Hey! You Know What I Love?

I love picking up Ella, feeling wetness on my arm and realizing I'm covered in shit to my elbows.

Speaking of poopy diapers, I adore when I change a poopy diaper and within minutes it's filled again! Yay.

I also love when I make Carson's favorite lunch and he proceeds to pitch most of it on the floor and tells the dogs "sank sou" (thank you) when they gobble it up. Ahh. Gee. Manners.

My favorite is when I stumble groggily back to bed at 4 AM after feeding Ella only to nearly pass out from the noxious odor that awaits me. It's even better if Tate starts giggling like a school girl and I get to punch him in the back.

I love shopping at Walfart, running errands in traffic while listening to the same Thomas DVD over and over and over, balancing the checkbook, sitting on hold with the comcastic shitastic cable company, trying on clothes in dressing rooms and having the fluorescent lighting cast a lovely glow over my cottage cheese...

What do you love?

I am not in a bad mood, I am not in a bad mood, I am not in a bad mood. I am not in a bad mood. I am not in a bad mood. I am not in a bad mood.

Let's Play a Game! Incredibly Helpful or Nagging and Maniacal?

Let's just say that a certain wife, a very organized and seasoned professional wife/mother/domestic engineer, had plans on a Saturday, leaving a certain husband in charge.

What if this wife offered a few suggestions to make this husband's job of caring for two children easier and more efficient? Having lots of experiences with trial and error, she'd figured out the best procedures to complete the daily tasks related to childcare.

Situation 1: Diaper Changes

Soon after Carson is awake, he needs a diaper change. (As in: as soon as he's out of his crib.) He will fuss and vehemently deny a wet diaper, but it must be changed nonetheless. If the diaper isn't changed, you'll find a giant pee mark on the sofa (making more work later).

When Carson protests later on in the morning about needing another diaper change, it's just easier to bring a diaper and the wipes to wherever he's playing and change him there.

Situation 2: Breakfast

Carson eats out of the yellow bowl because it's sides are high enough that he can actually scoop cereal onto his spoon rather than all over the table and floor (making more work for later.)

He prefers to eat off of the green spoon, but not the green spoon with yellow dots. The plain green spoon. If you give him a red or purple spoon, he'll yell (LOUDLY) and throw the spoon of the floor (making more work for later).

Carson likes Honey Bunches of Oats (1/3 of a bowl...no more than that, it'll just go to waste) and a tiny bit of Kashi Go Lean Crunch. He also gets half of a banana, sliced bananas on his cereal. Eventhough he used to eat bananas without slicing them, now he won't. If you just give it to him without slicing it, he'll smear it on the table and get banana between his fingers and eventually in his hair (making more work for later).

Ella gets 3 tablespoons of oatmeal mixed with the remaining half of Carson's banana, mashed well with a fork. If it's really dry, mix in 1 ounce of formula. You can make just one ounce by mixing just 1/2 scoop of the powder and 1 ounce of water. Use the water from the refrigerator since it's filtered. It's really easy to measure an ounce of water in the blue (or purple) Gerber cup.

Situation 3: Loading the dishwasher

The kids' utensils go in the basket on the top rack. If they're put in the basket on the bottom rack, they'll fall out during the wash cycle (making more work for later).

The bowls go in the back of the top shelf. If they are put in the front part of the rack, they flip over during the wash cycle and don't get washed properly. There ends up being dirty dishwater and nasty food chunks in the bowl (making more work for later).

Situation 4: Getting dressed

Don't ask Carson what he wants to wear! He'll change his mind about thirty trillion times and throw a mongo fit. Just pick out an outfit and put it on him.

The clothes on the right sides of both of their closets are the ones that fit, not the clothes on the left side. Those are too big.


*********
Incredibly helpful suggestions? A certain husband would benefit from and appreciate these ideas.

OR

Nagging and maniacal? A certain wife has deep seeded control issues.

(I'm not saying that a certain wife actually offered these suggestions, this scenario is purely hypothetical.)

Confirming My Status as an Overachiever

Tate and I did not waste our extra hour yesterday. No we did not. Actually it worked out to be about two extra hours since we were up at 5:30. I don't know how the math works, but it seemed like we were given two extra hours. Just trust me.

So how did we spend our extra two hours, you ask? We went on an organizing rampage, that's what we did! Or an orgampage*, if you will. I've always been incredibly organized, except for the last two years when I suddenly became a slob, or a mother. (Not that I'm saying mothers are slobs, I'm just saying that motherhood forced me into slobdom.)

