Where I come from, you don't get pedicures. Okay, well some might, but it is a rural part of the country really. One that cherishes the "simple" things like flannel as a fashion statement, over 7 months of winter, and no need to get your toe nails painted fancy.

Sure, growing up all girly and that we painted our toe nails--but getting them rubbed down, lotioned, callus removed by a stranger? Wasn't even an option at the boutiques or salons. And so, having grown up with that mentality, I didn't see the need either. Until of course I realized my feet looked awful compared to all the other women sporting flip flops around the office.

Though, that fact alone still didn't get me in for a pedicure. I had ticklish feet (still do). My husband would touch my heel and I'd yank my foot away aghast that he'd do that to me when I was so comfortable on the couch (if you have ticklish feet like I do, you know what I mean). But another two summer seasons passed, then the birth of The Kiddo, and then a gift certificate landed in my mail box. For a pedicure. At a top-notch Oh-My-God-They-Spent-A-Lot-Of-Money-For-This salon. And I was forced to face my fear.

Along with the girlfriend who bought the present, I went it ready to control a wiggling foot for some stranger who was going to make her money today. I mean, 28 years of calluses and wear at tear on one's toes? This pedicurist was in for quite the work out! Not to mention the ticklishness.

But what I walked into, was luxury. Warm gushing water through my toes. Lotion. A hot wax treatment that at first made me want to cringe, but then I loved... and then of course the callus rubbing. And clipping. Trimming. More lotion. More rubbing. Massage. More hot wax. And in the end, I had sparkly and perfectly pink toe nails.

I was hooked.

It became a ritual for Girlfriend and I... every three months (it was all I could afford--even at a cheaper salon). And it became my day out with the girls. We ate lunch. We got our toes done. We watched a movie. We shopped. And I would stare down at my lovely toes.

Wish I could say this routine went on for years (about 3). But here we are.... I whined I needed a pedicure before being pregnant. Then when I was pregnant with my daughter. Then after she was born. Now she's 10 months--and FINALLY I got my ass back in that chair for a well-deserved pedicure (if I say so myself).

Again, I felt bad for the pedicurist. I know she was cringing at the new calluses. The new wear on my feet. My rough heels. And the fact that it had been ages since I trimmed up my cuticles. But you know what? I didn't give a damn. Book open in my lap, glass of water to my left. Relaxing music. It was heavenly. Even though the young woman went a little bit too far with the sanding of my heels. I'm dealing. My feet feel like my feet again. Soft and smooth.

Labels: life, me

10:02 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

Arguments suck. I don't care who they are with--friends, husbands, sisters, brothers (well if I had one), parents, uncles, aunts--doesn't matter. If you are fighting, life is miserable. I'm one who yells a bit then pulls back and sulks. Or at least it appears that way.

What I am really doing is dissecting the entire damn argument and figuring out the best comebacks I should have argued back with. The ones that really twist it in there and make my point. Like say the laundry "discussion" that happens about once every 3 months here. It starts with a simple statement like, "Why aren't there any darks done?" Or substitute darks with whites, colors, blue jeans, towels, doesn't matter... you get the idea.

You'd think a fire was lit under my ass when I respond. It can be any number of statements--some more clever than others. I like, "You've got hands, throw a few clothes in yourself." There's also the old stand by, "Who do I look like, your personal maid?" Or I might thrown in, "What? I'm not busting my ass in and out of an office all day AND bringing kids to and fro?" But you see where this is going don't you?

Hostility. Grumping. Someone storming off. And depending on who needs the clothes the most--or which child needs tending to; one of us ends up tossing laundry in the washer. Albeit, begrudgingly.

It's a sore spot in our house. And hell, if I could afford to send it off every week (or the two or three times a week), I would, because quite frankly I suck at it. And with two kids in the house, it is all I can do to keep them clothed in something presentable, forget about me (just last week, I wiped cookie slobber off a sleeve of a black shirt so I could wear it to the office).

Anyway, my point is this, why does this have to be a struggle? Just like the dishes/dishwasher thing? And the grocery shopping. Or picking up the never-ending toys. Or the kids clothing? Or say changing the sheets? I hate that my weekends (particularly Saturday mornings), I spent doing all the cleaning I didn't do during the week--whether that excuse is going into the office more or just plain laziness. It's the only way we can make it. Unless of course there was more help in the house. But, hey I can't really point fingers. Because in the end, we share the children and we share a household.

Labels: life, me

11:42 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

I've been feeling a bit closed in lately. Like my days are pre-destined for a lot of work and child care and not enough time to reflect, be me, and catch up on the 800 projects that feel like they are lying around the house. It might be the oncoming summer weather, more time in the office, or my yearly Clear-My-Head Session.

This "session" isn't something planned. Or something I set aside time to do. It just happens. I find I'm overwhelmed with an urge to create, but can't really figure out what. Even if I take a guess at the what, I find myself contemplating how to start. And in the end, I don't do a whole lot of anything.

Resisting this Clearing is really useless. It comes every year, coincidentally, about this same time. Right before summer. It has just taken me years to actually accept it instead of plowing through into some new project (or old one). Last year I just spent the summer enjoying the slowly dwindling days of being a mom to one. My daughter showed up at the end of August and let me slide a few more months. And suddenly come December I was over flowing with new energy and ideas (even though I was more than exhausted with a newborn around).

And now, I think I'm at that time again. I let go of projects that aren't routine. I let work slide a bit instead of living the life of an over-achiever. And in the end, I spend quality time with myself, my family, and sorta experience life in order to "fill the well."

Sure, I'll still be blogging here. And reading. And writing. But no pressure. No substance. And hell, you might even get some delayed postings around here. But, it's all part of my process. My brain re-wiring itself for more creativity. Or at least I tell myself that so that I don't think of it as "lazy." Because that will only lead to some heavy duty ice cream gouging. And I don't need the extra 25 pounds.

Labels: life, me, writing

1:22 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

Motherhood brings routine. And routine often gets boring. And by boring I mean mind-numbing routines that make you want to stick a needle in your eye. Add in the chaos of a work schedule that never stays consistent, which blows what little portions of your day were almost not routine, into something called chaos--and guess what? You have a tiny picture of what my life is like. Think I am exaggerating?

Check out today's "routine." And keep in mind, this is repeated at least 4 days a week. And typically the 5 business days and an occasionally Saturday gets thrown in the mess.

6:00amish - kick/nudge/shove my husband to wake up and turn off his alarm. And nurse a baby. Sometimes all at once since, yes, the baby sleeps in our bed. Sue me, I need to sleep sometime.

6:15am - repeat above.

6:30am - repeat, but make sure the husband gets up (well, on days that I am awake enough to do so). He gets up, make sure alarm is off, and attempt to disconnect my kid from my boob. It's likely a summer day camp day and we have to get out of the house (as in myself and both kids in an hour. Husband must leave in a half hour).

7am - if not done nursing and out of bed yet, do it now. Even if I wake the baby and have to forgo a shower (again). 30 minutes and counting before leaving the house.

7:05am - attempt to wake The Kiddo. Easier said than done.

7:10am - find my clothes. Again, easier said than done.

7:15 am - either attempt a shower if the baby is still sleeping, or just get dressed and cake on the deodorant.

7:20am - wake up The Kiddo for real this time. Make sure he's up, hand him the camp T-shirt and have him pick out shorts, underwear, hat... whatever makes him happy and gets him up.

7:25am- dress, make-up, hair (bed head look is still in right); change baby's diaper, dress her, feed the dog, let the dog out, get pump and milk ready for baby, make The Kiddo's lunch...

7:38am - complain we are late and drag the children to the car. With the camp bag, Nintendo DS lite for The Kiddo to play during the drive, my laptop bag, my pump, the milk for The Peanuts Day, the pacifier (for the sitter for the baby), socks for the baby, extra diapers...

7:50amish- arrive at sitter for The Peanut. Hand her off when she is screaming. Apologize for just running off and then jump back into the car and rush off--speeding--towards day camp.

8:10am - swear at traffic. Mumble about construction. Get on expressway and pray the traffic keeps moving.

