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.)

Mood Killer

There's nothing like the sound of your son's voice over the baby monitor to ruin a perfectly lovely, kids napping at the same time, adults only Sunday afternoon.

"Mommy!"

"Daddy!"

"Thomas DVD!"

Those words are just. Not. Hot.

"Get up!"

Hot. But NOT when you hear it over the baby monitor.

Cinders and Ashes! Only 47 More Days To Find James and Edward

Thomas has taken over. I know there are lots of you out there who are all "I hate licensed character products," "I only buy educational, wooden toys for my kids," and "I only buy lead-free toys for my little darlings." Yeah, I used to say those things, too. But Thomas! Oh Thomas! He's chugged right into Carson's heart and mind. Peep, peep!

I don't know how, but he can name every single train. Somehow he even knows all of their numbers and gets quite exasperated when I mix up Percy and Henry or Edward and Thomas. Carson has very specific ideas of which trains he'd like to receive for Christmas from Santa. So far he already has Thomas and Henry. We spend hours each day, looking at this sheet of paper that came with one of his toys that has all of the Thomas characters on it.



He covets Edward. COVETS.


And James? He LOVES James. Christmas will be ruined if he doesn't get James. Santa, I hope you are taking notes.


Murdoch? Who? He loves him, nonetheless.


His first crush, Emily. He wants to marrrrrrrry her. Not really. But she is a MUST-HAVE.

There are still? only? 47 shopping days left before Christmas. Emails have already been flying between myself and the grandparents regarding which kind of Thomas toys to buy (NOT! wooden, NOT! Trackmaster, only the TAKE-ALONGS! the TAKE-ALONGS for heaven's sake!). I've perused Amazon, E-bay, and numerous other toy websites, searching for the best prices on these coveted toys.

I want him to have the best Christmas evah! And if licensed character toys are what he wants, then licensed character toys are what he'll get.

Mommy, Mommy! Look! James!

Emily! Murdoch! No Troublesome Trucks, no Troublesome Trucks, Mommy!

How could I say "no" to a boy who obviously gets such joy from Thomas?

What licensed characters are you buying your kids for Christmas?

******
A great big THANK YOU for the 88 comments backing up my claim about Sayman's Salve yesterday! Way to go Internetz for helping me kick Tate's ass!

Gloat? Me? Nevah!

Haiku 'Roids

(Referring to STERoids, not HEMORRhoids...in case you were afraid to continue reading! This was just going to be a simple haiku, but it kept growing and growing, like it was on steroids and into an actual post.)

Without further adieu, may I present...

With all the costumes
I'm surprised he's so pleasant...
You best step off, bitch

******

I fear I've thrown my son under the bus.

Carson is a shy boy. He often protests loudly when we go to story time at the library, refusing to say hello to anyone, crying when asked to sing the songs. Trying to diffuse these somewhat embarrassing situations, I try to crack jokes with the other moms about how "fun" having a toddler is. I've told everyone who will listen that his name should be Mary, Mary Quite Contrary. More than once I've commented that I don't know why he acts the way he does and that his behavior annoys me.

I think these admissions to women I don't know, has somehow made them feel that they have permission to comment on his behavior, too.

But they don't.

They don't have the right to say, "gee, he's finally acting pleasant today." Those words sting as much as a slap across the face.

They don't have the right to say, "he's not in Mom's Day Out or preschool?," in an accusatory tone. When and if I send my child to MDO is up to Tate and I, not some stranger I see once per week for 45 minutes.

I feel so badly that I've ever said anything less than complimentary about my son. The mama bear in me wishes I would have had a great comeback for these unintentionally hurtful remarks. It pains me to know that these other moms have only one view of my son, as a difficult child who is often whiny and unhappy. They don't know the child who laughs and sings and makes my heart nearly burst with pride. They don't know this because I've only complained about him.

[picture removed]

That's my boy. My Carson, lover of Thomas the Train, his Daddy, his baby sister, Ella. This boy who is sweet, kind, and sensitive. MY boy. Those other mommy's best step off. This mama bear roars.


To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:

1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What's a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). We will delete your link if it doesn't go to a haiku. If you need help with this, contact Christina or myself.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button above.

The Women Who Saved This Blog Post

I'm pleased to announce that Halloween was a success! It was touch and go there for awhile, but Carson eventually cooperated and actually *gasp* enjoyed himself. When his incessant whining and wacky outta control behavior began during dinnertime (hot dogs and baked beans-the epitome of a healthy meal!), I was sure we were destined to eat the nasty candy I bought to give out to trick-or-treaters. Really I didn't care if Carson and Ella got to experience the joys of trick-or-treating, I just wanted to be sure we'd get some good candy. I'm a good mom, see.