We were orgampaging fools having completely overhauled our office and utility/junk closet! Somehow we managed to fill three trash bags full of shredded paper (I curse you junk mail!!), plus three more trash bags of just plain old everyday trash. While we were organizing I came across some very interesting (to me, anyway) items. For example, keys! Lots and lots of keys! I have no earthly idea what holes these keys belong to, but I'm sure that I'll figure it out soon since we threw all of them away. I found phone books from both Knoxville and Decatur. Why I saved them, I don't know. I also found Jesus at the bottom of one of the filing drawers. There He was just hanging out. Poor Guy had fallen off of a wall plaque that I'd stashed away.

Tate and I (luckily) found our long-lost Bubba teeth. I think it's obvious why we had been saving these. That's pure comedy GOLD right there.

(Boy you sure do have a purdy mouth.)

The things I was even more disturbed to find, were these notes that I'd taken about Carson when he was a baby. I think the following confirm my status as an overanalyzer and overachiever.

I realize the above picture of notes is difficult to read. Exactly what it says really isn't the point, though. The point is that I was taking detailed, minute by minute notes about my baby, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with this child and why on Earth he never stopped crying. "11/29/05, Shushed and rocked (side-to-side) for 3 minutes. Still crying." "Eat 9:53, Activity, diaper change, face washed, began crying 10:59." These notes made me kinda sad, remembering those desperate early days.

Then I found this note...

This is a very specific schedule I tried to implement with Carson after his 6 month appointment with the pediatrician and she told me how much he should be sleeping and precisely how much he should be eating. (He had been eating and sleeping just fine.) I attempted to implement this ever so carefully crafted schedule and menu. As if! Silly first time parents! This note made me giggle.

Next weekend we're planning round two of our orgampage! Kitchen cabinets, my closet, and the spare bathroom cabinets will be returned to their original glory! Hey, if you're lucky, I'll even liveblog it.

-------------
*I made that word up. Feel free to use it. Webster's, if you heed this call, just be sure to give me credit and post the address to this blog as payment.

Point, Counterpoint

Point: Tate, you always leave your socks lying around.

Counterpoint: Jennifer, you always leave multiple pairs of shoes lying around for us to trip over. In fact I just put away two pairs of your shoes. Why don't you post pictures of your shoes lying around, huh?

Point taken, Tate. Point taken.





These are the remaining two pairs of shoes that Tate hadn't put away yet, says Jennifer, sheepishly.

Fear and Loathing in Las Restaurantes

I am a restaurant snob. For five long years of my life, I worked as a hostess at Ruby Tuesday. This experience has made me unwilling to eat at chain restaurants. When I see commercials for TGIFriday's 3-course meals or Ruby Tuesday's "garden" bar, I feel ill. Applebee's, Chili's, O'Charley's, or anyplace with a bunch of tchotchkes hanging on the wall are all on my "no eat" list. (On an aside, this feeling does not extend to breakfast spots, as I love, love, love Cracker Barrel and IHOP. Go figure.) Buffets are also on this list. The thought of retrieving my dinner from beneath a sneeze guard is just plain unappetizing. This restaurant snobbery is actually something Tate and I see eye to eye on.

Not that it happens often anyway, but when we do eat out, we prefer to eat at local establishments. We are particularly fond of brew pubs and places with a whole-in-the-wall type atmosphere. Even with my love of these kinds of restaurants I get positively nervous trying a new place. My fear is ridiculous, but real. First, I worry about the way the whole being seated thing works. Sometimes it's not obvious when you first walk in, do you seat yourself or do you wait for a hostess? I hate standing around looking like an idiot. I don't know why, but I don't want them to know it's my first time there. Irrational? Yes.

Some of these restaurants expect it's customers to order the correct way. I like to rehearse what I'm going to order in situations such as these. This is especially true in BBQ restaurants and any place with the word "bistro" in it's name. I fear stage fright and ridicule if I order the wrong way or mispronounce a word on the menu. My stomach gets all knotted up whenever it's the kind of place that you order from the counter and have to read the menu up on the wall behind the cashier. I always feel so rushed and it's always so hard to figure out what to order. It's even worse if there are experienced orderers standing behind you, waiting to place their orders.