8:30am - will the clock to stop so we arrive at summer day camp on time. Answer my son's various questions. Hand him the pop tart I miraculously remembered before leaving the house. And join my work conference call (this is sometimes left out, but 50% of the time in the routine).

8:45am - pull into camp. Sigh a breath of relief. Hand my son the sun tan lotion--caution him not to use too much but get it on. Don't want sunburn! Continue to talk/listen to conference call.

8:50am - walk into camp, sign in the kid. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Wave. Smile. Wonder when he got so old. Hopefully hang up on call so can head to the bathroom.

9:15am pull into the office parking lot. Drive around. Wait for space. Park. Walk in. Join new call.

9:30am - 4pm conference calls, emails, working, more calls, even more emails, complaining, some more emails, more calls... oh, whatever. It is work. Somewhere near 2:30pm or so I'll realize I didn't eat lunch or go to the restroom since the morning. I'll attempt to do both. Sometimes successful. Sometimes not.

4:15pm - attempt to leave work. Typically get a call. Another email. Or get asked something in the hall.

4:20pm - Hide in the restroom to pump milk for the baby. Sigh relief... and again when I have enough milk for tomorrow.

4:35pm - make it to my car, open windows, start, find acceptable music, drive to camp to pick up The Kiddo.

4:45pm - Pick up Kiddo. Hug. Kiss. Smile. Check him out. Ask about day. Find out about adventures. Get a water/Gatorade/Soda from vending machine. Share with kid. Smile. Laugh. Get back into the car.

4:55pm - 5:30pm Drive back to hometown. Get to sitter's driveway just before 5:30. Walk in to get The Peanut.

5:35pm - Snuggle with The Peanut. Find out how she did during the day. Hug. Kiss. Grin. Leave the sitters and attempt to buckle her into the car seat with as little screaming as possible.

5:45 - 6pm Drive home.

6:05pm - get kids inside, chit chat, let the dog out, open the refridgerator and take inventory for dinner. Give up and close it. Sit the baby in her high chair and spill dinner onto the tray in front of her Puffs and Cheerios. Ask The Kiddo for his dinner preference.

6:19pm - check if husband is on his train on the way home. Continue cooking The Kiddo's food (likely a combination of 2 or so of the following: hot dogs, chicken nuggets, breaded shrimp, hash browns, sausage, french fries, mac and cheese, chips...). Give the baby some mushy food (latest delight is sweet potatoes and carrots).

7:30ishpm - decide on dinner for The husband and I. Attempt to cook it before the baby wants to nurse. Get a bath ready for The Kiddo (if bath night). Start the bed time routines--change into pajamas, reading, shows for the night.

8pm - dinner of some sort on table for when husband walks in. Nurse baby. Get show on for The Kiddo.

8:15pm - The Husband walks in. Causes ruckus with the kids. Eat our dinner. Send the Kiddo off to watch show, then brush teeth, and bathroom before bed.

8:30pm - put baby to bed. The Husband puts son to bed.

9pm - Still trying to get baby to bed.

9:30pm - get my own pajamas on. Clean kitchen from dinner mess. Feed the dog dinner. Talk with husband. If I am lucky watch some television. Read. Maybe even blog.

Sometime between 10:30 and Midnight0-- write. Or try to. Or want to. And then just decide to go to bed.

12:30am, 2:30am, 4:30am Nurse baby. And then of course start all over again.

Labels: family, life, me, motherhood, parenting

9:10 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

Life changes when you have kids. Time is short. Money shorter. Fuses the shortest. And suddenly you find yourself living in the suburbs with a minivan (or for us a Honda Pilot), Cheerios between the seats, and spit up on your shoulder while your in a business meeting with high-level VPs (true story, very much like my Monday).

It's tough to explain the Parenting Profession to those that aren't. Or those that have all-the-time-live-in-nannies. Because quite frankly, when someone is around to help, they aren't bored at my house. When my son was born, I had some weird neurotic tendency to want to do bath, feed, nurture, read, cuddle, scorn, care-for, tease, laugh at, run around with... and quite frankly do it all for my son. All. Of. It. I had a hard time when a sitter arrived just feeling normal leaving the house. Now with my daughter--um, things are different. I run from the door prancing like and idiot that just got out of jail free card.

It's not because I love her or my now 5-year-old son less. Nope. It's because I know if I don't get this down time, I'll turn into a crazed mother destined for some prescribed time away. And, to clarify, when I go into the office, that is NOT time away. That is crazed Work Time that has it's own set of standards and stresses that I'd rather not discuss.

But all of this--the anxiousness, overwhelming love and longing, stress of parenting is not something you can just describe to a soon-to-be parent. Or even a parent to a 6 week old (they haven't been around long enough). But to a mom of say a 6 month old or so.. over martinis? Sure, start yapping. It'll take you at least until bar close to cover the main points.

Which brings me to this little post topic. Thank God I work with mothers. Hell, fathers are okay too, but at the moment, I could cry because of the moms I work with. Sure some are more experienced. Others are less. But man, oh man, when I had one of those days where biscuits are smeared all over my left shoulder, my hair is matted with spit up, less than 3 hours of sleep, and I had a flat time on the way in--and I STILL come into the office? Those are the women I want covering my ass. These women whom I can always count on to answer a text message, email, phone call gripe that has me close to tears-- hears to making this work. Somehow. Some way. And yeah, feel free to call me next time. I'll sing the sob story too.

Labels: life, me, motherhood, parenting, women, working

10:02 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

And don't try to convince me 32-years-old is not old, because, when I waddled my way into a nameless chain restaurant last week with the kidlings in tow to grab us dinner--I was told otherwise. If I could have counted to looks of horror the crowd of younger patrons bestowed upon us as we tripped and skipped and dragged ourselves from the parking lot to the take out counter, I would be the proverbial rich woman. Or I just managed to secure a few dozen forms of birth control for the crowd.

There were looks of complete horror. Like, "She's not going to eat here with them is she?" All the way to the simple, "Oh. My. God." looks of terror. And this all from me just unbuckling and bringing my kids to a counter and then leaving.

Aside from the looks of the younger crowd, there were my thoughts. Which were just as horrifying. I mean, how can I be positive when I turned into the parking lot, and almost right into some barely 16-year-olds making out on a car hood? In plain daylight? At 5:30pm in the afternoon? I wasn't disgusted. Nor hiding the abomination from the kids. I was more.... um, old. Like my mother speaking my thoughts. I wondered why in the world making out on a car hood in front of the masses could in any way be romantic, or the way one would want to show affection. Completely forgetting what teen lust does to ones sense of romance.

It got worse when the girl (and yes, she was 18 at most) took my money in exchange for my brown bag of dinner. She grinned fake-like at my daughter. Then sneered a little at my son when he wandered a bit too close to those seated only a few feet away. And then held the door open for me as we left. Not saying aloud, "Your kind is like not welcome like here."

Sigh. I even felt old. Not sure if it was the motherhood in me. The baggy shirt and Capri pants. Or the fact that I hadn't showered in 4 days that made that moment stick out like a dirty stick in the mud on my self-confidence. Either way, I don't think I will venture out to the younger side of the tracks any time soon. The food wasn't that good. And definitely not the company either.

Labels: life, me, motherhood

1:20 PM | Permalink | 7 comments

I'm always good for a cry. Not one of those sobbing let downs that give you the icky squished face because you are so upset you can't handle yourself. No. I mean, the after-a-good-movie cry. Or the one after you give birth to a child and you just can't utter a word worth a grain a salt. Or say, you're so proud of your baby/sibling/spouse you just can't express it any other way. Those are the cries I am talking about. The good ones.

So, in my effort, to make Father's Day special for the The Husband, I bought him the Gift He Always Wanted. Well, this year. One we planned he's get for his birthday in July--but a few months early. Not so much a surprise I suppose, but a gift he loves nonetheless (and yes, the sacrilege, he's had the gift since Friday night. Hell, what good is a gift if you can't enjoy it ALL weekend long?).

