twinstant family

well something happened. they turned four. love letter time!

2010-12-22T21:22:00.030-06:00

from a negligent blogger (yet attentive mother!).

dear R,
today you are four. ok. you were actually four 32 days ago. we. have. been. busy. a new busy like we did not know before. and by busy i mean a never ending loop of fun. and now you're four. FOUR!

this year you reached an all new high with your love for being a mommy to your babies. and i know just how you feel. you are a marvel. a precious bundle of happiness and energy and glow. you love to learn and you love to teach. not necessarily in that order. it thrilled me this year to see true love reveal itself when you met your first nutcracker ballet. i had never seen you sit still with this intensity of concentration. you sat for an hour and a half, in your princess belle dress, hands clasped in your lap, eyes glued to the stage, motionless but face full of joy. at intermission i took you to the bathroom and you ran, pulling me back into the theater because you didn't want to miss anything. and you didn't. when we got home, a curtain was born, over your closet. your new "stage." that stage has been busy. you and C often (often) perform in that space. dancing. singing. playing the guitar. playing the drums. playing dress up. immediately the scene from the nutcracker where fritz grabs clara's new nutcracker became a regular reenactment. you bring your hands to your eyes, lower your head and pretend to sob. it's a prize-winning performance.

speaking of performances, you have a gift for dance. before you pull of a big twirl, sometimes you jet your arms out to one side to wind up and better propel the whirling spin. it works. you also came with the internal skill of spotting, a dancer's technique when spinning to focus on a spot while completing multiple turns so you don't fall down. ok sometimes you fall down, but rarely. someone once asked me at a play date shortly after you turned 3 where you took dance. i said you were self-taught. and you are! we did get you to your first dance lessons during the summer. now we have added ballet shoes, leotards, and tap shoes to the dress-up repertoire.

this year you had a big move to a big bed in a new room. you were excited but you also asked about C a lot. and you always ask about C a lot. you melt my heart with how much you love your brother. wherever we go where there is a sample of some sort to be had, you always ask for one for your brother. a balloon at the grocery store. a sticker at the doctor's office. a piece of bread at whole food's. you're always thinking of him. and recently you said you love him because he does sweet things for you. and he can say the same of you. i also watch your empathy and care for others who are upset. you pay special attention and want to know why someone is hurting and that they will be okay. at your first trip to the dentist's office this year, there was a little girl next to you who was very upset and scared. you hopped right out of your seat and brought her your new dora toothbrush the dentist gave you. sweetest.

this year we lost our beloved friend the nap. i knew it would go. people have long warned me it will come to an end and long cursed me that it lasted so long. when you're that special combination of super-tired and super-amped and trying to do anything but sleep, you go into a kind of delirious babble with a thousand different thoughts and words and motions and most people would not understand. but i do. and i love it. for a second. and then i realize you have been babbling/moving for more time than you would have actually slept and i call it. not happening. but then there's the occasional slip. our little lovey the nap comes back. maybe a time or two each month. but it's different now. there's no more "sleep tight," close door, two sleeping kiddos for two hours. there's no more sing R to sleep, now sing C to sleep, close door ever so carefully, two sleeping kiddos for one and a half hours. now there's hang out with, read, maybe sleep now?, sing, maybe now?, ok you can lay on my shoulder. zzzzzzzzz.

one day i found myself saying "my neck really hurts. she slept on my shoulder for her whole hour-long nap." and as the words are coming out of my mouth i think, i wonder if you're still sleepy. maybe you can go back to sleep on my shoulder for just another 30 minutes. even another 15. this neck cramp will be better by the end of the day or tomorrow. but i will forever miss these days of neck cramps when you no longer want me to hold you while you sleep. you look like an angel. a little cherub with sweet rosy cheeks, so peaceful and sweet. and when you wake up groggy and tighten your arms around my neck and say "i want to keep you" i just want to say "OK!" yes, please, please, please, pretty please. please do keep me. this is a freezable moment. and i will treasure it forever. and i will treasure you forever. because when you say you want to "do our prays" (bedtime prayers) and you say "thank you God for my soul" i am thanking God for the same. you are beautiful inside and out. happy birthday. i love you.

love,

mommy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dear C,

for your fourth birthday, i thought about consulting someone on how i could appropriately express the love that i feel for you, my precious sweet boy. but then i realized the person i should consult is you. you have more love in your little body and more ways of perfectly articulating your feelings than anyone i have ever met. it's astounding. how you can already be a renaissance man at the age of four, i am unsure. but you've got it all. smart, athletic, funny, cultured, handsome, caring, creative. you're a sports fan and a bookworm. you're a smarty and a smart-alec. you like bob the builder and classical music. you liked dance camp with your sister and the fire station with your cousins. valentine's day this year was a testament to your sweetness when i asked you what it meant to love. you said "when you love someone, you hug them in your heart." you also told me that you love me because i'm incredible to you and i make your heart feel happy. well it's hard for me to capture just how much happiness you bring to my heart. i think right now you might understand it as to infinity and beyond. recently one of our friends described you as a build-a-bear. if she went to build-a-bear to build a kid, that kid would be you. and i think it's a perfect way to describe you. you're snugly with a big heart and big smile and bright eyes and big hugs. precious. one day as i was dropping you off at school, i started to walk away and you called to me, "wait, mommy." i stopped and turned around and you said, from a distance, "i'll keep you in my heart." i couldn't leave. you were three and a half and you liked school and you were fine at school and you had your sister at school. but i couldn't leave. i came back to hug you tight, tight enough to try to keep myself from crying. i always keep you in my heart.

shortly after your third birthday, we were in a store where music was playing and you asked me "is this tchaikovsky?" i love your questions and i love the way you think. another day at dinner you asked me "when is the end of the world, anyway?" when i asked where you heard about that, your response was "from myself." so i will call you my epistemological philosopher and i am so grateful for how you help me see and experience the world. pure amazement and appreciation for things often taken for granted.

this year i have really seen you flourish at school. you are so good at concentrating and so proud of your accomplishments. one of my favorite things that you do is make anything into a song. sometimes you'll just start singing about something out of the blue... "we're going to the park. yeah yeah. to the park. do do do do." it. is. awesome. and you have a permanent fan right next door. r is always ready for a duet or a performance. you have established your signature role as announcer "ladieeees aaand gentlemen. preeeesenting..." you love your r. this year, since you were three, was the first year for all of us that i did not participate with you in your activities. when you and r were headed to sports class, where i watched from outside, you made a point to tell r "it's ok. we'll be together. we have each other." i could not have said it better myself.

you are really growing up fast. it's amazing to me how in one single day i can see flashes of the future where you are sixteen years old and also the past where you are one year old. i pick you up from school and ask how your day was and you tell me today you got your driver's license. i laugh at the thought (you are three!) but also think about how fast time has gone by and i bet i will blink and you will really be getting your driver's license. and later that day i give you a drink of water and you say "thank you, mommy" while touching your face to also sign "thank you" and i flash back to you at one and a half years old. half your current age. half your current size. and yes i just blinked and two whole years went by.

c, you are a wonder. recently you said "i think God made me to love blocks." i bet He did. and i know God made me to love you. and i am so grateful for this chance to know you and learn about you and learn from you. happy birthday. i love you.

love,

mommy

on why we will never live in the land of nod. sigh.

2010-05-21T14:05:00.025-05:00

you've heard of the land of nod, right? imagine if pottery barn and williams-sonoma mated into little baby neat and tidy gingham chairs. matching adorable alphabet rugs. squeaky clean and organized kid shelves with books in alphabetical order. transitioning seamlessly from robots and outer space to butterflies and peonies. sigh. sighsighsigh. curses. i hate you land of nod. hate. you. but i really love your organization in your fantasy world of make believe. where there are no children. actually there are no adults either. who are you kidding? no one can keep a room that neat. just enough adults and stagers to produce a picture beyond perfect fake playroom where it looks like mr. clean magic erased from top to bottom in one fell swoop.

but i can't get over it.

i have the "rainbow connection" track running in my head (kermit's version. obvi.) while i imagine a land where all the baby doll supplies stay in the baby doll supplies area (p.s. why am i not done with diapers? i'm still diapering. dolls.). all the trucks and machines stay parked on the trucks and machines shelves. it's always a tea party. never missing a spoon or saucer. (and said missing spoon or saucer never ends up in, let's say, mommy's laundry in mommy's closet. random.). a land where train tracks are for enabling trains t0 happily choo-choo along their way. never taken apart. over. and over. and over. so that mommy has to further herniate her disc (L4/L5, not that you wanted to know) spending hours hunched over to produce the most perfect train track configuration. ever. a land where art supplies are at the ready at all times. non-washables abound! spray paint! sharpie markers! and never a stray mark to be found on a table. or a wall. or a white linen curtain, for example. (my fault for doing white, right?).

enter hypocrisy. i don't want those kids in the land of nod catalog. fake little robot kids. who put their stuff away immediately after using it. "i think i am done with the yellow dump truck for the moment. let me return the yellow dump truck immediately to it's yellow dump truck space in the truck parking garage i call shelves. thank you dump truck. it was a fun 30 seconds. i'll take you out for a run again, but only after i attempt to build something with my tools and then return all tools to my neatly organized workbench." really. reeeeeally. come on. i want three-year-olds. footloose and fancifull, fancifree three-year-olds. because really, they can get away with this s now. i am now envisioning a blog post in 2022 when i'm complaining about sweaty sweat socks that are found trickled all over the floor in various rooms of our house and half-eaten hot dogs found stuffed in the cushions of the couch. please no.

so here's to you, land of nod. i am currently living in the land of no. and i am trying to embrace it. (however, if you would like to compensate me for saying your name 6 times on my blog, a blog that coincidentally is read by 6 people, i won't turn it down. it should be, though, for at least $36,832 [roughly] since that's how much it would cost to turn my land of no into the land of nod [7!]).

my land of nod. (took 20 minutes to complete).

my land of no. (took 20 seconds to complete).

i only have brain space for four thoughts. awesome.

2010-05-08T09:44:00.014-05:00

random thoughts of the moment:

1. last night at a movie a stranger thought i was part of a group of high school girls. i was flattered that he thought i looked so young. or. OR. what if he thought i was their mom?

2. a slip n' slide is not nearly as fun when you have boobs. just FYI.

3. go away flatty flat sandals of the season. particularly the ones full of beads and/or bling. i am 5'2". after years and years (and years except for my recent hiatus from stilettos for the safety of the two babies i was likely carrying/pushing/shuffling) and flat shoes are less comfortable to me than stilettos. for real.

4. i am on a quest to find the following items:

a. i really want harem pants. don't judge. i don't want mc hammer harem pants. but i DO want the ones that are tight with the big pockets. those are cute. no silk. no jewel tones. you can't touch this.

b. good exfoliator that does not rank at an 8 (out of 10) on the toxic list. (if you do not know about this, you must. http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/)

c. karaoke set list so i can begin preparing for a one-night only appearance in NYC. tickets are going fast.

d. robert downey, jr. you know. just in case someone on the interwebs has a connection. hey, you never know.

don't just talk amongst yourselves (or to yourself) here people. please share.

hate you

love you

and now i am my mother

2010-04-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

clue #1:

you know. there have been plenty of days that i return home after attempting to leave my neighborhood because i have a not-fleeting feeling i left the garage door open (it was closed). but what if it was open? what if then the door from the garage to the house opened and my dog escaped and he's not street smart because he's a maniac and not allowed on a leash and so he ran right smack in between two headlights of an oncoming car because he thought he smelled peanut butter? what IF? that could happen. but it didn't. or one time my fear was rationalized because i came home after several hours when i had left the straightening iron on. ON. OMG it was...really...hot. no fire. no burns. but justified my somewhat frequent returns to the scenes of the not crimes. just to make sure. this does not make me my mother. but i have been told more than a few times to unplug EVERYTHING. and not to put wooden spoons in dishwashers. and i still cannot walk over those holes in the street with metal fence-like barricades over them. what are those exactly? regardless. what do i think i'm going to fall in there? i would have to pry my tiptoes down in there. pretty sure my entire body is not going to fit. or is it going to break? it's not aluminum foil. am i maximum capacity? now i am sure i'm going to pass this worry wartness onto my offspring. hello. their feet COULD actually fit in there. and maybe their whole leg. now i maneuvered a little C leg out of the crib rails once or twice. but a gutter? not interested in that rescue mission. and not saving it for the wonder pets. we'll just walk around.

clue #2:

why am i lecturing the friendly gymboree employee about why toddler girls' skirts are made SO SO SHORT and why can't someone just make some moderately short skirts that have shorts attached? why? WHY? especially when i am purchasing a gymboree skirt at that exact moment that does in fact have shorts attached. not this lady's problem. leave her alone. but seriously. first of all, let's put some length in the skirts and/or shorts. i don't care if it's hot. 2 more inches is not going to up the already too hotness. it's not possible to up the already too hotness unless the extra 2 inches are made of fleece. second of all, even if it's moderately short, let's throw some little shorts under there. i'm not talking about a skort. no. no. no. NO. i don't want the mullets of clothing on my child. i just want her bootie covered. is that too much to ask? i know it's a little tiny bootie and i know it's cute. but it's not for public viewing. there's a reason dora doesn't make it to any shirts. only suitable for undies. maybe pj's. all of a sudden i'm remembering my first fight with my bff, holliday, when we were in 4th grade and made our classmates pick their first teams. you know, you're on team holliday or team betty. choose. choose if you think it was ok for someone to tell a little girl that she shouldn't be flipping over the monkey bars showing everyone her business in her short skirt and hello kitty undies (team betty) or if you think it's fine for a 6-year-old to dangle while onlookers laugh and point and mock (team holliday). if i had to choose a team today, i don't know what i'd do. except. except i'd suggest to the girl's mother that she put some damn shorts under the skirt so she can act like a little 6-year-old nadia comaneci wannabe and uneven monkey bars her little heart out. because that's what my mama told me. i would have been in shorts. and now my R will be in shorts under her skirts. thankyouverymuch.

clue #3:

what preschool in their right mind would have painting at preschool, done by preschoolers, with NOT washable paint. i'm sorry, that's NOT washable BLACK paint. that makes sense right? oh. no smocks either. nope. just go for it! i have encountered many an art stain by the washable paints. me and my oxyclean. we've tackled some trickiness. but non-washable paint. really? and how was i to know? i didn't see it coming. i let her wear her new favorite shirt. it was from target. it was $8. what can she do to it at school? a little apple juice? no prob. a little scuff of dirt from the playground? thank everything i didn't send her in the oilily dress. washwashwashwash. no prob. washwashwashwash. but blacknon-washablepaint. damn. it. scarred forever. blemished forever. darling bright pink shirt with sweet yellow flowers. maysherestinpeace. i'll just go get a new one. hello it was $8. no biggie. oopsie. not there anymore. cripes. now what. that shirt is gone baby gone. OR. wait a minute. i think i can. yes. i can. i will remove said sweet yellow flowers from the non-washable black paint stained shirt and i will attach (sew. i'm sewing. i'm a sewer. no no not a sewer. i'm not anthony from project runway making my big finish dress out of polyester. heart you anthony! what's the word? seamstress? bygones. i'm exhausted.) the flowers to a brand new non non-washable black paint stained shirt. yes i will. yes i did. i'm excited! how exciting! "Loooook, R! you're non-washable black paint stained shirt has been reinvented! better than christina aguilara! what? you don't want to wear it? what? you don't care? are you sure you don't care? are you sure you're not still devastated from the black non-washable paint stain incident? are you sure? really? it was pretty awful. i mean. i've seen stains before but. that one was bad. and you were so sad. don't you remember how sad you were? you were sad. depressed really. you wouldn't even eat (for 10 minutes. 2 actually.)." this is just like when my sister (older, wiser, more mature, less likely to hurl herself off of the top bunk) and i got bunk beds and i was relegated to the bottom bunk. obvi. it was good (woohoo! exciting! bunk beds!). it was bad (why oh why must i be the occupant of the bottom bunk where it's only possible to hurl myself from 10 inches in the air? what a waste.). so my most amazing mother crafted. serious crafting. a blue sky scene with the most eightiestastic rainbow with white puffy clouds. it was like looking up into a giant lisa frank sticker. sigh. i might still love it. a lot.
so, friends and anonymous counting crows fans (ok i don't get many comments so i better thank folks when i get them), i can only hope/wish on my lisa frank rainbow that i am actually becoming my mother. i still get care packages. not just for her grandkids either. sometimes some things just for me. she's the best. not to mention that she gave me genes which resulted in zero stretch marks even after carrying and delivering two biggish bouncing babyloves at the same time.

she would kill me if i ever posted a photo of her but this is basically what she looks like.

i am not the next american idol

2010-03-25T15:46:00.014-05:00

holy hell i haven't posted on here since the end of january and i just checked my google analytics and like 3 people have been checking this blog at least once a year and i had like 2 unmoderated comments and i am a blogger. fail.

with no good reason because i'm still holding on to those beloved naps. i could blog during naps right? wait a second. don't even think about jinxing this one, universe. you cannot take the naps away. you. can. not. period. double period. i really mean it. so what if i have to sing my pre-schoolers to sleep every single day? so what if it sometimes takes THIRTY minutes? so what? so what. i get at least an hour of peace and quiet and aloneness. and you know what? i'm not a particularly talented singer so when else will i have the stage and have requests thrown at my feet. true story. somewhat recently R heard cat power on the radio and asked "Is that mommy singing?" i sound nothing like cat power. nothing. i couldn't even sneeze like cat power. but. but someone (two someones) wants to hear me sing. and someone (two someones) want me to hang out with them until they are asleep. and that someone (two someones) soon enough is going to think i am categorically destroying their cool. or their game. or their fun. or their something else that children think their parents destroy for them. and so i'm hanging on. i'm enjoying my 10 maybe 25 minutes of auditioning for fake ellen degeneres', making the wrong song choices of "goodnight sweetheart" (didn't bring anything new to it) and "you've got a friend" (didn't engage the audience).

so i've also been planning an overprogrammed summer since we will not have school. omg we won't have school. and i do mean we. because we all benefit from school. first of all C and R are in big time LOVE with school. i mean big. i mean they don't want to leave. today i bribed them out of school with fruit snacks. mom of the year. but it was the first truly successful, seamless departure from school EVER. so cost-benefit analysis is win. i keep telling myself this is a good problem to have. lots of kids hate school. they cry when parents drop them off. who wants to leave a crying, sappy sad puddle of mush, crying "moommmmyyyyy! please don't le-eave me-eee." i know because i had a few of those (one or two or twenty) in the early days. but hey, it's great when they're all "why can't we go to school every single day? it's more fun at school. school is more fun than home. school is more fun than you. school is better than you. we hate you." those aren't direct quotes but i'm pretty sure that's what they said. and that's why they run away from me when i go to pick them up. and sometimes there are tears (happened this week). and sometimes there are parking booties down on the asphault in the school parking lot (happened this week. different kid. not the crying kid.). so, hey a whole summer of no school. should be delightful! so i'm intentionally overprogramming them. hey, apple doesn't fall far. they'll be able to keep up. they'll get color-coded planners. correction: they'll design and craft and utilize color-coded planners. or they'll just run amok and be so happy they're not stuck in the clink. i mean our house. because you know it is only nice outside for 2 weeks where we live. and we're on week two right now. so we have to seize the opportunity for outdoor fun before the sun's scorchy rays seize and singe and make us slather sunscreen so we can walk to the mailbox to get the mail. cross fingers. please be something good. make it worth the sunscreen and heat. maybe anthropologie catalog? or dsw reward? or a nice bottle of pinot noir?

please, universe dear universe, let us keep our sacred naps through the summer. if not for me. for my people. my fans. p.s. will this fit in my mailbox?

round here

2010-01-24T10:22:00.014-06:00

we always stand up straight

well, maybe not "we" as in people. but definitely "we" as in our belongings. this is how things show up in our house. yes, someone has an affinity for order. and i don't just mean me. makes me feel warm inside though. no snuggie necessary.
of course, also round here we talk just like lions (or monsters. roar.). ohmygosh. maybe we are a counting crows song. thank everything we don't stay up very, very, very, very late.

wait. a. second.

ok i'm back.

i had to check out some more counting crows lyrics. scratch that. ever paid attention to counting crows lyrics? depressing. not childlike footloose fancy free at all. at. all. more like i'm alone. i've been laying on the floor. i love someone who left me. i'm depressed. i'm trying to get sober. blah blah blah. this is not what we are about. at all. and don't go thinking mrs. potter's lullaby is any better. or anything lullaby. crying, sorrow, rejection. nothankyou. this makes tori amos seem cheerful. anyhoot, it is pretty entertaining to enter a room and see that the order fairy has paid a visit.

