Because you should never think to yourself, "Hmm... I can't think of anything to blog about. Life is getting too boring."

Yesterday afternoon, mere moments after the pediatrician's office closed, Little One started screaming in the bathroom.

"HOT TINKLE! HOT TINKLE!"

Ouch. But it happens sometimes to all of us, right?

5 minutes later, she was back in the bathroom, screaming.

And 5 minutes again after that.

This went on for a LONG WHILE. And I started noticing a pink tinge to her pee. And I remembered that in the morning, when she was getting dressed, she was changing out of her pull-up (remember how she's not nighttime potty trained anymore?) and the wet pull-up smelled like a blind alley behind an urban liquor store.

By 7pm, I was quite sure that it was going to be an UGLY night. Ibuprofen had barely taken the edge off the pain. I called Dr. Everything Will Be Alright. I think he must bring Little One's chart home with him now, in case I call. He convinced me to go to Urgent Care.

Eeerg. I'd rather drive over my bare toes with a Flexible Flyer wagon, but off we went.

I called and got an *appointment* for 8:30pm. Where appointment means ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. I even got there early, in the hopes they would take us sooner.

At 8:35, Little One had to pee. They gave me a cup and off we went.

At 8:40, they tested the sample and could tell, Yes, indeedy. She has a urinary tract infection.

At 10:30, we FINALLY saw the doctor.

At 10:40, they told us to wait and they would fill the prescription.

At 11:15, they FINALLY came out and told us our insurance wouldn't pay for them to fill the prescription. I asked how much it would be if I just paid for it out of pocket. $75. And here, folks, is where I made my critical error. I should have PAID the $75, which is only $40 more than it would cost me somewhere else. In retrospect, it was a BARGAIN... because there's more...

And may I stop here for a second and just say, you know that Little One gets HYPER when she's tired, right? Hence the melatonin. I am talking HYPER with a capital H! Y! P! E! R! So while we are waiting all this time, and there is a crushing mass of SICK humanity around us (and seriously, WHERE did all these people come from on a Monday night? It was like Ellis Island, I kid you not), she was running around in her very own freak festival. Running, dancing, skipping, singing - punctuated every now and then by a scream and a dash for the restroom. She did not look like a sick kid, and I'm sure she was QUITE ANNOYING to every other sick person in the waiting room.

She also touched every. single. virally. and. bacterially. contaminated. surface. in. the. building. I don't know if you can have a transdermal overdose of hand sanitizer, but we gave it a good run for the money. There were posters all over the waiting room about MRSA! What it is! How you can prevent it! And the first way to prevent it? Keep your kid from hosting a freak festival in a room FULL of SICK PEOPLE.

She eventually fell asleep in the car on the way home (AT MIDNIGHT! Time we left our house? 7:30!) and I lathered her up one more time for good measure before I put her potentially MRSA-riddled body in bed.

And THEN... (because you knew there was more, didn't you?) I sent Rocket Man out to the 24-hour CVS pharmacy to get the prescription.

Did you remember that I DON'T GO TO CVS PHARMACIES ANYMORE? Because this VERY SAME 24-HOUR CVS PHARMACY gave us the WRONG MEDICINE the LAST TIME Little One had a urinary tract infection and I gave it to her for SIX FREAKING DAYS before I noticed? And she got sicker and sicker. And by the time we realized what happened, they had to put her on some SUPER-DUPER antibiotic that gave her the godawful runs for two weeks?

So yeah. That was the pharmacy Rocket Man had to go to. (Hello, Target? I would be eternally grateful if you would open up a 24-hour pharmacy SOMEWHERE near me. Drive-thru if possible. Kthanx.)

Rocket Man called a little after midnight and said there would be an HOUR wait for the medicine. And that the pharmacy was an absolute madhouse and that he doubted we would ever get ANY medicine out of there, not even the WRONG stuff. And then he came home.

And somehow, miraculously, Little One slept all night and is still sleeping now. And later, once she's up and moving, we have to go get the stuff (and hopefully the RIGHT stuff, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I will CHECK this time!) that will hopefully make her all better.

I've got houses on the brain

I'm finding myself getting lost in house blogs lately. (Shelter blogs? Sounds like a camping blog.) It is hard to find the balance between LOOKING at other people's beautiful houses, and actually doing something about my own. (It's so much EASIER to look at other people's houses.)

Just keeping my house to the point where you can walk from one side to the other without tripping over a backpack or a dollhouse or a SHOE seems like a full-time job. How can I fit in anything else?

I don't have the answer to that, in case you were hoping that's what was coming.

Sorry. I will let you know if I figure it out.

But really, it is OK.