Anyway, with this gift I had intended on writing him a letter. A sappy one. I admit, I wanted to invoke tears of the good variety. But not because I like to see a good man cry. Because, honestly, being caught up in the day to day of our lives, tends to make me forget all the little things that make me love the man. Sure, I say, "I Love You," each morning, and most nights (if I don't fall asleep with The Peanut). And all the times in between.

I wanted to share all the moments over the past year that have made him, My Man. My Husband. The Dude to which I owe a bit of who I am to each and every day. Without him, well... I wouldn't be the same me. Sound sappy enough? It is. Because marriages are like that. Even when you get ticked off for the seventh time in two days because he left his pants at the end of the bed again. I still love him, and can't imagine a day going by without him by my side. Which, brings me again to the letter I have yet to write.

I'm a writer. So, in my feeble mind, I figured this is one of the best gifts I could give him. A letter, written by me, for him, about us. All of us. The children, me, him, life... how I appreciate him and want to be his rock as much as he is for me. Sap, sap, and sap. But with the best laid grand plans--I failed. Friday was to be the day of writing. I had my afternoon blocked off from work to dedicate a little writing time to The Sap Letter. Only work got in the way. Then nap time. Then a couple nebulizer treatments for my son. Tears that we weren't signing up for T-Ball. And then a meltdown from the baby. Sound ridiculous that all can happen in two hours? Then maybe you aren't a parent of two young ones, because it is exactly what happened.

And I was left Friday afternoon at 8pm, when my husband walked in the door from work, with an overly priced purchased card from Target, and a handwritten note on the inside that was about 10 sentences long (give or take a few). It had just as much heart and soul poured into the words (in fact The Kiddo asked why it was taking me so long to write the card), but it wasn't The Letter.

So my plans tomorrow? To get that Letter written. Or drafted. Or at least bulleted out onto some form of a document so when I do find the time, I really can write it the way it was meant to be. And slip it in that secret pocket for my husband to read when he least expects it. And hopefully shed some of those happy tears. Because, to me, then he knows that we all do love him. But especially me. Even when I forget to tell him.

Labels: holiday, life, The Husband, writing

11:14 AM | Permalink | 2 comments

My 9-month-old daughter is banging away on her Leapfrog drum making more noise than my pre-parent ears could handle. But having had two now, I just giggle. The kid's occupied and it's a dream. She's grinning ear to ear with her accomplishment to make noises at will.... and my son joins in singing and banging on his own bongo drums.

In 15 minutes, I'll have had enough of the banging from both of them, but at the moment, it almost seems peaceful from my spot on the couch. So much so, I just grabbed a soda and a book. This "occupied" time might let me read a chapter.

Labels: life, me, parenting

5:07 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

My life is a but consumed right now by a 9-month-old that wants to be held. All. The. Damn. Time. And one that has be shuffling my ass to the day job routinely during the week now. I'm finding it more tiring than I had expected. Which, quite frankly, makes me pissy.

Sure, I thought more in-office days would make me tired. Who wouldn't be? I have to get up an hour earlier to get my face looking somewhat normal and presentable. Then there's my hair. The children fed, clothed, presentable. Not to mention bringing them to school/camps/daycares. Oh and my coffee. And maybe something to eat for me. Hygiene and all that. And the bags.

Diaper bags with pumped milk, diapers, changes of clothes, food. Bags of lunches, camp clothes, swim suits, towels, money, extra socks. And bags with laptops, notebooks, pens, cell phone, more notes from last weeks meetings. And more lunches, and books to share, and presents for the party I missed last week.

All in an extra hour in the morning. Then there are the endless calls to work, for work, to the sitter, from the sitter, a few extra to the day camp about my son's inhaler and a form I forgot. And well... you see where this is going. It is tiring just talking about it. And now, day 3 into this new routine? I'm ready to throw in the towel.

Labels: life, me, motherhood

10:39 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

It's after midnight and I'm showering. Well, just finished a shower actually. In preparation for what? My now New Normal Mondays. The Peanut off to day care by 7:30am and off to bring The Kiddo to Summer Day Camp. He must arrive by 9am. Or lose his spot for the day. Which would leave me unable to go to the office. And out the $100 for the day. Not to mention the additional $80 or so for his sister.

Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

Labels: life, me

12:13 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

Just yesterday I changed my computer wallpaper. On all my machines. Running theme? Darkness. Some blues. Some blacks. And definitely something that it sorta melancholy. In fact, it's a running theme with my cell phone too. Something is in the air, and it's getting to me.

Nearest I can tell it's called stress. Summer (day) camp is starting for The Kiddo which means early days starting on Monday. Which also means my day job schedule has changed--and I'm in the office more days a week. That leads to longer, tedious, and challenging days getting both kids up, dressed, one to the sitter, the other to camp, and my ass in a chair. Half the time all while being on conference calls during the entire drive/drop off routine. It just continues all day that way until I get home. Sometimes after.

All that commotion means less time to get the damn grocery shopping done (as an example, I've needed to go for the last week and a half and have squeezed in stops at Walgreens and small shops to get bare necessities to get us by), or laundry started, washed, dried, and folded. Not to mention that the house needs vacuuming. I just barely got a new set of dishes loaded in the dishwasher (after having to empty out the last batch) and hand wash the left-overs. And then there is the quality time with the kids. Yeah. That. Does making a boat out of a plastic Gladware container, straw, and cut outs of the newspaper count? Because if it does, I guess I get a gold star for the weekend--it was what I did with my son yesterday.

Today was filled with soccer. And ten million requests for him to start baseball. But that starts now (or already) and I don't even know who to ask to get him on a team. OR that I really want him on a team as it eats away at any weekend time we do have together. Did I mention we have to get up super early during the week for camp?

Anyway, this dark mood is probably triggered by all the damn stress. You think? I mean, I didn't even detail the work stuff that causes me off and on panic attacks--the project that has been hell. And now good. But at a moment's notice could all go to pot. Again.

Sigh. I really was calmer during my exhaustive maternity leave. At least towards the end when I finally had given up hope of every sleeping continuously again and finally started enjoying myself. I spent the day twittering about with house stuff. Cuddling with the baby. Laughing with my son. And just, well, being relaxed. It makes me wonder how I can capture those moments for the weekends. I can't seem to let anything go right now. Whether it is the laundry, the work project, the fact that I haven't had an afternoon to do what I want in ages, or the fact that I'd love to read a chapter in a book without interruption just once this week. All of it is grating on my in the biggest way possible. And making me crankier than usual. Which is a shame... not only for my blood pressure, but for my kids, my husband, my co-workers. Hell, just for me. Who wants to live life grumpy for days?

Mission for next week: get out of this slump. There ain't enough coffee in the world to pull me out of it on it's own.

Labels: life, me

11:09 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

It's either the drippy nose, consecutive sneezes (upwards of 6), or the itchy eyes that gave it away tonight--regardless, my allergies are back. And I'm not loving any bit of it. The sneezing and constant snot is one thing, and likely the only thing I could deal with, but the itchy eyes? Killing. Me. Once you rub them, you can't stop. And then the itch gets progressively worse.

Godspeed and Claritin should help. Key operative word SHOULD. Let's give it a half hour of will power to kick in, and maybe a bit of sleep and by tomorrow I might be a bit less cranky with this weather. I mean, what happened? It went from beautiful 70 degrees and breeze to rain. And more rain. And then the tornado watch. And then rain again. And then to some muggy breezy weather. But I could deal with it. The breeze made it tolerable. And sorta nice at about 9pm tonight.

That is until the dog started barking at some non-existent noise. Which woke the baby. Which triggered the sneezes. Snot. Nose blowing. And then of course the eyes.

Geeze... this is sounding almost like a kid's nursery rhyme... the one about the woman swallowing a fly. Only make it an allergy thing (sorry, my humor is not always so funny. If you are outside my head).

Anyway, allergies are in full force. Head a bit stuffy and out of sorts. And this can mean a couple of things--great writing to come (yes a stuffy head sometimes lets me focus on writing instead of everything else. It's something to do with drowning out the other nonsense) or a fun few days of single-parenting and counting the minutes until The Husband comes bounding through the door.