The highlight of our evening, though, was two trick-or-treaters, girls, women who came to our house begging for candy. Both Tate and I were dumbfounded after these women left and we kept replaying the exchange with each other and asking if that just really happened. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a girl who looked to be possibly 15, maybe 17 standing there holding a bucket full of candy. Standing next to her was a women who appeared to be in her late 30's, maybe early 40's, but certainly someone far too old for trick-or-treating. Both were wearing sweatshirts and jean shorts, and just stood there obviously expecting me to drop candy in their buckets. Tate asked them what they were supposed to be and the older woman pointed to the younger girl and said, "she's havin' a baby."

Huh?

How does "she's havin a baby" answer the question of what they were supposed to be dressed up as?

And why the hell were they out trick-or-treating?

Most importantly, what the f*ck?

I quickly proclaimed to Tate soon after they left, "I'm so blogging that." I certainly appreciate the most excellent blog fodder since I was expecting to write, "Carson was so horrible and threw himself screaming on the doorsteps of all of my neighbors, making them hate us even more!" Instead he surprised us with his excellent behavior and manners, saying, "sank you" to all who bestowed candy upon him.

Here are a few pictures of my "baseball player," "pumpkin," "man," and me as an "incredibly sex-ay farmer."


[pictures removed]


Why yes, I am wearing my frumpy overalls and pigtails. So, so hawt.

*******
Thank you, Dawn for awarding me a Perfect Post Award for Time!!!!! Thank you!!!



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Join Heather, Nell, and I on BlogTalkRadio tonight at 8 PM central time when we discuss successes and failures of making friends as adult women!

Click HERE to listen

Happy Halloween! Let's Talk About Poo

When I was pregnant with Carson, I signed up to receive email updates of the baby's development from BabyCenter. "Your baby is the size of a kumquat and weighs 3 grams! Only 9 gazillion days to go!" "Your baby should be able to recite the Ides of March by today. Your baby responds to music now and can dance a jig on your bladder!"

Once he was born, I continued to receive updates about what developmental milestones he should be reaching. "Your 3 month old should be rolling over and completing basic calculus now!" "At 14 months, your child is probably speaking in complex sentences, paragraphs really, and able to cook a souffle with little assistance in the kitchen!"

Carson has been two years old for all of three days and BabyCenter has proclaimed it's time to start potty training.

This is straight from the email:

"Happy birthday to your 2-year-old! Many 2-year-olds — girls especially — are ready to start potty training. If your child can pull her pants up and down, follow simple instructions, stay dry for three or four hours (a sign that her bladder muscles are developed enough to hold urine), and dislikes being in a dirty diaper, bring out the potty seat. If she's not ready, back off and try again in a month or two."

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!

Carson is so not ready. SO not ready. Sure he can pull down his pants, but only when he up and decides, "hey, I think wearing only diaper would be more convenient as I lay on the floor and play with Thomas and Henry!" Staying dry? Um, no. Dislikes being in a dirty diaper? Haaa! Ha! Ha! Ha ha! Haaaaa! Yeah, uh, no. In fact, he is perfectly content sitting in his own filth for as long as it takes me to notice the stench. Even when he is clearly in the midst of going poop, he will deny that he is pooping with a furrowed brown accompanied by emphatic "NOOOOO!'s".

I could write an entire post detailing the alligator wrasslin' I go through just to change his diaper. I've become adept at wiping his bucking butt while getting very little poop on my hands. They should offer f*cking gold medals in Carson Diaper Changing. I'd totally get to stand on the platform and hear the national anthem.

Being completely unready for potty training does not have me worried, however. Scared to begin potty training, yes. Scared that Carson is clearly not ready, no. Am I just being naive? It seems to me that he's only just turned two, and I thought you just wanted kids potty trained by around three. Is that even right? And when we do start potty training, I don't even know where to begin.

I need an online "tootorial" to help me in the potty training department.

That was the worst joke ever.

My apologies.

Please enjoy this picture of Carson making some movie magic (a term Tate coined to describe pooping.) It's not my best photography work, but it makes me giggle anyhow.

[picture removed]

*****
PS. I've started deleting pictures of my kids from old posts. I've been getting lots of images.google searches that are starting to freak me out. I also signed up for photrade dot com so that I could get a watermark on the pictures to make them harder to steal. I hate that the watermark says something about purchasing the pictures, since they really aren't for sale. It would be creepy if someone wanted to buy one.