that's the yin.

here's the yang:

shoetastrophe. clearly the catastrophe fairy has paid a visit.

ok i'm not over this counting crows thing. i know. so 90's. but how did i not know that every song was deeeeepressing. seriously. i challenge you, dear reader to come up with a happy counting crows song. or line of a song. it's hard. and i must now drown myself in carebears and "these are days" by 10,000 maniacs to make myself feel better. OMG i said drown myself! see? see?! depressing. what am i talking about? i'll play candyland too. that will help. candyland. carebears. happy music. and i'll organize something.
enter smiley emoticon here.

barium is the new lead

2009-12-02T18:12:00.006-06:00

so melissa and doug has become my go-to. when the lead paint freakout of 2008 started and every plastic everything started getting recalled, i went wooden. even though wood still gets painted. with paint with lead in it. bygones. plus i like the way wooden toys look. i came across a recall notice in canada for a melissa and doug toy we have. stackable train. i called the number. here is my best recollection of the conversation that followed.

let's call her "melissa."

melissa: melissa and doug greeting blahdity blah blah

me: hi. i'm calling about a recall notice on the stackable train.

melissa: oh. that is like a year old.

me: well my kids have been playing with it for the last year and i just found out about the recall.

melissa: what's the blahdity blah blah number.

me: number.

melissa: well your train was not in the bad batch. so it's fine.

me: well what was wrong with the other ones? something toxic in the paint?

melissa: barium. it's totally fine. they actually give it to people [me thinking: um yeah. if your going to get an xray. not if you're going to a playdate]. and your kid would have to eat 45 trains in order for it to be a problem.

me: ok. well that's a lot of trains to eat.

melissa: yeah. so i would say, you know, if you're kid is hungry, try a cookie.

me thinking: not a melissa and doug cookie. those will help you in an xray situation but otherwise will kill you.

me actually: nervous laugh.

end scene.

this is not normal. this is not a normal interaction. right? what do i do? ban melissa and doug toys from my home? they're kind of taking over the joint. what's worse? the barium paint or the customer snarkice?

p.s. customer snarkice is the new buzz phrase. feel free to use it but make sure you cite me.

bring your train!

aw freak out

2009-11-24T18:35:00.006-06:00

not fabulous. not fierce.
this is what freaked me out today.

i know. it's sweet. someone tucked him in. IN MY BED. unbeknownst to me.

freaked. me. out.

and in case you were singing...

aw, freak out

le freak, c'est chic

freak out

le freak, c'est chic

here i am, gonna stand my ground

nothin' in the world's gonna bring me down

hear me yell and hear me roar

i am somethin' that you can't ignore

i am here for all of us

i am fierce and we're all fabulous

freak out

so fabulous, so fierce

freak out

so beautiful, so freaky

freak out

so fabulous

so fabulous, so fierce

freak out

so beautiful, so freaky

freak out

le freak, c'est chic

they stayed in their seats

2009-11-22T17:00:00.007-06:00

in the movie theater for curious george.

will they stay in their seats in the theater for the nutcracker?

R: "can i wear my tutu?"

me: "yes, of course."

R: "and i can dance?"

me: "well, the ballet dancers will dance. and we will all watch."

R: "and i can dance?"

me: "um. they will be on stage. and we will be sitting in our seats. on our booties. watching them."

R: "and i can wear my tutu?"

me: "yes"

R: "and i can dance?"

me: "you can watch them dance, learn the moves, and then dance when we get home."

R: "but i already have moves."

bets?

three. is the magic number.

2009-11-17T14:58:00.009-06:00

dear r,

today you are three. three years old! three! years! old! for the last three months you have been asking me pretty regularly "today is my birthday?" "it's my birthday today?" well...today is your birthday! it's your birthday today! you love birthdays. and not just your own. sometimes it's your baby stella's birthday (recently renamed baby ivy). sometimes it's mommy's birthday. sometimes it's baby elmo's birthday. and there's always cake involved. and usually candles. this year i have fallen more in love with you, my baby. and you have fallen more in love with your babies. you have a lot of babies. you take such good care of them. and one of your favorite all time things are real live babies. which our friends have been gracious to share with you. and you are a very good mama. you push your dolls in the stroller. you take them to "the park." you rock them. you feed them. you change their diapers. you read books to them. you sing to them. repeat. you put them down for naps. you even put me down for a nap a time or two. you dress them too. but you also love to dress yourself. it started with dress up. shoes, tutus, hats, beads, singlasses. every accessory possible. and then you started really having opinions about your own clothes. so in the mornings you will tell me what color you want to wear. or what outfit you want to wear. sometimes you really have a strong opinion. of what you. must. wear. you really know what you want. and you really know how to get it. you make things happen. and then you tell everyone about it. in great detail. you had a way with words early on. people are often amazed by your vocabulary and how well you speak. what really amazes me is when you use words like "actually" and "in fact" in sentences. correctly. when you were about two and a half you almost knocked me over when you put your hand gently on my shoulder, looked into my eyes, and said "sweetie. it's ok." "well the thing is" is how you start many sentences. and you also thanked God for delivering your papa's birthday card. to florida. you are also very good at speaking spanish. and let me not forget the singing. oh the singing. i have never heard a more touching rendition of "this little light of mine" than yours. it brings joy to my heart and a smile to my face every time i hear you singing. and that's often. because not a day goes by that you don't burst into song. in fact, you kind of sing more than you talk. and shortly after your second birthday you busted out full choruses of songs. some of your favorites include indigo girls, stevie wonder, james taylor, and sha na na. sorry about that last one. your memory astounds me. you are still talking about the day at baby yoga when you were one and a half (exactly one and a half years ago) that a block fell on a baby and the baby got hurt. sometimes months will go by and we're on our normal errand to the grocery store, close to yoga, and you repeat the story. you really remember. especially people. you love to talk about people. names. kids. mommies. where they live. you could go on and on. but your favorite person is C. you always want to know what he is doing. where he is. sometimes you want to stand by his seat and feed him his food or give him his drink. or put on his shoes. you want to take care of him. the other day you and i went out to exchange one of your birthday gifts you received that you already had. you chose a cool new book. for C. you are a very good sister. plus you are lots of fun. you are a total firecracker. you can dance like nobody's business. and you have the best expressions. of. all. time. you are so animated. you have these beautiful daddy blue eyes. but i think you must actually have a light switch too because they can sparkle up a room. this year you got your first official haircut. you hair has gotten so long. it has the slightest most perfect amount of curl. you naturally look like you are wearing mascara and lipstick and have curled your hair but i promise i have not done any of those things. much to your disappointment. one day. sometimes you will walk over to me and crawl into my lap and say "i love you mama." and as i hold you, even though you're leggy and dangly now, it reminds me of when you were a teeny tiny 5 lbs making sweet baby cooooooo sounds. but this is better because now you say "i love you mama." and you can put your arms around me and hug me sooo tightly. and really who could ask for more than that? happy birthday. i love you.

love,

mommy

dear c,

today you are three years old. and all those parents of the past who have said things like "I don't know where the time goes." or "it goes so fast." or "you blink and they're grown up." are now making sense to me. oh my gosh you are three years old. and let me tell you something. you are wise beyond your years, mister. you started putting words together early. two word sentences well before two years old. but this year. i could barely keep up with your vocab. of all the words you were able to fire back at me, including "predicament," the ones that i can most easily recall occurred back in february. i don't know if you were feeling the valentine's spirit of love. but as i rocked you in my arms one night, you said "love you so much." and i think i am still melting. you are one of the sweetest little people i have ever met. you melt my heart on a daily basis. the melting also occurs due to your astounding what color do i call them-stop you in your tracks amazing eyes. we call them hazel. but i think they are grey. blue. green. specks of brown. specks of yellow. i'm talking about the most amazing color i have ever seen. and your lashes flap. and if you smile really big i can see your dimple in your right cheek. melt. lately i have been staying in your room while you and R fall asleep. you look at me with your heavy eyelids and you smile. you smile yourself to sleep. i haven't been able to regularly watch you fall asleep since you were a baby so i am savoring this time. i get to sing you songs. lately you've been requesting "you've got a friend" known to you as "the seasons." people are immediately taken with your stronghold on the english language. but they're also taken by your sweetness and your manners. you don't let a good deed go unthanked. and are happy to have added appropriate use of "you're welcome" to your repertoire. you are willing to share everything. and i mean everything. with everyone. a true democrat. speaking of democrats, you somewhat frequently mention that obama lives in washington d.c. and "we would have to take an airplane to get there." back to sharing. this year during our potty training adventure, you and r got to celebrate success with mini-cupcakes. you even offered your beloved cupcake to R sometimes when you received one and she did not. that's love. this year you were pretty excited to get your own sandbox. speaking of love. you would play in the sand for hours on end. you love the stuff. so imagine your excitement (well, i'm sure you can. it's your excitement after all) when you stepped foot on a beach for the first time. a whole land of sand! what to do?! the sand love was followed by the movie love. in a movie theater. the woman sitting next to us cracked up at you cracking up at curious george. and i did too. you totally got it and you totally loved it. i think curious george really inspired you because you really figured out sometimes you can do things that make people laugh. and that. is. awesome. sometimes i don't think it's funny. and i tell you it's not funny. and you say "well it's funny to me." touche. you have never met a tool you didn't like. lately you have been making up games which you teach me. and also making up rhymes. you are so excited when you have something new and cool you have come up with. you use your hands to express your excitement "tofu and zabu is a rhyme!" you really get focused when you are doing something you enjoy like golf or art. focus. focus. you're intense. last month you picked up your paining to move paint around the paper making "paths" with the paint. it was awesome. and beautiful. you are so creative. you love your tools and sports and art and you also love your sister. this year you, though we don't call her this, added a Y on to the end of her name. and it is so darn cute. sometimes she will put on her tutu and start to dance and you will start a lovely rendition of "ballerina girl" by lionel richie. "ballerina girl, you are so lovely." what a lucky girl to have you as her brother. and what a lucky mommy to have you as my son. happy birthday. i love you.

love,
mommy

excuse me

2009-11-08T19:00:00.006-06:00

for not blogging lately but i've been separating white smarties out of individual smarties packages. and let me tell you, in case you were wondering: there may or may not be even one freaking white smartie in each little pack. unroll unroll unroll. unroll unroll unroll. one white smartie. thank you very much. 73 packages later (which equals exactly 60 white cookie monster eye whites)...voila! this obsessive compulsive thing does pay off every now and then.

cookie decorating by approximately 15 in the under 3 crowd. booming success. of. course. we chased halloween with steady flow of sugar. cookies. sugar. cupcakes. and bright blue icing. but look how cute! hopefully my kids are not being ostracized as all their friends' parents demand break ups. i sent everyone home with cookie monster toothbrushes though! can you tell i was raised on italian catholic guilt?

why do i feel like they're looking at me?

twit or tweet

2009-10-28T13:26:00.002-05:00

i feel like more of a twitterer (tweeter?) than a blogger these days. because i think in single sentence structures. facebook status updates. rhetorical questions.

yesterday C barged into my room when i had just gotten out of the shower.
he said "whoa. those are big. they're all grown up!"

that is all.

things i love right this second

2009-10-14T19:15:00.002-05:00

kid art. washable paint on canvas. c. 2009.
does it ever get old? i think i'll love it forever.

ok. this is a women's shirt that i stitched up in the back and voila! perfect dress for perfect r. i tried to talk through it with the salesperson who so wasn't with me. but look! i love it! for her. not me.

um this one is a joke. i do not love this. but if i did want to freeze my children and have exact replicas that would last forever. well, here they are. bet they don't wake anyone up at 5 am for potty breaks (but some dolls do. weird).

speaking of freaky. i do not love rachel zoe the person. i love rachel zoe the cartoon character (and why is she so wrinkly everywhere but look at that forehead. someone snorts cocaine off of that forehead, it's so sleek [ie botoxed]). i also love rachel zoe as a second language. bananas. die. beyond. litrally. and my recent favorite "i would eat those shoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." (don't pretend you know what eating is like, rachel zoe. hello.)

my kids' lunchboxes. i want to kiss them on their little mouths (slug, mouth with braces) everyday i make their lunches. they picked out the stickers to put on the front. one container. little compartments. all in the dishwasher at the end of a hard day. done and done. and you're welcome, environment. nothing disposable to pitch. hearts and rainbows. i feel like a care bear.

the. cutest. food. of. all. time. i mean, it should win an award. for the cutest food of all time. and it was delicious. afternoon tea at the encore (via a pool cabana. happiness.) in las vegas. look at those tiny delights! and they were tasty too. and not in a tiny way, either. scrumptious.

who doesn't love tim gunn? really. this photo must have captured one of his "conundrums." and what i really love right this second about him is when he recently told someone their garment had the potential to be a "hot mess."

we have his and hers nail polish in our household. and i love it.

but at least we already have halloween costumes

2009-10-05T18:44:00.010-05:00

omg. i've been down and out. over and out. out and over. down for the count. broken down. broken. times are tough when you're kids are all of a sudden 13 overnight. no more baby swings. check. no more diapers. check. check. no more cribs. check. check. check. i should let them out of their highchairs too but hello when will i empty the dishwasher? i'm not ready to have free-range chickens. oh no. this crib to bed transition is all that i dreamt it would be. and more. in a very bad nightmare. and it's exactly what everyone i know who took twins from cribs to beds told me it would be. a nightmare. when i say nightmare, it implies slumber of some sort. au contraire mon frere. i haven't been sleeping. it's worse than when i was breastfeeding 3 week olds. well maybe not that bad but i'm living in the moment here and it feels bad. they have already come so far. they are still napping most of the time. hallelujah. but you just never know. and that's the hard part. coupled with the obvious hard part of waking up at 5 am. that's 5 am central time. or whatever time zone you're in. imagine 5 am. it's dark. it's nighttime in my book. no one needs to be awake. but they pop up at 5 am. turn on the light. it's a party. or they have to go potty. potty i can accommodate (and even find the positive and be grateful for that) but a party. i cannot accommodate. i will not accommodate! i go in. everyone back in beds. lights off. "but i can't see." oh really? there's a reason you can't see. because you don't have to see. you have to sleep. it's dark. for. a. reason. several reasons in fact.

so anyway. i'm tired. so tired that i cannot string together a complete thought process. even for a blog that 7 people read. i know you read it. thank you 7 readers! and i'm so sorry i've neglected you!
because i cannot string together meaningful anything right now (as though i ever have), i will leave you with this question (please i need all 7 of you to weigh in on this one):
if she loves loves this brand new halloween costume so so much on october 5, 2009 (wore it to eat two meals and getting it off for bedtime was a grand task), i ask you:

what are the chances she will still love love it so so much on october 31, 2009?

i'm getting a different one, aren't i?

sometimes "shh" doesn't work. just fyi.

2009-09-17T22:00:00.001-05:00

you know how there is always that one kid. running recklessly through the aisles at top speed. screeching (note: screeching, not screaming. screeching. there's a difference.), arms flailing. screeching peppered with bouts of gleeful laughter. today there were two of them. at. the. library. on a non-story time-so-normal-adult-people-are-here-so they can, you know, read-day. um, did you guess? and. they. were. mine. we might not be allowed back. and the hell to the no broke loose while i was checking out books. so i'm on record. they know what we did this summer. i utilized eloquent parenting tactics, such as time-out, once we got safely outside. ahem. "safely" because i finally caught the little buggers and stopped them from running directly under moving vehicular tires in the parking lot. really they were just going to run right to a moving car to see if they could fit their little bodies under there. i just know it. and seriously. who drives a hummer anymore? save the environment, people. drive a suburban. and why are you even at the library, mr. hummer (you know it's a dude)? buy the damn book. probably some bratty less than zero teenager that parked there so he didn't have to walk so far to the high school. which he was late for. because he is too cool (and too high. ahem.) to get to school on time. helloooooo digress. once time-out is over (why did i ever let them get off that bench once i had them sitting there? why? WHY?!) they immediately pick up right where they left off. running amok. A.M.O.K. effective. pull. grab. "james spader is about to run your asses over." they're not listening. but i'm listening. that sounds like...rain. it hasn't freaking rained in 4 months. but it's raining now. dear father in heaven let me get these kids safely to the car where it's dry and safe. so i can lock them into seats. click. click. click. aaaaaamen.

photo copyright my local library

mom of the year

2009-08-21T17:04:00.001-05:00

i have had some moments when i have felt like mom of the year. toot toot goes my own horn. ok, well, at least mom of the moment. the moments when my children are happily consuming a dinner of salmon and brussel sprouts. the moments when my children say "thank you" and "please" to others, unprompted. but today. oh today. today at toddler yoga while other little toddler yogis gracefully placed one block under their little bodies to establish that perfect virasana pose, my little toddler cried because he needed more than one block to build his building (obvi). today at toddler yoga when the teacher asked the class what kind of music do you like? and one little toddler yogi said "merengue" and another little toddler yogi said "mozart," my little toddler shouted "dora!" and today at toddler yoga when the teacher asked what we should plant in our garden, one little toddler yogi said "carrots" and another little toddler yogi said "peas" and my little toddler shouted "cookies!" and today at toddler yoga, after receiving a parting gift of a single piece of chocolate, my little toddler dropped (accidentally, i'm almost positive) one single piece of chocolate into the toilet. and i flushed. thank shavasana it flushed. so today at toddler yoga my kids cried, shouted out curses like dora! and cookies! and sent chocolate into the toilet. mom of the year. at least the moment. i have failed to mention the moment that the teacher asked the little toddler yogis if anyone wanted to give anyone else a hug. my two. only ones to stand up, embraced. r said "that's my brother." so really, everything else i wrote about doesn't matter. but it still happened. but hello, i had my moment.

when you look up mom of the year, this is what you find. and it somehow makes me feel better. but i guess her kids are older. so i've still got time.

fashion forward

2009-08-04T22:17:00.008-05:00

ahhhh, it's a brisk 103 degrees as i type this, the wind camly blowing fresh, light 103 degree disgustingness. and yet, people tell us, fall is upon us. you know i love fall. fake fall. with the onset of fake fall comes the onset of shopping. i get the fever with the change of fake seasons. i can't help it. so the sales hit, the new fake fall season of clothes is here. so i thought i'd throw some eye-candy your way. you. are. welcome. here are some items i'm loving FOR MY TODDLER? um. no. FOR ME. but these precious pretties are, in fact, wait for it. for toddlers. i know. it's a sickness. i would totally wear these (even if i shouldn't wear these). I should get to wear these. (like i need more what department should i really be shopping in confusion). but no. they're toddler gear. allegedly. not my toddler's gear. because these items cost up to $5,493 per item. ok, only up to $180 per item but that seems like $5,493 per item to me due to the reeee-diculous factor. seriously. so if you see suri cruise toddling in one of these frocks, you can tell her you saw it here first.

OMG so last season, suri

update on scratchy satan

2009-07-29T14:21:00.007-05:00

apparently satan is a coward. this may not come as a surprise to some of you, as i recall a lesson or two in my private school education stating this fact. but the toddler-sized, scratching satan from gymnastics was a no-show this week. i know you've been waiting to hear. the day after scratchfest 2009, i was going to visit the nordie's sale and blabbing to a friend about said scratchfest because clearly this has affected me more than anyone who, i don't know, was actually scratched, when who should appear? i know. satan is tricky that way. right there. in the nordstrom. being carried by her father. because let's face it. it's not safe to let that kid loose. i almost went into post traumatic stress attack. but i pulled it together. so apparently they still let her out in public. who knows if she has returned to the scene of the crime since the incident. who knows if her ass got kicked out. and that's why she has to hang out at the mall. who knows. but this i know. today at school, R and C were referred to by their teacher as "heavenly." good prevails over evil. take that.

turn the other cheek?

