don't cry for me, argentina

today "barney" made C cry. what does that have to do with argentina or evita? nothing. i'm focusing on the "cry" part here. go with me. (p.s. i so wish i was talking about barney from "how i met your mother," but, unfortunately, i'm not). so, today "barney," of peculiar dinosaur fame, made C cry. there are so many questions that stem from this statement, aren't there? number one, why would C ever be watching "barney" in the freaking first place? number two, when you say "today" that makes it sound like this barney-viewing was not a flukey one day event. number three, why is he watching television in the first place, haven't you heard about the recommendations from the american pediatric smarties to not let your children watch television before the age of two? (stop lecturing me). here's where it gets worse. i very much disagreed with the crying. like, the moment of cry. okay, my kids like "barney." i can't help it. when i had to feed both of them at once, prior to the development of shoveling and/or carefully self-feeding, i had to keep them occupied. i was not fast enough for them. i'll admit it. i'm not proud, damnit! but there are two of them! and they're hungry! whew, guess i haven't worked that mommy-guilt out quite yet but who has time for therapy? anywho. as i was saying, the television-viewing began at about six months of age and now it keeps them content in the eight seconds it takes me to get the food from the prep area to the high chair trays. so, the lesser of the television evils, believe it or not, i decided was public television. that includes "barney." here's my only "barney" defense...there are kids, like real, live kids, on the show. my kids love kids. don't yours? they could just stare at kids all day. granted these kids are most likely little actor kids with crazy stage moms and they're going to grow up to be like britney but what can i do about that? that's somebody else's mommy-guilt. so now that i've defended "barney," let me tell you about why i was disturbed at C's designated moment of tears. there was this little fake robot (wait, are there real robots?) on the television, with "barney." that doesn't sound that bad. but the "robot" and "barney" were doing the robot! like the dance, the robot! you know, the robot! please tell me you know. i think it's from the 70's, although i bet 80's lovers try to claim it as their own. why is he crying at the robot dance? keep in mind he did not cry at said robot alone and standing. just when he started dancing. hello, it's a great dance! that creepy "barney" song about love and family? cry! cry! but please don't cry for the robot dance! that makes me sad! what is the world coming to? first, i think why is "barney" doing the robot? then, i'm like, wait, i actually like that "barney" is doing the robot. that's the coolest i've ever seen barney. then, i'm pained that C does not appreciate this little nugget of pop culture. pop culture of the past appreciation is rapidly on the decline. in my generation "don't cry for me argentina" from the great andrew lloyd webber musical, sung by madonna in the cinematic adaptation, later that year was turned into a gushgushgushgush (you have to do that like you're at a club, or abercrombie & fitch, same thing) dj song. ah, it all comes full circle.