Labels: life, me

11:36 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

How many times I've heard "I miss Dad" in the past 32 minutes.

That's how long Dad's been gone. At this rate we'll hit 100 times sometime around 1:30pm. It's gonna be a long weekend.

Labels: life, parenting

8:14 AM | Permalink | 0 comments

If someone had warned me how painful mastitis is... I may have reconsidered nursing. Holy Damn! This sucks. And if anyone has a way to make antibiotics kick in faster, please let me know, been dealing with sharp pains from my left breast since early afternoon yesterday. It doesn't make for a pleasant night sleep. Or a day's nap. Or any sleeping whatsoever.

In other news, the kids are both still sick. So is The Husband, who along with sporting a healing rib fracture, is pretty sure he has pneumonia but is refusing to go to the doctor just yet.

So, if you see our family sneezing, coughing, or even just walking within a 10 foot radius of you and yours truly-- run. And do it fast! Quite possibly as far, far away as possible too. You never know what you might catch.

Labels: breastfeeding, life, me, parenting

7:14 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

This weekend was no fun. And no fun mixed with long hours in the car to be with family for a fracture of a second in strenuous circumstances is mixed with young infants who don't like car seats? You'd almost much rather stick sharp objects in soft mushy body parts. Because in a way, that is easier to deal with than shrill crying for hours in enclosed vehicles. Especially when you are by yourself and don't have a partner to share in the torture.

But anyway, the weekend was what it was expected to be. And now we are home. Today was an extra recovery day from the travel and I have never needed anything else more in my life. I still feel like I've been dragged behind a vehicle for a few miles and my day of rest is almost over. All of this and I still feel obligated enough to the day job to be checking my email now so that I don't waste a precious moment tomorrow (the real reason is I have no idea when my first conference call is, and figure if it's after 9am, I'm not logging in until after 9am. A more appropriate start time than say 7am, when I am often found responding to emails).

My point is, I'd give my left arm for another day like today. As tired as I am, I got to spend uninterrupted time with my kids and husband. I thought about work for a millisecond--and it was all about how I hate that I have to work again tomorrow. Then I was off to a late breakfast. Toyed around with my Mother's Day gift that came late, but I really don't care because it is so much fun to mess with (iTouch) and then spent the afternoon napping with my cranky daughter. Yep, she was fussy and it bothered me as much as buzzing fly in a room. Which is next to nothing. Mostly because I didn't have to worry that she'd be fussing during a call, or for the next hour when I needed to get a project done. It was glorious. Quite frankly, the only thing that would have made it better is if I'd have had one more long nap from the baby and I could have jumped online to do a little blog surfing or writing. Or maybe reading. But, I'm not complaining. The day was perfect enough.

Labels: life, me

8:59 PM | Permalink | 1 comments

The fact that my mom brought up blogs in normal conversation and the fact that she actually knows what one is, well--it goes to show you they're now mainstream. Like it or not. I can write my fingers to the bone online and it's no longer hip, cool, or geeky. It's just plain normal. Which sorta sucks.

Point two in all of this is our differences in blogging etiquette. As with things said aloud, my mom believes we should watch what we say online. The "world" can see it. I, on the other hand, believe we should be able to write what we want. Just know the consequences. And the hard fact, that yes, anyone can read this very blog. But no one is forcing them to. So, if you don't like what I have to say, don't read.

My mom has a point--if you are going to offend someone, and don't want them to know what you said, the blogs not the place to vent the frustration. It's common sense. But I say, hey, I write whatever the hell I want these days, and you can always click away. Then again, it's not like I blog about my sex life. Or how I feel about that time when I was 12 and I was a bit embarrassed by bra shopping with my mom (she yelled my size through a dressing room full of women. Some of whom I knew. Like my teachers). But look! Now I just did. And I'll likely hear about it tomorrow.

My point? It's weird my mom knows about blogs. And that yes, there should be some common sense about what you write on these things. But I am also one who has my name attached to the blog, it's URL and God knows what else. If you want to vent, I am all for creating an anonymous blog. Mystery is good. And so is some good ole fashion bitching. It can save your sanity and tons of therapist bills.

Labels: life, me

12:41 AM | Permalink | 4 comments

My daughter fell out of her crib today. 8 months old and she finageled (<-however you spell that word) herself over the bars. It's nice to come home to that news from your babysitter, isn't it?

And let's see... oh yes, my car is going in for brake work tomorrow at 7:30am. This should be good news. But I have to get my kids and husband ready and cart us all to the car repair shop--then to the train station in time for a train.

If that isn't a fulfilling enough week, I have to pack for 3 (my husband can pack for himself) so we can head to a dual burial. Yep. My mother-in-law and grandpa-in-law are getting buried on the same day. It will be December all over again. Death. Grief. Only in Spring. I'm not sure this week can get better.

Labels: death, life, me, parenting

4:19 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

I love my son. I love that he loves to play soccer. And I love that it keeps him busy. Entertained. And exercised. What I hate is being so busy my head hurts constantly and the world keeps turning in circles why I try to stay balanced. Right now, that about sums up my life in a nutshell.

Working like a madwoman with no children in sight (and yes, my children are being tended for. Just by a mom who is ready to fall from exhaustion). Spending every waking moment fixing work issues, answering emails, and living my life in front of a laptop doing stuff that people tend to think is glamorous. But is really more like work. Like answering emails. Making phone calls. Making shit up and sending it off to be used for "lessons." And generally, making a living doing a lot of nonsense. But it looks fun and exciting on paper.

Oh and trying to survive mothering a 7 month old and a 5 year old. Yep, surviving. My son has a bad ear infection. Chest infection (read: pneumonia) and my husband and I are hankering (yes I just typed that word) with a sinus/cold/chest thing as well. Sleep? Doesn't exist in my realm right now. If it isn't a kid crying out in the middle of the night, it's a work call that runs past midnight, or my husband's cough, or my own nagging snot drizzle.

I'm thinking it is a can't win situation right now. One of those Roll With the Punches type situations. Ones where you don't hope for anything--just keep rolling. And I plan on rolling as long and as far as possible from this state of affairs. It isn't a glimmer of shininess, that is for sure. And it's doing nothing for writing inspiration. I'm not the type that thrives on doom and gloom to write. I need space, light, clearing, and a helluva a lot of humor. Right now, I think laughter might sprout a coughing fit. Which (cough, cough), I might as well take advantage of my house being quiet and peaceful (both kids are asleep) and take a little nap myself. This chance might only last a few moments.

Labels: life, me, parenting

5:07 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Let me first admit that I am a coffee addict. It happened somewhere between starting a career and having a baby. Once that first kid arrived, well, I was a full head-on caffeine addict. It should be no surprise that Starbucks has become part of my routine. But not the only choice, I frequent all coffee shops-as my caffeine intake shows no prejudice. Alas, why Starbucks has saved my life.

Pre-child caffeine addiction started when work got tough. Unrealistic deadlines, bosses with no sense, and products that were as boring as watching bread bake--well they pushed me to find a habit. Any habit. And since filling my lungs with nicotine wasn't my first choice, I went to the next easiest drug. Caffeine in the form of coffee. Espresso in fact. With lots (and lots) of chocolate flavors. This need for something to make me feel awake and alive in a world full of corporate drones made me find a flavor that would allow me to stomach the coffee. And thus my affliction for mochas began.

In fact, I could blame the coffee giant for sucking me into its franchise, but hey, it was an easy escape. And one I still use today when the office is getting to crazy and I need a break. A getaway so to speak. There's always a coffee shop around the corner (and in some offices just downstairs). But this little habit of mine, it didn't get outta control til after the birth of The Kiddo.

Have you ever nursed a child every hour and a half? One that nurses for 40 minutes at a time? And remember, this is your first time parenting. That alone can be exhausting, but add in the whole shell-shock of a long and not entirely uncomplicated delivery. The fact that I hadn't been sleeping the weeks BEFORE the child arrive, and a first-mom jitters that keep you anxious and trying to meet unrealistic expectations. It's a wonder I made it past the first sleep-deprived first 2 weeks!