I saw a sign in a catalog recently that said, "Excuse the mess. My children are making memories." I probably would never hang a sign like that in my house, but as I look across the living room floor, covered with Legos and My Pretty Ponies and Barbies and SHOES and jackets, and a bit of mud, and guitar music and some unfolded laundry, I remind myself, "Why YES. Right now, THIS is what it's all about. It's all about the Legos."

I try to squeeze in things that are not just Picking Up Toys when I can. Sometimes it means making a bigger mess. And I HATE that. But, it's worth it in the end.

We've been doing a little work (and by little, I mean little) in our dining room.

A few months ago, we got rid of this HIDEOUS light fixture.



It was so ugly, I refused to clean it. Which is why it's so dusty. It's not AT ALL because I don't dust. Ahem.

And put up this. (From Ballard Designs.)



True story, when we LOOKED at this house before we bought it, um... SIXTEEN years ago, one of the first things out of my mouth was "That chandelier will HAVE TO GO." I was waiting for inspiration to strike me about what to replace it with, and finally, after 16 freaking years of being paralyzed by indecision (that is a THEME in my life) I saw this one in the Ballard catalog. I liked it, it was affordable, FORGODSAKES JUST ORDER IT ALREADY. So I did.

We also swagged it over so it actually hangs OVER the dining room table instead of next to it, which is kind of nice as well. (A designer friend recommended that - I never would have thought of it on my own.)



It's AMAZING what a difference it makes.

I also got Rocket Man to hang my picture.



I LOVE it. But...

You can see it matches that hurricane glass, which was my "inspiration piece" but that looks better over on the cabinet.

So now I need something to tie that picture into my theme, perhaps. Like maybe this.



Or a row of these.



Or two of these on the wall.



I'm still trying to decide.

The other thing I did was steal an idea from the Nester and use some scrapbooking paper to pimp up my china cabinet. (Just to be clear, "pimp up" is my phrase. I can't see the Nester using that one.)



Ok, I forgot to take a picture with both sides done. And I straightened out the paper. And I camouflaged the fact that it's not quite long enough with books on both sides.

But that strip down the middle? I left uncovered. Should I try to cover that too?

Yeah. Maybe I will keep working on that look.

Now, LEST you think I am just talking out my you-know-what about all the clutter around this place, NOW, I will show you all the crap I moved to take these lovely pictures. Truthiness at it's best.



Ack. I know. Embarrassing. And what was I THINKING when I bought that balloon?

BUT, the good thing is that once I had all that CRAP on my dining room table, I decided to sort it and organize it and generally DECRAPIFY it. It took a couple hours and I was interrupted approximately 300 times, to wipe a butt, fix a dollhouse refrigerator, find a toy, answer the phone, fix macaroni and cheese and drive a carpool, and I'll be honest, I have one teeny, tiny pile left, but it feels really good to have it mostly done.

Next up, throwing out the Valentines! Don't tell my kids!

Actually, next up, is a project we have also been contemplating for YEARS.



The dining room had this door between it and the kitchen.



We never close this door.

And a BATTALION of dustbunnies was forever assembled behind this door.

I like the architecture of it, but it was in the way and served no purpose. So despite my reservations, Rocket Man took it off the other day. (16 years after we first talked about it. Indecision. Again.)

I like it. (And I have an idea of what I might want to do with the door. Rocket Man is NOT on board. Yet.)

Now, the reason he took it off, is we are thinking of taking down half of this wall and opening it up to the kitchen.



Real estate agents have told us not to do it. Designers have told us not to do it. "Old House" officionados have told us not to do it. But you know what? WE want to do it. It would make supervising socializing with people in the dining room SO much easier. And make that small, squarish room seem bigger and more open.

I envision something like this with two barstools, which would also give us some extra seating.



Ack. Crooked picture. AGAIN.

One of these afternoons, between the macaroni and cheese, the butt wiping and the carpool driving, I just might get out a sledgehammer.

WTF Wednesday

Eleven.

It has been ELEVEN years since I became a mother. You'd think I'd have the hang of it by now, but many days, especially with my oldest, I feel like a total rookie. Despite being the hardest job I will EVER have, it is the best. Individual days can be quite hard, but looking back over a year, like I am now - I see what an amazing gift it is to get to raise these kids.

Big Guy, you amaze me. I am actually astonished at the things you have mastered this year.

You chose your activities carefully and you master them. Unlike your mom, who tries anything and is mediocre at most, you excel at everything you do. You don't try everything, but when you do try something, you keep at it until you are the best you can be.

It was first obvious when you taught yourself the bones in the body. When you were THREE. After that, it was the planets. And their moons. And their orbits and rotational patterns. You knew it all. Later, it was baseball. You spent literallly YEARS in the front yard, throwing a wiffle ball up in the air and swinging at it to perfect your batting. Dads of older kids in the neighborhood would sometimes stop their cars to sit and watch your determination. Later, you moved on to pitching, and threw ball after ball after ball into a net, until you mastered that.