2009-07-17T14:27:00.015-05:00

dear mother whom i don't know who was with your child in the waiting area of gymnastics before our class began,

remember when R and C and i walked into the small waiting area at gymnastics, before our class began?

remember when you asked "are they twins?" and i said "yes" and you said "oh, they're beautiful."?

remember when your satan daughter proceeded to shred my "beautiful" son's "beautiful" face for no reason whatsoever, treating it as though his "beautiful" face was a scratching post and someone had just declawed her back claws with no drugs and this was her last chance to scratch so damnit she was going to scratch and claw the beautifulness until it was shredded and begging for mercy?

hmm. well i remember. apparently in great detail. and you saying "sorry" while saying nothing to your 2-yr-old daughter, other than "use your words"...well, um, what words do you think she was trying to express through maniacal thrashing of another human being? "stop looking at my puzzle motherf*cker or i'll scratch your face off?" because if that was it. it still would have been better than a random act of violence. though he did cry. because he was injured. he was also confused. i have seriously never seen a child behave that way before. or a mother behave that way before. also, for your information, telling the other kids "everyone takes turns" on your way out the door, troubles me. a child should be able to, i don't know, look at something that another child is playing with, particularly when it is community property that belongs to no individual. hell, i don't care if he walked up to her and swiped the damn puzzle out of her hands and stomped on it gleefully (which he didn't). as long as he didn't bash it over her head, watching as puzzle pieces and chunks of hair and flesh plummeted to the ground. which is what i want to do to her now. and i guess technically you did warn me. remember when my son with the beautiful face walked over to your demon and you looked at me and said "she'll bite and scratch him" but as the word "bite" was coming out of your mouth, the rampage had already begun. it was like the time i took my sweet puppy to a dog park for the first time. and some dumbass with small boyparts, i might assume, brought his rot (not fixed, by the way) to co-mingle with the unsuspecting puppies who just naturally sniff things out. gus got mauled (but was fine).

so, i'm thinking...mother to mother. maybe the dog park, i mean gymnastics, is not the place for your toddler of terror. maybe anywhere where there is another human (maybe animals too) in a 2-mile radius is not the place for your monster.

but know this. i'm coming back next week. and i'm bringing my A game. i'll get hockey masks and mouth guards for the kids. i'll even get them shin guards, just in case. you won't be able to distract me with feeble compliments about my children's beauty or some half-assed warning about a potential and probable slaughter. oh no. i'll be ready. i'll be wearing a crucifix. and i'll lace the gymnastics' anti-bacterial gel dispenser with holy water.

sincerely,
prepared to do unto others

note to readers, other than satan's mommy: C is fine. it was the first outright attack i have witnessed. there was no blood (surprisingly). in addition to being hurt physically, his feelings were hurt. he was confused. he happens to be beautiful and sensitive (and smart too. and have i ever mentioned his natural athletic and artistic talents?). and resilient. full recovery.

this is how i remember her. but with horns. and fire.

more firsts

2009-06-29T14:41:00.007-05:00

hmm. what have i been up to...what have we been doing...just business as usual. not much going on. it's one thousand degrees. so we don't go out. except when we take a family trip to florida just in time for the groundbreaking hottest days in florida history. thankyouverymuch. it was a great first trip to the beach for R and C. they loved. and i loved it for two days. and then i was ready to not have to rescue sand from peoples' crevices and sweat, not just to the oldies, but all. the. time. oh and C and R went to their first movie a la movie theater! are you curious? it. was. awesome. (and it was, obvi, curious george). we came. we sat. we saw. we ate our weights in popcorn. and we made it through the entire movie! i was fully prepared for a fight and a departure and another fight b/c C would not want the departure. but it was all harmony. i even got the soundtrack to remind us of our success. oh, another first...first baseball game. and i thought our first year was our year of firsts. third year? firsts o' plenty. i ate a hot dog (for shame!). let's not talk about contents. and how i don't really eat meat. and when i randomly decide to randomly eat a meat product, i go for just the by-products. the nastiest of the nasty. and then i share it with my children. and it.was.awesome. i doused it with ketchup, mustard, and relish, so there was only a hint of hot dog flavor. um... am i talking more about a hot dog than my kids? i think so. but it was probably the beer. the beer helped. anywho. first, first, first. and they're giant people. real bonafide humans. they use words like "actually" and "although" correctly in sentences. i've been thinking this whole time that it may be easier to have two kids going through the same stages at the same time. rather than, let's say, a toddler and newborn. that sounds hard. to me. so i'm all...hey, teething at the same time! check! it's bad. and then it's done. hey, diapers at the same time! check! it's bad. and then it's done. and why am i now thinking 15 years ahead when they will both graduate from high school. at the same time. hey, childhood at the same time! check! it's happy. and then. it's. done. waitasecond. no need to stress now. but it just reminds me. even in the middle of a bad. i'm going to cling to it. even amidst cryingscreamy time, sometimes accompanied by stomping of feet, i'm going to hold on to it. because that stage will be gone with the others (please). and then it will be high school. and i'm not in a hurry. even though i'm currently thinking about halloween costumes (um, october) and birthday party (um, november). and a new iphone (um, next week) and wallpapering one wall in my dining room (um, never). and a hot dog.

diapers or car?

2009-06-04T14:00:00.000-05:00

"oh, those are the expensive ones" said a mommy at the library after she borrowed one of C and R's seventh generation diapers.

later i watched her get into her range rover.

and even later...i had a thought.
maybe if i switched to a cheaper diaper, i could get a new car.
maybe diapers are the only thing holding me back!

maybe i should have used newspaper this whole time.

apparantly these are the only people who can afford seventh generation diapers.

but this is the car i want:

really i just want to load the kids in, roll down the windows, and sing "i think i love you" really loudly.

mr. robot-o

2009-05-14T14:30:00.020-05:00

word to the wise: don't teach your kids songs that A. you don't really know the words to, and B. contain words in another language (ie., when you find out the words you didn't know, it turns out you cannot pronounce them.) they're not in english. this is not a learning opportunity for my kids (or I) to learn a new language. that's what dora is for. how can anyone think of anything but "Mr. Roboto" when you see a robot? what else is there? the song just leaped from my lips. "do do do do do doh Mis-ter Robot-o" C and R caught onimmediately. "what's the other song?" asked C. translation: what are the words? what are the words to the song besides do do do do doh and Mister and Roboto? we got that. what else is there? mommy mental note was made. look. up. words. it should be harmless enough and if it gets raunchy i can just change the words like i did for rebel rebel by david bowie (ie., instead of "hot tramp i love you so" i simply insert a real kid's name for the "hot tramp" part. done and done. none the wiser. and before you go thinking i am crazy for introducing this song, i need you to know that the words "rebel rebel your face is a mess" also leaped from my lips one time long ago with the introduction of food. i didn't exactly plan it out. i'm sure you understand. and let us not forget how i saved the falling baby by changing the words of "rock-a-bye baby." true humanitarian.). so back to my robot-o lyrical blunder..."domo arigato, mister roboto." thankyouverymuch. literally. it means thank you. in japanese. maybe this is a learning opportunity for my kids (and me)! except. they didn't stop there. damn that styx. as if cursing our world with songs like "lady" and "come sail away" wasn't bad enough. "domo arigatou o-hima dedomo arigatou himitsu wo shiritai domo arigatou." um...shittake. what am i supposed to do with that? i just got domo arigato down. now this? apparently when mr. robot-o has time, styx would like to know what his secret is. (loose translation. by me.). and then it occurred to me. OMG WHYHAVEISPENTTHISAMOUNTOFTIMEONSTYXLYRICS? seriously. cultural enrichment aside. so here we are. i will choose my songs more carefully. i will make sure i know the lyrics. i will try to keep lyrics from leaping. i will try. suddenly i am thinking that R and C probably think i also don't know the words to that police song i keep singing to them. "da do do do da da da da." no really. that's it.

i found mr. robot-o like this in the dining room. apparently he needed a diaper change. domo arigato.

parting is such sweet sorrow

2009-05-04T14:02:00.000-05:00

or is it? i used to have to hide from my kids when i was, say, in the kitchen and they were in the living room. they couldn't see me. or the MAAAMAAAAHHHH (while standing behind bars, ie. gate, with their little fingers clenched). would ensue. it. was. torture. for all of us. and sometimes when i leave, even now, there are tears. and sadness. it makes me feel terrible. like i'm abandoning them. even though we just spent the last 11 hours together for the day, i am now abandoning them. um, with. their. father. i'm pretty sure they're ok. and i'll be back! i promise! i always come back! don't they understand?! it's sadness. and then, sometimes, it's not. and i'm all "what the H?" R just said "big hug" and C just said "bye mommy!" a little too enthusiastically. don't they love me? won't they miss me? why are they not crying and blubbering that i am leaving? hello i'm abandoning you! be sad! cry! show a little emotion!
bipolar, much? (me, not them. they appear to be chemically centered, barring the occasional 2.5 year-old-melt).
i don't think it's long before R packs my bag for me and scoots me out the door. thanks for playing. unless i just jinxed myself and from here on after there will be epic meltdowns and i won't be able to leave the house ever at which point i'll post another blog entry about how i am a prisoner in my own house. i mentioned bipolar didn't i?

p.s. if someone is going to pack my bag, can this be it?

dressobsessed update

2009-04-16T21:00:00.007-05:00

well after trying on a kagillion dresses, i was starting to lose my obsession. quickly. but i'm reporting back with my purchase. i'm excited to tell you that i will be wearing the same dress (well, same-not exactly the same-mine is new) worn by kim cattrell on oprah this year (though if i did have her dress, ebay would be profitable post party). i tell you this not to dress namedrop, but because this is as close to samantha as i will ever be. and i like the dress. thank you neiman marcus last call for not making my CPW (cost per wear) ridiculous. and i found a babysitter! (and i still get to drink lots of wine).

dress success

amen

2009-04-12T14:28:00.008-05:00

with the new found fun of constant questions and constant repeats and well, just constant talking in general, we were bound to run into some inappropriateness right? right?! i'm sure it's fine. it was a kid-friendly church service after all. we're strangely quiet for a moment. actually the whole church is strangely quiet for a moment. uh oh. "EASTER BUNNY!" "Where is the Easter Bunny?!" "See him." "I want to see him."

it's not like we don't talk about Jesus. you couldn't yell out a little "Jesus" on a day like today? you picked the easter bunny? um, we're kind of at church. not the egg hunt. that's what i get for bribing you to stay in your seats with fruit snacks (compliments of the easter bunny, ironically. see how i do this to myself?). i think they still think Jesus is a baby (since Christmas). i tried to explain that the picture they saw of Jesus today was of grown-up Jesus. but. it's a process. C thought the grown up Jesus was "Jesus' daddy" (still thinking of the nativity, i would imagine). thank everything (well, God, in particular) that we all got to sing "Jesus Loves Me" (fan favorite). then R brought us all home with some huge and critically timed AMEN's. sounds like AHHHH MEN. with a nod.

amen.

oh. you know i totally watched this show back in the day.

dress obsessed

2009-04-01T21:12:00.012-05:00

i'm dressobsessed. for me this time, not my toddler. i need a dress. OMG i need a dress. which means i have a reason to need a dress! a wedding. not mine. though i'm feeling like i haven't purchased a dressy dress since my own wedding, almost six years ago. no, no. i must have needed a dress in the last six years. yes. but not the last three years. no. so i'm off to a wedding, evening wedding. as long as a babysitter drops out of the sky (holding an umbrella would be best). and more importantly i need a dress. even if i wear it only once (low CPW, obvi) i can justify it. because what was i wearing in early 2005 exactly? not sure. but it doesn't need to come back out now. so it's my new current obsession, well one of them. oh dresses. if mary poppins doesn't pop into my home maybe i'll just get one of these numbers and sit in my living room with a bottle of wine.

i threw in a couple haute couture from the forever 21.

because they are twenty-two dollars and eighty cents each.

and that means more wine for me.

BS

2009-03-31T15:07:00.007-05:00

C and R are in serious brussel sprouts love right now. no one loves brussel sprouts. au contraire mon frere. i know two people who love them. i'm pretty sure that as i type this i am putting a big fat jinx into the universe and tomorrow i'll cook up the BS (brussel sprouts, not the other kind of BS, though i cook that up regularly as well), and R and C will laugh in my face, then throw their heads back, cackling, flailing their little IKEA plates full of BS into the air, demanding enriched pasta. but for now i'll just be happy.

:)

bzzzzz...bite

2009-03-18T14:00:00.001-05:00

i have the spring shopping bug. a few days of 80 degree weather and i'm off to wardrobe swap my closet. sweaters out. capris in. i-can't-believe-i-wore-that-last-year-let-alone-10-years-ago. seriously. i am still actively wearing pants from college. yay they still fit. boo they should go away. far far away. the shopping bug doesn't only bite my wardrobe. it also bites home furnishings. if only i could plunge through the doors of anthropologie, throw my arms open and exclaim "wrap it up!" i would take it. all. really, i would. now my pesky little shopping bug also bites kids' toys. big toys. toys that almost count as furniture and would absolutely be considered furniture by R and C if i would let them, say, sit or stand on them. i have a continual running list of future toys in my brain at all times. on said running list, recently, has been 1. train table and 2. dollhouse. "i'll get them when they're [i'm] ready for them," says my brain. i do some research via the internets. see which ones i like. which ones take up the least amount of square footage. which ones are not pink. or plastic. so what am i supposed to do when some fabulous person in my mothers of multiples group (hello, can i plug my mothers of multiples group for just a moment? one of the major, i mean major, twin perks, of which there are a kagillion. but every new mother should have the benefit of a group of 300 people who know exactly what she's going through at any particular moment and can offer advice and help and so on. it's. awesome. oh and there's stuff. back to the stuff...) offers a train table for a whopping 5 bucks?! bzzzzz...bite. seriously. she is basically asking me to steal her train table. so i did. it needed a little work. but paint away and here it is. a "new" be-u-tiful train table. and then that dollhouse. ok it was a little more than $5. like $115 more. but it was on sale and they gave me 40% off the floor model! bzzzzz...bite. who can turn that down? it was that damn pottery place. they got me again. it still needs furniture but i'm looking elsewhere for that. the flat panel/man in the recliner living room/woman in the kitchen cooking for child scenario kind of freaked me out. i'll devise my own scene (and then i'll get to therapy). and, by the way and because i am queen of the land of justification for any/all purchases (seriously. need help with one? try me.), if you combine the cost of these two items ($120), that means that they were only $60 each! that's beyond bargain. well done. patpat. so these are my new loves. that i will surely love more than the two small people who are supposed to love them. because they don't have 33 years of obsessive-compulsive under their belts. yet. i'm throwing in a personal shopping bug for my own personal gratification (read: unrequited love). though, that is the one that has not been purchased. yet.

bzzzzz...bite

bzzzzz...bite

bzzzzz...

nanny nanny boo boo

2009-03-05T14:55:00.012-06:00

whew it's been a little while. well pardon me while i was on vaycay. actually, i went to see family. which many people feel is the antithesis to vacation. but mine was kind of vacationy. i mean i got on an airplane with only one small personal item, a vanity fair (not embarrassing), and an US weekly (slightly embarrassing) and only had my little bad self to worry about. that in and of itself is a vacation. i also doped up on tylenol PM and popped in earplugs and slept until 9 am. but, um, i missed my kids. a lot. especially being around my loved ones little loved ones. i know they would have had so much fun. while my spouse was home(not)alone, he took R and C to a festival where he was fascinated by a couple with their nanny. and it really got me thinking. no offense to nannies. or people who have nannies. (p.s. whenever someone begins something by saying "no offense" it basically means i'm about to offend you. and i'm just saying "no offense" so i can feel better about myself for offending you.). but here i go anyway. i just don't want a nanny (understand that i am not gainfully employed elsewhere). and even in the old days. i wouldn't want someone else to make the bottles. i can make the bottles. yes, i'm tired. i can still make them. know what? they don't get bottles anymore. in the scheme of things, the bottle-making time period was a blip on the radar. and i didn't die from exhaustion. it's kind of the only nutrition/sustenance to enable kind of important things like, i don't know, growth. brain development. life. i'll make them myself. what's the big? what else would i need a nanny for...helping me at a festival? why? i just don't feel like anything is too difficult to do myself or to do with teamwork from my spouse, who said "what about laundry?" and i thought. um, i kind of have a system. and i'm not overwhelmed by laundry. it gets done. and it gets done the way i want it. and, how long will i get to foldhold teeny tiny clothes, anyway? they're already not so teeny tiny as they were before. blip. so, no. "what about dishes?" hmm. same thing. kind-of. wait a minute. dishes would be ok. hmm. vacuuming floors would be ok. cleaning my house would be ok. so no, i don't want a nanny. turns out i want a housekeeper. you don't have to touch the kids. you don't even have to like the kids. you do have to like a dog. i'll go to the grocery store (alone with my kids, no help necessary) and you stay here and do the dishes and vacuum the floors and clean the house. and you have to get the tops of the door frames (everyone forgets those). the things that a nanny could do, i'm sort of attached to. it's ok for someone else to do them every once in a while but i just feel like time goes by sofast. and i don't want to lose any of it. i feel no attachment to my toilets, however.

editorial note: i'm between computers and using windows 98 so thus, no photo here.
it took me 24 minutes to upload this post.

craftastic

2009-02-18T13:55:00.006-06:00

i used to get offended when people called me "crafty." not "crafty" like, cunning and witty (though i have had those labels too) but "crafty" like creative. but they said crafty. not creative. one day someone called me crafty and my friend said "you're not crafty. you're creative." and i loved her. i don't know why, but "crafty" makes me itchy. it makes me think of ceramic duck wall plaques that say "Debbie's Kitchen." or it makes me think of bad 70's kitch. orange and brown macrame. glue guns. cinnamon sticks. dried flowers. scratch. see?! it's itchy! so i got all high and mighty because i paint. though i would never say i am a painter. but i paint on canvas with paints, not of the paint-by-number variety. and so i just wanted to be creative. not crafty. i'm burying the lead. here it is. i have always loved a good project. and now i've gone crafty. there's no way around it. i guess creative and crafty can coexist. but right now i am 100% crafty. it's inspired by my toddlers. toddler crafts. i can't get enough. pom poms. glue sticks. pipe cleaners. crayons in colors that never existed in my day, like robin egg's blue. (we would call it tiffany blue but no one asked me when they were naming crayon colors and, ok, it's better for kids to identify with bird eggs than a luxury jewelry store. i guess.), almond, and scarlet. all breath-taking. um, i find crayola crayons breath-taking. i know. what's going on? i went absolutely nutso over making pre-pre-school valentines. we were all sick. we were all cooped up. we needed a project. i was like "whatever! there's only 8 kids in the class! it'll be a breeze!" then i stopped dead in my tracks at the craft store. um. i have 2 kids. did anyone know that? they cannot under any circumstance give valentines from both of them! they're individuals! those other pre-pre-schoolers are expecting to bring home 7 valentines! and by God they will. so we had to make 16 valentines. lots of cutting paper hearts. various colors, various sizes. then googly eyes. then pipe cleaners for added flair. C and R mostly just slapped hearts on the glue. and picked where to put the eyes. even though they all fell off 3 days later. 32 googly eyes. staring at me. i think they're pretty damn cute. creative AND crafty. apparently the valentines amped up my adrenaline and when a friend was talking about this cutest dress she saw that she thought she could make. i heard a little hallelujah. so off i went to get a pattern for what the pattern people were telling me was the easiest dress ever. evah. like R could make it herself. here's where my lack of craftasticness comes in. i can't follow directions. like, it's impossible. i usually read directions after my plan that i made up in my head takes a wrong turn. it's a backup plan. not directions. the thing with sewing a pattern...you kind of have to do what they tell you. they're not the boss of me! needless to say. it was more craptastic than craftastic. so i just jumped ship and made my own damn dresses. creative. not crafty. i don't know what's next. creative or crafty? we'll see. i'm pretty sure i've got glitter in my near future. crafty. but maybe we'll call sidewalk chalk "pastels" instead. creative. and as far as the whole "it's cheaper to make it yourself rather than purchase it already made." that's crap. and not craptastic. it's just crap. we would have been fine with $3 dora valentines from target. and we would have been fine with $40 dresses from ebay. but then we wouldn't have had crafty and creative projects. so without further ado (or adieu, if you like)...

all patternless. creative. and a little crafty.