But then it got worse. My husband went back to work. Not only was I in sleep-envy states (why did I EVER think nursing was a good idea?!?! High IQ be damned!), I was also alone. Dealing with a baby. A newborn. A "thing" that squirms and cries, and sleeps on my shoulder, and spits up every second... and only sleeps in the car. And how long can you drive a car around in large circles without bursting into tears? For me, a whole 10 minutes, unless of course, I could have drive-through service. Thus Starbucks and coffee. My serious caffeine addiction began.

But it started a routine. A "Happy Place." A guaranteed adult conversation no matter what type of screaming child day I'd had. Or how frustrated I was that I constantly smelled for rotten breast milk and spit up. That I hadn't showered in four days and was still trying desperately to make it out the door that night to see a friend, ANY friend for an hour (between nursing sessions of course). Or the fact that my breasts hurt SO bad from a kid that was always nursing. That 30 seconds of ordering a drink ("Hi, I'd like an Iced Venti Skim--yes they said that then--No Whip White Mocha please") was sure to imply to the Bartista the desperation I was in. The need to talk to someone, anyone, about my day. Or the weather. Or how I wanted to call my husband for the 30th time that morning just to tell him the baby was smiling. Sorta. When he was shitting in another diaper anyway.

The Bartista would smile, take my money, smile some more, sometimes chit chat, and then wave at the sleeping baby. Always noting, "He always looks so peaceful." Sure. If you don't live with him 24/7. But he does look peaceful--angelic even--when he sleeps. Even now.

But see how this interaction, this nice stuff, could take over my life? Even, maybe, become something to look forward to? I'd sometimes fix my hair, show off a new shirt, new hair color... It sounds desperate. And I won't kid you and say it wasn't. Nothing in parenting ISN'T. Seriously, we bribe our kids to go to the potty, to sleep in big kid beds, and to behave, etc. It's parenting. Part of it is desperate. And making "friends" with my neighborhood coffee shops--part of the game that I did to stay sane. It saved me. Literally from going off some deep end.

Who else is up at 5:30 in the morning and smiling? Most moms I know aren't. And I didn't want that type of company. Blogging is virtual. Phone calls, sorta disturbing when you are trying to hold a screaming kid in one arm and get them to sleep in another--not to mention bouncing, rocking, nursing... oh yeah and talking--not good for the sanity. It makes you feel worse. So, I went with easy conversation with people that were taking $5 a day from my pocket. With one obvious side effect--it kept me poor(er), but I was awake for those really important days in my son's early life--the first smile, first tooth, sitting up, crawling, cooing, Mama! (and Dada!), and all the little things that I remember now watching my daughter and sipping my Iced Venti Nonfat No Whip White Mocha.

Labels: coffee, life, me, motherhood, parenting

7:27 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

We tempted fate--and the moods of infants and young children--by attending a Chicago Cubs game last week. The Cubs won, my son had a fantastic time proven with the foam claw he has been roaring through the house ever since, and my daughter slept from the 7th Inning on. For those that have been to a stadium for a ball game, sleeping, for anyone is a feet. For a 7 1/2 month old who's never been to one of the drunken parties? Well, it's plainly amazing.

At least until we stand up to leave the ball park and head to the car. We take the far lot parking because we're cheap and because a bus shuttles us to and from the field. Most times we can even get back on the road before those parked close to the stadium. And last Wednesday was no exception.

We beat the crowd (well we left at the end of the 8th. Another habit of parents). The baby wakes up (of course!) and stares blankly at the young couple across from us on the city bus. They're both missing a 3 month old they left at home for this circus. We truck it across a few (hundred) rows of cars to the our own, buckle the kid in and then decide against our better nature to have me Coach the Ride.

We're a traditional bunch--husband or myself drives (most of the time when it's the family, it's my husband) and the kids are in the back. And now that we have a Honda Pilot, The Kiddo likes the back, back (third row), The Peanut rests in the seat behind the passenger in the second row. All well and good, until it is dark out or the traffic is so bad it's less the crawl speed (and that's saying a lot having a 7 month old crawler along for the ride). Then the Peanut screams her head off. Much like she did on the drive DOWN to the game. When I was by my lonesome and meeting my husband at the field.

So to avoid drama, and my just about fraying nerves, I rode coach. Seat 2, Second row. The Husband hated the situation, but would have hated it more with a screeching infant, so dealt with the over the shoulder conversation with a wife that was tending to a now over-tired and more than awake baby. And a roaring, claw waving 6 year old.

Traffic was bearable. The baby screamed but in happy, over-tired sorta ways. And The Kiddo crashed into some deep sleep about 10 miles from the house. We made it. But then, of course we would. Crying or not. Only issue now, is every time we step in the car, the baby expects another passenger in Coach. Mainly me.

Labels: life, parenting

12:45 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

You are not in the company of a morning person. In fact, if I could sleep until Noon daily--and then use the hours from 9pm until midnight more effectively, I would. In fact, I did. Until I became a mother. Babies, nursing, and the fact that now when I lie awake past 10pm I am mostly comatose. And that doesn't say much for my writing time does it? But you gotta do what you gotta do--and for me right now, it is either stay up late in a stupor or get up early in a stupor.

Though I think I got it wrong when I attempted 5am today. When I went to bed at just past midnight. The five hour window of sleep isn't enough when you have a seven month old baby that likes to get up and snuggle. And nurse. And play with your nose. And mouth. She likely inherited the Stay Up At Night gene.

This feeble attempt to reverse the Night Gene for Morning was to attempt to be a better worker for those overseas. And to accommodate my son, who has decided morning is better than night. And playing outside in his new play set before 7am would be a cool thing to do (can anyone see me sighing yet?). I'll tell you right now the attempt isn't working. Hell, look at what blogging dribble escapes my fingers at this hour. And I've only been awake for about an hour. Albeit coffeeless so far. Wish me luck... I'm already exhausted.

Labels: life, me, writing life

6:05 AM | Permalink | 3 comments

I'm confessing something huge here, so bear with me while I hide myself in shame and mumble a big, lumpy secret: I hate laundry. That isn't the secret though. It's the fact that in my walk in closet there is a mound of dirty laundry that is over-flowing the hampers and is now sitting squarely in the middle, just outside the swing of the door. Just enough room to get in and out, but not knock over the pile.

What? You haven't clicked away from this blog yet? What's wrong with you? Seriously. I live in filth and I spent my weekend twittering away at Target (to buy clean underwear and shirts of course!) and playing with my kids. Something I wasn't able to do last weekend since work took over. But don't pity me, really. The house? A pig stye. And here I am blogging instead of doing something about it. Friday, I finagled an entire hour to go grocery shopping. Stocking the pantry and refrigerator was enough responsibility as I could muster, beyond feeding, bathing, and nursing children (and husband. Well, except the nursing part. Bathing is also debatable).

I'm not asking for pity. Nope. It's the way I really live. And quite honestly, even with the stress level beyond normal around here (hell, my mom and I are in a bit of a tiff. And that hasn't happened since I moved out over 12 years ago), it isn't abnormal for a mountain of laundry to be hiding in the closet. Come visit, snoop. You'll find out the real truth. Or, of course, read my blog. It's not something I can keep hidden any longer. Especially when my son is begging me to do a load of laundry so he has pants to wear tomorrow.

Really, the washing and drying part is easy--it's just tossing it into machines right? It's the damn folding and putting away that gets my girt. I am sick of matching socks, tossing underwear in drawers, and (gasp!) hanging items that inevitably get tossed on the floor the next event I need to find something decent to wear for (which this moment, happens to be work tomorrow). And so, tonight, I'm tossing too-tight jeans aside, button-less shirts onto the floor, and trying to find ONE DAMN thing that is clean and fits appropriately so that I can at least look professional at work tomorrow.

I can't say I'll look anything like "put together" but at least I won't be naked. OR smelling something awful. Because, my husband, bless his heart, just started a load of laundry. Laundry, that for once, I won't be folding.