This year - it was the guitar. We bought you a guitar for your birthday last year and within a matter of weeks had taught yourself how to play Yankee Doodle. You took a few lessons and fiddled around, and a few weeks later, we discovered guitar-playing tutorials on YouTube. For any song you can think of. And, true to how you do things, you sit in front of the computer and watch the video over and over and over again until you have mastered the song. And it is absolutely remarkable. I am in awe of your skill and determination.

I used to worry about your future and what you would do when you grow up. I don't worry any more. Whatever you do, you will choose it carefully and you will work at it until you have mastered it. It will be something that requires precision, accuracy and a sharp mind, and you will be very, very good at it. No doubts.

I sometimes forget to appreciate the many things that you are good at... like the fact that you are the ONLY person in this house who gets up on time and gets yourself ready for school. You know where your stuff is. You are organized and plan ahead. You think and practice and work hard in school. And you are really, really good 95% of the time.

Instead, sometimes, I focus on the few things you need to work on - controlling your anger and not letting anxiety or exhaustion get the better of you. Showing compassion. I feel like you are a reflection on how good of a parent I am, so until you are perfect, I could never be the perfect parent. In reality, no one knows this better than you, I am far from the perfect parent. And there's really no chance that I will ever get there. So how I got such an accomplished, 95% well-behaved, thinking, understanding, hardworking young man as a son, I'll never know.

Happy Birthday, dude. I am proud of you.

Friday Favorites - on Saturday!

I meant to put this up yesterday, and I got so busy, I forgot!

Here is my latest blog crush: The Lettered Cottage.

I love her decorating style. Check out her kitchen renovation. And her guest room. And her reading room.

And she does very affordable design consultations. Which has me thinking about possibly having her look at my master bedroom. But also makes me realize that I would need to seriously keep decluttering before I could ever take pictures that I would actually send to someone. And then it would be nice if I actually got to sleep in there sometimes... but that is a whole other problem, which cannot be solved by interior design!

Going postal

Something about the Post Office turns my children into DEMONS. All post offices, but the one near my house specifically. It's a cute little office and there's rarely a line, but it does have a big set of stairs you have to climb up to get inside. Forget bringing a stroller. I used to go there a lot, but once I was juggling a preschooler, a toddler and a baby, I usually went somewhere I could roll my stroller in. And wait in a long line. Which never goes well. Even WITH the stroller.

My first incident at The Little Post Office was when I was 8+ months pregnant with mGal and Big Guy was barely 2. I stopped to wave hello to a neighbor in the parking lot and took my eyes off Big Guy for a split second. In that moment, he went dashing STRAIGHT for the VERY BUSY ROAD that the post office is on. He was inches from stepping off the curb into the road when a HUGE TRUCK went by, making a loud noise and a big draft and scared him into stopping short. Two seconds earlier and he would have been standing right. in. front. of. that. truck.

That's when I learned my parking lot lesson. NEVER, NEVER get distracted until children are safely INSIDE the car. I am still a freak in parking lots. Even with Big Guy who is now almost 11.

"Stand on the WHITE LINE."

"Stay RIGHT NEXT TO ME."

"Don't MOVE. I can't see around that car!"

People actually stare at me, but you know what? I don't care. A friend who is a policeman told his kids when they were little, "Assume EVERY CAR in this parking lot is trying to run you over." And that is basically what I assume. Every car in any parking lot is potentially the one that could run my kid over. So what if it makes me look a little nuts? (It's not far off the mark.)

So back to the post office.

A few years later, I had mGal (who was 2) and mGuy, who was a newborn in an infant carrier, in the Little Post Office. There was a line, and it was a cold and snowy day. mGal had a wedgie and wanted me to fix it. And I was busy talking to the clerk and told her to wait.

Then I heard other patrons laughing, and I looked down to see that mGal has stripped off every. single. article. of. clothing and is standing there buck naked. (Well, in her socks.) I tried to get her dressed again, but she would have none of it. So I picked up her clothes, and the infant carrier, and took her by the hand and made her walk outside, back down the steps and through the parking lot (which was covered in snow) in only her socks.

She totally never took her clothes off in public again. Although the next time I went to a post office - a different one, as I was embarrassed to show my face at that one for several years after - mGal looked up and said "I PROMISE I won't take my clothes off in here." Lesson learned.

There have been other meltdowns, fits thrown, rolling, screaming, head banging tantrums at the Little Post Office over the years. I'm not sure why it sets my kids off.