Also, before trying a new restaurant, I like to know if it's kid-friendly. I don't want to walk into a divey looking place, thinking it's going to be all noisy and therefore kid-friendly, only to find that it's some swanky joint, complete with matching waitstaff all dressed in head to toe black and white table cloths. Places like these look down upon us breeders who show up carrying two kids and ask for a high chair. Eating in a place like this is sure to make me sweat. Really, I literally sweat when I get nervous like this. And sweating in a posh dining spot is typically looked down upon.

It's making less and less sense as to why it is I don't like chain restaurants, isn't it?! At least at Longhorn Steakhouse, you know what to expect. Maybe it's the adrenalin rush I get when I try a new restaurant?

So there you have it. I'm officially a weirdo, who likes to unnecessarily stress herself out for the sake of a decent meal.

*******

Update on the Standoff...

Great news! Tate picked up his socks!!

But....



I'm not even kidding. The Standoff has now resumed.

Standoff

Standoff, Day 5

Guess whose socks those are and guess who is NOT picking them up?



I will win this battle, oh yes, I will.

Time

I watch the clock. 5:30? Why hasn't he called? I want him to call. I need a break.

When will this stage pass, sleepless nights, colic, "no", throwing food on the floor, naps chaining me to the house...

Next summer Ella will be walking, it will be easier.

Next year Carson will be, I will be, Tate will be...

I'm always waiting.

It seems to be such a shame that I'm not enjoying the moments more. I know I should savor these times, not wish them away.

When it comes to the concept of time, I'm always at odds. I wish it away, yet I wish for it to last longer, too. Now that we've had children, Tate and I have such little time together. Yet in the evenings, I find that it's hard to switch gears from "Mom" to "wife." I don't know how to go from covered in spit-up and washing dinner off little hands to adult conversationalist and lover.

There's never enough time to just be me.

The ability to make time for everyone, Carson, Ella, Tate, friends, seems impossible. I don't know how to balance everyone's needs. I joked yesterday about needing help. But really, it's not a joke. I'm tired. I'm having trouble keeping up.

I'm always overextended.

I miss the days of being childless and carefree. Planning my days however I felt, not planning around meals and naps and bedtimes. I miss going out to dinner, having nice clothes, being the other half of a great couple, and driving fast with the windows down and music blaring. I wished this time away, wanting children. Wanting to be truly grown up.

Well here I am grown up. So lucky to have a wonderful husband, healthy and beautiful children. I have everything I ever dreamed of having and more. But, why am I not finding the contentment I'd thought I'd have?

Is this IT for the rest of my life? Making meals, wiping butts, calming tantrums, getting up in the night, disciplining, always waiting for the next thing.

Or is THIS it? Watching my kids grow and flourish, encouraging them, making them feel loved, going to baseball games and dance recitals, crying on their first days of school, remembering to savor the here and now.

Either way, I don't know where I fit. When do I get to be me?

*****
On a somewhat related note, check out my recipe blog for a delicious recipe from Impostor Mom, Spicy Honey-Glazed Chicken. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Delicioso.

Help Wanted, Inquire Here

Are you looking for a new career?!?!

Do you want to work in a casual work environment with friendly people?!?!

We're currently hiring the following full-time positions:

Chef

Must be willing to ominipotently know about my husband's disdain for things such as cilantro and "old lady food." Duties will include breakfast, lunch, dinner and two snacks, keeping kitchen tidy, putting away dishes in the dishwasher due to the employer's irritation at having to do this task.

Housekeeper

Duties to include scrubbing (especially the bathrooms as they haven't been really cleaned in ages), dusting, vacuuming, baseboards, cobwebs, sweeping, mopping (the need here is DESPERATE). Most important duty will be to keep the dog hair soiling to a minimum, which will require removal of said dog hair several times per day from all surfaces of the house.

Dog Caretaker

Must be willing to care for two drooling, smelly, lumpy adorable, sweet-natured basset hounds. Duties include (but are certainly not limited to) letting the dogs in and out several times per day, walking the dogs, bathing the dogs when they've rolled in something dead, clipping their toenails, and keeping their ears clean (inside and out).

Laundress

Duties will include at least one load per day. Must be willing to wash the employer's ONE PAIR of jeans whenever they are soiled by peanut butter hands or spit up. Stain removal skills are a plus.

Accountant

Must be willing to explain every single purchase made on Debit card and explain reason for going over the grocery budget. Duties will also include sitting in line at the bank to deposit ENORMOUS checks from BlogHer ads, reconciling the checkbook, making budget, paying bills, and filing tax returns.