i like this barney better

derby days

at this point in my life, how exactly do i explain a roller skating injury? no. i didn't take the kids roller skating. even worse. i went roller skating. even worse. on adult skate night. you would think going on adult skate night would be better than regular people (kids) skate nights. au contraire mon freir. the adults are worse. do you know what is even worse? worser than worse? the adults who are regulars on the adult skate night circuit. whoa. there's a whole subculture out there waiting for their reality television show moment. and it's scary. and i'm not just saying this because i'm bitter that i busted my ass twice during my adventure, eventually puncturing a lung and suffering from internal bleeding (just made that up). oh yeah, i totally bit it. i mean, i was a good skater back in the day. with rainbow laces. two ponytails. or one side ponytail. those days are over. goodbye gone. keep in mind i am not a clutzy person. i might even call myself athletic. i played every sport in high school. ok, not like high school was yesterday. but i held my own in the occasional post-college softball game, even. point being: it is really not like me to bust my ass. the "incident" occurred when my friend's skate collided into mine. the collision was following a solo ass bust by yours truly. i laughed. it was funny. i landed on my bootie. no harm. no foul. my biggest concern was my cell phone in my back pocket. didn't have to worry about that back in the day. (it was fine). and thank everything the cell phone was there, actually, because i don't exactly have "back." with the collision, though, there was pain. i'm not sure what happened. in my mind now there was tumbling. skates in air. screaming. adult skate night regulars rolling over me. i don't know. someone came over to see if we were okay. back in the day this would have been the most mortifying moment in "laces" (roller skating rink) history. on this day, i didn't really care. am i embarassed in front of the ponytail guy who comes here every tuesday night to practice his super cool moves to "no parking on the dancefloor?" no. and i'm most definitely "parked" anyway. i had chest pains. i'm thinking cracked rib. maybe broken. maybe punctured organs from the broken rib. maybe internal bleeding due to the broken rib and punctured organs and i'm going to die a slow and painful death in the roller rink. seriously, is this the way to go? how many ways to die are better than dying in a roller skating rink? on adult skate night. how many? 3,890? 522,930? 8,230,864? lots. lots and lots. so i recovered, still in pain. my friends and i depart only to find three police cars outside the skating venue. whoa. something is going down at adult skate night. they don't even serve alcohol. sober adult roller skating. what could require police attention? doesn't matter because i then spotted an ambulence arriving on the scene. obviously someone told them about my terrible ice capades tragedy and they came right to the scene. ok, they were here for someone else. but that didn't stop me from approaching an unassuming EMT for consultation. laugh if you want. but was i going to turn down medical consult for my aching ribs/organs internal bleeding? nosiree. i explained that i tumbled. it hurt. it particularly hurts when i breathe in. "then don't do that." hardy har har mr. EMT funny man. i kind of have to breathe. where did you go to school? breathing is essential. i explained my fall and symptoms. are you sure i didn't crack/break a rib? apparantly the rib cracking/breaking is fairly painful. like you can't walk kind of painful. i'm not that tough. he also said internal bleeding is not likely from a "floor fall." how did he know i was not skating on the banisters to "99 luftballons?" (yes. spelled right. by the way, now that i looked it up, this song is so not what i thought.*) maybe i should just take it as a compliment that i may not have looked like the skating on the railings adult skate night regular. he went on about the diaphragm. blah. blah. blah. so i'm fine. but it still hurts. damn diaphragm. damn adult skate night. it got me thinking though. how exactly do i explain a roller skating injury if, let's say, i wake up tomorrow and i can't move? i do have two toddlers to care for. does my spouse call in to work, has to stay home with the kids, wife immobile with a roller skating injury?


*this song is a cold-war era protest song. i thought it was about balloons. like a party maybe? no.

you are how you eat

or something like that. you know...sometimes people ask me if R and C are like the same person, since they are twins, or they ask which one is the "fill in the blank" one. like, "who's the shy one?" (neither), "who's the flirty one?" (both), "who's the loud one?" (depends on day, hour, minute, second). of course there are many differences. they are different kids. they didn't even share an amniotic sac for cripe's sake. never has it been more clear that these two are different than at meal times. they definitely have distinct, let's call it, styles. C pounds away at the food. doesn't matter what kind. doesn't matter how big. doesn't matter if it were spam and jalepeno bits covered with a chocolate hoseradish sauce (hope my pregnant friends aren't reading this one). shovel. shovel. shovel. shovel. there's no looking. there's no breathing. it kind of freaks me out. doesn't he care what he's eating? i mean thank God he trusts me, but have a little discretion here, dude. then there's R. quite the different picture. she takes a moment when the food is first delivered to assess the situation. i usually give the item she will like the least first, thinking of the old "if she's really hungry, she'll eat" mentality. she's on to me. she waits for the second or third menu item to be delivered before making a move. so, peas and corn arrive first. pause. sometimes complaining. chicken nuggets arrive second. pause. maybe i'll eat one. cheese bits appear third. this is what i'm talking about. this is what i've been waiting for. she removes those itty bitty cheese bits with a surgeon's precision. it is amazing. so she's basically on a cheese diet right now. thank God lactose treats her right. but she needs a little greenery and meatery (just made that up) every now and then. i mean, did she read in cosmo that this was the new hollywood diet? now i've become obsessed (one of about 16 current obsessions).