Both yesterday and today, I had to go there to mail packages with Little One. You'd think after all these years and trips to post offices around the area with 3 and 4 kids, I could handle just ONE kid at the Little Post Office.

Nope. Both days, she was screaming and hitting and growling and rolling on the floor in tantrum. Embarrassing.

But the employees there know me well, after all these years. In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if there is a Best Of video made from the security camera of all the fits my kids have pitched. They probably play it at the holiday party.

These past two days, I'm thinking, has been due to lack of sleep. (At least *I* feel like laying down on the floor and screaming.) Last night, Little One fell asleep before dinner (remember she got up at 4 AM) and then woke up at 2:30 AM this morning, soaking wet (sigh) and wanting dinner, pajamas, a book and two hours of playtime. Gasp.

My coffeemaker has been running overtime today.

Baby, baby, let me sleep on it

This is my bed. Oh, how I miss it.

So apparently Little One's bizarre sleeping habits (or NOT SLEEPING habits) had nothing to do with her adenoids, a theory Dr. Everything Will Be Alright tried to soothe me with when I was in his office in a maniacal rage because I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN YEARS.

"Oh, it's enlarged adenoids. Once those are out, she'll oxygenate better and won't wake up."

So. not. the. problem.

She still wakes up. Sometimes WIDE AWAKE for HOURS before falling back asleep, sometimes waking up briefly, but EVERY 45 MINUTES. Sometimes waking up at 4 AM and being up for the day. Like THIS morning. (And I'm SURE I've mentioned that she doesn't NAP, right?)

But now? We have a new twist. She used to be nighttime potty trained. Now? Not so much. Or actually... not at all.

GAH!

In other news, she pitches a massive FIT about going to school every day. (This started about a week before her tube surgery - I thought it was the ear infection. Apparently not.) She also REFUSES to go to ballet. She LOVED ballet. After the first class, she woke up at o'dark thirty (surprised?) and came into my room with leotard in hand and woke me up, asking hopefully, "Do I have ballet again today?"

WTH, Little One?

I even tried bribery. Not just an incentive package... FULL ON BRIBERY. (A Barbie Style Head. I know, shameful.) To no avail. (Which is good, because I really did not want that godawful thing in my house.)

I hate to have a showdown about a silly ballet class for 3-year olds. And really? Let's face it. If she's LUCKY, she will be 5 feet tall. There is no prima ballerina position in her future. But I also hate to let a 3-year old win. It just doesn't SIT WELL with me.

So where do we go from here?

Slainte!

That's Gaelic for "CHEERS!"

We had our annual St. Patty's dinner with some neighbors the other night. I don't know if you remember last year, but this year was much smoother. Primarily because it wasn't at our house!

The menu included Irish stew and various green food, including guacamole, grapes, salad, grasshopper pie (Heaven in every forkful!) and margaritas. And of course, my famous Irish soda bread. Well, it's not *my* original recipe, but it's the one I make.

So if you are looking to get your Irish on today (or tomorrow, or anytime, really), here you go. It does NOT disappoint!


Kate Kilbane's (God rest her soul) Irish Soda Bread

Ingredients:

2 cups flour
4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda (make sure it's a fairly fresh box)
1 cup sugar
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 eggs

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 and spray a 9-inch round cake pan with non-stick spray.

Sift together flour, baking powder and baking soda.

Add sugar, raisins, buttermilk and eggs and mix.

Pour mixture into pan and bake for 40 minutes.



When done, the top should be golden brown and a toothpick should come cleanly out of the center.



While the bread is still warm, melt about 1 Tbsp. of butter and brush on top of the loaf. Sprinkle sugar in the butter.



To eat, slather with butter! It's really delicious that way! Especially with a hot cup of tea. Or even a margarita! Ole! And erin go braugh!



As far as my previous post, and my tweets, no one who reads this blog is sending me any nasty emails. And anyone who reads this blog who knows me from somewhere else in the electronic world, it's not our little oasis I am referring to. (Except Thrift Store Mama, who is all too familiar with some of this.)

In the past few weeks, two different email groups I belong to have broken out in flame wars. One situation particularly breaks my heart as is it supposed to be a support group and yet, the snarky, dismissive, accusatory emails have been flying. As if any member of the group would want anything but the best for her daughter, and yet, that's the barb that keeps getting thrown out there.

And for some STUPID reason, I feel responsible for other people's behavior. Maybe it's because I am the middle child, but I feel like I must be the peacemaker and I end up getting embroiled in controversy that wasn't mine to begin with. At the same time, I don't want to be one of those people who stands by and watches someone get roasted and does nothing about it. So I let it get to me far too intensely than it should.

Frankly, the internet is my ESCAPE FROM MY BICKERING CHILDREN! I have NO PATIENCE for bickering adults.