Labels: house, life, marriage, me

8:51 PM | Permalink | 4 comments

Talk about a sucky beginning to my weekend. And it's not going to end. All. Weekend. Long. Yep, working through the weekend. That's what I get for volunteering for a high profile project. But don't let me bore you with the details here (hell, I could lose my job). Let's move on to the finer highlights of my Friday:

- The baby decided to save all her shit for me. Did that sound bad? Well it was meant to be literal. The baby sitter's here and she's all laughs and pissy diapers. The minute the sitter leaves? She gets the blow-out diapers no one wants to deal with (Four of them!). But, alas, it's part of the job description.

- Wood chips and puddles ruined a perfectly good pair of socks. The Kiddo was home today. After a couple-hour conference call this morning, I shuffled out the door to the new play set in the backyard (outdoor time after a rain is good right?). Only, it ended up evolving into endless questions about wet swing seats ("Here's a towel!"), puddles on the slide ("Here's another towel!"), Dog poop on his shoes ("What's up with the shit today?" and "Take a paper towel this time!"), and of course, the how come my pants are wet iterations. And the inevitable stocking foot step into the wood chip ridden puddle that happened to have a bit of dog shit mixed it. I wasn't stupid enough to just step in it once--that I did, then swore, then stepped back in it again while hoping to avoid the baby crawling into the mess. One pair of new white socks down (because washing them would be too easy)...

- Lunch at 4pm. Yep, it's been my latest lunch time. It sucks really because by then I'm shaky, cranky, and so pumped up with caffeine (coffee is my friend), I'd be better off hooking up an IV to fill my ulcered stomach

- Barking to awake the one nap my child easily went down for today. But this is normal behavior. So it isn't like I can complain that it's any worse today than it was yesterday. Though yesterday, I thought I might have my weekend to watch chic flicks and eat popcorn. Aw, optimism.

But really, it wasn't all bad. After the barking spasm by the dog and counseling the crying baby, I had one of those If This Moment Could Last Forever instances that melts your heart. The Peanut was on the floor army crawling to these little ball thingies. Loving her new mobility she scoots forward and giggles herself til she has hiccups. And, I, being all about the laughing, rolled her over to enjoy in her moment of happiness. We played raspberries, tickles, more crawling and pushing the ball around... all while my son joined in the fun. And we laughed. All of us. And that, might just make up for the crappy weekend or work. Maybe.

Labels: babysitter, life, me, parenting, The Kiddo, The Peanut, working

8:46 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I wasn’t a pleasant first-year mother. Or a second year mother. True, I loved the smell of a newborn, the cuddling, the ity bity clothes that just make you coo that noise that only an expectant mother can.

But honestly, I hated the constant diapers. The fact that sleeping was really only a figment of one’s imagination. The fussing over the sleeping positions. The company. Phone calls. Thank you notes for gifts. Spit up being an accessory on my left shoulder. And the fact that no matter if I actually MADE it into the shower, the scent of breast milk was my constant perfume.

Truly, I just wanted to find my way into this whole parenting thing. Hold my baby and figure out who he was. And why I had been chosen as his mother. Don’t worry I’m not getting all spiritual on you. I’d just gotten a bit fed up with the whole questioning and cajoling of the new mom.

I mean how many times could I repeat this conversation:

“Oh, isn’t he cute! How’s he sleeping?”

“Well you know… he’s still up every couple of hours.”

“Really?” Eyes wide in apparent shock.

“Yep. I mean he’s only 4 weeks old. I am pretty sure that is normal—“

“I am sure he should be giving you a bit more of a break,” Pat, pat on my arm, “Oh that’s right. You’re nursing. Nursing babies just don’t sleep.”

What? They don’t sleep? I’d rush home, open my Internet browser and search the living daylights out of breastfeeding, sleeping, infants, and any sort of magical cure for sleeping babies I could find. I’d search, take notes, ask The Husband. We’d venture to book stores, doctor’s appointments, grandparent’s houses… and all I could think about was how much was I hurting my baby.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end. There was the nursing frequency conversation. And the putting a hat on his head while running to the grocery store thing. And I really can’t forget the whole co-sleeping arrangements. The working at home or stay at home debacle. Crying it out. Or not. Weaning (or not). Bottles. Pumping. Child care arrangements when I had to travel.

Or just plain old playgroup politics. I’ve yet to meet a group of playgroup mommies that aren’t comparing their children’s milestones like prizes. But, I’ll also be the first to admit, the two I trialed, didn’t match my motherly attitude. Or meet when I could attend. Remember, I was the working mom on the block (well one that worked from home and had conference calls most afternoons).

Don’t forget, through all of this I can barely string a sentence. Let alone stand up for myself against the pack of wolves that were constantly throwing advice around. There was a constant slinging of judgment and comments all thrown at just the right time and landing smack on my face. Just in time to make me feel bad, or worse since I hadn’t slept in days. What changed from the Ooooh, You’re Pregnant Oogling to the Oh My God, You Did What Mentality? I was horrified. And completely lacking any sort of confidence to pull myself through.

Here’s the little secret that took me two-years, a lot of heartache, and one final blow to my ego to figure out—we (as in baby, me, and Husband) were normal. One nasty argument with a family member, saved my inner me and my mom-me in one blessed afternoon.

The once self-professed I Don’t Want To Be a Mom was doing the whole parenting thing right all along. All it took was an accusation of NOT doing it right for me to finally stand up and speak for myself. I am mother, hear me roar!

Well, maybe not exactly like that. But at least I finally faced my motherhood fears and myself. I was doing what was right for my baby, my family, and me. And there is no arguing that. Conveniently enough, in that one afternoon my confidence came back. My inner Mom-Mojo returned. And life suddenly became a bit more enjoyable. Even when I had to change countless diapers, fold laundry, nurse a crying child, and take a conference call all before dinner. And now... I'm doing it again.

Labels: baby, life, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge

7:02 PM | Permalink | 4 comments

Is it bad that my daughter, this very instant, is army crawling at my feet with a rawhide dog bone in her hand. In a moment she'll put it in her mouth for a good ole chew. And, I'm considering not doing a thing about it. I mean, if it's okay for a dog with a mouthful of teeth to gnaw it to oblivion--then a 6 1/2 month old that is only geared to gum it into that soft goo won't hurt her right?

If I wasn't so exhausted, I would've taken it away (the bone) already. Or at the very least scanned the floor for the dog and 6-year-old toys before putting her down. But today--this last month--has been a blur. Work, breastfeeding, nuking chicken nuggets and pizza, conference calls, diaper changes, whining about not being able to play the Wii, single-parenting it while The Husband has other commitments, late nights writing, on-site meetings, taxes of the income and property variety, and waking all hours of the night with The Baby Who Will Not Sleep--I'm a bit on the exhausted side.

I'm anxious and unruly on my best days. Brain spinning with a to do list longer than the hours available but yet unable to focus on one. And I know it's bad when my fitful dreams are of work projects and house chores, instead of pink fairies, unicorns, and the awesome handbags I discovered last week online. I mean, who dreams about work and then admits it? It's the lamest confession I've made to date, but at least it's honest. And shows you how far in the gutter things have gotten. And out of control isn't exaggerating the obvious.

This past weekend I took a shower. Yes, can you believe it? I held the baby at arms length to The Husband and nodded toward The Kiddo, "Taking a much needed shower. Don't wait for me." Meaning: If you come in and bother me while the water is still hot and pounding on my sore arms and back, I might kill you. And get off for reasons of insanity. Don't even try it. The Husband knows the tone, and took the time to lock the bathroom door on his way out so that I would not be disturbed for a glass of red Gatorade. Or the screeching of The Peanut. I needed at the very least a shower of alone time. And I got it. It was long. Hot. Steamy. And full of tears. I'd realized I spent the first 3 minutes listing off the to-do list of my Saturday.

Groceries. Dishes. Laundry. Pick up Dry Cleaning. If the baby took a nap, I wanted to finish the work project. Get to that book I needed to read. Write the review... it went on and on and on. By minute four, the tears stared. What the hell am I doing? To-Do lists on a Saturday? Pre-child these were days of sleeping in til the afternoon, cold pizza, TNT movies, and hell, nothing. Here, I was cramming more than a normal days work of work into a few hours. And that included the day job. The one I am salaried to work in 40 hours.