that's so funny, i forgot to laugh

2009-02-04T14:00:00.001-06:00

i used to have giggle fits. laughing fits. like uncontrollable laughter resulting in tears and difficulty breathing. ever since i was little. and it would be over something totally random. and not that funny to other people, apparently. so i would giggle fit all by myself. but because i was too busy laughing, i didn't care that i was going solo. it has lessened and lessened over the years. but every once in a while, it will still hit me. it was bad news bears back in like the 7th grade when teachers would reward me with report cards bearing the number 23. distracts others. (also got 22. excessive talking. no number for excessive laughing). this is oh so not about me though. i give this back story to you today because today my C had a total laughing fit. could not get his sheet together. i should have known it was coming. today our crazy dog had to get his crazy nails clipped by the veterinarian because, as i stated, he is crazy. and we can't get near him with the clippers. nor do i want to. so, he had to come with me to pick the kids up from school. being the conscientious troubleshooter that i am, i got the ball rolling with R and C yesterday. "should gus be in the car when i pick you up from school tomorrow?" (they have seen dogs in other peoples' cars and always love it). R: "OK!" C: laughlaughlaugh "YEAH" laughlaughlaugh. ok. it will be A OK. everyone will love having gus in the car. and love they did. C did. not. stop. laughing. almost the entire 20 minute car ride home. he couldn't stop. oh the joy in a 2-year-old's giggle. it's the best. and i got it for a solid 15 minutes, barring the times he paused to point out important landmarks to gus. "see townlake gus?" "gus, buildings." "struction. gus, see struction? seee it?!" "yes, honey, he sees it. he's just happy to be out smelling some new smells. and he sees it all." resume. laughlaughlaugh. and i thought. oh. my. gosh. he is a total person! well of course he is a total person. but you know when they're babies, they don't seem like real people people. you know? now they are real people people. with feelings and laughter and opinions and emotions. he recently professed his unquantifiable love for me in a rare rescue moment from nighttime slumber. (the kind some parents dread if it happens often and you're not getting any sleep. but i get a lot of sleep. knockknockknock. so this was the kind that makes me sigh and think i want to remember how little he is right now because tomorrow he's not going to be this little). as if i'm not enjoying my rescue moment already he tells me "love you so much." [meltmeltmelt]. and later i ask if he's doing ok to which he says (in a whisper because miraculously R is still sleeping) "happy. i'm happy." and he's so sweet (not just now, but all the time really. like when he cries because R gets her plate taken away from her. she's not crying because her plate got taken away from her. she kind of threw her plate. and that's why it's being taken away. you still have your food. and plate. why are you crying? and i'm not kidding that he will bump into the table and say "oh, excuse me table" with absolutely no hint of scarcasm) anyway, he's just sweet. and i have this split second picture of him in 15 years holding a boom box (because he would totally go old school like that) over his head out someone's window. he's that guy. as long as he can keep from laughing. that might ruin the moment.

new low

2009-01-30T13:27:00.008-06:00

i've hit an all new low. so i have been in allergy hell, followed by what i think is a sinus infection and what feels like a bass drum living inside my head and a nose that does no nosing. nothing in. nothing out. just stuffed. at all times. making sleep near impossible (or impossible if you don't speak spanish). all of this rolls into a not neat and not tidy package of not nice me. it's too hard to be nice right now. i'm just working on breathing. let me breathe. then i'll get to nice. additionally, my sweet sweeties have funky ears (well, only one ear is funky. the same ear on each kid. coincidence.). this makes them funky. who are these kids? they're the runny nose babies of yesteryear. they're whiny. they're grumpy. they freak out over the smallest thing. there is no winning with these two. and i get it. i mean, they're two. they probably hurt. and what else can i expect? right now i'm just thanking God that this behavior is not a normal occurrence. what if it was like this everyday? when they felt well? needless to say, we are a house of grumpy. and we're totally trapped in the house of grumpy. which just makes everyone grumpier. but today i reached a new low. and this is how i know my grumpiness is affecting R and C. i went out last night and got some new color wonder paper (btw, thank you crayola for this), knowing we all have cabin fever and will need something new and exciting in our lives. i selected one diego and one dora. the dora one is about some stupid snow princess that needed to be saved but whatev. it's all they had. i'm flipping through it, trying to make up a story, even though i know nothing of the snow princess, when i come to the page with the witch. and C points to the witch and says "mommy!" uh oh. what do you mean "mommy?" did you not just see the page prior with the youthful, beautiful snow princess? that youthful, beautiful snow princess doesn't remind you of mommy? the witch reminds you of mommy? i'd even take dora over the witch. so my slippery slope is slipping. and i better shape up. (i better understand. to their hearts i must be true). (thank you for singing along). first someone thought i looked like one of the bratz. then C or R (how can i not remember which one because whoever it was is totally my favorite) saw a picture of penelope cruz in a magazine and declared "mommy!" and now. i'm a witch. the dora witch does have long flowing hair. but she also rides on a broomstick. and was making a mean face. and is evil. she's not the good witch. if they watched the wizard of oz, i'm pretty sure which witch i would be. and not just because of a love for shoes. i've got some work to do.

you can't really see dora's witch in this picture but trust me. she's no penelope.

cute as american pie

2009-01-25T13:11:00.007-06:00

"she looks like tara reid." ok. i'm usually prepared for stranger's comments on my kiddos. i thought i had heard it all. some are stupid. some are clueless. some have some random twin association stories. most are just well-intentioned. nice. etcetera. etcetera. but "she looks like tara reid?" really? i mean, even if she does, should you say that? out loud? to her mother? like tara reid from the "american pie" days? (ok kind of sweet. innocent.) or like tara reid from E's terrible "wild on tara" television showtastrophe? (alcoholic set loose to binge drink and slut it up through random cities. not. that. innocent.). (thank you if you're singing britney right now). or is it the drug addicted anorexic tara reid? i was not prepared for a tara reid comparison to my precious two-year-old daughter. i mean is she headed to bret michael's rock of love tour bus, season 28, or what? i just half smiled. "oh yeah." oh no. a simple "she's cute." would do. it will always do. when in doubt, just say they're cute. and, don't compare them to some trashy (yet, once pretty) reality rehab skank. ok?

which one?

nobody puts baby in the corner

2009-01-13T20:33:00.010-06:00

actually i want to put baby in the corner. and i am putting baby in the corner. and it's not exactly working. my baby is a 2-year-old toddler and the corner is the ever-so-famous time-out. how do you make a babytoddler stay in a corner? i'm not sure. someone tell me. i end up sitting there with them which seems wrong. i'm just trying to do my job here, people. no one listens to me. ever. ok, sometimes. but it seems like it's not when i really really need them to listen. like when i need someone to hold my hand in a parking lot. is this unreasonable? there are cars. moving cars. that can't see a 2-foot-tall-2-year-old. so you either walk, holding my hand. or you get carried. that's not a bad choice. will someone carry me if i don't want to hold hands? instead. we'll put all of our lives in danger trying to get to the car whilst "holding" a kicking/flailing/screaming/26-pounder. awesome. at least we made it out of the restaurant in peace. which is a gigantic gift for which i thank the Lord above on every occasion on which this happens. seriously. i would get down on my knees and pray but i have two small people running like the wind through a crowded, busy parking lot. in the dark. i've been a delinquent blog poster. i've been slacking. and would you like to know why? because, for example, in the last week i have found one toddler mid-crib-escape and one toddler with a tambourine-head injury. the crib escape was self-interrupted when she was half-way gone. or half-way home. either way. she hoisted one of her little legs up and over the crib rail. perched right there on top. one leg on either side. and she either couldn't decide on a direction for dismount or was too freaked out to decide. so she sat there, using some serious inner-thigh muscle strength, with just enough energy left to shout "STUCK." ok, she's stuck. and she was so scared. i rescued. explained the cozy comfort and safety and security of her crib. and why would she ever try to leave that. and she agreed. yes, she did. needed a hug. i thought she was so freaked, surely she wouldn't repeat. until five hours later when it was nap time. and the crib was turned around so the short rail is now against the wall. oh, i'm sorry, both cribs were turned around so the short rail is now against the wall. because you know C, while admiring the sweet embrace of the rescue, started hoisting his little leg up on his rail too. copycat. i'm patting myself on the back for this one. even though i'm nervous about a jinx. but that day (that day!) they returned to a normal nap, even after the hoopla and have been sleeping peacefully ever since. don't take this away from me evil universe! i'll never pat myself on the back again, i swear! so now on to the tambourine head-injury. which occurred at school. without my knowledge or witness. so i really don't know what happened. except when i picked C up his head had two red blotches and it looked like he had been through something. tambourine. not what i expected. the little guy put the tambourine on his head. good idea, right? everyone loves a tambourine on the head! but not when it stays there. and won't come off. it's a great party trick. when you've had too much boone's farm strawberry hill. not in pre-pre-school (everyone sober) (i think) (i hope). if he did this when he was just a little older, he would totally be called "mr. tambourine man." the tambourine was so secure on his noggin, lotion was involved in the removal and tears. i can't fault the teachers. who would expect a tambourine on the head? not even i. i'm fairly certain he has recovered fully. we've been talking about it all day. processing.
tomorrow i'm going to climb out of the crib (have to get in there first) while wearing a tambourine on my head in an attempt to land myself in time-out (read: baby in corner). i'll let you know how it goes.

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

2008-12-30T23:27:00.000-06:00

we are living life in contradiction. for example, when someone says "do it" (i'm sorry, it's more like "DOIT!"), you might think someone wants you to do something. au contraire mon frere. someone wants to DOIT themself. herself. so don't go trying to help. because your help might be seen as a plotted strategy to destroy plans that have been in the making for.ever. (for 3 seconds). when one says "no k" your initial reaction might be "she said o.k., i should proceed." not so fast, fasty. "no k" is a hybrid. "no" and "ok." makes perfect sense right? "do you want me to tie your shoes?" "no k." um. this could go either way. i feel like a charlie's angel (kate, please) trying to choose between the red wire and the white wire seconds before the boat explodes. and this boat is about to explode. believe me. just so you know, R never wants help. except for that 1 out of 2,048 time. then she wants help. rightnow. andhowcouldyoubesostupidfornotknowing. when someone wants her baby stella to have juice. she doesn't mean you should bring down the juice. dumbass. she means she wants to be relocated to the juice. don't bring the juice to her. bring her to the juice. she said "juice" for cripe's sake. how could you not know that? here's another. "like it." aw. she likes it! she really likes it! um, no. she hates it. like means hate. d.u.h. also important to note: "big hug" means tackle when spoken during forward motion toward her brother. "crayons." "um, sure we can do crayons. let's clean up what we're doing. let's stop any plans that mommy had so that i can accommodate your every whim. let's get out the crayons." [exactly 1 crayon is touched. and then it's over]. so when you said crayons, you really meant "like it" as in you hate the crayons? i think i'm piecing this together. it's hard to be an angel. all of these complexities of semantics and God forbid you make the wrong choice! you're done. sabrina will be stuck gagged in that chair with her hands tied for.ever. she'll be stranded on the beach without a bikini. or a scarf. [gasp]. you'll be forced to start a luxurious clothing line to be sold at kmart. contradiction, remember?

next time i'll choose white.

Jesus

2008-12-22T20:54:00.014-06:00

consider this a Holy Ghost. i mean holy post. 'tis the season, after all. my kids are all about Jesus. we broke out the nativity scene a la little people that my sister gave us last year and the change of reaction from last year to this year was, um, spiritual. C and R are all about the baby Jesus. how did they know He was the star of the show? the angel is the one at the top. and she (are angels gendered? bygones.) even plays music. but no. they wanted Jesus. they didn't even prefer the donkey that carries food. R wanted to rock-a-bye baby Jesus. sigh. C wanted to put baby Jesus in the tree as an ornament. sigh. "JESUS!" "JESUS!" "JESUS!" (them, not me). yes, Jesus is getting a lot of airtime in our household. R and C wanted to know who everyone was. mary, mommy. joseph, daddy. well, um. kind of. actually God is baby Jesus' father. but they're both really God. and don't forget that Holy Ghost. no, that was halloween. oh, this is harder than i thought. damn you little people nativity. wait, that's just wrong. i also think it's wrong when you leave baby Jesus laying on the floor to later be stepped on by one bare mommy foot. "Jesus." (me, not them). it's like the scene from "the ref" (one of my all time favorites, ever, especially this time of year) when dennis leary bites into the baby Jesus cookie. but i didn't even get a cookie. we're still reeling from the dual birthday that occurred last month. so we sing happy birthday at least 5 times per day. still. last week C walked right up to the nativity, held baby Jesus cupped in his little hands and said "Merry Christmas Baby Jesus." sigh. now we're singing happy birthday to Jesus. wait. Merry Christmas Baby Jesus. Happy Birthday Baby Jesus. same thing. tonight we went to look at Christmas lights in a funky Christmas lights area, where the nativity scene may be comprised of sock monkeys. at some point R started saying "baby Jesus. up." i kept looking but i couldn't see what she saw. better start preparing now for Easter.

economic crisis

2008-12-16T16:01:00.001-06:00

ok. i used to think that having girl/boy twins was God's gift to me as a way to control my spending. ok girl/boy twins are a gift from God (or girl/girl twins. or boy/boy twins. or one girl. or one boy. but. i. digress.) for many reasons but go with me on this spending thing. girls clothes are freaking cute. the smaller, the cuter. boys clothes are not. period. the smaller the cuter here too but it's just not the same. so since i subscribe to the "even stevens" mentality, my spending is thus reduced because i will only (try) to purchase equal amounts of clothing. so if i can't find something cute for C, i try not to purchase for R. i try hard. it doesn't always happen. so now i think my limited spending theory is crap. o la. because what do i do? what i will do, as queen of justified purchases, is purchase expensive boys clothing to be even stevens with the amount of really cute girls clothing, even if said really cute girls clothing is from target. so what i have created is C busting out in expensive boutique items. they're still plaid. and striped. because, well, that's all you get. so i think it's costing more. all those people who think girls naturally somehow cost more money than boys: i beg to differ.

boys' tea: $59 girls' target: $11.99

SEE?!

you would...

2008-12-09T15:46:00.003-06:00

eat this, wouldn't you?
chicken nuggets, vegetarian corn dogs, dollop of vanilla yogurt?
what's not to love?
you would eat this, wouldn't you?
or if you are R, you might just suck the delicious vanilla yogurt off of previously mentioned meat and non-meat products, using them only for utensil purposes.
foiled!

rock-a-bye bye

2008-12-03T21:40:00.001-06:00

yeah. that sweet rock-a-bye lullaby? it's really saying rock-a-bye bye to the sweet precious baby near sleep, tucked into a cozy cradle, suspended from a tree before said cradle and said baby come crashing down. ahem. consider this my public service announcement. i'm down with the people. "people" being those of you who have always been a little more than slightly uncomfortable with singing about not just the cradle coming crashing down, but the baby as well. what kind of a lullaby is this? who puts their baby in a tree? is this babycradle crashing supposed to comfort a baby into a deep peaceful slumber? i think not. and i thought not. so i made up my own lyrics.

rock-a-bye baby

in the tree top
when the wind blows

the cradle will rock

when the moon rises

the sun will fall

good night to baby

good night to all

it's a science lesson and a good moral all in one. moon rising. sun falling. el sol y la luna. the sun is the only thing that's falling here. and it's safe. it knows what it's doing. no baby crashing. and it sends a good sleeping message. good. night. we're all going to sleep now. including baby. but especially including me. everyone wins.
you. are. welcome.

*no babies (or cradles) were harmed in the singing of this lullaby

ob-la-di

2008-11-28T20:16:00.016-06:00

i think i have selective memory. is that what it's called? i should say selective positive memory. when i think back to the last (and only) two years with my twins, i have only fond memories. really. it's not like i see a montage of only beautiful peaceful moments where you hear "these are days" by 10,000 maniacs. but it's mostly just a general feeling of it hasn't been that hard. i mean, i can vaguely recall that i was sleepy on a consistent basis for the first one or two. or three. months. but ah. what's a little sleepiness, right? i can more readily recall the eighth month of life which revealed the oh-we're-so-big-time-with-this-crawling-bonkcry-thing-that-we-bonkcry-can-crawl-our-bonkcry-bad-selves-all-over-bonkcry-this-bonkcry-joint. bonkcry. that was a rough week. or two. but ah. what's a few bonkcries? no big. we all moved on. and way back when there was that labor thing. it hurt. and a c-section. it hurt. well, i didn't actually feel it. i was numb. but i knew it was happening with the out-of-body-someone-just-cut-into-my-abdomen-and-extracted-two-people experience. but i think it hurt a little after. but there were drugs. so really? no big. the thing is, i can't recall anything being that hard. but i know in my right, sane (sometimes) mind it was hard. of course it was hard. no experience and two babies. it was hard. but why do i look back and think ah, no big? it wasn't that hard? when i see someone with twin babies i kind of stop dead in my tracks. "uh. that looks sooo hard." um. like i don't know what that is like? why do i say it (to myself) like someone who has never had one kid. let alone two? maybe all of my singing ob-la-di, ob-la-da (thank you beatles) (and thank you that show with that girl. and chad lowe. life goes on! good one) really sunk in. i osmosised myself or subliminated myself (both made up, but you get it) into thinking no big. whatever this superpower is that i have developed, i hope it doesn't fail me now as i enter double two's. i'm not 22. nowhere close. i mean double two-year-olds. because i've been singing a lot lately. now they sing it with me. that's how i know.

bonkcry. no big.

f*ck

2008-11-20T18:54:00.008-06:00

don't you love how i follow heartwarming warmth with this? well, i just wanted you to know. if you hear C say "f*ck off" he is actually saying forklift. i promise. sometimes he gets feisty/excited about the forklift so he shouts it a little. it's "fork. lift." i promise. also, if you hear R say "f*ck" she is actually saying "truck." well, she is actually saying "fruck" but she means "truck." i promise. and let us not forget the "peach" confusion. we review the proper pronunciations. a lot. i promise. besides, f*ck is not even one of my most favorite curse words. if they were mimicking, it would be something else. but. if you hear R or C saying "punk ass mother f*cker" well, that one is mine. all me. and if you hear me saying "punk ass mother f*cker" i am actually saying "punk ass mother f*cker." and you are probably driving too fast. or too slow. or you cut me off. or you're on my ass. and i'm going to stop now. this post is so sending me to hell that i feel compelled to wish you happy holidays so i can end on a good note.