And there's always a controversy brewing in the blogosphere. I'm not even going to link to the one I was watching last week, because as far as I can tell, it is over and done with. But GAH! Some people REALLY don't think about what they post. The internet may *seem* like a vast universe, but it's not really so vast.

And another blogger who I love and who has been through life's wringer several times, posted (awhile back, but I just read it) about the horrible, nasty, even threatening emails she gets. If I ever got the kind of emails she wrote about, I think I would shut down my blog. I admire her for keeping it up, but to me, I don't think it would be worth the anxiety.

So yes, there are times when our fingertips enable us to talk about things we might not be able to talk about face to face. But there are also times when our fingertips allow us to say things to another person, horrible, mean, judgemental things, that we would never say in person. And for some reason, there just seems to be a bit too much of that going around.

In the beginning, there was IRL...

At some point, between kid nos. 3 and 4, after realizing I would probably NEVER have a decent phone conversation again and that my daily social interaction would consist SOLELY of a few broken sentences between other moms at parks or playgroups, I discovered the social power of the internet.

At the time, I was going through a miscarriage, something no one likes to talk about, but online, I found a wealth of information and groups of women who had gone through it (or were going through it) and were willing to talk about it. The anonymity of the keyboard makes difficult subjects easier SO MUCH easier to discuss. (Ever have a conversation in real life about your cervical mucus? Ok, so there you go.)

Later, I found a group of women who were all expecting babies in the same month I was expecting Little One. And then, a few weeks later, a group of women who had been pregnant or were pregnant with a baby with Turner Syndrome. And then, several months later, a group of parents of girls with Turner Syndrome.

A few years after that, I discovered the blogosphere. There I found like-minded people (mostly women, but not all, mostly parents, but not all) and realized that even though my real life social circles are quite small, and are formed primarily by women who have kids the same age as mine, there is a whole world of interesting, intellectual, thought-provoking people out there to interact with. People who make me laugh until I cry, on a daily basis. And the best part? They can't hear my kids screaming. And I can correspond with them at 2am, when my household is asleep and my mind is free from distraction. And perhaps not living anywhere near them makes it EASIER in some ways to interact because online, we are somewhat free of those things that keep us from sociability (life, laundry, children, carpools, you KNOW).

Some of my closest friends, or those people I find are often closest to my heart, are people I know mostly online. Strange as that sounds. Not to say I don't have friends in real life - I do. But the quality of our interaction is limited by time and opportunity. Online, it is less so.

However, online, you only know the parts of a person they choose to show you. You don't see them interact with their children, or order coffee, or talk to their spouse. You can't make judgements about their character based on casual observation. Only on what they chose to reveal.

The internet can also be a place where people show their fiesty side - more than they would in person. Or perhaps even more than fiesty - how about snarky, sarcastic and downright mean. It happens. It's happened to me more than once. But I take it as part of the risk of online relationships.

But lately, it seems that many of my virtual worlds have taken a bleaker turn. Misunderstandings turn into snipe-fests. Snarkiness turns into war. And even in a group of parents who are all fighting the same battle of good health for their daughters, wrongful assumptions and accusatory emails can fly.

It's enough to make a person close her laptop and wonder if maybe we WERE better off before all this social media?

My world has expanded tremendously through my fingertips. I know more, think more, write more. But, I also cringe more. Somedays I cringe much more than I laugh. And those are the days, I know I need to shut down and go find a real live person to interact with.

Under and over

Thank GOD for excellent doctors and nurses. Seriously EXCELLENT. I can't say enough good things. They took care of my Little One as if she were their own.

Thank GOD we did this surgery. Everything was all gunked up and infected in there. And she really didn't have many symptoms. Hopefully this will clear up all that nastiness. She's about to start her third antibiotic in 24 hours. (Partially for her infected head, partially to keep her balky heart valve clean.)

Thank GOD for my brave girl. She did great. Came out of the anesthesia just fine, and other than suffering through her first hangover, she's eating a peanut butter sandwich, watching PBS and enjoying being pampered. (Next up! Manicure! Sparkle polish!)

Thank GOD for great neighbors, including one who brought me magazines and Godiva chocolate to pass the time while I was in the waiting room. (Including the Best and Worst Beach Bodies issue of the National Enquirer. And can I just warn you, DON'T look at that one on an empty stomach.)

Thank GOD this morning is over. I've been having sympathy eardrum and adenoid pain for the last two days. Although you should all be PROUD of me - I DID NOT Google complications or horrific outcomes of tube and adenoid surgery. I just hoped for the best, and it looks like that's just what we got.

Thank YOU for all your good wishes and prayers. I felt them. And they worked.

Gah!