It was an awful moment. Tears stinging my eyes. Hot water pounding on my shoulders. My arms weary from holding and extra-clingy 6-month-old, and throat scratchy from the cold I wasn't admitting was looming on the side. All because my life is a whirlwind. I wish I could say that the shower enlightened me in some way. But the water turned to the half cold state, and the steam wasn't pouring over the shower stall anymore and I was pruning into something that was beginning to look like my grandmother's hands. Which means, bluntly, I had to get out and face my family. The screeching baby that needed to be nursed, the son waiting for pancakes, and my husband who in a whole hour and a half already had a sore back from bouncing the baby around.

The minute my husband and I consented to have sex without prevention--we agreed to have children. And I love every ounce of them. It's all the other stuff I am having a hard time juggling right now. Who needs to worry about child care coinciding with work schedules, soccer practice, summer camp, and project schedules? And don't forget about paying bills, cleaning the house, taking showers, and eating. Or sleeping. It is all a harried mess.

Pre-child life is long gone, but I dream fondly of those moments of what was then called busy-ness. Hell, if I had one or two after work engagements and a birthday party over the weekend, it felt like craziness. But add in two children--and it's a whole new ball game. One that entails balancing what will drive you crazy first. Right now the choice is: a child that will start screaming if you pick her up or one that will happily chew on a dog bone for a few minutes while you finish the last e-mail of the day. And today, that choice is a damn hard one to make.

Labels: humor, life, me, motherhood, parenting, slice of life story challenge, working

8:32 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

Who knew business deals could be made at 9:30pm on a Sunday night? Really, it's sorta crazy that the world has become so over-booked that's the only time we could fit it in. But, it is what it is. And I can't wait to tell you all about it.

Hang tight. It'll just be a few more days (okay maybe a week or so til we work out the logistics), more than few woman-hours, and we'll be up and ready for a big announcement.

Labels: life, me

9:46 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Behind this blog scene, I've been doing a lot of writing. Some publishable, most just to get the thoughts out of my head. Concentration and focus have not been kind to me this week. It might be that my baby won't sleep alone, let alone take a decent nap or the fact that my mind is overwhelmed with work problems. Almost to the point of consumption. Either way, the good part is that I am writing. And I can't sneeze at that.

Though it poses the age old question of timing. There are days I wake up full of gusto to start my day. A to-do list planned, kids behaving, tasks going swimmingly... well, until they plunge off the deep end and something goes awry. Most days lately it is a work crisis that sucks all my time away for the day. Other days it's the baby. The one who wants to nurse constantly. Yeah, her. And suddenly it is midnight, I'm bleary eyed, wondering how the hell the hours passed so quickly, and also curious where that story idea I had at 11:12 am went. Because sure as shit, it's nowhere to be found or recollected when I need it most. So, I sleep. Wake the next day and do it all over again.

Writing and motherhood sometimes are a great mix. I can truthfully say I will never run out of mommy lit material to write about (Thank God that is my genre of choice at the moment). However, it poses a time issue. Especially since I am a working writing (you know, one with a day job). There is never--no matter what I do to try to maximize it--enough time in a day/week/month/year.

I steal moments here and there. Lose so much sleep I don't even want to count. And I even ignore my husband 80% of my evenings. Not that it does any good. My word output at the moment is embarrassing. At least to me. But--I do have virtual files everywhere. And they do count for something (or so my logical brain says).

The bigger conundrum is that even if I wanted to give up this writing thing. It's too late for that. And I don't think I could. If you've seen me after I've "given up" writing for a week. It's not a good sight. I'm breathless. Vague. Glossy eyed. And just plain old bitchy. A bear really. It drains me more than writing into the wee hours of the night. So... I write.

Plain and simple. I must write to live. Is there any other way?

Labels: life, me, motherhood, writing, writing life

9:55 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Remember when I said I Need My Daughter To Want Me? Yeah. So, you should have shot me then. The last two days, she's needed more than life itself, which has caused me to hate my life more than life itself. I mean, seriously, having a child scream her head off when you take a moment to go to the bathroom? Mind you, she is lying on the bath mat IN FRONT OF ME while I am taking a piss...

Now, if that were the only issue, I wouldn't complain. I swear. But it's worse. Much worse. Let me tell you about the current bed time routine (and why I am posting at this God awful hour). She starts rubbing her eyes, screeches louder than normal, and the 5 seconds I can normally put her down so I can say--rub my own eyes-has dissipated into nothing but screaming sessions. All of the above--means bedtime. She gets love from her Big Bro, from The Husband and we are off to bed. Nursing. And Nursing. More nursing. And... wait... she doesn't let go. EVER. Or when she does, it takes a whole 30 seconds for the wailing to start.

God do I hate this "phase." Or whatever it is. My son did the same damn thing. And it sucks. Forget writing late into the night. Working late. Or say dishes. Or even an adult conversation with my husband. Or any conversation. I'm stuck in the bedroom with a child from 8pm until she let's go of my boob. Which tonight was a whole 30 minutes ago. Six hours of non-stop nursing. And let me tell you--this kid doesn't doze off while doing the deed. I've tried every trick in the book and it only leads to more crying and then more nursing.

So here I am. 3am. It's sorta nice. Quiet. But not conducive for the load of laundry I just put in. Or emptying and then re-filling the dishwasher. Sure I did it, but I think I woke The Husband. I can't stop the dishes from banging around. Or the washer from being noisy on spin cycle. But hey, I'm not nursing--and I can't beat that at the moment!

Only in three hours... I just might kill myself. Shower. Conference call. And then, yes, I am heading to the office. Talk about craziness.

Labels: breastfeeding, life, motherhood, slice of life story challenge, The Peanut

3:01 AM | Permalink | 3 comments

In all the years my husband and I have lived together--with and without children--we have never run out of knives in the silverware drawer. Invite my parents over for one weekend, and *poof!* I am out.

Must be the traditional mentality of Everyone Gets a Knife and Fork next to their plates and my mom setting the table that prompted this phenomena. Because as I said, not once have I had this problem before. Though, it is odd, you wouldn't place a spoon too, right?

Regardless, the place-setting of 12 that we has dwindled to no knives. Or dessert forks. Funny being that there were four adults and one five year old at the table (the baby too of course, but utensils are far from her use yet). And for once, I did a load in the dishwasher in the 3 days that they were here. Which makes the no-knives thing even funnier. At least to me.

Labels: family, life, me

7:08 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

The Peanut is feeling better (thanks for asking). Though I'm afraid to tell the world she is actually sleeping right now-ALONE--and for over her 40 minute sick allotment. One could even go so far as to say that her congestion has been alleviated enough to breath clearly through her nasal passages, making sleep a viable option. Which, all in all, makes a mother happy. At least one that isn't blowing her brains out of her own nose. I just can't win around here, I nurse (literally) a child back to health and then land nose first into the virus myself.

But, this cold isn't keeping me from using these precious free moments for good. I've written another chapter in my book. Corresponded via e-mail with a few close friends, and am writing this blog post. All kid free! Who would have guessed that those few accomplishments would bring a grown woman to her knees in tears. Alas--the truth is out. My first few moments of sanity today! Because if you didn't know, screaming kid and work don't mix well. Especially when said kid only wails louder when you put her down anywhere that isn't cuddled in your arms. Or facing the cat.

Anyway, back to the writing progress. Or work madness. Either way, I've had an hour of "free" time already and I feel like I've thrown a whole days worth of work (either day job or those of my hobbies) into it. And I'm feeling pretty damn good about myself right now. Well between the sniffles. Now, if only I could keep up this intensity for the next 48 hours, I'd be golden. And have my to-do list back down to a manageable level. And of course an entire closet worth of laundry to get done. But who's really counting the housework.