Errand Boy

This is a very important position. Must be willing to run to the grocery store without notice, make beer runs, take vehicles for scheduled maintenances, and any other piddly errands as deemed URGENT! AND NECESSARY! by employer. Hot, muscular body, bedroom eyes and a dashing smile a plus! Shirt NOT required.

Lawn Boy

Must have extensive knowledge in flowers, shrubs, and grasses and the ability to make things grow in sandy, nutrient-depleted soil. Again, a hot, muscular body, bedroom eyes and a dashing smile are a DEFINITE plus! Shirt is also NOT required.

Scientist specializing in cloning

Must have the ability to clone the employer (Jennifer) so that she can be relieved of some of her duties and have time for blogging the children. Cloned Jennifer will be responsible for making doctor's appointments, remembering birthdays, making certain the diaper bag actually contains, you know, diapers, shopping for pants and shirts that actually fit the REAL Jennifer and not tell her what size they are, and wifely duties *ahem*.

Salary is very competitive and commensurate with what the finest SAHM's are being paid!!!!

Apply today!!!!

Winners and Loot

Thanks, you all for the great caption ideas yesterday! They had me chuckling every time I checked my email. Of course, I loved the comments in reference to Ella's resemblance to the church lady! Thanks for the suggestion to send that picture into Ellen, that's a fantastic idea.

I also loved any reference to pooting, as I'm as mature as a fifth grade boy and giggle uncontrollably at poot and poot references. My sides. Are. Aching!

Here are my favorites.

Rachel's caption said, "My mom calls herself Binky whaaattt?" Isn't that a great?!

Auburn Gal Always gave me several gems, but I loved this one the most. Sorry it'll only make sense to those of you who are fans of SEC football and understand my disdain for Alabama football and love for the Tennessee Vols. "Roll what?????" Love it!

Works For Mom's caption said, "We really live in ALABAMA Mommy?" Yes, babe, we do. We really do.

And my most favorite of all....Drum roll please....

MamaDB's caption...

"Ovaltine? Never heard of it."

Sorry MamaDB about not being eligible for the Jamaican cruise. Better luck next time!

***************

Although there were no actual winners in my contest yesterday, I felt like a winner after attending our city's semi-annual children's consignment sale last night. Take a look at all my purchases...




All! Those! Clothes! And! A Halloween Costume! And! An exersaucer!!! (I'm well aware that Carson is MUCH too old to be playing in the exersaucer, he was in there merely for the photo op. The littlest girl in the house is too little for it.

I just love going to these sales. These cheap children's clothes are like crack! And I'm a crack whore, getting my fix. It is only these sales that I feel like I can justify buying so many things at one time. I purchased entire fall/winter wardrobes for BOTH KIDS. It's just like drugs, I tell ya.

Also, I'm not above loving these clothes because of their name brands. I fully admit that I can't resist the lure of name brands, especially when I'm only paying maybe $3 for a Polo, Children's Place, or Gymboree outfit. If clothes are the crack, then the name brand is the Ecstasy.

When I make a large purchase like this, I love to spread it all out and revel in it's bounty. So! Many! Clothes! Would it be strange to lie on top and roll around in all it's ample glory? Well, yes, it would be strange and I did not actually roll around on my purchases. But I may spend the rest of the day, examining each purchase, reveling in their inexpensiveness, and imagining the kids frolicking in autumn leaves while wearing their new duds.

Saturday is half-price day!!

I may be having the Best! Week! Ever!

My Day in Numbers and It's Only 8:44 am

Time I was awakened: 5:30
Number of Children who woke up at 5:30: 2
Number of wipes I used on Carson's colossal crap: 11 (sorry, was that too much information!?)
Number of episodes of Hi-5 I've already watched: 3 (Send help, now!!)
Number of loads of laundry I've done: 2
Number of loads that need to be done: too numerous to count
How many more loads of laundry I can do before laundry detergent runs out: 0
Likelihood of making it to Sam's to buy more laundry detergent on a scale of 1-10: -20
How badly I need to vacuum and clean the bathrooms on a scale of 1-10: 3 trillion
Unread items in my Google Reader: 229
Number of blogs I'll actually have time to read today: 0
Number of blogs I'll probably end up reading: 229
Number of TV shows needed so that I can get in my blog reading: 13
Time I'm most looking forward to today: Wine:30

Par-TAY at the House of Stank

Remember awhile back when Tate was all gung-ho for us to host a party? Well, he finally wore me down enough and we had a lil' shindig here Saturday. It was actually a lot of fun. Usually I get so stressed from planning and cleaning and organizing and worrying about details that I end up not enjoying myself.