happy holidays

love letters

2008-11-17T13:24:00.000-06:00

dear C,
today you are two years old. or 24 months old. which means that two years ago today, you were in my tummy. actually you were in my pelvis. you staked your claim on the lower pelvis at about month seven and you weren't budging. hey, real estate is a good investment. most of the time. securing your 1/3 of the available space left a comfy 2/3 of space for your lovely sister, R. and she wasn't staying still. at. all. so you hunkered down. and on november 17, 2006 you were ready to vacate. move on. out. but R had other plans. since this day, you have seen that R sometimes has plans other than yours. and i'm sorry about that. but what's gonna work? teamwork! in the last year, which makes up a whopping 50% of your total life, i have seen this hunker down mentality continue. you zero in on what you like and you focus. lately you are really into trucks. you love the trucks. frequently when we're in the car you'll point them out. you even can tell the difference between diggers and bulldozers. cranes and loaders. what? who knew? now we all know. sometimes you'll follow your truck shout-out with a "big one." so we know it is a big digger. not a mini digger. which does also exist, we all now know. this year you have learned that if you lose an eyelash (of which you have at least 1 million and they flap like snuffleupagus) you get to blow on it and make a wish. your sweet "thank you" while touching your chin (saying and signing) couldn't be any cuter and i have yet to turn down a "please" request when you say it in this little sweet voice and rub your chest, signing. you always notice when R is not around. sometimes she bolts off to another room. sometimes that other room might be time-out. you want to be with her. you have a love of jumping up. and down. and off the bed. "good catch mommy." of course we'll do it again when you say that. you are a budding artist. you could spend all day with some paints. or play dough. or markers. or crayons. you love the stuff. you said your first sentence this year. "i did it." which has been said 3,596 times since. you are so proud when you do something yourself. what a joy you have been this year. you are the sunshine of my life. i love you. xoxo, mommy

dear R,
my sweet ladybug. today you are two years old. or as you would say "twoooooooo." two years ago you were in my tummy and you decided if you went with C's plan, you would be several minutes younger than him. that wouldn't do. you needed to get out as close to oldest as possible. so there you were. one minute later. one minute younger. one minute louder. you cooed for the first 48 hours of your life. the sweetest little coooooo. and you haven't been quiet very much since. you have a lot to say. or sing. lately you are really into the singing. and you. are. good. sister. you don't just sing. when you're singing, you're eyes sing. your hands sing. your face sings. your head sings. even your hair sings, somehow. and you know the words. to a lot of songs. your current hit list includes "my cherie amour" by stevie wonder (modified to include your name, of course), "lucky star" by madonna, and "maniac" by um, flashdance. because the actual singer is irrelevant. it was part of flashdance. one day you just kept singing "may (pause) may (pause) may (pause)" and your silly mommy and daddy couldn't figure out what you were singing. then it hit me. when you hit the "before" part. you're always a ringer at the end notes. and at the grand finales. you shake your head, give some jazz hands, and hit the big one. it's awesome. this year you went from walking to jumping with two feet and running circles around all of us. fast. you are really fast. you have this amazing giggle that comes from your tummy and brims through your face and seems almost too big for your little body. and i just want to record it and play it back over and over. you have rekindled your love with the swing. which you took about a year off from. now you love it again. sometimes in the yard you will stay on the swing for half an hour (telling mommy to sit in a chair to push you. or stand. or push your feet.). you really love C. when you go to get your drink you always bring C his. and when he is getting his diaper changed you will bring him toys or books. your first sentence, which was this year, was "whe's C?" you don't like when he is away. sometimes he sleeps a little longer than you at nap time and it is hard for me to keep you out of the room. sometimes i'll say "ok, let's go check on C. very quiet." and you will say "got. it." and then we go in and you run to C's crib and say (yell) "C!" you also love your friends. every single day you run through your list of people you love. friends, mommies, daddies, etc. eitan, elaine, caden, josha, lauren, pilar, jason, chuck (cat), linus (cat), grammi, papa, florida, bryce, sister (ivy), jo, ryan, baby (colin). you remember everything. every little detail. you have really developed a love and appreciation for shoes this year. if someone's shoes are left on the floor, you go and get them and either give them to the person to put on or you put them on yourself. but someone must wear them. you can just flip through magazines and look at pictures of shoes. or babies. or anything. you also are into your doll's stroller, which you have loaded up with several purses on either side. this year you have been a bright, shining star for me. i love you. xoxo, mommy

never was a t-shirt girl

2008-11-09T21:04:00.001-06:00

i never liked to wear t-shirts. except when the sorority pressure (let's call them raisin girls) made me wear a kappa delta t-shirt at least two times a week. and since then i haven't looked back. good riddance. i just don't like them. but now. i am finding that i now might be a t-shirt girl. it's hard to shop for clothes. i need comfortable. washable. ok to get dirt/spit/foodparticles/maybe pee/poop/spitup (on a bad day). things are getting kind of gross. this is a whole new thing. and i am just realizing it. my fashion conscious working in an officeness has been muffled. gone to the other side. i think i have just become lazy. i want to do what is easy. and i don't want to invest. so i will purchase the same tank top in four different colors. thought that was a good solution. but now i'm annoyed. but i don't want buttons. don't want to iron (my iron is currently giving birth to it's very own dustbunnies). i also no longer know what is acceptable for my wearing pleasure. i mean. i never have been an inappropriate dresser. i'm not saying i'm trying to do midriff and miniskirts. but should i be shopping in the junior's department? i think i should. but maybe i shouldn't. it reminds me of when i was a babysitter at the age of 14 and mrs. batsel picked me up. we were wearing the same skirt. even at 14 i knew that was not cool. mrs. batsel should not have been shopping in the junior's department. or at the ups and downs. [sigh] ups and downs! but now here i am. it's quick. it's cheap. it's washable. i'm 33. recently was in the fitting room and the lovely 17-year-old employee popped in to check on me. "that dress looks so good on you." "yeah. i think it is a little young for me." "well you could wear it, like, when you're going out or something." oh honey. goodbye dress. the other problem is that i find myself drawn to trendy clothing that is so freaking cute. um. so freaking cute FORMYTWOYEAROLD. what is my trendinessability (made up) anymore? what am i doing? that is cute. FOR R. stop the insanity. i don't need this many ruffles. why do i like ruffles? are ruffles appropriate for a 33-year-old? i don't know anymore. i think my age/profession/mommyness are crashing together and causing a fashion identity crisis. what if this is a continuation of the bangs crises of february 2008? or the bebe crisis of may 2008? or maybe the bratz crisis of july 2008? wait a second. this could be the cumulative impact. this is not really happening. but you know what is happening? my new fingerless sweater gloves. they're awesome. i know. you're not supposed to repeat trends. but i was not wearing the fingerless gloves in 1988. i wanted to. but i didn't. so now i will wear them. damnit. this is not really happening.

you bet your life it is.

p.s. thank you if you sung cornflake girl in your head (or out loud) while reading this post

and then

2008-11-04T15:21:00.002-06:00

your sister sends the most perfect card. because she knows you. or she knows herself. or she knows you both. it reminds me of us. and it reminds me of R. she twirls. she laughs. she shakes her hair like a pantene commercial. she loves shoes. she puts her hand in the air and says "taxi" (thank you urban babies wear black). she loves nothing more than a good mirror. or a good book. she loves to be rocked in your arms while you're singing a stevie wonder song in her honor and she'll concentrate so intently on your mouth so she sees every syllable. every pause. and then she'll sing it herself tomorrow. she knows the words. and it gets me thinking how i can't wait for her to be all of the amazing women in our family. and how she already is. all of them wrapped into one. and what that means is giving, feisty, thoughtful, hard-working, dainty, tough, independent, strong, loving, dramatic, funny, strong-willed, smart. and a little bit bossy.

tricks

2008-10-31T13:07:00.009-05:00

isn't it too early for halloween pranks? aren't they too young for halloween pranks? my halloween is off to a rocky start. pooptastrophe. for real. maybe our worst one in almost two years. which means maybe our worst one ever. it's the kind of pooptastrophe which is only made worse by a resistance to being changed on the changing table. "because, like, i'm like two mom. i don't need a changing table." yes. but you still need a diaper. so don't get all i'm too big for this on me. you'll be too big for this when you're too big to wear diapers. and i'm pretty sure we'll have a big ceremonial changing pad bonfire. can't wait. but until that day. fine. i'll change you on the floor. whoa. didn't see that one coming. but i should have smelled it. except i think my nose has started selectively turning heinous scents off as a manner of self preservation. thank you, nose. pooptastrophe. made worse by changing on the floor. and then made worse by a not so innocent bystander bystanding way too close for comfortable to catch an up close glance at said pooptastrophe. only saving grace is that R is now at the point where when i say "R. bring mommy wipes. a lot. stat." she obliges. that's helpful. so we started with a pooptastrophe. trick number one. how fun would it be to apply our fun new halloween tattoos (temporary. what am i travis barker?)? it would be fun! they're like stickers. but better! because they won't come off. oh shit. they won't come off. so when two 23-month-olds keep saying "sticker. off. sticker. off. sticker. off." guess what? they don't come off. that's what makes them great! or horrible. whichever way you look at it. rookie mistake, mommy. trick number two. now off to a new story time (after washing machine loaded with trick number one). a new story time! at a new library! how exciting! how exciting? not exciting. no sitting. no listening. no fun. R actually climbed into her stroller to show me she was over it. and C kept saying "go." ok right. but wait, there's more. mommy selected this story time because there will be a guest appearance by, wait for it, elmo! just a quick walk to elmo. elmo is here! we hate elmo. we're a little bit like, why isn't elmo in my television? or in my book? why is elmo 9 feet tall and 463 pounds? he's a giant red shag carpet monster. other kids are hugging him. how bad could he be? R: "go. elmo all done." and we're off. apparently elmo in person bites. figuratively speaking. he didn't bite anyone. that i saw. trick number four. good God that's four tricks before 11 am. where is my damn treat? maybe they need a treat. it's halloween. stop. milk boxes. this one is plain milk thankyouverymuch. no pixie sticks. off to the car while enjoying your milk box. delicious milk box. delicious milk now spilled all over one small lap wearing orange pants and a stroller which will now smell like rotten eggs for all of eternity. what's halloween without a few thrown eggs? trick number five. someone is screwing with me. i'm home now. two loads of laundry in progress. five tricks already played on one played mommy. and no treats. i want my damn treats.

treats.

um, no

2008-10-26T20:54:00.010-05:00

who knew there could be so many "no's?" i didn't. i was a kid who accepted the word no. or i watched my older sister get read the rights at which point i was totally ready to go with the "no." chicken. hey, save yourself. but what i am realizing now, as i hear myself speaking to two almost terrible two toddlers (actually they couldn't be farther from terrible) (most of the time), is that "no" has metamorphosed into the land of infinity. or the autumn mist. or narnia. wherever it is, it apparently does not mean no. no means no right? i saw the public service announcements. no. it doesn't mean no. apparently. here is how i know no does not mean no. (read that sentence again. i am now at the point where i don't think no is spelled correctly because i've written it too many times. and i am confused by words like know and now. this shall pass).

-no. works 1 out of 10 times.

-no, no. usually used after above failed no. works 1 out of 10 times.

-no way. usually used for destruction, ie. someone is throwing, not a soft plush ball my way, for example, but a wooden pottery barn shape sorter. because that should be thrown. at my face.

-no, absolutely not. i feel like this is reserved for occasions that R and C know are out of the question. but proceed anyway. like the dog's bowls. haven't we been over this at least 9,834 times? yes, i believe we have. that gets you an absolutely not. seriously. the dog has to eat. for the love of God.

-big no no. this is the non-negotiable. big deals. when R repeats it, it sounds like BEEnono. it's reserved for the self-diaper-removals and the biting (only one episode. that i know of). "alson. bite. fin.er. BEEnono."

guess what? no doesn't mean no.

it's like lloyd (dumb and dumber, circa 1994).

Lloyd: What are my chances?

Mary: Not good.

Lloyd: You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?

Mary: I'd say more like one out of a million.

Lloyd: So you're telling me there's a chance.

have my kids seen this movie? no. or whatever the word is for they haven't seen this movie. since i now am questioning my own definition of no. no matter what i say, they still think there's a chance. i'm afraid if i got all whitney houston on them with the "hell to the no," then that will be on repeat for the next week. their teachers don't need to hear "hell to the no." (how funny would that be, though?). (seriously). (if it was someone else's kid). i think, instead, i'm going to start saying "no chance." adding that to my repertoire. "cookie" at 8 am when flax oatmeal with applesauce is on the table. "no chance." perhaps this will make it more clear. "up up up up up up" (in stereo) when i'm trying to cook dinner during the crazies. "no chance." it's a revolution. and my hope is that it will indeed sound like a whisper. (thank you if you just got that).

maybe what lloyd needed to hear was a little hell to the no.

babysitter boo hoo

2008-10-17T20:10:00.010-05:00

i need a babysitter. er. we need a babysitter. my one golden babysitter is gone. she's gone (oh i, oh i'd better learn how to face it. she's gone oh i, oh i'd pay the devil to replace her she's gone). oh hall and oates. i miss her too. sniff. who hand delivers you someone you have known for years and love and trust who just returned from a world tour as a celebrity nanny to twins? God. that's who. God delivered our babysitter to me and now satan has taken her away. and i am babysitterless. do you know how hard it is to find a good babysitter? hard. i was going to try speed dating babysitter match up but then i thought again. you pay $100 for someone to find you random college students and then you stand up and introduce yourself and the matches begin. um. i went through sorority rush once. that ship has sailed. and i'm pretty sure my request for babysitter for two delightful two-year-olds will go over like gangbusters. and what am i paying $100 for? a list of college students. hello i'm on the facebook. i can find college students. and i at least need you to background check for crazy criminals. so i did my own college student search (not on facebook thankyouverymuch). i said there would be background checks and early education majors were preferred. oh yeah and they have to like [big] dogs [hyper]. what crazy criminal is going to agree to a background check and walk into a house of a big hyper dog with two two-year-olds? watch a moving made for tv movie staring meredith baxter birney and you will know. because this is how my mind works. i will come home and my children will be gone and my dog will be dead (in really bad bad dreams it is dead a la fear. i hate you marky mark). i asked my spouse if it would be weird to check identification. you know, to make sure she is who she says she is. of course he said yes. when i ask "is this weird" questions, they generally end in "yes." but in my made for tv movie staring meredith baxter birney after i find my kids missing and my dog departed, i will call the police and say "crazy criminal" stole my kids and killed my dog and the police will say "ma'am [don't police always say ma'am in made for tv movies?] no one exists by that name. did you check her driver's license?" duh. no. i didn't. i didn't check crazy criminal's driver's license because my spouse said it was weird. this weird perspective is counter clockwise to my mother's perception of my finding a babysitter. she. was. appalled. this woman could write serious made for tv movies. hers could pull in a-listers like kathie lee gifford. no M.B.B. rapid fire questions. "well how do you expect me to find a babysitter?" it was as if i pulled up to the local jail, threw keys to my home into the cafeteria and shouted "anyone like kids? come over!" so now i'm just bitter. and researching background checking. and anyone named "crazy criminal." and nannycams. and what it will be like to never leave my house again. boo. hoo.

i totally went to this concert in 1996 and sashayed my 21-year-old bootie up past a vast quantity of bitter 45-year-olds so that i could be in the front row. because it was important to be in the front row. at a hall and oates concert. shame.

boxed beverages

2008-10-09T20:13:00.007-05:00

if you want to know what happens to pixie sticks when they are mixed with high fructose corn syrup concentrate...just drink an organic vanilla milk box. seriously. i thought it was healthy. even though it's milk (and i use that word lightly) that doesn't have to be refrigerated. hmm. i thought milk was a dairy product. that, i don't know, turns sour/bad/rotten/retched when not refrigerated. bygones. apparently the magic milk box needs no refrigeration. and it needs no taste resemblance to milk either. it's organic. what does that mean exactly? the corn which the high fructose corn syrup is derived from is organic? fabulous. fabuless. my kids go to school. they see other kids' lunches. damn kids. those other kids get boxed drinks. my kids get water. boxed beverages are only for special occasions. like the pink franzia of my yesteryear. way yesteryear. my stomach just turned typing this. no one should ever say the word franzia. let alone put it in writing. so my kids see other boxed beverages and i think they, or she, as it may be (you know twins. they always get blamed for something even if only one did it), was actively coveting someone's boxed beverage. happened to be a milk-like boxed beverage. the teacher reported that she was really into it. read: she was hardcorepressing the kid for his/her boxed milk beverage. i of course went out and procured milk-like boxed beverages for my kids to bring to school. oh the peer pressure. i'm pretty sure this won't happen when lilly shows up at 10th grade with a brand new BMW and the creepy gym teacher tells me how much R wanted that BMW. so i got them vanilla. because chocolate sounded too sugary. vanilla somehow sounded more innocent. the night before school i decided to give it a taste. just to see what vanilla-milk-like-boxed beverages taste like. you know what? it's. dis. gusting. sugar in a straw. sugar in a box. sugar everywhere. not even the good kind of slurpee sugar. this sugar is like a pixie stick gone wrong. gone beveraged. so besides the sugar, the idea that "milk" did not have to be refrigerated was bothering me. so i looked into it. stop reading now if you like your organic milk boxes. carrageenan. i believe this is our culprit. it's a "thickening agent." as if that doesn't sound gross on it's own, you can make your own carrageenan by boiling down irish moss. yum. and i believe the reason you don't have to refrigerate this organic milk-like product is because it is superpasteurized. that's an official term. i don't know what that means. but they must pasteurize the hell out of it. and then double pasteurize it. like a double dare. regardless. this i know. it is not superpasteurized enough to make it taste like franzia.

well, it's no organic milk box. thank God.

move

2008-10-06T13:40:00.002-05:00

i think we're getting to the point where i feel that every day is a "kids say the darndest things" submission in some cheezy magazine. like, oh that was so funny when your daughter said "purple panties." and don't act like your husband wasn't wearing them. or how about when you said your son told you to "eat more chocolate, mama." oh yeah. that really totally happened. but i feel it happening. like when R called my boobs "balls." i feel it's going to get worse. i feel within moments of a good "you should stop singing now" or a "leave me alone" or how about a "i remember that time you almost lost me in a bookstore and i'm not over it." i know this sassiness is enroute. and i want to stop the presses. "move." oh i must not have heard that right. even though he was attempting to move my leg as he said it. "move." nope. i heard it. my not-even-two-year-old just told me to move. oh i'm sorry. i was blocking your view of my stunning stylish elmo bandaid that i wore publicly unknowing the public display because i have no other bandaids or other necessities in this house that do not pertain to your utter pleasing. i admit i totally laughed. i couldn't help it. i started to think...where did he hear such a thing? who is responsible for such disrespect? i never say "move" to my children. but wait. my former child, now sometimes nemesis, the dog. i totally tell him to "move." every day. several times a day. he huddles around the high chairs for any delectable or even heinous morsel and he gets in my way. he's huge. he has to move! note to self: watch language towards dog around children. i knew this would happen. they say this happens. thank God C only copied "move." i'm sure there has been far worse than that. take the "move" kid. and run with it. it's better than "m-er f-er." (p.s. i say it exactly like that. not censoring for family-friendly blogosphere). or "punk-ass." (p.s. that one is real too). so all in all, i'll take "move" as a copy. i'll also take R's copy today of "bummer." i'm pretty sure we're about to up the anty on the sassafrass. i'll keep you posted with my parent's magazine mykidissomuchfunniersmarterthanyourkid entries.

balls

2008-09-27T22:05:00.005-05:00

i've got them. you know how when someone is gutsy we say "they've got balls?" or "that's ballsy?" well i'm gutsy. so i guess i've got balls...ballsy. but a few years ago my friend and i were discussing the sexism inherent is saying someone, particularly a woman someone, has got balls. why do we say that? like women are not strong, gutsy, bold, brave? so we brainstormed. a way to capture the gutsy and give the gutsy a female part association. because plenty of females are gutsy. and damnit we should have our own parts as a part of the gutsy. instead of needing male parts to indicate the gutsy. you know? so we came up with ovaries. but "they've got ovaries" didn't seem quite right. so we shortened it to "O's." "they've got O's." nice ring, no? so ever since, i've thought i had O's. then today happened. my precious R, tugged at the neckline of my shirt, and took a look down. she has done this before. she has also tugged at the waistline of my pants, to look at my bootie. and we know how that turned out. but today her glance down my shirt lingered. so i said "that's mommy's body?" as though i wasn't sure. but we have discussed this many times before. "balls," she said. so apparently i've got O's and balls. thankyouverymuch.

oh patsy

2008-09-20T20:08:00.012-05:00

sometimes my kids really tick me off. i'm not talking about when they whine. or throw their food. or run like hell in the other direction when i call their names. i mean who has delinquent children who behave in such a manner anyway? (not it). what i'm talking about here is probably something i need to take to a shrink. but i have neither the time nor the desire for a shrink. so my cute little blog community is the beneficiary. you. are. welcome. C and R mess with my stuff. well, it's their stuff. but it's their stuff that i've been working on. for example. i just picked up all 26 of those puzzle pieces and put them back into the appropriate places on the puzzle. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WATCHED ME PUT IT BACK TOGETHER AND NOW WANT TO DEMOLISH IT? for example. i just spent 9 seconds building the most stunning building ever to be built with cardboard tri-color blocks. i know. i've seen a lot of them. mine is very avant garde. i'm the frank lloyd wright of my time. hello kitty cannot believe her great fortune getting to live in this pad. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WATCHED ME BUILD IT AND NOW MUST DESTRUCT SAID BUILDING? for example. i just carefully aligned 16 books front-facing on the shelves (very montessori). WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FEEL COMPELLED TO RIP THEM FROM THEIR SHELVES AND JUMP ON THEM AND EAT THEM AND THEN VOMIT THEM UP AND RUB MY FACE IN THE VOMIT? ok. made that last part up. but only the last last part. but seriously. it's rude isn't it (them)? it's obsessive compulsive isn't it (me)? (do you hear patsy cline right now? or is it just me?) i know. i know. i like things to be tidy. and is it wrong to be proud of my handiwork? without nina-garcia-like critics coming in and trashing my accomplishments? "i just don't even have anything to say." shut up nina. you know you have something to say. and you know you'll squash some poor designer wannabe like R and C squash their poor mommy wannabe.

these structures only breathed life for 0 - 3 seconds. sniff.