I am giving the carb detox my best a concerted effort, but clearly it is a life for people who have a fair amount of free time and those who plan ahead. I have my days where I have free time, but the planning ahead thing has never been my strong point.

There's just not too many grab and go snacks once you are out of baby carrots and can't eat. another. low. fat. cheese. stick. with. turkey. wrapped around it. Blah.

Which you need when for example, you drive the preschool carpool and your kid FU-REAKS out and won't let you leave, so you stay until she stops freaking out. But it's teddy bear picnic day and the class is walking to the park. And your kid won't let go of your pants leg, so you agree to walk to the park with the class and the teddy bears. So you grab ahold of the yellow rope they all hang onto when they are walking for the 4 block trek to the park. In the same clothes you wore yesterday. That you slept in. That have ketchup on them. And your hair is sticking up because you didn't have time to take a shower. For the last three days.

So when your kid is finally engrossed enough with playing at the park, you slip away and walk back to your car at the school. Four blocks through a college student neighborhood. It's not unlike the Walks of Shame in days of yore, walking home in the clothes you slept in, hair askew, except there is no hangover. And the only shame is the fact that you look like crap. And that you just snuck away from your kid while she wasn't looking.

You race home, bypassing Starbucks, even though you really want some, but there is no! time! You make 3 very important health insurance related calls because, geez! Even ear tube surgery is quite! expensive! And then you look through the reams of paper that the ENTs office sent with a note that said "Sign and Return" because, geez, they weren't kidding when they said they would cancel the surgery if you didn't return all the damn papers. And does EVERYONE ELSE BUT ME have time to do all this stuff?

Then, you have 10 minutes left to take a shower before you have to go BACK to preschool to pick up the carpool and you think you can shower in 10 minutes, no problem. Except whoa! You were wrong. So now you are late and speeding down the road and weaving through traffic to get to school before you get fined for being late. (And thanks to supremely gifted driving skills, you are a mere two minutes late. Wet hair and all.)

Then, you quickly drop off carpool buddies, race home to make a very fast peanut butter sandwich shaped like a teddy bear (because evidently they taste MUCH better that way) and wrap a damn piece of turkey around a low-fat cheese stick and cram the whole thing in your mouth, grab a stack of papers and hop back in the car to race to the pediatrician's office for the pre-operative check up.

There, you meet with the doctor you haven't seen since Little One was first born back when she had to get weighed every other day, because "Oh, yeah, she's nursing just fine." Except, "Holy CRAP! Why does she keep losing SO MUCH WEIGHT?" This was the doctor (young and green at the time, but very nice and willing to pass me tissues as my hormonally charged tear-ducts flowed with liquid because my milk ducts could not) who convinced me that baby formula is not rat poison and having an exclusively breast-fed baby who ends up being hospitalized for failure to thrive is WAY WORSE than having a partially-formula fed baby who actually grows and stuff. Duh.

ANYWAY... we haven't seen her since then and now she's a seasoned professional with a touch of grey in her hair and a pooch that looked very much like a tiny baby-belly but there is NO WAY IN A MILLION YEARS I would ask someone if they were pregnant unless they were sitting in the OB/GYNs office reading Fit Pregnancy magazine. So she wanted to catch up with all that has gone on in the past 3 and 1/2 years, so we went through her whole very-thick-for-a-three-year-old chart. Then she examined her and told me that she has a full-blown ear infection on one side and a just-starting one on the other. Who knew? Because evidently the Child Who Never Sleeps sleeps JUST FINE when she has an ear infection.

So on the way back around the Beltway from there, I had to call the ENTs office to let them know about the infection and ask if I should start her on the antibiotics the ped. prescribed, or just start the stronger post-op antibiotic prescription that was in that very helpful packet of information that I had never looked at until just that morning! (Answer: start the stronger ones.)

We headed straight to the big kids' school to pick up THAT carpool, but fortunately had enough time to hit the drive through Starbucks. Then, after dropping off my carpool kids, I took all four of mine to Target to fill the prescription for the antibiotics. And then I shepherded them around for 45 minutes while we waited for the medicine. I promised each kid they could get SOMETHING as long as they stayed RIGHT WITH ME, but the second they wandered off, they got NOTHING and it actually worked. Even my wanderers stuck to me like glue.

So Target really has something going with putting pharmacies in their stores, because in the 45 minutes that we waited for a $30 prescription, we spent $140 on 3 toddler dresses, 1 tankini and matching flip flops, 1 hoodie, 1 Nintendo DS game, 2 pairs of sneakers AND an issue of Better Homes and Gardens. (Which actually is not bad for $140, really. Except none of those were things that we knew we needed when we walked in there, but evidently we did.)