Parties for me are dangerous, though. There's something about party food that makes my brain go into some sort of "starvation mode." I prepared and ate entirely too much food. Part of the problem is that I don't know how much food to prepare. I'm the type of person that would rather make too much food rather than not enough. There's something to be said for making enough food to feed a third world country, it would be seriously embarrassing to run out of food. But there is also something to be said for having too many leftovers. I made dozens of deviled eggs, a vat of coleslaw, a gazillion bar-ba-cued pork chops, and a full-to-the-brim crock pot full of baked beans. In fact, we may be eating baked beans for every meal until Labor Day. Combined with the amount of beer we have left over, I hereby deem my home the House of Stank. Not a fun place to be right now, especially if you have a nose.

I'm still recovering from the unbelievable amount of food that I ate. I have no self control when it comes to tortilla chips, salsa, and 7-layer dip (the food of Gods, I say). I cannot control my love of chips and yummy accompanying condiment choices. It's deliciousness sits in the chip and dip platter, beckoning me to eat as much as humanely possible because what if I never had the chance to eat it again?! My even more giant gut and muffin top are the visual reminders of Saturday's foundering.

It appears that when I've been drinking, I become extremely passionate about many subjects. Somehow we got on the topic of the value of teachers. When one of the guests made a snide comment about how she could do a better job than most teachers, I passionately voiced my disagreement, all sassified, with an "oh, no she dint", and some z-snapping thrown in for good measure. I don't allow teacher bashing in my house, yo.

Sadly, this party affirmed the fact that I'm old. Too old to stay up late and drink more than two beers. I paid for my partying all day Sunday with a pounding headache and screaming toddler who went to bed late, also. I know better than to let this kid stay up late! Big mistake. Huge. (Can anyone name the movie reference in italics here???!!!)

I wish I could pawn off some of this food on all of you guys so that you, too can have your very own House of Stank. Beer and baked beans with an Advil chaser, anyone?

Monday Morning Mess Makes Me Mad

Every Monday morning I wake up with a pit in my stomach. I dread getting up to find the mess that inevitably awaits me.

During the week, I manage to keep the house livable. Sure there's some clutter, but it's manageable. The junk mail is sorted, the tufts of dog hair are cleaned up, toys stay mostly in the playroom.

Something very sinister happens over the weekend, though. The clutter appears to multiply. For some reason everything we get out from toys to shoes to breast pumps, never manages to find it's way back to it's intended location.

The only variable between the weekdays and the weekend is TATE. (Cue the dramatic music..duh, duh, duh...) However, I certainly don't think it's fair to only blame him for all the clutter, for as I look around this morning, I see MY shoes, MY breast pump, MY water glass from the night before... Of course, I also see his socks, his pile of receipts on the counter, his unfinished weekend projects...

But, it's not just the clutter. There floors looked like I've never vacuumed them (I vacuumed FRIDAY). The couch cushions are all slouchy (I fluff them EVERYDAY). Even the g*d damned refrigerator is a mess. Jars aren't on the correct shelves, the veggie bin is a mess, and there's suddenly about 25 leftover containers that desperately need to be thrown away before we all die of botulism.

What happens to us on the weekend? Does Tate somehow possess me with his inherent man-slovenliness? Help me! I'm drowning in this Monday morning mess! I'm going to develop an ulcer from the Sunday night dread leading into Monday morning.

I'm off to begin the insurmountable task of cleaning. And to swig a gallon of Mylanta.

Karma Bit Us Them In the Ass

Without implicating anyone I know, lets say that "Jenni" and her husband "Tater" and their two children "Cart" and "Ellie" were in a little fender bender recently. Said fender bender was not their fault and they were issued a check from the other driver's insurance company.

As it turned out, "Tater" was able to easily buff out the scuff on the fender, leaving them with this insurance check.

"Tater" and I "Jenni" started dreaming of ways to spend this ill-received money...a new digital camera or money towards another laptop or maybe just put it in the bank.

They decided to go for a new digital camera, one with 10 megapixels and a large screen and image stabilization. Oh how excited they were, dreaming of the beautiful photos they'd soon be able to take! The moments they would capture! They couldn't wait to make their camera purchase with the insurance check.

Until later that evening when the garage door decided to go kaput. So much for spending the money on a digital camera.