(in case you're wondering...bribed the kids with "baby signing time" so i could photograph.

cra zy. crazy for feeling so lonely...).

hello kitty. off to build her own damn house.

i heart you, fall

2008-09-15T12:56:00.002-05:00

but it's like an unrequited love. or like my celebrity crush on lenny kravitz. for i will never have you, lenny, i mean fall. i mean both. neither. neither lenny nor fall. where i live we only have one season: hot. it goes from hot to slightly less hot and back to hot then right on over to Godforsaken pits of hell hot. we're wrapping up the hell hot now. or are we? that's what we tell ourselves. it's september. it will be cooler. will not! it's not cooler! it's only slightlylessGodforsakenpitsofhell hot. we just tell ourselves "fall" will be better to get us through the place where grendel lives (i once made a diorama. not diarrhea. of grendel from beowulf. it. was. awesome.). ok right. why do i love the illusion of fall so much? other than a delusional fantasy of some level of coolness. my birthday. yes, still exciting. even though i am only slightly upstaged nowadays by two beautiful creatures who landed here two days after my day. speaking of the delights. oh yes. that's something to look forward to. way forward. celebrate good times come on (hmm. not the first time i've used that i'm afraid). the idea of fall makes me want to cook butternut squash. eat gingerbread pancakes. eat candy corn even though i don't like it. i always think i like it. but i don't. make s'mores over an open flame. random question: does apple-bobbing, bobbing for apples, still occur? what a heinous and germ-ridden activity. i once wanted to bob for apples. i was in 2nd grade. my mom said no. when she wasn't looking i did it. know what? it was icky. can you think of anything worse, during flu season especially, than opening your mouth and oozing saliva into an open bucket of water and other peoples' oozed saliva and apples? gross. which reminds me. let us not forget halloween. picking costumes for the little pumpkins. oh the pumpkins! pumpkins are good. even if your pumpkin melts (literally) if you leave it out for one. freaking. night. with. no. candle. whew. i sound whiny. and i really do love the fake fall. and here's why: i've already talked about the back to school loves. and i. cannot. wait. to put R in some leg warmers. though that is def more winter (two maybe three days).

let me boil down my love of fake fall, some based on reality, some illusion and delusionness (made up).

i have an unrealistic love of coats. love them. i can wear them for maybe ten days a year. and two of those days i will be sweating. oh the CPW (cost per wear) on the coats. it hurts. but i can't resist. are you looking at these coats? dreamy. apparently i'm in a ruffle phase.

boots. also unrealistic love. though i'll squeeze out more wears on boots than on coats.

those bastards at pottery barn make me want to host a seven course meal with delightful pumpkin-colored chairs (do you have to get new chairs per season?) and cloth napkins and beautiful flowers and candles and apple name cards and wait. what exactly would R and C do at this table? and when i say "at" i mean "to." what would R and C do to this table? let's move on.

i want a cold cloudy morning with nothing to do but hunker down and snuggle into my cold cloudy bed. open the windows to get that cold air smell. i will only pop out to eat tomato soup and grilled cheese and later drink hot chocolate (the real stuff). um can you believe the peace in this picture? i see cold cloudy peace.

the prospect of fall also makes me feel compelled to decorate with images like this one. paintings. pillows. dishtowels. i do have a strange fascination with trees. preferably bare trees. someone psychoanalyze me. and don't say my tree doesn't bare fruit. au contraire mon frere. two fruities would beg to differ. thankyouverymuch.

i'm ready for dark nail polish. it just seems wrong in june. you know?

oh the quest to pull off jet black hair with pale skin. damn you angelina jolie.

so i will now vow to not dress my sweet sweeties in fleece halloween costumes with plastic masks and wool hats. no mittens on thanksgiving. no earmuffs on Christmas. no faking the funk.

i still heart you fake fall.

dear mom

2008-09-12T12:44:00.011-05:00

dear mom,

i love you. i love your passion. i love your fire. i see it in R everyday. and, especially when reminded, i see it in me too. i love that you are a fighter. of course, you had no choice. you were dealt a hand early on that forced you to fight. and fight you did. you always taught me to fight. but to be kind. you taught me to give my best to everything i did. and when i was the best, to be humble. you taught me a love of nature. and nurture. you taught me to give. and that there is no better feeling in the world than being thoughtful. and giving thoughtfully. you showed me how to take care of people. especially those that could not take care of themselves. you taught me to treat all people well. and not burn bridges. you taught me to be careful. though i never really was. you taught me about commitment. and loyalty. and perseverance. you taught me how to be part of a team. a family. and that family was most important.

so when we disagree about politics i can see why you might feel disappointed, though you've never exactly said that. it must be perplexing. you raised me. you taught me. we have so many similar beliefs and values. and now that i am older. so many different ones. i think about it when i think about C and R. what if they grow up to think so differently than me? i know we'll have conversations that take me back to you. and how you must feel.

right now i am just ready for political season to be over. i am tired. which is not like me at all. or you. even when you get tired, you are still strong. i love your tenacity. i love your confidence in your beliefs. i love your sassiness which you had way before that level of sassiness was acceptable. i love your fight the power mentality. which conflicts every so often with your respect the power mentality. i love your kill them with kindness nature. which conflicts every so often with your if someone hits you, hit them back harder side.

people tell me i'm strong. i know that i am. because of you. so i don't get upset when we disagree about issues. i wouldn't want you to back down. you are passionate. and i am so glad. because i feel grateful to be passionate too. and i know exactly where it comes from.

love you,

betty

sass. wonder where she gets it.

what's a few bites?

2008-09-08T13:19:00.002-05:00

one day last week C got bitten by a human at MDO. one day last week R got bitten by 10 mosquitos at MDO (or 1 mosquito bit her 10 times. or 5 mosquitos bit her 2 times each. you get the idea). all this biting. what is all this biting? C recovered quickly. didn't even cry. R didn't cry either but is recovering with hives. ew. at home there are no bites. no hives. two freaking days out of my hair, er home, and bites and hives! what have i done? it's not all bad though. at home i have never made paper bag puppets with cute noses and little eyes. it's hard to describe...there are so many things you look forward to. the standards: smiling, laughing, crawling, walking. things that you look forward to but when they happen they are better than you even expected. i have never been more excited than for the first school art. i mean i loved the smiling, laughing, crawling, walking business too. but oh the art. and it's better than i expected. we have done some crafty things at home. play dough. crayons. but i was so excited for the first school art that i superdorked and had the display area ready and waiting for magneted art. in a prominent area of our kitchen. in a place where the dog won't eat it. hopefully. and so last week when i picked C and R up and received two precious paper bag puppets, i had so much pride. we hung them up immediately. is it wrong to be ok with human and insect bites on my children's bodies as long as they are accompanied by outstanding school art?

i say...worth it.

i heart school

2008-09-03T13:47:00.000-05:00

new clothes. new supplies. new shoes. the cutest new lunchboxes with the cutest new coordinated bento boxes. is there anything better? why yes, there is. what's better is providing all of the previously mentioned mentionables to your two children and scooting them into their new classroom while you drive an empty stroller back to the parking garage. whoa. this is light. "you can leave that here." dumbass. of course i can leave the stroller here. there are no kids in it. what am i doing pushing an empty stroller? it's doubly empty. park. and. i'm. off...but off to where, i wonder? i decided to helicopter parent like the best of them and stick close to the school in case i got that pleasedon'tringphone phone call telling me that R and C hate school and they want to drop out. they're never going back. it's straight to cosmetology school (i am in the market for a new hairdresser). no call today. no tears either. no dancing yet, but there's plenty of time for that. so here's what i did for my (er, their) first day of school:

*volunteer work delivery. put my car in a loading zone (legally) and made a jaunt.

*pharmacy. i went in. no drive-thru necessary. popped in. popped out. done and done.

*car wash. do-it-yourself car wash. thankyouverymuch. i'm counting this as exercise bytheway. there are some arm lifts. swift movements. broke a sweat (it's hot).

*whole foods. i drank hot. i said hot. coffee. while sitting. down. what? seriously. i even read the acknowledgements of my dissertation. where THERE IS A TYPO IN THE FIRST SENTENCE. i am now sharing my most embarrassing fact of life with you, at this moment, here on this blog. i have a typo on the very first line of my dissertation. and they still gave me the degree. suckers.

*parking garage of school. hey, it was shady and cool. and sat in peace and had a lovely cellular telephone conversation with an old friend who i have been trying to talk to for 2 months of phone tag and when will i ever have time to talk to her? so nice.

for my next day of school i will be going to lunch with a friend to celebrate said friend's birthday. lunch during the week. in a restaurant. with no high chairs. i might throw my own food on the floor just to be wacky.

kind of makes you want to go back to school, no?

out of this world

2008-08-30T22:36:00.002-05:00

do you remember the television show "out of this world" (circa 1988)? the main character was bi-alien (just made that up). her dad was an alien. her mom was a human. this girl, i forgot her name, could stop time by putting her two pointer fingers together (don't lie. you know you watched this and tried to put your fingers together to try and stop time). why am i talking about this ridiculous show that only myself and two other people (i'm assuming there were two out there) watched? because i now think this was reality television ahead of it's time. it. was. real. she. stopped. time. and that girl (i can't believe i don't remember her name because i remember random shit like this) is screwing with me. for some reason she feels the need to stop time between the hours of nap and dinner in my house. that's approximately 2.5 hours. so since it's stopped, thank you very much "evie" (had to look it up. it was bothering me) that feels like at least 14 hours. time is stopped in my house. but we're all still operating. and when i say operating, i mean bonkering (made up). maniacal (real word). seriously she is stopping time and only my toddlers and dog and i are forced to burn 14 hours in the span of real 2.5 hours. it's really ridiculous. R and C lose it. they're crankies. and why wouldn't they be? they've just slept for two hours. they've just eaten a delightful snack and consumed a frosty beverage. they have three rooms full of toys (venturously spilling into rooms 4 and 5). they even have a built-in playmate, besides their mother. and besides the dog. but. still. there's something squirrely about the hours between 3 pm (CST) and 5:30 pm (CST). and i will get to the bottom of it. damn. it. but for now i'm blaming her.

"i am now stopping time. for everyone in the universe except that little lady with the crazy twins and crazier dog. they will continue bonkering (oh now she's stealing my word too?) for hours and hours and hours. and hours and hours. BWAHAHA!"

p.s. robots and now aliens? what is this, some kind of a sci-fi freak phase?

this freaks me out.

2008-08-25T17:59:00.007-05:00

i recently discovered this ad for a toy...

It’s 8pm, and your child is fighting sleep. Your throat is dry from reading, your mind a million miles away. “Tell me a story, Mama!” your child begs feelingly. You would pay ten million dollars to hire someone to tell that story so you could do something else.
So enlist the help of the Smart-e toys from Intellitoys, a line of plush animals pre-loaded with software that allows the Smart-e-Bear, Smart-e-Dog and Smart-e-Cat to sing songs, tell stories, play games, call your kid by name, even answer rudimentary questions. It’s like Teddy Ruxpin 2.0. When your child gets sick of the pre-loaded songs and stories, you can go online to get updates you choose. Will it be Goldilocks and the Three Bears tonight, or The Gingerbread Man? Who cares? You’re not the one who’s going to have to tell it!

is it like a robot replacement for parents? i can't wrap my head around it. i know sometimes i am sick of the same old books. even though we have 1,000. please please please don't make me read about hearing, seeing, smelling (etc.) the brown bear, brown bear. however. i'm not going to program a freaking robot to read it for me. i think i'll tough it out. and i would totally accept the ten mill to read it to someone else's kid even. it freaks. me. out. way out. and not in a good JJ fad way either.

this is what it looks like. in my mind.

and this is what the parents, who purchased this toy, look like. in my mind.
(p.s. i don't know these people)

one baby

2008-08-21T21:40:00.002-05:00

today i told R she could only have one baby.
lately she has wanted to take her baby (vintage preemie girl cabbage patch kid circa 1982) in her crib with her for her nap. today, though, she wanted to take two babies (vintage preemie girl and boy cabbage patch kids circa 1982).

R walks over to her crib with one baby in each arm.

me: oh no sweetie, you can only have one baby.

hypocrit.

breaking up is hard to do

2008-08-18T13:09:00.005-05:00

i have a haircut scheduled. yes, this is blog-worthy. thankyouverymuch. my haircut is scheduled for a weekday morning. while the kids are dancing away at MDO. it's my first weekday morning haircut since i was able to bail out of work for a two-hour lunch. footloose and fancy-free. pretty exciting stuff. and this is not just any haircut. it's my first haircut since the breakup. we were together for eight years. and he didn't even breakup with me to my face. or over the phone. or a text. or even an email. the nerve. i just heard it through the grapevine (not much longer would you be mine). my hairdresser, of eight years, retired. no note! no phone call! it's worse than when my eighth grade boyfriend, josh, had his friend call me to tell me josh didn't like me anymore (he wanted to "go with" regina. she was the pretty new girl. [i'm obviously over it]). that's just bad business. on both counts. so now i'm off to a new hairdresser who will undoubtedly try to give me pageant hair. i have a lot of hair. and new hairdressers always try to increase volume. while i spend my days trying to decrease volume. minimize. minimize. we'll see how it goes. regardless. it will occur during a weekday morning. and that, alone, is a good reason to celebrate (good times, come on).

as long as i don't look like this.
wait. i DO kind of look like this.
except fatter, shorter, no tatoos. and my hair is slightly smaller.

i've had the time of my life

2008-08-11T20:39:00.009-05:00

thanks for all the input, my friends. i plan to utilize your top picks. all in one day. not the first day, necessarily. maybe the second. i think i'll start by dropping the kids off. no lingering. hiding. lurking outside the classroom nor the parking lot. i'll drop and go. i'll go right to soco (trendyhipsterwhilepretendingtokeepitweird shopping and eating area) for some shopping and let us not forget the cupcakes. scrap that. i'll walk to soco as a way to incorporate exercise into my day, thus enjoying my michael jackson cupcake (chocolate with cream cheese frosting) a little bit more. then off to a haircut, pedicure, and massage. how much time is left? 10 minutes? i'll ask them to play jonas brothers during my haircut and will sniff someone's clove cigarette waiting in line for the mj cupcake. my grocery shopping might be picking up the US weekly which i will read at the red lights enroute to procuring the kids. but what kind of luxury is it to "pop in" to a grocery store? or anywhere else for that matter? there is no "popping in" for me. ever. i'll spend 30 seconds in the grocery store and not think for a moment about the usual time and energy-intensive mount and dismount involved in my outings. oh what about the cleaning? i totally blamed my unassuming innocent spouse for that one vote for heading home to clean the house. he probably didn't do it. he maybe said exercise. i will never know for sure. he might have said both. exercise and go home and clean the house. maybe threw in publishing the dissertation for future thought of a future dual income (may you rest in peace. oh how we miss you). oh that damn dissertation. i forgot to throw that into my perfect day up there. blast. by the time i publish it, it will be like explaining to current communication majors (true story) how i took a class, audio production, and learned how to splice audio tape. actual audio tape. splice it. with an exacto knife. hello it was the nineties! mid-nineties thankyouverymuch. anyway. once i arrive to pick up the kids from their four hours of so-much-fun-that-they-hear-the-theme-song-from-dirty-dancing, C holds R by her hips and hoists her over his head, R posing in a delicate swan-like posture while their classmates enthusiastically clap, even cry. mine won't cry though. only the other kids. mine will just be good dancers. and they won't cry when i drop them off either. i'm putting it into the atmosphere so it becomes reality. thanks.

not my actual children. yet.

mother's day. out.

2008-08-04T21:03:00.006-05:00

R and C are headed to a MDO (that's acronym for mother's day out) program soon. very soon. we already have anxiety. we already have stress. we already feel we are not ready already. and by we. i mean me. they're cool. they're ready. they have don'tleavememommy drommy for about 2 minutes upon my departure. then they're fine. i, however, am not fine. i mean, if i'm leaving them to, like, go to the bathroom by myself and they're with my spouse, i'm fine. especially fine when i get to take a shower. because, let's face it, i'll be gone for 15 minutes. but 4 hours seems like a freaking lot. i know. i know. it's good for C. it's good for R. it's good for them. it's good for me. win. win. win. win. blah. blah. blah. blah. stop by my poll over there and help them out. i mean me. help me out.

panic at the disco (bookstore)

2008-07-31T13:33:00.001-05:00

today my heart stopped. not just a flutter. it stopped. chest pains. short of breath. tears on the brink. i lost him. i have had ohmyGodwhere'smychild brief bouts lasting one or two seconds. but this one was different. 30 seconds at least. i have never felt this way before. terrifying. now that my kids are fully mobile (think fast and furious) i have come up with strategies to keep them within eyeballs reach when in public venues. today i failed. i dressed them in the same color. black. since it is somewhat uncommon for toddlers. and i still lost one. here i am yapping about some stupid missing toys and today i missed a kid. C has a tendency to "stay put" if he finds something of interest. R never finds something of interest. so she is go go go. i was go go going after her. knowing C had found something of interest by way of an old school jack-in-the-box that had been modernized with a cute puppy-in-a-box instead of scary clown-in-a-box, i followed R to the rocking horse. then the bouncy balls. then the picture frames. oh shit. the picture frames. this calls for intervention. scoop. back to C. but now he's gone. ok he's got to be close. look. look. look. deposit R in stroller and snap securely. now i'm picking up the pace a little. now i'm running. frantically running around a bookstore knocking down other children with no remorse. just a "missing child" mutter as i go. notifying bookstore staff as i scamper. i am in a bookstore for cripe's sake. creepy crawlers hang out at bookstores. this is a known fact. now the tears are brimming. i am the worst mother ever. this is a bad made for tv movie. but meredith baxter birney is too old to play me. even rita wilson is too old to play me. oh God, it might be shannon doherty. bygones. then i see him. my sweet boy. nonethewiser that his mother is a bumbled jumble of a frenetic mess. he is calm. in the arms of a stranger (by the way. when does stranger danger come in to play? i mean i love that my kids love the world. kum ba ya. but the stranger love does make me a little nervous, particularly after this episode). so the stranger says C was in the other section pulling books off the shelf. i am sure this has happened to other people, i tell myself. and he is here now. but still. we're snapped in. and we're leaving the creepy scary evil confusing tangled jungle (bookstore) to which i vow ne'er to return. this would never happen at our library. it is a 10X13 space. and people know us. worst mother ever. i go to the elevator where i find our toddler rescue. and her four children. under five. this woman has four children under five. all present and accounted for. smiling gleefully. and she found my child. and she is a single mother. oh yeah. i'm awesome. i can't keep track of two and this woman keeps track of four under five plus one of mine. and she does it by herself. all the time.

this is cute but my child, at home especially, is much much cuter.

dearly departed

2008-07-25T14:22:00.002-05:00

i'd like to take a moment of silence for the dearly departed (read: items in our home or once in our home that have bit the big one [bitten the big one?] due to mischief/curiousity/sneakiness/goodoldfashionedfun/furor/whathaveyou by one [or two if they work together] toddler[s]).

silence.

okay. seriously. things just vanish. and i clean up. all. the. time. multiple rooms. multiple times per day. to keep tabs on things. but there are several items that have gone missing. for good i'm afraid. this is in honor of you, white circle block that i amazingly found and then my dog ate anyway. sniff. you were a good white circle block. always went right in your round hole in the shape sorter. and remember that time we spent together when i fished you out of the nasty trash? that was so funny! oh we just laughed and laughed! ok i have to move on...

1. green wooden key to the melissa and doug key ring (survived by blue and yellow keys)

2. blocks #1 and #2 from cardboard stacking blocks (survived by 8 [larger/more obvious if in the trash can] blocks)

3. 8 or 9 or 23 ball pit balls that cracked, deflated, or otherwise expired (survived by 6,000 ball pit balls of various colors), which reminds me...

4. dora the explorer ball bit (this one didn't disappear exactly. they acted like it was eddie's castle...pouncepouncepounce)

5. the kid's ear muffs from the eyes, toes, nose book (the ones that cover the "ears" of course), which this may be a blessing since it's my children's favorite page. they flip right to it to say "uh oh" (there is not near enough room for me to mention all the various components of books that are long gone...instead of "lift the flap" somehow in our house it is "rip the flap"). can't wait to introduce actual paper page books.