PSS. Happy Halloween! Carson is supposed to be Blue from Blue's Clues, but he RE. Fuse. Es. to put on the costume. So I guess he'll be a baseball player instead. Ella is going to be a pumpkin! A chubby, adorable, nummy nummy pumpkin. Pictures tomorrow fo' sho'.

PSSS. Today is also my Mom's birthday! Happy birthday, MOM!! Wish I could take you to lunch!

PSSSS. Also! (I'm almost done, swear to God, cross my heart) Eight years ago today, Tate and I became engaged! More on our fairytale romance (or hook-up really, not much romance. Sigh) during the month of November when I have to post every facking day for NaBloPoMo.

Two

Two! How can it be?
It does not seem possible
My heart is so changed

The highest of highs
Joy is now exponential
Life is now so full

Happy birthday, son!
Mommy and Daddy love you!
Always, forever

Don't feel obligated to watch this ridiculously long montage of photographs from Carson's first two years if you're not 1) his father, 2) me, 3) or anyone else for that matter.


[Photo montage removed because it was causing my computer to lock up. Dammit.]

Making My Case for Wrapping Paper

Here at Playgroups are No Place for Children, I like to tackle important issues. We have discussed many important issues as Ovaltine consumption, surviving the mob aka Children's Book of the Month Club, and S-E-X. Today's topic is wrapping paper versus gift bags.

With Carson's birthday coming up THIS SUNDAY (holy shit where the hell did TWO YEARS go?), I've been in the midst of party planning, baking, and shopping. I've been imagining the joy on my son's face as he opens his presents. This little daydream of mine includes him ripping the paper of lovingly wrapped gifts and gleaming from ear to ear as he revels in the fantasticness of it all. This fantasy most definitely DOES NOT include gift bags.

Sadly, gift bags seems to be taking over the world. I've tried and tried to find Thomas the Train wrapping paper only to be mocked at every turn by Thomas the Train gift bags. When my parents visited this past weekend, they brought Carson's birthday gifts. They brought birthday gifts in gift bags. I died a little on the inside, watching him opening these bagged gifts. Something is just lost when you don't get to tear paper to reveal the prize inside.

I'm guilty of caving in to the lure of the gift bag. For one, it's easy, quick, and they can be reused which is good in our disposable society. (See how I can make a lame topic ever so relevant!) But I can't help but feel sad that children in the future are going to miss out on the joy that is unwrapping a gift. It's like a sacred right of childhood (and adulthood, for that matter) is being replaced by the gift bag.

To quickly summarize,
Ripping open a wrapped gift...good!!
Saving the planet with reusable gift bags...good, but takes away joy from our children!
Taking away joy from a child...BAD! Very, very bad!!

Please consider this the next time you have to choose between wrapping a gift or simply shoving it in a gift bag. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

PS. To those of you who may be attending Carson's party, it's totally fine if his present is in a gift bag. Totally. Fine. Really. Not that we expect a gift! No! But in the event that you bring a gift I'll we'll survive if it's in a bag.

Crappy-Parents-R-Us

I'd like to think that Tate and I are above being manipulated by a 2 foot, 5 inch toddler. At an impressive 64 years between the two of us and the fact that we're parents (the most all-knowing of all beings, duh), I'd think that we could easily deflect his wily ways.

This is sadly not the case. Little Carson man has become a master manipulator. And we fall into his expertly woven trap every. single. time.

He's becoming especially efficient at stalling at nap time and bedtime. Before he will even consider going to bed, it has become absolutely necessary that all of his choo-choo trains, monster trucks, firetrucks, stuffed animals, or any other toy within his range of vision be put to sleep as well. This routine consists of lying each toy on it's side and Carson saying, "bye bye choo-choo train engine, bye bye blues clues fire engine, bye bye every last toy that he possesses!"

Somehow, we've lost all control of storytime before bedtime. We used to allow only 3 stories, but now storytime has somehow morphed into reading 8-9 books. Even though I put the rogue books back on his bookshelf everyday, at some point during the day, Carson returns the books to his nightstand, ready to be read that night. Rather than let his primal screams wake up Ella, we give in and read the disallowed books.

Not ready to leave wherever we are? No problem, Carson will just suddenly find the most minute grain of nothing on the floor and decide he must study it, demanding to show us this nothing. We feign interest just to hurry his ass along.

Not interested in eating what I cooked for dinner? Say "all done, all done, all done" until we can't take it anymore, give up, and let you down to play.