F*cking karma. "Tater" and "Jenni" have learned their lesson.

Groundhog Day

I don't care much for weekends anymore. I especially don't like having a random "weekend style" day in the middle of the week.

It's just not fun having to entertain three children people instead of just two.

Tate is a do-er. He doesn't like being homebound, watching TV, and generally doing nothing. Unfortunately for him, having two small children puts a major cramp in his style.

When he got home from work on Tuesday night, he wanted me to plan some good ol' family fun for the Fourth of July. In all fairness, he did say "we" should plan something, but seeing as I speak Tatenese, I knew that really meant I was to be the planner. I was not aware that I was to be the Entertainment Coordinator for this holiday. Flattering to be nominated for the role, I suppose, but with all my other responsibilities, I wasn't interested in taking on another position.

Being the overachiever that I am, though, I thought real, real hard for about 1/2 a second trying to come up with a fun activity. Hmmm, I thought to myself. What kind of fun can we have with two small children, who need naps and won't nap anywhere but their beds, and one who needs my boob every 2-3 hours? Gosh, I was stumped.

I couldn't think of ONE thing to do. So we did nothing.

Tate moped around all day Wednesday having suddenly realized we're losers parents. I was too weary from my attempt at Entertainment Coordinator to remind him that being homebound is just a temporary side-effect of having a newborn.

I wonder, does he think I enjoy being stuck at home all week with no place to go? Does he think I enjoy always sticking to the standard operating procedure for two babies? Does he realize that I can't distinguish between the days because they are all the same? Does he realize that I am bored OUT OF MY MIND?

The walls in my house look a lot like the bars of a prison cell. I stay home EVERYDAY. Keeping to feeding schedules and nap schedules, cleaning house, doing laundry, fixing meals, paying bills...yeah, it's just not my idea of a good time. I would have loved to have hosted a bar-b-que, gone to the beach, or gone to see fireworks, but it's just easier to stay home.

My brother and his girlfriend are coming for a visit this weekend. I suppose I should get my ass in gear and start planning some wild and crazy things to do between the kids' naptimes. Scrabble anyone? Twister?

I'd hate to be fired from my job as Entertainment Coordinator. Heh.

Some Days Require Warning Labels

Bolt awake and realize it's 7 AM. It's 7 AM!!! Woo hoo, what a great start to the day!! Oh, it's 7 AM? Peanut never sleeps this late?

Check on Peanut, creep ever so quietly into his room, see that he's sleeping. Feel relief, today is going to be a great day with Peanut so well-rested. Close the door on the way out and accidentally let go of knob too early, causing the latch to make a noise.

Peanut hears the latch, wakes up crying. Damn. Go in and get him out of his crib, realize his diaper leaked and he, along with his sheet, blanket, pillow, and crib bumper is wet.

Change his diaper, the sheets on his bed, and start first load of laundry.

See that it's 7:30 and time to get Shel up for the day. On the way, see something on the carpet, "must be a raisin," I think. Pick it up and to my horror realize it's a dingleberry from my dog's ass. Gag. Almost puke. Praise the Lord Peanut didn't find the raisin look alike first. Curse the dogs.

Begin to feed Shel, start working on the checkbook. Realize we went a little crazy with our money during the month of June.

Peanut demands breakfast. Try to make toast one-handed while feeding Shel. Feel smug and accomplished as I serve Peanut his breakfast without spilling or burning anything. Pour him a cup of milk, accidentally spill it all over when I don't get the lid put on correctly.

Clean up mess, start to clean up breakfast dishes. Get distracted when I find two more receipts to put in the checkbook. Realize we went really crazy with our money in June.

Attempt to put Shel down for her morning nap after she yawns and acts sleepy. Play binky bitch for twenty minutes until she falls asleep.

Start second load of laundry after trying to locate all the clothes Peanut has hidden throughout the house when I left the laundry basket in his reach.

Hear someone pounding on the front door. Shel awakens, crying. Curse Fed Ex man for POUNDING on the door when the sign covering the doorbell clearly says "please knock" not "POUND AS LOUDLY AS YOU CAN AND WAKE UP MY BABY, JACKASS."

Open the door, realize I'm wearing my breastmilk soaked nursing gown, with one of my boobs hanging out of the slits. Quickly cover myself as best as I can, turn a lovely shade of crimson, sign for the package, close the door as quickly as I can and pray that he didn't see my boob peeking out to say hello. Run to comfort Shel, and finally get her back to sleep after yet another round of binky bitch.