6. my personal favorite snack trap: white with a penguin on it (survived by green, purple, and orange)

7. elmo's head from the book "so big" (survived by elmo's big bootie and big feet)

8. at least 6 plastic spoons taken from high chair to various places in our home. never to return. (survived by 57 other plastic spoons of various colors)

9. every "washable" crayon that we owned. ok i helped with this one. because how many times can you say "no mouth" really? and that is a "washable" mess i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. wait i don't have any enemies. lucky me. that is a "washable" mess i wouldn't wish on a cast member from "the hills." (survived by the non-washable old school crayola crayons, though surely some of those have disappeared too. i'm just too lazy to count)

10. an entire box of hostess 100 calorie mini cinnamon coffee cupcakes (survived by no one. they were delicious. so i've heard.)

i miss you.

the way we were

2008-07-21T22:15:00.000-05:00

yesterday i swaddled my kids. woo hoo. big news! mommy swaddling babies! bor-ing. snore. well. it is big news. because mommy didn't swaddle babies. mommy swaddled 20-month-old toddlers. well past their youthful baby days of swaddling. this makes me sound like mommy dearest, swaddling toddlers into little toddler straight jackets... not exactly. i was swaddling the only baby left in the house, a preemie cabbage patch kid (amanda jayne, or maybe it was millie rose, wait i think this one was the boy preemie...xander jameson, benny fritz? [you know those names were weird]. i can't believe i can't remember. i always remember stuff like this, even 25 years later). so i decided to test my swaddling recall with a quick trip down memory lane to swaddle, let's call him, xander. C and R are ecstatic to see the swaddling in action. it is the best thing ever. even better than the flushing of the toilet. even better than the flushing of the toilet while a small hand is in the toilet. ok it's not that good, let's be serious. but it is an art, you know. and something i am good at. still. should put it on my resume. R and C are so enthralled by my skills that they both go and get their own blankets out of their cribs. seriously cute. they bring them over to me. they want to be swaddled. they actually both are laying the blankets on the floor and lay down on said blankets. who says kids don't remember anything before they are three? they remember the luxury and security of the swaddle! long live the swaddle! so with all of this adorablecuteness, i must oblige. who can deny a swaddle request? now, it seems, they've grown a bit since their most recent swaddle. like 15 pounds at least. they're a bit leggy now. swaddling is not quite the same. but i did it. of course to do an appropriate swaddle, as professional swaddlers well know, i would now need at least a twin-sized blanket (no pun intended). the baby blanket isn't cutting it. i did have the mommy pang of ohmygoshrememberwhenyouweresotiny? wherehasthetimegone? not enough of a pang for me to reproduce a reproduction. but enough for me to hear "memories, like the corners of my mind" fairly vividly. oh babs. but then i am snapped back to reality because you know what? once those toddlers are swaddled in their toddler straight jackets, those kids are heavy. usually they can cling on to me in some fashion and help me out a little bit. not with the straight jacket. i'm doing all the heavy lifting. they're just laying. and laughing. at. me.

this photo has nothing to do with this post.

i should never blog before bedtime.

er i should never look up google images of straight jackets before bedtime. not pretty. curses!

misty water-colored memories...

b*tch, please

2008-07-14T12:42:00.006-05:00

i know she is saying "peach." i know it. i know because she loves the peaches. and now she can verbally demand what she wants. so she is telling me she wants more "peach." but the thing is, it sounds like b*tch. sort of exactly like b*tch. and now that i've taught her some manners and she can squeeze out a "please" every once in a while...well, it sounds like she is saying "b*tch, please." emily post would be so proud. yes, my oneandahalf-year-old is telling me "b*tch, please." i hope you're saying that the right way in your mind. it's not like b*tch, please question mark. it's like b*tch period please period. i hear it with a hint of sarcasm but i'm pretty sure that's just in my mind. i also hear it in my friend george's voice. probably also in my mind. i also couldn't help but notice her saying it while she was looking at my shoes this morning. like b*tch, please. i know you're not wearing those shoes with that outfit. i would say that is also probably only in my mind. except she does really like shoes. and she has impeccable taste.

that b*tch

you're getting sleepy...v e r y . . . s l e e p y

2008-07-08T18:56:00.004-05:00

it's totally working. i'm being brainwashed by the pottery barn kids. thank my lucky stars i have the wherewithall to recognize it. and snap myself out of it. because i see it happening. it hit me today when i looked at their retro play kitchen (so cute [wait...see what i mean?]) and thought, "only $1399 for the refrigerator and the stove? what a bargain!" that's one thousand three hundred and ninety nine dollars without tax. um, do they work? no. is there a self-cleaning feature on the oven? no. does the refrigerator also have an ice-maker? no. do they actually heat or cool anything? no. they do nothing. nothing. well the doors open. and close. that's a feature, isn't it? but is it a $750 feature? don't think so. i think our current oven is worth about $600. and it, you know, cooks things. we are frequenters of the pottery barn kids storytime (i'm up in the air on whether "storytime" is two words or one). have been for months and months. from the days where the kids observed storytime by way of their stroller because they were not able to "sit" anywhere for more than 15 seconds. ok, they don't "sit" now for more than 15 seconds but now they physically can do it if they want to. they just mostly choose otherwise. but we're getting better. so months and months of storytime at the pottery barn kids where we quickly browse the store and admire the madetolooklikerealgrown-upthings toys and toocuteforspit-up blankets, etc. we occasionally purchase a book or two. usually two. who in their right mind purchases one of anything with twins? i'm not starting that fight. they'll find things to fight over on their own. i don't need to facilitate that occuring. i'm an enabler but in that fight i'm the one who really loses. so i have wondered from time to time why in their right minds the pottery barn kids would host a storytime weekly, which lasts 8 minutes, and then release the children to run amok and play with and smash toys and mess up all their displays which the staff have neatly organized according to national pottery barn kids authority (made up) so that the giant stuffed whale (no, no, it's a toy) is placed carefully on the nautical-themed nightstand next to the bed-in-a-boat. those kids just charge through all of it like elephants (real ones, not toys) and divide and conquer. so why would they allow this? this is what i'm saying. this is why they allow it. because the elephants (kids) like the toys. they like the pottery barn kids. they go in there and it's the best place on earth. there are vacuums (purchased. and it really does work thank you very much. it makes noise. there's a removable dustbuster which has picked up a few dustbunnies even. oh my gosh. do you hear me? look what they've done! i'm like an infomercial for cripe's sake!). whoa. where was i? oh yeah. those national pottery barn authorities are brilliant. they've read the same book written by the national ronald mcdonald authorities and the national joe camel authorities. how can we get to kids, the younger the better, as soon as possible? and let's keep in mind p.s. it's really the parents (me) who like the stuff. it's very clearly me they are brainwashing. not my kids. sure R and C like the toys. they play with them. they have fun. but when it's time to go, a little snack-trap and sippy and they're fine to go home. sometimes they get a parting gift (read: book. ok there was that vacuum once. and the shape sorter. and the ice-cream cones. shit.). also a show of brilliance: creating toys that appeal more to parents than to the kids. kids don't have money (sadly). well they have some but i'm not breaking into a college fund to support the pottery barn kids. oh no. that could be where the brainwashing is heading. it will head there if i break the bank with a $2399 play kitchen (like how the price goes up?). here's the clincher. they don't even need the kitchen. they don't even know they want the kitchen. they are perfectly happy with their babytoddler plastictacious (just made that up) kitchen that is two two two rooms in one. kitchen on one side. living room on one side. and this thing does stuff. it doesn't heat or cool. but it has a radio that plays bad music. it has a faucet that makes water sound. it has a stove-top that makes sizzle sound. it has a light that turns on and off. it was $70. er, $0 (it was a gift). i will not buy the pottery barn kids kitchen. i will not buy the pottery barn kids kitchen. i will not buy the pottery barn kids kitchen. but it is really cute. for me.

i guess it's kind of nice. for a play kitchen.
but totally not worth $3299.

i'm a brat

2008-07-03T22:03:00.002-05:00

apparantly i'm a brat. my friend's 5-year-old daughter was given a "bratz" doll (by her grandmother, much to my friend's horror). the young gal then referred to the bratz doll by my name. i look like a bratz doll. is that a compliment? i mean, you don't get any more youthful than a bratz doll, right? but you also don't get any more skanky er skankier (as far as a children's toy goes). and what are those clothes they wear anyway? um i never wear clothes like that. ok maybe i have worn clothes like that. but not likely around a 5-year-old. and not likely in the last ten years. i am terrified at the thought of what my daughter (or son [ahem]) might want as a doll in the year 2011. at the rate we're going. hawaiian tropic dolls in swimsuits with highlighted hair and orange skin and belly button rings and tramp stamp tatoos and worse than barbie measurements? long live the cabbage patch kids. unless those are headed for skankitrociousness (just made that up) too.

i'm guessing i'm second from left

i'd like to thank the little people

2008-06-30T21:42:00.004-05:00

thank you, thank you. thank you all seven of my devoted readers who voted in my very first official blog poll. which had absolutely nothing to do with my blog in general. except that it focused on the occasional randomness that is the pop culture that i bring up from time to time. this particular randomness, of course, refers to the hair cut heard 'round the world, my dear felicity. so the show ended (gasp) in 2002. so what? i still think about it. i still love it. i've seen every episode at least seven times each (four times each while on bedrest thank you very much, which means my kids have seen, ok heard [by osmosis] every single episode four times each). i love it almost more than "my so called life" or the tragically underrated and short-lived "popular" (only two seasons, on the WB no less). so i thought i'd do a shoutout to felicitearful and her evil ben who, if this was real life would probably have cheated on her 79 times by now and impregnated 5 or 6 people by now and have failed out of medical school which he couldn't have possibly gotten into in the first place. you didn't get a spoiler alert because um, it's been six years. if you hadn't heard that felicity picked ben then i don't even know what to say to you. and let's hear it for good old noel. pulling down the win with a sweeping 42%. wait that's not exactly a sweep. but hey he won. and noel is the kind of guy that would appreciate a little random blogger poll victory six years later. whoa...intervention. hey, isn't noel a character on a television show (extinct television show) and not a real person? anyone else hear patsy cline singing "crazy" or is that just in my head? sidenote: i am pretty sure if you conduct your own intervention you are not crazy. or maybe it's the other way around...own intervention equals crazy? anyway. i didn't vote because i felt it was unethical to vote on my own first official blog poll (although that would have garnered me eight whole votes. EIGHT!). but had i voted, i would have voted for "all of the above." no reason felicitrocious couldn't have picked ben, kept noel close (mean but that's the beauty of their relationship, is it not? i mean was it not?) and javier. every gal needs a javier. javier's the kind of guy who will tell you that you shouldn't have cut 14 inches off your signature curly locks. into a buzz. bygones. thanks for voting, my seven favorite people. p.s. one of the voters was my spouse, whom i asked to (read: made) vote, God love him. he didn't even know who ben or noel were. guess he tried to stay out of the house during bedrest.

before.................................after
random trivia: the show's ratings nose-dived following the chop
i'm sure she told sally (janeane garofalo [yes! really!]) all about it.

uh oh

2008-06-26T13:16:00.005-05:00

i guess my kids are looking out for me. lately they've taken to walking around to my backside and pulling out the waistband on my pants and peeking. you know. to check for poop. thank you very much. how considerate. how does it look in there? okay? i'm assuming they're checking for poop. since that's what i do to them. i swore i would never be that mother that sticks her nose in her baby's bootie to determine if it is poop positive. okay i have done it. more than a few times. but i've found it is less offensive to me to pull the diaper out a little to see if there is poop. i'd rather see it than smell it. so they must be checking for poop, right? unless they heard about my terrible underwear mishap. and they want to make sure i didn't do it again. maybe i look tired. maybe i'm grouchy. i don't know but sometimes when they do this they also say "uh oh." what do you mean uh oh? what's uh oh about my bootie? there's no poop in there. i'm certain. absolutely 100% certain. so what else is it? no poop? no thong on backwards? what could it be to deserve an uh oh? my self esteem was just starting to be on solid footing and now my one-year-olds are calling my arse an "uh oh."

life is better when you're facing forward

2008-06-20T13:17:00.007-05:00

not safer. but better. well i guess it's safer, technically, for let's say, walking, running, etc. walking or running backwards can't be safer than walking or running forwards. but if you're sitting in a car, backwards is safer (even for me, at age 32 [but not while driving]). but not better. according to a super scholarly scientific experiment (ie, my kids). (yes, i've donated my children to scientific experimental research. mom of the year. right here.) riding in a car facing forward is better. it's more enjoyable. more to see. room to kick (my seat, thank you very much). i was waiting. i could have turned my little chunkers around six months ago because they met the "legal requirements" to face forward. but then i did too much research, as i often do (curses to the internet!) and found out it was safer for them to stay backwards. so we all toughed it out together. and it was brutal. so here's the update. we've been facing forward for approximately five days now and it. is. glorious. seriously. peaceful. i almost don't know what to do with myself. it's quiet. in my car. i haven't heard this much quiet in my car since the day i told my spouse "there are two babies in there" (womb). i realized how truly blissfulmonious (made up) it was when i was arriving early at our location a few days ago so i drove around a little while to buy us some time. excuse me? never would i stall for more time in the car when the babes were rear facing. no way. get us there as fast as i can and get us out. stat. one problem: i accidentally forgot to remove the pacifiers from the car, which has always been my plan for the day we faced forward. turn around. pacifiers gone. fair trade. blast! blast! i forgot to remove them! now we're all screwed. the pacifiers are never leaving. they'll have to take the pacifiers out of their own mouths to pose for their first driver's licence photo. and even then it won't be easy. oh well. cost-benefit analysis: it's now exceptionally quiet in my car. carseats facing forward and pacifiers. how much more peace could i get? i can talk on the phone. i can listen to music that doesn't drive me nuts. i can listen to absolutely nothing. nothingness. i could do yoga if i wanted to. it's that peaceful (but wouldn't be safe and this all started with safety, didn't it). you know what is actually safer than safe (remember those "grosser than gross" stupid jokes that pre-adolescent boys would tell you in the 5th grade? i hated those. right up there with the "garbage pail kids")? a calm and composed and focused mommy driver because her kiddos are peacefully sitting in the backseat, forward facing, happy as little larks. that's way safer than crazy roadrage mommy driver who is one-handed 7 on the steering wheel (no 10 and 2 here) turned around flinging toys and replacing pacifiers for various children while she listens to some horrifyingly horrible nail-scraping kiddie music.

sorry. i just felt like i needed a picture here.

yellow outfit + yellow hat + monkey = no dates

2008-06-17T20:23:00.002-05:00

it's weird that a man, whose claim to fame is a yellow hat (matching yellow clothing, er ensemble including tie, might i add) has a pet monkey whom he takes everywhere. i don't know why it's worse to me that the man is single (of course he's single). but it is. just him and his monkey. (he and his monkey? bygones) hanging out. they eat at italian restaurants together. they fly airplanes together. they vacation in the country together. wait, are they dating? if he had a significant other it would still be weird. wait maybe that's weirder (i really want "weirder" to be a word but i'm afraid it's not)? i don't know. i think he's in love with that professor woman whose always poking around. regardless. how did it become acceptable for a man who wears the same yellow outfit and hat every day of his life (not that it would be okay if he only chose to wear it, say, one day per month. wearing a yellow outfit is wrong. period. let alone pairing it with a yellow hat) to obtain a pet monkey and bring him everywhere as though george (monkey's name) were tinkerbell (paris hilton's chihuahua, obviously. side note: why do i know this? i know the name of paris hilton's dog, yet not how to spell chichuahua, which i had to look up). why do i care about the man in the yellow hat's social life, or lack thereof? i just know it's been bothering me. maybe he should go on "the bachelor." i see a new series. but who would date a man with a monkey? and a yellow outfit? and a yellow hat? it's a trifecta. for no dates.
p.s. thank everything kathy griffin is back on bravo. analytical review of the man with the yellow hat might mean too much time on my hands.

not even "the bachelor" could save him.

st. john's not (wort)h it

2008-06-14T21:04:00.013-05:00

whew last week i was a serious biotch. nothing in particular. no pre-meditated meanness. no name calling (not even "biotch"). not even the somewhat regular roadrage [insert high pitched voice and shaking finger (no, no, pointer finger) "you're a very bad driver, mister." i was just in a bad mood. you may have noticed from my last few posts that i have been a thrilling combination of tired and sick. and for me tired+sick=crabby. "crabby cakes" as i like to call my darling darlings when they are a little testy. i was also with my mother. a lot. now don't get me wrong here. don't go assuming. i do not have one of those mothers who drives even mary poppins over the building without her umbrella. my mother is the mother everyone wishes they had. the one you want to be when you grow up. but you know how when you are sick and tired your mother becomes the target? she's the target because you have her. it's easy. you know she loves you. you know she's got your back. you know she knows it's not really "you" to be so biotchy (is that a word? wait, is "biotch" even a word?). so anyway, my mother got the brunt. and in unmitigated true momness, she offered guidance in ever so subtle fashion. her version of ever so subtle fashion was recommending mood enhancers for my biotchiness (word or made up?). we're not talking about some stuff i would have to get from the high schoolers. she was suggesting the st. john's wort. i blew it off the first couple (or 9 or 6000) times she mentioned it. and she tried different entry points. "your dad and i have tried it," "it's just a vitamin," etc. i wasn't biting. i was fine being biotchy. afterall i had just traveled a great distance with two toddlers and hadn't left their side for more than two hours in eight days. but who's counting? fast forward a few days when i've returned to my natural habitat. on the phone. FORTHELOVEOFGOD SWEETJESUS I'LLTAKETHEDAMNVITAMIN. but before i do. let me just hop on that new internets thing and see what i'm getting in to. any side effects? any drug interactions? FORTHELOVEOFGOD SWEETJESUS ITREDUCESTHEEFFECTOFORALCONTRACEPTIVES. and, we're done here. i kind of like my birth control pill. mainly because it controls birth. well, conception. and i mean this as no negative reflection on my precious babes (who are amazing and would make anyone run out and pop a few st. john's worts to counteract their birth control pills), but i'm done. donezo. done and done. i knew pretty soon after they were born but i waited to really decide. and i really decided. hello this blog is called twinstant family. like instant family. like family, done. i want to say it's not tied to the whole girl and boy added to our family which plays into the crazy expectation from our crazy society of having a girl and a boy or your family is not complete. but maybe it is. the thing is, i just feel great where we are. family of four. five including dog. for me (us) this is perf. so the thought of a new addition really freaks me out. hey if it happens i'll embrace it. as divine intervention. but not if it's st. john's wort intervention. for now i'll just stick to embracing my biotchiness.

sure it looks lovely but no thank you.

this just in: vacation on stomach virus island sucks

2008-06-11T07:23:00.004-05:00

ok i guess i deserved it. who wishes for a stomach virus? more importantly, who wishes for a stomach virus during a rampant salmonella tomato outbreak? and who eats a casserole including tomatoes during a rampant salmonella tomato outbreak? me. that's who. so there it is. enter terrible cliches here (be careful what you wish for, the grass is always greener, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, i don't know). i'll eat my words as soon as i can keep something down. in bed for many hours. and when i say in bed, which sounded delightful to me prior, it was horrible. it's no fun to be in bed feeling miserable after not sleeping because of the frequent visits to the lieu for vomit and other sordid horribleness. thank everything i was in good company, as in my mother and father, who could attend to the kiddos. and thank everything i didn't feed the kiddos said casserole. let me tell you. stomach virus vacation? not all it's cracked up to be. not like anyone besides me has ever cracked it up to be something good anyway. and i think i only lost a pound. a single pound.

barf.

you also know you're tired when

2008-06-07T19:03:00.007-05:00

a stomach virus sounds like a vacation. today i attended a family function where i was consuming a casserole made by a family friend. please note: for me, this is erratic behavior. i hate casseroles. i hate food made by someone with whom i have never spent time in their home where i can observe their kitchen and home life habits. but today my defenses were down. lately i've been tired. i wore my thong underwear backwards for cripe's sake. i'm vulnerable. please note: the friend-made casserole was dee-licious. and not just because i was a little starving. i'm kind of still in shock of the tastiness. it also looked beautiful and i am a sucker for aesthetics. the only thing that would have made it better was if it was a miniature casserole. i heart mini food. it wasn't one of those clumpy broccoli is that cheese or pineapple right there casseroles. it was fresh and i trusted the source. as i'm eating said friend-made casserole, it is determined that said friend who made the friend-made casserole is not at the function because she has a stomach virus. dramatic pause. fork out of mouth. all of a sudden casserole not so tasty. but then i start thinking. what's that you said? friend has a stomach virus and is in bed for days, having lost four pounds? eureka. must. eat. more. casserole. i could stand to lose four pounds. i could certainly stand to stay in bed for days. i mean hours. or minutes. to me the stomach virus sounds like the hot new vaca. stay in bed. lose weight. perf. why haven't i thought of this before? hello tired delusionness (made up). stomach virus may also mean lots of bathroom and puke. which doesn't sound like a vacation. unless you're in cancun. and i'm too old for cancun. and i'm too tired for cancun. did i mention i was tired?

you know you're tired when

2008-06-03T19:03:00.006-05:00

you go to the bathroom and see "hanky panky" in front of your eyes. not hanky panky like you're in some creepy public restroom. the "hanky panky" brand name. on a tag. in other words, your underwear are on backwards. your thong underwear. which you've been wearing for five hours without a pee break but thinking a couple of times that the undies feel a little uncomfortable but you dismiss it because you don't have time to worry about your undies. you've got to worry about what happens if your kids drop a deuce in their swim diapers because you don't have backups. and you're tired. at least you remembered to wear undies. even if they're backwards. did i mention it was a backwards thong? who does that?