Not feeling like having your diaper changed? Simply ignore Mommy as she requests your presence on the floor. Continue to ignore until Mommy starts losing her patience and then, and only then, begin to laugh and run away. Mommy thinks to herself, "I shouldn't chase him, he wants me to chase him." And a chase ensues.

You want a package of fruit snacks right there in the middle of the grocery store, but we haven't paid yet? Just scream your head off until Mommy relents and lets you eat one (okay, two) packages in order to finish the shopping trip in relative peace.

Come on, you're super impressed with our parenting skillz? Am I right!? (Damn, I swore I'd never be that parent.)

No, Mommy, wait!

Red Ball Chase

Tate came home from work early, which is a rarity. We took advantage of the extra hours of family time since most evenings are saturated with dinner, bath time, and bedtime stories, leaving little time for conversation and play. We all went outside on the patio and the boys began their favorite game, red ball chase. After an extremely long summer, I thought I detected the slightest change in the air, signaling a hint of fall. This shift in the air felt almost magical.

I watched as Tate and Carson ran in circles, bouncing the red ball, and very immersed in this game that appeared to be so simple. They invited me to join in their game and I learned that this game had rules and technique. Sometimes you chased Carson, other times you chased Daddy. There was lots of ball bouncing, especially off of me, but I relished being included in red ball chase. I never did really understand my role in their game, but Carson, even at 23 months, knew the rules and when I broke them.

As young children are known for doing, Carson became bored and began to play with something else. Tate and I watched him as he practiced going up the stairs on the patio, ever so carefully, saying "sep! (step), sep!, sep!," as each foot touched the step below. We revelled in his ability to feel such joy in this simple activity.

The black gum tree next to our house began to fill with birds of all kinds, woodpeckers, robins, and a cardinal. Tate explained that we needed to stand very still or we would spook the birds, causing them to fly away. Carson was mesmerized by the chattering between the birds and watched, entranced, not moving a muscle for longer than I'd expect of a child his age. Eventually the birds flew away and you could see the disappointment in this little boy's face as he called, "more bir, mor bir!"

I realized, spending this unexpected afternoon with my family, that even if it was temporary, time didn't feel like it was in the way. For this afternoon, I didn't feel the constraints of responsibilities and was able to just enjoy. This once, reality didn't feel burdensome.

I never knew something so seemingly insignificant as red ball chase, steps, and birds could bring such peace. I hope I can open my eyes, grab those moments and simply be, more often.

On B_uttholes and Button Holes

Our conversation over lunch yesterday...

Carson: Oh no! Daddy shirt, hole!

Tate: It's okay, it's just a button hole.

Carson: Daddy's b_utthole? I see Daddy b_utthole!

Tate: [Laughing] Yes, it's daddy's button hole.

Carson: [Looking down at his shirt, smiling gleefully] My b_utthole! My b_utthole! Look my b_utthole!

Tate: [Trying to get him to say button hole] Button hole, Carson, button hole.

Carson: B_UTThole!!! B_UTThole!!! My B_UTThole!!!, Daddy's B_UTThole!!! Mommy? See my B_UTThole?

Me: [Thinking to myself, Oh yes, Carson, I see your b_utthole every, single day.]

A proud, proud day, indeed, at Casa de Playgroupie. I don't know about you, but I love talking about b_uttholes at lunch!

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!

Thou Shalt Consume Ovaltine is in the Appendix of the Ten Commandments

Last week when Carson was sick, the only thing I could get him to drink was milk with chocolate malt Ovaltine. It's yummy deliciousness kept my boy nourished with it's vitamins! and minerals!

Now that he is well, he spends hours each day demanding "more Ovaltine, please" which sadly is spoken at ear piercing volumes and without the "please" part. To do list for tomorrow: Begin weaning process from Ovaltine.

With all this Ovaltine consumption happening in our home, Tate and I got to talking about drinking it as a kid. Actually, I drank it as a kid, but Tate swears that he did not ever have Ovaltine until just last week when I bought it for Carson. Let me repeat, he did not ever have Ovaltine until JUST LAST WEEK. Just. Last. Week.

I informed Tate that this was just not possible. Not having Ovaltine as a child is downright blasphemous and dare I say it, un-American. I did have the utmost respect for my Mother-in-law prior to learning this information, but now I am starting to wonder just what kind of a Mother deprives their child of the rich chocolately goodness that is Ovaltine. Yes it has lots of sugar, I know, but it also has vitamins! and minerals! And it's delicious.

Help Tate and I settle our dispute. EVERYONE has had Ovaltine, am I right? Please tell me that you've had it and that you've given it to your children. Also, send any Ovaltine weaning tips my way.