After leaving Target, we had to race home. I supervised the showering of mGal and the homework of Big Guy while ordering pizza, repairing my hair (remember when I ran out of the house with a wet head to get my preschool carpool?), and located a church-appropriate outfit to don before I crammed a piece of pizza in my face and mGal and I dashed out of the house to get to my niece's Confirmation. (During which mGal wiggled, whispered, chattered, attempted to text message, jammed my camera and dropped my very heavy purse on the pew during a moment of silence - so FUN!)

We got home from the Confirmation at 9:30, whereupon I dropped off mGal and grabbed my trusty stack of pre-surgery papers and headed to Kinkos to fax the important (aka - send us these forms or we'll cancel your surgery) papers to the ENTs office and then drop the hard copies by a mailbox on the way home.

Once I got home, I cleaned up, ran a load of laundry, packed lunches, filled water bottles and then remembered that Monday night is Intervention night, so I watched two really depressing episodes of Intervention. By this time, my stomach was churning so badly from stress that I had to eat some toast lest I burn a hole right. through. my esophogus. I finally fell asleep at 2am, just after saying a silent prayer that I don't screw up my kids so bad that they end up on Intervention. Because, it seems like in every episode, it's always the parents fault.

So really, WHERE in there could I have found the time to make mashed potatoes out of cauliflower or chop vegetables for a delicious no carb stir fry?

I'm simply MELTING away

I've decided to medicate myself with Starbucks. I'm pretty sure skinny vanilla lattes have no carbs. (Shhh...) It's not really in our budget, but think of all the money I am saving on crackers!

You know what pisses me off? I workout every day for a week. I eat like a rabbit. And this morning? I have lost exactly 1 pound. ONE. I'll take it, but, you know, three (or THIRTY) would make me so much happier.

But Rocket Man (or any guy, but I'm using him as an example), goes to the gym once, skips his nightly Pop Tart for a night or two and drops 5 pounds.

And the fact that I would totally kick his ass if there was ever a famine is small consolation.

My mommy playdate this morning got cancelled. As it turns out, mommies are actually too busy for playdates. So I took a mental health morning. I should have gone to the gym. I watched some HGTV, read some blogs (and didn't cry once!) and made myself an omelet.

I made my Starbucks run and ran into a friend who introduced me to HER friend, a professional organizer. He gave me his card. I'm wondering if that wasn't a sign.

Little One cried when she got picked up for school today. I don't know why. Her mommy-crush was the driver AND the co-op'er which usually makes her happy. But they didn't call me to come pick her up, so I guess she must have stopped. Suddenly she doesn't want to go to school, and you know what? Some days, I just want to keep her home.

That giant sucking sound?

It's me. I suck.

I'm handing back my Lenten MVP Award. I haven't been to the gym ONE TIME this week. Not once. And I probably won't be getting there tomorrow or the next day.

I really could have at least spent 20 minutes shredding, but I didn't. I'm starting to hate that Jillian Michaels.

Did you ever have one of those weeks where you are just OFF?

Welcome to my week.

It started with the dreaded snow day. As much as my kids love snow, I hate snow days. I had a long whiny post about it that I didn't even publish because it was so whiny. And besides the snow day, it's been butt cold. Which I hate too.

My Tuesday was busy, as they usually are.

Wednesday, I co-oped in Little One's classroom.

Today I had a bajillion errands to run. Including Buy Food, because it's very hard to eat No Carb if all you have in the house IS CARBS. I was resorting to eating pinches of dried basil. (And may I add that there REALLY IS such a thing as too much basil in your system? Trust. me.)

Tomorrow, I'm having a mommy playdate. And I could really use some girl talk. So to hell with the gym.

Everything this week seems to make me cry. Maybe it's the no carbs, because that REALLY makes me want to cry. Or the no wine. Sob.

The snow day made me want to cry.

Little One's ears have been really hurting this week and that makes me cry.

Someone made a snide comment to me yesterday and I really should have called her on it, but I didn't. And the more I think about it, the madder it makes me. She couldn't have realized that her comment had deeper implications for me, but then, that's why we don't make snide comments to each other, right? You have no idea how much you may hurt someone's feelings. So that is making me teary.

Then, yesterday, Shanna posted about a baby with medical needs she once took care of that wasn't wanted by his mom and how she wanted to kidnap him. And that made me cry, because I wonder what that poor child's life is like now.

And then today, I went out and bought a special pair of jammies for Little One to wear to her surgery next week, because we will be leaving the house at the butt crack of dawn, and that made me sad. The pajamas, the surgery AND the butt crack of dawn.

And Chris made me cry three times, but especially with this post. It's an old one that she linked too, and oh my goodness! I watered down my own coffee.