you see, in all of my great wisdom, there were things i thought about prior to the babies' arrivals that i was going to be responsible for: changing diapers, holding, kissing, burping, hugging, smiling, dressing, talking all goo-goo-ga-ga, cpr if necessary, bathing, heimlich maneuver (i want you to know i spelled that correctly on the first try) if necessary, singing (see first post), reading, safety and security whathaveyou, feeding. oh yeah, feeding. i knew i was going to give breastfeeding a go and if it crashed there would be bottles involved. we now are done with both. now we're on to the big stuff. sippies, whole milk, delectable items such as grilled cheese (my personal fav), green beans, cheese bits, bananas, cheese quesadillas, peas, corn, have i mentioned cheese? being new at this mom stuff, i did not thoroughly think through the intense nature of the responsibility of being the sole provider of nourishment and nutrition to two human beings (one canine too but he gets the same thing everyday with very minimal prep). keep in mind, i have never exactly been stellar in providing my own nourishment and nutrition. i am kind of known for my lack of food interest. in my working-outside-of-the-home days, i could easily get by on 1.5 meals per day. i wasn't a bad eater. i ate good stuff. nutritious. food just wasn't a priority. as my dear friend once said, some people live to eat. you eat to live. true. ok i do have a few foods that i live for...mostly things made by my mother, who still ships me care packages thank you very much. and then there is super delicious sushi and most things involving cheese and prosciutto-wrapped most things (converted me from vegetarianism) and good coffee and good red wine. wait. those last two are beverages. see what a food loser i am? now...whew food is a serious priority (still not for me, but for R and C, definitely). never before did i stop to think if i hit all the major food groups in a day, let alone in one meal. now, i am obsessed with food preparation and distribution. for me a perfect day is: milk in sippies, milk in oatmeal mixed with applesauce, chicken with green beans and corn and pears. water. spinach and cheese quesadillas (can i hide scrambled eggs in there? yes.) and bananas. water. all food groups: check! my mind never stops thinking about their food. consequently, my previous 1.5 meals a day may be a generous assessment at this point. i usually eat R and C's leftovers. if there are any. sometimes i actually make something for myself (like aforementioned burrito...previous previous post) and get to eat it. sometimes when my spouse comes home, i like to recount my meals for the day. i usually bank two meals per day but that's only if i get to count my nordstrom's decaf non-fat no-whipped mexican mocha (mexican hot chocolate meets coffee. dee-lightful) as one meal. but if i do eat anything in my home, i have to hide it from C and R. do other people have to hide food from your kids? i have to hide what i am eating because the little venus flytraps want it. if it's something non-cheeselike R will act like she wants it and then promptly spit it out, however. most of the time i sacrifice my food for their betterment but with the occasional mini mint milano, i'm not giving that one up. get your own.

and can we discuss where we now dine out (keep in mind we definitely went through the "why did we think this was a good idea?" when we went out between months 11 and 15 [and sometimes now still] because at times dining out is an olympic sport. and we don't even get to eat. or we eat so fast we feel like we didn't eat. stressful.)? we've never really been the fine dining couple but as a foursome we are scraping the bottom of the restaurant barrel. here are our requirements for dining out, in order of importance: 1. other kids present, 2. high chairs present, 3. loud, 4. something one-year-olds can eat, 5. no white tablecloths, 6. food on floor acceptable, 7. well-lit, 8. quick, 9. not "college-y". this generally lands us at places where i would never have chosen to dine in my previous life. i actually ate cheese fries for the first time last month. i drink high fructose corn syrup caffeinated coca-cola to get myself through some bad meals. nachos. cole slaw. veggie burgers. chips and salsa. pizza. gelato. my stomach just turned writing this. if you truly are what (how) you eat, what does this make me? i'm on a sandra/keanu speedy bus to: first stop, Artery-Clogging High Cholesterol City. second stop, Lose All The Baby Weight At Four Months Only To Gain It All Back At 16 Months Town. make it stop! make it stop! p.s. did you like how this post started off about my kids and i just made it all about me?


all mine

digits

i got a phone number. like someone else's phone number. given to me. like a stranger gave me their phone number. the other night i was out (gasp) at a bar-like establishment (gasp) and i was the recipient of one phone number (gasp gasp gasp). that's right. i got digits. i got a name and telephone number scrawled on a tiny, ripped piece of paper. just like the old days! (ok that never really happened before). but now is a new time! i'm a hot ticket! someone wanted me to have their phone number! and call them! on the telephone! sorry to ruin your excitement/horror/shock but the owner of said name and said phone number was indeed a potential babysitter. yes. potential babysitter. this is my life. this perfectly nice woman, bartender/waitress overheard my friends and i conversating about our kids (what else?) and offered up her babysitting services. did she know that between the three of us we had seven kids under the age of 3? probably not. did she know you should never tell people you are trying to get a babysitting gig with that you prefer animals to children? probably not. and just like the old days, i never called. p.s. she was a total babysitter tramp. gave her number out to three people in one night. as if.