Mr. Sandman Bring Us Some Sleep

Ella hasn't slept more than three hours in a row since Friday.

I'm very tired. Exhausted, delirious, bushed, beat, fatigued, pooped.

Will be out of commission until she sleeps for at least a six hour stretch.

Hope to see you all tomorrow.

If not, send back-up.

Sick Kid

Carson suddenly came down with a fever yesterday afternoon. He hasn't been sick very often in his almost two years, just two ear infections and one 24-hour bug.

One of my favorite days I've spent with Carson was when he was about 10 months old and sick. Our day was spent lying on the couch together, snuggling. He napped on my chest on and off. As a child who slept only in his bed, I cherished being able to hold him while he slept, stroking his hair, rubbing his back.

This is the only memory I have of him where he enjoyed being held for more than just the time it took to feed him. It's the only time, besides when I would breastfeed him, where he wanted me over his Daddy.

If there's anything good about Carson being sick, is that he'll call for "Mama" today. It feels good to be needed.

Sneak Peek at My Book About Children's Sleep Habits

I've decided that I'm writing a book about children's sleep habits. Having read all the other sleep manuals (Weissbluth, Pantley, Ferber, Hogg...), and being a recovering nap zealot, I think I'm highly qualified to write such a book. Sure those other authors have fancy degrees and letters behind their names. But, I have letters behind my name, too, and they are M.O.M. I'm going to share with you what I've written so far. Please don't steal this information, I'm going to be rich from writing this book.

Dedication
This manual is dedicated to my darling son, whose naps are far too short. And to my sweet little girl who naps whenever the f*ck she feels like it, which isn't often. And to my devoted husband...without you, these children wouldn't even be possible. Gee, thanks.

Manuscript:
There is NOTHING you can do to make your children sleep better despite what all the other sleep manuals say. You are shit out of luck if you happen to get stuck with children who are nap buckers. Sorry exhausted parents of non-sleeping children, but you are SCU-REWED.

The end.

I'm convinced I have a NY Times best seller on my hands.

Happy 4 Months, Baby Girl

Four months have passed since your arrival, little girl.

We've been through quite a lot in this short time. Colic. Acid Reflux. No napping. Bleeding nipples (mine luckily and NOT yours).

Also in this short time, you've managed to charm your big brother, your Daddy, me, Sophie dog (which is a feat unto itself), your aunt, your uncle, and your grandparents. You have a smile that melts our hearts, yummy thighs that makes us all want to gobble you up, and chubby cheeks that demand oodles of kisses.


Has it really already been four months?

We love you Ella Baby!

No Forkin' Way

I have a question for all you Internetz out there.

Carson is going to be two next month. I've mentioned before that he is a bit messy at meal time, sometimes enjoying spreading peanut butter and syrup in his hair more than actually eating it. Tate and I attempt to teach him table manners, but when he's done with his meal, any remaining food is going to be thrust swiftly on the floor. I suspect that this is normal, albeit irritating and bothersome, but normal nonetheless.

Besides being Super Messy Eating Boy, he has not mastered the art of utensils. Sure, he demands a spoon at every meal, but it is merely for looks. After he looks at it long enough, he always throws it on the ground in an act of gleeful defiance. This, too, I suspect is normal.

The other day, Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored wrote a post about becoming "that" family in regards to eating out at restaurants. In the comments, one person alluded to the fact that children who are well-behaved at home will certainly be well-behaved in restaurants because they'll know how to act. While I agree in theory, I'm not sure if I believe children always act they way they are taught when in public. Also, I think that my son's meal time behavior is somewhat normal for a child his age. (It makes me feel better to think that this is normal as to deflect any possible poor reflection of my parenting skills.)

What do you all think? Am I raising a child destined to banished from all eating establishments until he's 18? Or is his behavior "normal" for an almost 2-year-old?

What are your eating out tips if I'm doing such a terrible job? I CANNOT fathom not eating out at least once a month for the next eleventy billion years. Cannot fathom.

Reminders

I'm in a funk. I'm eternally irritated. With Motherhood, with living in Alabama, my dogs, my ever expanding body, my husband (gee, could you tell...I never post about HIM.)

But as I sit here right now, I look over at Carson. He's sitting beside his sister playing and giggling. He's talking to her in words I don't understand except "baby Ella." My almost 4 month old baby girl has almost scooted herself off the blanket. And even though it's only a temporary respite from yet another lackluster day, it reminds me of how lucky I am.

Sometimes I need two reminders.