FRONT. i'm trying to help you here.

shout out

2008-05-28T13:25:00.012-05:00

i need to show some love for the diaper bag company that i referenced when i was so excited to pick up a new vice a la the diaper bag. turns out my fabulous croc bowler had some technical difficulties. and i was bummed. i have a hard time letting things go sometimes so i emailed someone via the website and grumbled (politely). turns out, they're replacing my bag with a different model (woo hoo) which shouldn't have the same issue. and i offered to send the old one back but they said no. just keep it. you know you can never have too many bags. you know i can never have too many bags. i'm kind of giddy about my new bag which is en route and they have been so helpful... A+ for customer service. and these days that's hard to find. good thing i didn't get the diaper bag at target. those bastards would need my left kidney in order to do an exchange and even then i'd need to exchange the bag and the kidney for something currently in stock in the store for equal or greater value (and pay the difference) and they would send out an all points bulletin and i'd land myself on a list somewhere so i could never ever make a return at any target nationwide. ever.
so here's the good company: http://shop.rowdyproducts.com/main.sc
and here's my new bag:

scaredy cat

2008-05-27T13:33:00.011-05:00

um, when your kids are napping do you ever make yourself wait to go to the bathroom and flush the toilet until the air conditioning in your house kicks on so the air conditioner muffles the sound of the flushing toilet so as not to disturb the sleepage (just made that up)? i mean, I don't do that. i was just wondering. so, when your kids are playing with another qualified adult nearby do you ever sneak around doing whatever you are doing (reading the mail, making dinner, cleaning, bon bons [you know, the yoojzh]) so that your kids don't see you and freak out that you are separated (OHMYGODWHYAREWESEPARATEDHOWCOULDYOULEAVEUSYOUHORRIBLEMOMMY?!)?

me neither.
based on these two hypothetical scenarios, am i scared of my kids or what? am i afraid of them? my 23 pound offspring? what are they going to do to me? cry? scream? big whoop. i've heard a little crying and screaming in my day. and it's not like they could take me. if push came to shove, and sometimes it does (note: they push and shove me. and each other. and the dog. don't worry. i have neither pushed nor shoved either of them), i could take them. i was here before them. i created them. i wrote the book they're reading (ripping). why must i live in fear?

if you don't know me, this is exactly what i look like. but with crazier hair. and i'm not a cat.

oh no she didn't

2008-05-21T12:51:00.001-05:00

oh yes she did. i did. oh yes i did. i swore i wouldn't do it. but i did. it wasn't my fault. i had them first. i'm burying the lead here so wait for it. a while back remember when i proclaimed i would never dress my darling daughter and my darling self alike? well i'm in trouble. we had a fabulous grammi visit and fabulous grammi proclaimed the kiddles needed fabulous new shoes from the fabulous nordstrom. why is that place fabulous? because they have shoes. wall-to-wall shoes. R's favorite word du jour? shiz (obviously shoes). girl points them out everywhere. she can't get enough. she even finds the most valuable thing in her baby Bible to be Jesus' shiz. that's what she flips to. that's what she wants to see. forget the ark. forget the parting of the red sea. where are the shiz? take me to the shiz. that's what is God-like in her world at the moment. and i can't say i blame her. i do love my shiz. and if i passed that little (huge) love on to her so be it. at least she has a good mentor. which is what i'm getting to. s l o w l y. sorry. once freed from her claustrophobically inhibiting (her words, not mine) stroller, she zeroed right in on them. she went for the prize. the most pulchritudinous (real word) (not that i doubt your intelligence but it means beautiful. i don't know why she didn't just say "beautiful" but she had to bust out the "pulchritudinous" instead) shiz she had ever seen. and they were lookers. those were some wheels that warranted a tear. once she grabbed them there was no letting go. i asked the kind woman for her size and once those were on her feet. they were on. too big. too floppy. but on damnit. and she wasn't giving them up. i have to admit it was love at first sight for me too. i commended her knowing eye with a purchase. well technically it was a grammi purchase but whatev. we had to break the shiz from her grips and replace them with her shiz that were so 30 minutes ago. so sad. she took it well. her shiz of so 30 minutes ago were still metallic gold beauties that were nothing to scoff at. nothing like the new shiz. but still of note. we got home. i placed the new lovelies in the closet. and i thought. i really do like those shiz. like i really like them. what is it i like about them in particular? oh yeah. i have shiz (mine are shoes though) that bear a slight resemblance. oh. no. i did it. but i had them first! they're not exactly alike. hers are glittery. mine are not. mine are wedge heels. hers are not. thank God. on many levels. mine have laces. hers do not. but i'm pretty sure we can't wear them on the same day. and no way to wearing them with our black leggings. yes i have them. (shut up. please.) on the same day. i can't believe i fell into the trap. and she is only one point five years old. it's only going to get worse. you know i have photos. here's the damage. i mean splendor.

mommy shoes

toddler shoes

same shoes?
how bad is it? really?

i miss rock of love

2008-05-17T12:50:00.003-05:00

there, i said it. g.D.it. i'm not proud. it's not like i have oodles of time to fire up the old tube but when i get a fleeting moment in the two-hour-time span (15 minutes in actual, real, mommy time...blog post in and of itself forthcoming) between kids in bed and me in bed i like to check out my DVR greatest hits recorded and, well, i'm finding myself stopping on "the goodnight show" because i've heard that's a good one. or i know that's a good one. and it is a good one. for my one-year-olds. poor brain. poor poor mommy brain. i don't want to watch "the goodnight show." ever. let alone when not in my childrens' company. i want my "rock of love." i want my random acts of skankiness (not in the dictionary but surely i didn't just make this up. skunkiness and stinkiness just won't cut it). i mean, hello bret. it's already been over six fake months. let's move on. i know you had like at least seven seasons planned immediately after the first heart break [throat clearing]. we all know you didn't enter into any kind of relationship with ambRE. it's ambre with an r.e. in case you didn't catch that. you two just have some agreement to fake the funk so you can continue to promote what i think you're calling your "solo" album which is scary in and of itself. and she can promote her 45-year-old "host" bootie. ok she's not 45 but chica lied lied lied about her age so as not to damage her career as a "host." a "host" of some random local daytime spot which i'm sure wouldn't have the discretion to discriminate against a 37-year-old (real age), or a 32-year-old (fake age). whatever. so the point of all this is i'm ready to move on. surely bret michaels is ready to move on. let's get going. i know what you're thinking. i've tried other shows. i tried the bachelor brit. yawn. and don't tell me he proposed to a 22-year-old actress who believed she was on "one life to live" at every moment the camera was rolling on this show. why do people propose on that show? just let it be like "rock of love." that's what's really happening behind the scenes. they just want to be able to call it a "family" show. so they try to keep it "clean" though that is debatable. my kids aren't watching either. i'm trying to think which messages are worse. that's a dissertation waiting to happen. too bad mine is done already. snooze. i also tried the bravo go-to. i do love my bravo. and when all else fails there's got to be something salvageable on there. "the millionaire matchmaker?" that matchmaker will make anyone she's trying to set you up with look good. good strategy. points for ingenuity. points for chutzpah. not enough points though. delete. delete. delete. let's try "workout." that was good one season. last season. is it wrong to eat an ice cream sandwich while watching "workout?" it was skinny cow. mint. deelicious. spoiler alert: no, it's not wrong to eat an ice cream sandwich while watching "workout." know why? that's the only way you'll get through it. yawn. i don't know why i liked it last year. maybe the newness. i need my kathy griffin. i need my "project runway." and by God i need my "rock of love." and i'm not afraid to say it.

the only way i'm getting through tv with no rock of love.

p.s. it looks safe but they left out the 62% high fructose corn syrup. don't know why.

do blueberry waffles count as a fruit?

2008-05-13T15:14:00.003-05:00

or maybe i should ask: can blueberry waffles count as a fruit? i need to know. i mean, there are actual blueberries in there. i can see them. not just blue food coloring. give me some credit, i realize that strawberry pop tarts do not count as a fruit. but what about when you can see actual pieces of real bon.a.fide fruit? i do love strawberry pop tarts though. ok what about zucchini bread counting as a vegetable? (first ingredient: sugar) zucchini is on the list though. somewhere.

they look exactly like this. except without the blueberries.

failure

2008-05-07T13:44:00.002-05:00

in honor of mother's day, a little reflection. i've done everything wrong. seriously. every single freaking day i add one more travesty to my list of "wrong things i have done that have/will scarred/scar/damage/harm my children in some way." i can't keep up. here's my list of horrifyingly horrible sins i've committed at the expense of my sweet angels. feel free to tell me if i've missed some. i know there are more out there and i've come to terms with my incompetence...
1) heated oatmeal in plastic containers. that's right, people. i used plastic bowls. and i heated them. in the microwave. plastics are the new lead. i'll get to lead later. plastics, the one time new and fabulous modern convenience are killing our children. ok, killing is going too far. but they're doing bad things. they're making them all left-handed (not that there's anything wrong with that). ok, i don't know what precisely plastics are doing but it's bad. very bad. so i heated oatmeal in these plastic baby bowls everyday for at least six months. sometimes it was grits. or rice cereal. and fruit. i forgot the fruit. but it's not the contents that are the problem. it's the plastic bowl. damn plastic.
2) i sometimes ran hot water out of the tap into a pot before boiling said hot water for formula usage. oh no. come to find out when you run hot water out of the tap, the water has more lead content. bad. did i mentioned i boiled the water every single time i made formula for bottles? doesn't that count for something? no. because i also used a metal pot to boil the hot leadilicous (just made that up) water in. is there even another option besides a metal pot? obviously can't use a plastic pot (see #1). glass pots? never seen it. it's stressing me out. let's move on.
3) i have used baby wipes on booties. and sometimes they even had slight rashes. no! say it ain't so! wipes?! apparantly the absolute worse thing you can put on your baby's bootie, rash or no rash, is a baby wipe. it's worse than sandpaper. worse than everclear (grain alcohol for you amateurs. or those of you trying to forget your "hunch punch" days). i don't know what's in it. but it's bad. it's not leadilicious (made up) bad but it's bad.
4) speaking of grain alcohol, i have used antibacterial hand gel on my children's hands. apparantly kids are getting alcohol poisoning from some antibacterial hand gel. from what i can tell, they have never had alcohol poisoning. i mean, they did start out walking "a little too much tequila in cancun-ish" but it definitely was not enough to make them pass out. they never really pass out, per se. trust me. is alcohol better than germs? are germs less bad than alcohol? cost-benefit analysis, please.
5) my kids have toys that were made in china. i don't know what else to say. like 98% of the toys i have found are made in china. allegedly there is lead there. too much lead. and it goes into the toys.
6) my kids once ate lentil soup that came from a can. i know. i might as well have given them lentil soup from a toilet, the way people are going on about canned goods. hello, it was organic toilet lentil soup. any better?
7) since birth we have bathed our children with soap (baby soap) that comes to us in a plastic container. that damn plastic again. not only can they ingest this tragic plastic chemical via plastic bowls, particularly when heated, but the blasted chemical goes into their little blood streams via soap stored in plastic. and let's consider the wrongness associated with soap made for babies. it's horrendous...parabens, phth something. fragrance made from lead (made that up). serenity now!
9) while we're on the topic of soap. i may have used dryer sheets in the dryer when drying their clothing. what was i thinking? i used "baby detergent." yet another wrong step. baby detergent: unsafe. bad. very bad. apparantly dryer sheets are made out of some flesh-eating bacteria chemical poison. oops.
10) i once gave them baby decongestant. they were stuffy. go back and read the "runny noses" post. are you going to argue with me? the baby decongestant was recalled because of overdose. here's what i don't get...are the babies overdosing themselves? because, maybe my 17-month-olds are "behind" but they can't shoot baby decongestant into their noses just yet. i have to do it. i've seen them put other things up their noses, like fingers, but no baby decongestant. so, i think i'm in charge of the distribution. how much. how often. you know. one drop per 24 hours appears to be reasonable. even if they wanted it every hour on the hour, that's what i'm here for right? likewise with the
11) bebe pod. these are great, no? 3-months-old and they're sitting! head control! sitting control! build those abs! you're never to young to start developing/strengthening your core! oh no. recalled. who puts their baby in a "seat" of any kind on an elevated location, like a table? who does that? i did irresponsibly place the bebes in the bebe pods on the carpeted floor. what was i thinking? i think i hear CPS. we're in trouble. i can't keep up with all this evil-doing. what's next? i wasn't supposed to swaddle? everyone swaddles. i want to be swaddled. it looks enjoyable. no music? music is bad? what is this, footloose?

happy mother's day

a picture is worth a thousand words

2008-05-01T13:55:00.006-05:00

i'm not talking about pictures of my kids though (come on, those are worth way more). this particular picture is the one i wish i could have taken today of the bebe saleswoman when i asked her if i could "just try on this shirt out here instead of in a fitting room." p.s. what the hell am i doing at the bebe? really? not sure. i briefly saw something that caught my eye between picking up a discarded sippy cup and throwing a floor-tainted cracker in the garbage, en route to purchase one coveted pottery barn vacuum to store in my aresenal for when my spouse retreats to vegas. i wasn't going to disrobe in the middle of the store, lady. i just can't freaking fit in your dressing room with these two, let's call them energetic, toddlers in a double-wide stroller whom, somehow, you must have overlooked. i just want to put the shirt over my current shirt (not that this is entirely feasible when 99% of your clothing is made of 99% spandex but whatever). i'm going to have to wear the bebe shirt over another shirt anyway (since 99% of your clothing reveals 99% of your business but whatever). no one is even in your blasted store, might i add. and did i mention the shirt was on sale? i must have been feeling adventurous. the bebe lady was not smiling. she was kind of huffing. yes, quite the picture. and then the next picture would be worth two thousand words. the picture of her face as i, not waiting for her answer to my question, proceeded to try on said shirt over my current shirt. it took like 4 seconds. here's the moral of the story. i know you've been waiting. my 99% spandex 65% off picture ended up being worth $23 (words). not too shabby.

happy tuesday to me

2008-04-29T18:59:00.004-05:00

every once in a while you get a little gift. a sweet surprise on an ordinary day. like when your spouse shows up with flowers and mini-beers (actually happened last week. lucky me.). did you know they make mini-beers? i love mini anything. and beer. seven delightful ounces of corona. with a little sliver of lime. what could be better? so, today's gift. let's call today's gift "my picky eating, vegetable hating (read: vegetable throwing) daughter willingly consumed superfood wait for it...raw radishes." and when i say "radishes" plural, i mean more than one. she ate two, maybe three. not whole. holy choking hazard. they were cut up. i did sneak them in with the cut up chicken nuggets. usually my sneaking is no match for her sleuthfullness (just made that up). she can bob and weave around my vegetables. but today. no. today was a mommy gift! no throwing! no food lobbed at my dog with the ever-iffy stomach! happy tuesday! once i saw her eating them i chopped furiously. got. to. get. more. in. while. i. can. ended up being about 2.5. don't worry. i'm not getting cocky. i know tomorrow radishes will be so 24 hours ago whatareyouthinkingyoustupidmommy! i'm planning on a radishtastrophe (obviously made up). so today i will just revel in my gift. we celebrated with grapes. everyone wins. ok radishes are not a "leafy green" vegetable. or chock full of healthful goodness broccoli or spinach. but hey. beggars can't be choosers. in case you didn't know, here's a little run-down of radishygoodness (obviously made up):
-great source of vitamin C
-rich in minerals like sulphur, iron, and iodine
-the vitamin C in radishes is an antioxidant and anti-inflammatory
-shown to have a positive effect on asthma symptoms
-potassium in radishes can help lower your risk of kidney stones and strokes
-can significantly lower your risk of multiple sclerosis
did i mention these were organic radishes? yay me. yay R. yay yay.
i would gladly give up mini-beers if my kids would eat veggies like this every day.

radishygoodness - mini-beer (pictured second from left) = fair trade

bargain hunting

2008-04-24T13:36:00.009-05:00

i've always loved a good bargain. having kids has made me appreciate it even more. i found the best way to bargain hunt. shoplift. that's right. the first time it happened i laughed. i thought, "well it was bound to happen at some point." diaper pail deodorizer from bed bath and blah blah. i can't use a cart. so i have to stash items in the stroller basket. little diaper pail deodorizer didn't make it to the counter. don't worry. the nicole miller quilt did. i didn't discover said stolen deodorizer until the kids were already snapped in to their carseats. i actually paused and contemplated going back in. but with a quick cost-benefit analysis...i stole it. it was like $3. not that i'm advocating stealing. or that stealing is okay if it is a small-ticket item. but i'm just saying. it wasn't the nicole miller quilt. then, the second time, was a t-shirt. C was my accomplice. ok he did it, actually, but who's pointing fingers here? i gave him the shirt to "hold." and he held it. right out of the babies r' monopoly. this time i discovered it after only one kid was already snapped in to her carseat, R. C was chilling in the stroller with the hot merchandise. playing it cool to not look suspicious. blast. i'm not going back in. damn shirt. i'll tell them i (we) stole it next time i go in. third time. seriously. now i am a habitual offender. no more "i've never done that before" excuse. batteries. now i've hit the mother load. $10 worth of batteries smuggled into the depths of the stroller basket. you know target is so crazy now they'll probably scan me the next time i go in and know i stole the batteries. i've decided (read: justified) that if i unknowingly steal merchandise then it is not wrong. but i know it's still wrong. and i know i could get our booties back in the store once i discover my "score." the crazimania (just made that up) of getting all three of us and our packages (of paid-for-merchandise) out to the car is sometimes an accomplishment in and of itself. now i have to add "check the stroller baskets - again" to my getting out of the store alive list. blast. i didn't even steal a pack of gum back in the day. doesn't everyone at least steal a pack of gum at some point in their childhood? not me. and look what i've become.

it's not like i stole this.

response requested

2008-04-19T20:39:00.004-05:00

i need help. quick check-in. i have an issue. we are planning a trip so i started strategizing ways to set us up for success when we are trying to go to sleep in a foreign land in foreign beds with foreign everything and when i say "we" of course i mean C and R because i'm pretty sure i will be getting even less sleep than i do now. because i think i am the smartest mom of all time, i realized, hey, they love their blankets lately. they cuddle with them before bed. they go to their cribs to request the blankets once in jammies. we're obviously taking those blankets with us. on the plane. in the car. everywhere. uh oh. better get some backups. just in case. whoa smartie! good troubleshooting! love the proactivity! points!
points deducted for not thinking of this earlier. like when they were born maybe. blankets discontinued. of course. oh i'll just check the ebay. love the ebay. they always have little nuggets like this. hate the ebay! hate it! hate it more than dora the explorer! why? because discontinued $20 baby blankets pull in a cool 70 bucks on ebay. ebay bastards. that's so evil. you know the babies need their blankies. you're totally taking advantage. i'm like. no way. on principal alone, i'm not shelling out $140 on blankets that i know cost 40 bucks. can't do it. or can i? will i have a moment or two or four when said blankets are goodbye gone for whatever reason and i am cursing, thinking i would pay at least $750 for those damn blankets if only i had them and then the kids would have them and then none of us would be up and awake and unhappy at 4 am because damnit everyone would be in blanket blissful sleepiness!? i don't know. i'm just imagining. hypothesizing. in my logical non-emergency status brain i'm like, we lose the blankets, we get new ones. no biggie. big dif. the kids get new blankets. softer and better. score! new blankets! how cool is that? let's celebrate! let's celebrate with a 13 hour stretch of uninterrupted slumber, we love the blankets so freaking much! that's not going to happen, is it?
so do i get the blankets or what? same blankets marked up 7000 percent from some greedy ebay troller? or fraudulant replacement blankets for just in case? or nothing and they sleep with tissue paper if the blankets go missing? (the do love tissue paper) or do we laminate the current blankets to preserve them? my spouse's idea is that if one blanket is lost we simply cut the other one in half. i think that is a story from the Bible. like you cut the blanket in half and everyone loses. or maybe it was a baby. cut the baby in half? i don't know. help. i need help. what say you?

highway robbery.
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