delusionness

(just made that up). i am delusional. which produces delusionness. what? webster's is on the phone for me? (tell them i'll call them back). i'm tired but i can't blame my kids. they sleep. for the most part, always been good sleepers. don't hate me because i'm beautiful. i mean lucky. we have not had a flawless history of sleeping but it is damn near close. and when there is waking, there is usually self-back-to-sleeping, and that is glorious. so i wake up at the drop of a baby hat. i hear their covers tousle at the slightest turn. it's annoying. not them. me. i'm annoying myself. but i can't help it. so anyway, i have had some interesting delusionness recently in the middle of the night. first night: i wake up to sweet C's cries at about 2:30 am. i know he will put himself back to sleep. but in my utter and complete delusionness (you're totally using this word aren't you?) i have told my sleepy brain that i should go in and get him because R will be up in a half hour anyway, when we start our day. so C and i can sneak a quick cuddle and then get R when she wakes up like the sunshine. fabulous delusional idea. i go in. i get him. he's surprised. shocked i think. i bring him back into my bed. now he's really shocked. i glance at my clock. R will be up soon. IF SOON IS IN FOUR (4) HOURS! oh no. it's 3 am. what was i thinking? C is not having the whole sleep in my bed thing anyway, probably because he cannot believe i've granted him access to the room where the computer lives and he must have it now. right now. ok buddy. back to your bed. delusional mommy. please forgive. God love him. he was back to sleep. and we all slept for a few more hours. of course, my spouse was quite confused. mainly because he knows that had he brought a child out of their sleepy slumber and into our bed in the middle of the night i would tell him he was screwing up our (my) whole system and ruining all of our lives. accident. it was a delusionnesstastic (pushing it now) accident. not nearly as bad as the delusional accident known as the "spilled breast milk incident of 2006." i was breastfeeding. i was pumping. for two i might remind you. i was tired. this requires a capital D, Delusional tired. pure delusionness (officially overdone, right?). there was a storage bag. a breastmilk storage bag which in my memory now, had 32 ounces of breastmilk in it. it was a big gulp of breastmilk. the kids were going to drink it with a straw. and ice. and diet coke. now i want one. ok i had spent at least 11 or 12 hours pumping it. i don't know. it was on the counter. i saw it going. i couldn't stop it. i wasn't fast enough because my postpartum reflexes were slightly on the slow side. [slow motion] nooooooooooooooo (try to imagine that sound from the bionic woman. you know the sound, right?). it spilled. every bit of it. all i could think was thank everything holy i did it. because if the big gulp breastmilk spilling was at the hands of my spouse or mother it would have been ugly. so fast forward 13 months. we are all fast asleep. the little sleepy angels have been asleep for at least 6 hours and God love them that's only halftime for them. i am in the height of delusionness at 3 am. i am wearing my retainer. ok. i wear a retainer. give me a break. i have had braces. i have a permanent retainer but my bottom teeth are as stubborn as i am and they're on the move, i am convinced. even with the permanent retainer. so every friday evening i sleep in my removable retainer in addition to the permanent retainer. i have mentioned my teeny tiny bit of OCD prior haven't i? well it's there. little bit. so i wake up. for real wake up at 6:30 am to the sound of munchkin babbles. hmm. i thought i wore my retainer last night. it was friday. hmm. look. look. look. look. can't find it. but i bet the dog will locate it in 9 seconds and then he'll be sick and i'll be the only over 30-year-old back at the orthodontist because my dog ate my retainer. anyway. i'll find it later. later happened at 2 pm. it's by the monitor. so, sherlock, this means i got my bootie up in the middle of the night and middle of my delusionness to carefully place my removable retainer on the dresser by the baby monitor. makes sense.

but wait. there's more.
why can i hear my kids at all times? like when they're not even here. they're with my spouse. at the grocery store. someone's crying. i hear it. someone's awake. it's not nap time. and they're not even home. someone's fussy in the car. i'm alone in the car (for once). this goes right along with my sleeping hallucinations that the kids are 1. in the bed with us and 2. falling off of said bed. they have never slept with us. our bed is high. i've read stories. babies being smushed by adults while sleeping. so, they were crib babies. but still. since the day they were born (ok, not in the hospital but i didn't actually sleep there) i have hallucinated them in the bed. in the beginning it happened every single day. and for my spouse too. which is funny to me. that we both were hallucinating. we would address the other when they were scampering around the bed to grasp the "baby." "honey, the babies are in their cribs. they're asleep. they're not in our bed." "oh, ok." i have to say we were both very cordial about the other's hallucinations. now it is just me. and it happens once a week or so. and now that the kids are mobile, i sometimes hallucinate them romping around in the room. or crawling off the bed. still no. still in their cribs. God love them. i worry enough about them when i am awake and coherent. even my sleeping subconscious worries? my new subconscious dellusionness is that R and C are casually roaming our room in the middle of the night. so i do the obvious. get up out of bed. close the closet and bathroom doors. because as long as they don't go in there, they're totally fine. chew on the ipod charger. frolick with the spinny computer chair. pull down all the lamps. that's cool. just don't go in the closet or bathroom. sometimes i look for them. i know you're in here! damnit i need sleep. and i have no one to blame but my self and my crazy!

