat amazes me everyday with his smarts. He knows all his letters, can count to 20, knows colors, shapes, foods...oh, and then there's his complete and utter joy in shouting out "FUCK!" and "DAMMIT" everytime he drops something. He gave the blue hairs in Festival an earful the other day, I tell ya.
Nora is 3 months, and what an angel. She kind of looks like an Oompa-Loompa, though. She's got like these little wings of hair that curl out over her ears, then a curl on the top of her head. And since she's insisting on shedding all her other hair, it's a interesting new look. She's a trend-setter, what can I say. But that smile of hers warms my heart. Too bad Tate doesn't feel the same way.
This is all I have time to share today...don't worry, I'll be back sooner than two years from now. I'm currently being summoned upstairs to wipe up poo. Ah, the excitement.

Here I go again

So, I kinda forgot I have a blog account on here. My last entry was awhile ago...I was 26. Now I'm 29. WHAT THE HELL, DUDE? Where did the last 3 years go?
Not much has gone on...you know, just had a kid, T, and got knocked up with another one due next April. Same ole, same ole, really.

Tra la la

Ok, so went to a wedding in Bermuda this past weekend. I've been there a few times before and love it so much. I was in the wedding party and we all know wedding party=mucho drinking. So I had some over the course of the weekend....not too worried about it since I can't be more than 7 days preggo. Although watch, our baby will come out all soused up and slurring their words and I'll just be like, "sheeeeeeeet" But don't jump down my throat, I'm not going to be making a habit out of it.
I keep getting a feeling that I am knocked up but then I just think it's my crazy self telling myself I'm getting a feeling. Know what I mean? Like I'm really tired and my pee is kind of weird (TMI, I know. But I've heard from a few people that's a symptom. ARen't you glad you know??)
AND....another fun fact. My hubby right now only weighs about 15 lbs more than me. NO, I'm not fat, he's just one of those assholes that eat and eat and eat and never gain an ounce. Ok, the fact that he runs 35 miles a week helps. But I know for a fact that he is just built slender. I'm no cow, but hooo boy, once I start gaining, it won't take long for me to be able to sit on him and make him completely pass out. That'll be just peachy.
So, yeah. My dogs are driving me nuts. One wants out, the other wants in. They both have this annoying habit of flinging their bodies against the back door while whining and expect me to come running. If I don't, they come and fling their bodies against me while whining. Annoying? Oh yes. But at least they don't shit in the house. Not that I would care that much, since we rent. THe house is already a mess. I HATE CLEANING.
I will pay anyone out there 2 million dollars to clean my house for me everyday. Takers? Anyone?? Ok, then.
Gotta fly.