Labels: house, life, me, writing

8:21 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

Some time between midnight and 2am last night I realized my daughter was sick. Her flushed, warm cheeks were rubbing against my neck, smearing snot all over the neck of the T-shirt I had yet to change out of, and she hadn't slept more than a 40 minute stretch. Even with coaxing, snuggling, and endless nursing. In fact, the nursing situation wasn't exactly textbook. She was slurping, pulling, and having a hard time with the logistics of it all--very a-typical of her behavior since birth. And no wonder, a cold suddenly found itself lodged in her sinuses. So much so, 102 degree temperatures plagued her the entire night. Even with healthy doses of Tylenol and Motrin.

Nothing secures your position as mother until you have a sick kid in the house. All the worry in the world won't help you at 4am when you are rocking the kid for the 8 millionth time and you are craving sleep more than your life itself. But in the same breath, you'd give that same life just for the child TO GET BETTER.

My son has had infant asthma issues since he was The Peanuts age (6 months). So far, she's weathered 2 of these nasty virus colds and came out golden. Not one breathing infection--or ear infection for that matter (knock on wood... we aren't taking chances here). And I am happy for that. But today--I'd be happy for more than 20 minutes of consecutive sleep myself. Of 10 minutes of child free arms and breasts. The Peanut is all about the skin to skin contact right now, and although I can't blame her, I'm worn out.

Only a few short days ago, I was thinking maybe I could do this whole Supermom complex. You know the thought--I can work full time, take care of the kidlings, keep a decent house somewhat clean, and write. And sorta keep it all in balance. But then something like this reminds you of the fragility of that damn balance.

With little more than a few hours sleep, I did something I normally never do--I called in sick. Completely utterly off the work radar. No calls. No e-mails. Don't contact me unless the world is ending sorta day off. It was nice. Well, that is if I could have slept some more. But, I'm not complaining. The Kiddo was at pre-school and I could concentrate on making sure The Peanut was getting better.

Whether this Whole Day Off To Make Kid Better Thing worked or not is another thing. She's still sniffley. Doesn't want to sleep. And warmer than warm. But at least today, I feel like I did what I needed to do for her. And I guess, that is what matters.

Labels: baby, life, me, motherhood, parenting, sickness, The Peanut

7:53 PM | Permalink | 3 comments

Waking up after a three day head throbbing headache to find that it is completely gone. As is the nausea that plagued you so much the day prior you were forced to spend more than a few gracious moments praying to the porcelain goddess called the toilet.

Yes, day four has suddenly become mountains better. So much so, I found myself in tears watching Holmes on Homes this morning with the baby. Call me a sucker. Or a woman grateful to have as clear a mind as one can with 2 kids, 2 cats, a dog and a husband on a Sunday morning.

Labels: life, me, sickness

11:21 AM | Permalink | 1 comments

I'm miserable. It might be the third day of a throbbing headache. Or today's development in sickness hell--vomiting. That's right, can't eat a damn thing. Ever had to place your 6-month-old on the bathmat next to you while you hurl your guts into the toilet? Didn't think so. Hell, never thought I'd ever discuss this sorta predicament on the Internet or otherwise pre-children.

When I get sick, the world far from ends. I get comments on dinner (where to find the spatula, hamburger, and what do we actually have to eat) and then I am forced to sneak naps in between nap times and eating schedules. Today, in fact it was wrought with discussions on getting ready in the master bathroom. Like the main bathroom in the hall doesn't have a shower, toilet, and sink in prime working order for similar such activities.

When anyone else in this household gets sick, we pitter patter around the house making sure long(er) naps are taken, fluid intake monitored, temperatures taken, and well, everything that one should do when there is a sickly person in the house. CODDLE them. I think the last time The Kiddo came down with a common cold I ran out to buy him the "white soda with bubbles" because it was the only thing that would help his scratchy throat. The Peanut, being that she is so young, I just sat up all night rocking, bouncing, patting, nursing, and just generally staying up for days at a time until she worked through a 104 degree temperature with no apparent cause (Five days of no sleep people. Need I say more?). And as much as I love my husband, when he's sick--well it is much of the same. But a lot more naps and a lot less sociability with me and the kids. I spend a lot of time scolding my son for being too loud and asking The Husband, "Do you feel better?"

So, here I sit alone on a Saturday night as the kids are sleeping (finally) and husband went out with friends. Nursing a sickness with a blog post. I don't feel a lick better and my headache has gone from a gentle throb to something a bit more excruciating. Which means I need to either get some serious sleep or hurl (again). I'll try sleep. That is, if The Peanut takes pity on her sickly mother and gives me a good solid hour of sleepy-goodness.

Labels: life, me, parenting, sickness

11:14 PM | Permalink | 2 comments

I was up til almost 4am last night. No. Not with the baby. For my own amusement and setting up this Powerbook of my dreams. And now? The baby is sleeping. This is a good thing. So good in fact I am almost weeping with gratefulness for the Sleeping Gods that made this happen. She's been a crying mess most of the day. But, this is where I am failing to see the humor, I can't get a lick of joint sleep time. Work is calling. Literally. And a to-do list that grew to three times its size in a matter of hours.

This is what I get for enjoying myself in the wee hours of the morning. Too bad a whole lot of alcohol wasn't involved. It could have been one helluva party.

Labels: life, me

4:53 PM | Permalink | 0 comments

I've been up at 4am every day for the past two weeks. It's getting more than a little monotonous, it's grueling. This is the part of parenting no one tells you about. Or reminds you when you decide to have baby 2 or more.

Little things are tripping me up--putting the correct images into presentations for the boss, e-mails to co-workers, and well just making sure I eat lunch. That can trip me up on a good day (if I am focused) but when I am so tired my eyes burn? I just stumble to the coffee maker time and time again. In fact I am so exhausted, the effects of a caffeine high just plain don't work. So, I'm praying for a decent make-up job tomorrow when I show up at the office.

And time for a shower in the morning before my 8am conference call. Here's to hoping...

Labels: life, parenting, slice of life story challenge

10:08 PM | Permalink | 4 comments

This post has nothing to do with fashion, color, or accessories. The title was a bit of a twist on the whole life has unexpected turns thing--and just trust it. Fighting what fate has planned can only stress you to oblivion. At least that is my new theory. Want to join me on it?

I've come to find out, in my short time in adulthood, that life is never what it seems. Sure, we have fun times, party, have a wild night, but we always wake up the next morning to our face staring at us in the mirror. And that face tells the truth. The real truth.

You've gained too much weight. Those bags under your eyes are from weeks of not enough sleep. That red color you dyed your hair sorta looks silly when you wear that red sweater. Writing really isn't for sissies. Give The Husband a hug today, he really does need it (even though you need one too right now). You really do look awfully sick today. And sound sick too, the raspy voice is far from a sexy one. Those jeans? Atrocious now that they are home and on those wide(r) hips. Shirt? Too short. Don't forget to brush your teeth! Grab the hair gel, it needs it. And please, please get some make-up on.

The voice never ends. And that is just what it tells me in the morning. Forget the mumurs that I get just before falling asleep at night. Or during my days of multi-tasking at mommyhood, working, and wifey-hood. It's craziness I tell you. And that is when nothing out of the ordinary happens to put a corkscrew on life.

But, I've come to terms with this thingie we're calling life. It's here for us to journey through. Is that some epiphany? Hell no. It's a fact. It's all about my approach to all of it. I've had too much shit going on the last 3 months to think straight if I got caught in all of the little things. So the new approach? Let most of the stuff I can't control... slide.

Concentrate on that face in the mirror and try to make it feel better about itself. Be more proud about its accomplishments. And for God's Sake, start attempting to get enough sleep and look better. I mean, you can only do what you can do. And taking care of myself I can do. If I put my mind to it.

All that other crap that happens--possible lay-off from job, deaths, births, house-selling/buying, finding childcare--well, just roll with the punches. It always ends up working out in the long run. Or at least does to a point. Just keep your spirits high and you can't tell me karma won't work to your advantage. Because in my world, it does. It has to.

Today my outlook is purple (attempting a tie in to a completely ridiculous blog post title). It's cheery, fun, and definitely full of a little mystery. Which in my book means a bit of fun little surprises. Let's hope karma follows step and makes me like purple even more.

Labels: life, me

1:54 PM | Permalink |