p.s. i just want to add a shout-out to anyone who makes it all the way to the big gulp. this was a long freaking annoying post. thank you!

jammie jam

i am wondering at what point it will be acceptable to my kids that on a day, like today, that is cold and raining, we will have a jammie jam day. you know the jammie jam day. we sleep in. we stay in our pj's all day. we eat pizza for breakfast, left-over thai food for lunch, and cookie dough for dinner, napping whenever we feel like it between the "meals" (just like college. that sounds like college. oooh. justification forthcoming: i'm preparing them for life in academia.). we watch bad daytime television including the usa channel for edited versions of "uncle buck" (love that movie) and "so i married an axe murderer" (love that one too) and the obligatory "breakfast club" with ridiculously altered "bad" words. (has anyone actually seen the unedited version of the breakfast club? i wonder what the bad words are. "ass?" they could totally get away with that now. but. i. digress.) eventually when we can take no more of what 80's/90's cinema had to offer, we turn to the food network for some high maintenance broads who grow their own herbs and weld their own skillets. ina, i love you honey, but seriously, who churns their own butter? come on. and you have a lot of friends coming over for meals. i hope they're not using you for your culinary arts. (why do i care about this? not sure. am i worried about ina?) we'll laugh at the big gigantic, bigger than the table, pancake uncle buck cooks up. we'll laugh how mike meyers says "heed" instead of "head." "look at the heed on that kid." laugh. laugh. laugh. more cookie dough. we can put sleeping bags in the living room. now i'm reminded of when my parents let my sister and i stay up late with sleeping bags in the living room so we could watch the finale of little house on the prarie. i didn't make it to the end. i fell asleep. something burned down, i think. so, my kids are not currently into the jammie jam day. my dog gets jammie jam day. if he had pajamas he would be in them right now. (he's not exactly one of those fluffy louis vuitton dogs). he's been in bed all day. only venturing out when food calls his name. this is what i'm talking about. no. the kids want to play and be loud and be entertained by the never-ending mommy show. i'm still in my pajamas hoping it would influence them. not happening. to bring home the "we're not into the jammie jam day" point, they even cut their naps short. foiled! of course they napped for over 3 hours yesterday. of course. when my spouse was home. blast! now we have at least like 42 hours of yet to be determined entertainment which is definitely not outside time in the backyard or on a walk, or any other activity outside of our home, because i can't even justify a trip to the starbucks drive-thru in this rain due to safety hazards. and at least like 42 hours until they eat dinner, which is not cookie dough, i assure you.