Then Susan made me teary writing about how life sometimes gets in the way of, well, life. And I realized it's Thursday and I've done nothing with my week.

And then I read this short story about a middle-aged mom who feels like she lost her identity without little ones to tote around and hold hands with as they cross the street and work on school projects with and all that stuff that sometimes makes me crazy. But when it's all over, then maybe I'll REALLY be crazy and life is passing by so fast and MY GOD it's already Thursday and where is the time GOING already?

Pass the tissues, please.

I'm starting to wonder if I'm hormonal. And let's just be clear before anyone comments, by hormonal, I DO NOT MEAN My Party of SEVEN Hormonal. Just regular ole girly hormonal. Because My Party of 7? One of the seven would be sleeping in the van, and let's just not start the water works again with that image.

So before I permanently waterlog my keyboard, I'm ending this post and going to play with my little ones. While they are still little. Because MY GOD DID YOU SEE HOW FAST TIME IS PASSING? (Although, with time passing so fast and all, don't you think it should be SPRING ALREADY???)

As promised

Here is my latest post at DC Metro Moms about lessons learned.

Photo from Ballard Designs

Things I want that I cannot have

This house... sigh.
Copyright MRIS.

This wine, although you all are tempting me with your extensive knowledge of the calorie/carb content of various alcoholic drinks... and I LOVE you for it! (And don't forget the antioxidants! I need those, right?)
Stay tuned, it's only been 2 days.

This dinner. Salad, anyone?

This dessert.
Copyright EdibleArrangements.com

This view. But it will be mine soon enough.
Ok, not nearly soon enough, but eventually.

Ok, a show of hands

Who tuned in to the VERY SPECIAL The Girls Next Door last night? If you didn't, you know you wanted to. I must confess, I watched part of it.

I stayed up late, knowing that there was NO WAY that schools in the DC area would be open today because of the MASSIVE! WINTER! STORM! barrelling down on us. (Where MASSIVE! WINTER! STORM! = 5 inches of snow.)

Like everyone else with barely two brain cells to rub together, I ran out last night for Snow Day Provisions. Starbucks. Milk. Wine. It was already snowing, but it was still well above freezing. That didn't stop TWO DIFFERENT sets of drivers from crashing into each other in the 1 mile drive between the liquor store and my house. Gah!

They must have been blinded by the snowflakes because it was. so. not. slippery. Or, maybe there were just so many damn cars on the road, loaded down with milk and toilet paper, that they couldn't keep from running into each other. Or maybe they were mothers, who, faced with the possibility of staying home with their kids for another snow day and dealing with the boots and the gloves and the snow pants and the sledding whining, decided to head out and get liquored up the night before.

WHO KNOWS?

I'm just glad I made Starbucks my FIRST stop, so I had a frothy beverage to keep me warm in the ensuing traffic jam.

Once we were adequately supplied, I flirted with chaos and did not pack any lunches or gather any uniforms. AND I stayed up late and watched The Girls Next Door. And I can't tell you what happened. You. must. see. it.

(Kidding. The three girls with the creepy, father/daughter/lover/foursome? thing with Hef, got wise and moved on. Or are planning to move on. And by the end of the episode, Hef had a new set of bimbos (twins!), ready to hop in their place. (*wipes a tear*) See? I just gave you back an hour of your life. You're welcome.)

Sure enough, at 6:03 this morning, mGuy was at my ear, exclaiming, "IT SNOWED! IT SNOWED! IT SNOWED!" in the loudest and wettest whisper ever. (The same mGuy who would have needed to be forcibly removed from his bed at 7:15 if it hadn't snowed.) And if you live in a place where life actually GOES ON even when there is snow on the ground, here it's pretty much guaranteed if you see even the tiniest bit of white stuff on your lawn, there will be no school. (*tries hard to contain the eye rolling*)

And now, at 2 in the afternoon, I can see blacktop on the street, the sidewalks and driveways are clear and my kids should REALLY be at school instead of fighting over who was talking while they were trying to watch Cheaper by the Dozen and made the rest of them miss part of the dialogue. (Missing at least 10 more minutes of dialogue due to the ensuing argument.) Did I mention that they've seen this movie at least 50 times and could recite the dialogue in their sleep?

No? I didn't?

What was I saying about getting liquored up?

It probably wasn't the best day to start the Great Carb Detox of 2009. I moved the start time from midnight to 10am because I made monkey bread for breakfast. And knowing what I had in store for me the rest of the day, I knew that monkey bread might make it all ever so much better.

So I have officially started. Now. Really. No more stalling. Which means no more wine. That glass I had with the monkey bread was the last one for two weeks.

KIDDING.

I didn't have wine with breakfast. I really WANTED to, but I didn't.

(Photograph from Eonline)