Dogs are starving. Open the pantry door and realize we're out of dogfood. Put dogs outside to distract them while I think about what I could feed them instead. Toast, leftovers, the whole box of dog treats? Realize I'm going to have to make a run to the grocery store soon. Start a grocery list.

Make a marinade for the meat we'll grill for dinner. Open meat package and realize the meat is spoiled. Gag. Almost puke. Look at the date, a week expired. Shit. Add flank steak to grocery list.

Turn around and see Peanut wielding a butter knife I'd left too close to the edge of the counter. Scream for Peanut to put down the knife. Eventually, wrestle knife from his fingers. Praise the Lord I don't need to add band-aids and replacement fingers to my grocery list.

Look at the clock and see that it's only 9 AM.

A Ten for the Idea, A Zero for Timing

On the way to the hospital yesterday, Tate suggested we have some folks from work over for dinner.

We were on the way to the hospital and he was suggesting we host a dinner party?

Um. Okay.

Let's see what's wrong with this.

We were on the way to the hospital. Because our baby cries all the time. It's possible that we wouldn't make the best hosts seeing as we have a baby who cries. All. The. Time. And it's worse in the evenings...when you usually host dinner parties.

And this crying baby? She's making it near impossible to keep a neat house. Dog hair, dust, toys, bits of paper, stuffed animals, shoes, laundry piles....surround me. The bathrooms, they haven't been cleaned in weeks. We live in a literal pig sty.

Then there's the sudden weeping. My lack of clothes that fit due to my post-pregnancy body.

Oh yeah, I haven't cooked a meal in weeks unless it can microwaved or comes out of a can. I can't eat dairy. And I'm supposed to cook a meal for other people to come over to my loud, pig sty home and eat?

I also have a need to overachieve. If we have people over, I would want everything to be perfect. I have fantasies straight out of the 1950's of the perfect dinner party. Standing rib roast, caramelized brussel sprouts, herbed mashed potatoes and pie for dessert. Cloth napkins, beautiful place settings, complete with name cards on my lovely table decorated to perfection. Cocktails in high ball glasses and Frank Sinatra playing in the background. Great conversation.

I have nothing to talk about right now except acid reflux and crying.

So maybe right now isn't the best time to host a dinner party.

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In case you can't go to BlogHer, come join us for FibHer '07 with Sara's review of FiberSure and Berry Blast Metamucil.

If You Give my Toddler a Blackberry

...Then he will demand more and more and more blackberries and refuse to eat the cinnamon toast you so carefully crafted for him.

If you carefully craft cinnamon toast for your toddler, then you will have to listen to Shel scream for several minutes while you are buttering the bread.

If you listen to Shel scream for several minutes, then you will have to take the final 800 mg prescription strength ibuprofen left over from giving birth.

If you take the 800 mg prescription strength ibuprofen, then you should remember to take your antibiotic for your mastitis, prenatal vitamin, and, er, uh, stool softeners.

If you should remember to take all your pills like a dope fiend, then you should have remembered to do laundry the day before so that you have non-maternity jeans to wear to the playdate where you'll be meeting Megan for the first time.

If you are going to a playdate that starts at 9:30 and should leave by 8:45 to get there in time, then you will probably leave at 9:30 and arrive 45 minutes late now that you have two kids to somehow get ready in the morning.

If you have two kids to somehow get ready to leave the house, then there will be no way for you to get ready.

If you have no time to get ready, then you'll realize that you have no time to make yourself breakfast so instead you have to eat the remnants of the carefully crafted cinnamon toast you made for your blackberry loving toddler.

(This post was inspired by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, by Laura Numeroff)

He's Got Mad Skillz

Reason # 5,437,892 that my husband and I should have sex.

He has mad skillz in the kitchen.

Check out this blackberry cobbler he made! From scratch! With NO help from me! With berries he picked in our backyard!

I heart my cobbler making hotty!

Step Away From the Hedge Trimmer

I promised everyone earlier in the week to share with you my lackluster landscaping abilities. Remember that I told you that I'm a worse landscaper than I am a housekeeper.

Landscaping, like most home improvement projects, makes me want to curl in a ball and rock, silently back and forth, until it all goes away. Flowers, trees, pruning, mowing, planting, and watering are just a few of the outdoor duties that I don't dig. Luckily, Tate enjoys outdoor projects. Unfortunately neither of us actually knows what we're doing.