crazy validation

i don't mean "crazy, validation!" like "that's crazy validation," i mean crazy validation period. like crazy. validation. actual crazy. my actual crazy. has been validated. do you know what i mean? i love it when this happens! everyone has a little crazy. and by everyone, i mainly mean me. my little crazy rears it's head via the old standards of OCD and/or paranoia. i'm the kind of paranoid that gets nervous looking at roller coasters, thinking there may be a screw loose in there. i know i may have a screw loose but whatev. so let me set the scene. picture it. austin texas. 2008. (didn't you love sophia from the golden girls? i did.) the kids love their pottery barn kids wooden shape sorter. there are blocks of various shapes. you sort them into the appropriately shaped hole. lots of fun. there are six shaped blocks. from time to time a block or two goes missing. much like everything else in our house that can fit in little one-year-old hands. i pretty much clean up each room that has been conquered at least two times per day. i like to make sure all the puzzle pieces are accounted for, no misplaced snacks in the ball pit, blocks in the appropriate holes in the shape sorter. this day, only five blocks. one is missing. no big deal. i'll find it. it happens to be the circle shaped block. the most coveted of all blocks in the shape sorter. it's the go to block. for some reason, the circle goes first. i think because it's the first one they both figured out how to "sort" so it's a confidence booster. it gets the morale up to triumph over the other blocks to be sorted. so i really must find it. pressure is on. normally when i'm looking for something i might ask R and C to help. "who can help me find C's sock?," "has anyone seen the purple sippy cup?" this however, was a different situation. i did not want to alert their attention to the missing fav block. if they haven't noticed it is missing at this moment, no need for a "beepbeepbeep. beepbeepbeep. this just in" scare. so, i'm on my own. toy baskets emptied. no circle. laundry hamper emptied. no circle. crevice behind the glider. no circle. diaper champ. no circle. (ok, i just checked the top. if the little circle actually made it into the smelliness, too bad. i'm not going in.). wow. it's really hiding, read: been hidden, well. we'll just have to move on. it will turn up. maybe it got smuggled to a different room and we'll find it weeks later in a plant. fast forward. then it happened. it was 3 a.m. i was sleeping. i awoke with an epiphany. like a eureka epiphany. eurekapiphany (obviously just made that up). i remember the day prior. we went about our business as usual. we ate, we played, we changed diapers, we put the diapers into a bag for disposal upon our departure, dressed, ready to go. i casually threw the bag o' diapers onto my vehicle so i could throw them directly in the outside garbage (which i always do) and am now remembering a "clunk." not a big clunk. but it was somewhat unexpected. i knew there was poop but it would indicate some kind of excretory (real word) problem for poop to clunk in this manner. so i thought maybe it just hit the windshield wiper funny and that was it. kids in car. diaper in outside garbage. wipe hands. pat on back. (hey, this routine is no small task. the getting everyone ready and out to the car to start our errands task. not for the weary. we're like a well-oiled machine at this point). but now it is all clear to me. at 3 a.m. the circle shaped block was in the bag. i know it. that was the clunk i heard. sneaky! don't they realize that they placed the most coveted block in the dirty disgusting bag o' dirty disgusting diapers? the bag that gets sent out to the outside trash? this means you won't see your beloved circle shaped block again. hello cause and effect. when is it going to hit? i'm proud of my detective savvy at this moment. except. it's tuesday now. tuesday morning. in our neighborhood the trash gets picked up on tuesday mornings. [slow motion] noooooooooooooooo. if i am right and if the cherished circle shaped block is in the trash, it won't be for long. it will be in a landfill somewhere in a matter of hours. all this worry and crazy paranoia and the circle shaped block could be resting peacefully behind a couch cushion for all i know. i need to relax. but i can't. because i have the crazy paranoia/OCD combo. and it's a doozie. it will get you. with all this turmoil, i do manage to get back to sleep where i most likely dreamt of garbage cans, circles, dumpsters, circles, and if it was possible for pottery barn kids to send me a circle shaped block replacement if i really asked nicely. i get up and start our business, breakfast preparation and the occasional round with the dust-mop. with my spouse, we go in to greet our darlings. i mention the missing circle shaped block to my spouse. he knows this is a big deal. it's the circle. i tell him my bag o'diapers clunking on the car story. he doesn't say anything. except that it's trash day. which i already knew. are you thinking this is a long freaking story about a stupid block? au contraire mon freir (had to look it up. at my own expense, here's how i spelled it the first time: oh contrer monfrer). i love my spouse. this is why i married this man. he went out and checked the outside trash. of course, i even knew what kind of bag the bag o' diapers was. he returned. wait for it...circle block in hand. yes! this is exciting on many levels but the one i am clinging to at this moment is that my crazy has been validated. because i know things. so what if i am crazy paranoid and OCD? it's working for me. it works. and even though my spouse mocks and sometimes disregards my crazy, thinking it's just that. he didn't this day. after i cleaned the circle shaped block, we all did a circle shaped block welcome home dance. ok, it was just me. the kids were like "big whoop. a block. like we don't have 892 other blocks in the house. we hated the circle anyway. that's why we put it in the shape sorter first. we want to get rid of it. we finally decided it was time to pull out the big guns. right to the trash. and not just any trash. the bag o' dirty diapers. she'll never go in there. and then it goes right outside with the most heinous of the trash contents. and, hello. we knew it was monday. just in time for trash pick-up. give us a little credit lady."

eurekaphiphany

reunited and it feels so good

need of the moment

here's what i'm thinking. i just need it to be cold like three more days this year so R can wear her chic leopard coat three more times before it is too small. ooh, good thought: maybe i can cut the sleeves off and she can wear a chic leopard vest next year. have to try that. what? project runway is on the phone for me? (again. it's so annoying). (i'll call them back). i can't wait until R and i can share clothes. shut up. i did not just think/type/say that. don't let me! don't let me! please tell me i will never wear the same clothes as someone 30+ years my junior. and definitely tell me we will never wear the same outfit. and absolutely not to the same outfit at the same time. and i don't look good in rompers (who does?). i already try to avoid us both wearing black leggings on the same day. oh yeah. i have leggings (again). leave me alone.

leopard coat, with sleeves