We really want to improve. It's just that there is so much to know. I occasionally read the Gardening section in Southern Living, but usually end up with a pounding headache due to it's super-advanced material. There is a proper way to prune depending on the type of plant. Different plants require different fertilizers. You have to fertilize these different plants during specific seasons. Some plants require shade, some full sun, and others partial shade or partial sun. Mulching is important, but be careful of the type of mulch chosen and thickness in which it's placed around plants.

There are very few nurseries around here. Weird, I know. Most plant shopping has to be done at Lowe's and Home Depot. Unfortunately, the zit-faced kid who's just trying to make enough money to put a kick-ass sound system in his '92 Civic, isn't much help in answering questions about the right plant choices for our yard. So we wander aimlessly, up and down the aisles looking at plants, hoping to choose wisely.

I swear you need a Ph.D in landscaping to have a lush, envy worthy yard.

We've been in desperate need around here of making some significant changes to our landscape. I'm pretty sure that when the house was originally built, a professional landscaper was hired to design and plant the bushes in the front of our house. These bushes are so nicely arranged and look nice no matter the season. Unfortunately, they've been subjected to our amateur pruning abilities and have suffered as a result.

Then there's the Azalea bushes which everyone (except Tate and I) thinks are God's gift to any landscape. To my fellow Southern readers, please do not feel that the previous statement was a slap in the face. We had about 10 bushes lining our driveway which looked liked straggly, sick, misshapen Don King hair impersonators. We* ripped them out at the dismay of a our next door neighbor. (I'm not too worried about this person's opinion as she has a raging case of the CRAZIES and her idea of landscaping is putting a bunch of yard ornaments out and leaving a dead tree in the middle of her yard. She has a very odd "statue" of two children riding an alligator?! I'd include pictures, but I fear being caught in the act of snapping the picture!)

Last weekend, we* worked tirelessly and to the best of our limited abilities, pruning, planting, and mulching. I hope that our efforts stay looking nice for at least the summer. Now we just need to remember to water our plants and not allow Peanut to throw all the newly placed mulch onto the driveway. Wish us luck. We're going to need it.

*The term we is used extremely loosely in this post as I have done none of the physical labor required for any of these projects.

Competing for the Role of June Cleaver

Or maybe not.

I've become a terrible housekeeper. I'm not sure if it's the being 33 weeks pregnant, although I'd expect better nesting out of myself. Or if it is the fact when I do clean, it looks like hell within 20 minutes. Or the fact that I have a 17 month old. And two, slobbering, shedding basset hounds. And a slobbering, shedding husband.

Just so I don't gross anyone out, I will say that I have a very clean kitchen. Food prep areas should be clean and free of nasty germs (remember that I have food safety issues). Of course there's alot of clutter in neatly stacked piles on my kitchen counters. No matter how many times I nag kindly remind Tate to keep his shit stuff in one spot, it seems to spread like a disease over the entire counter top. To be fair, the junk mail, book club remittance slips, bills, doctor's appointment reminder cards, birthday party invitations, and coupons also multiply. Rapidly. Like a bunch of horny rabbits. I can hardly keep up.

I feel compelled also to tell you that I do vacuum and dust twice per week. In fact, I usually like things to be very tidy and organized. I just have no energy for doing the "deep" cleaning that is desperately needed.

For reasons beyond my control, I'm going to share some pictures of my inadequate homemaking skills. I can't believe I'm showing you these pictures. If I ever host a blogger get-together I swear the house will be clean, organized, and completely free of fur.



I have a good excuse for the office. It's all Peanut's fault. He just doesn't entertain himself well when Mommy's "busy" reading blogs.



See the fur growing on top of the molding? Totally disgusting. I'm so ashamed. I did clean this right after I took the picture.



Why bother putting the toys away when Peanut's just going to get them all out again? He doesn't actually play with any of them anyway. The toys only purpose is to be spread out EVERYWHERE so that he can trip on them and cry like a baby.



I've needed to organize my closet since we moved in. But since I keep procreating, I need all these clothes since I've been a variety of sizes from 4 through ohmygawdthatsanenormousass in these past two years.

You know the saddest part? In the time it took to take these silly pictures, upload them, put them on Photobucket, write the post, and upload the photos from Photobucket into the post, I probably could have gotten a little cleaning done. I guess you can see where my priorities lie.

Stayed tuned later this week when I tell you all about my outdoor landscaping abilities. Sneak preview: They're worse than my housekeeping skills.