A Cuddly Elephant

Bean was snuggling up to me the other day, and she hit me with this beauty: "Mama, you're so cuddly and warm! Like a big elephant!" Gee thanks. Time to get serious about losing that weight.

Opinions

The other day I bought a particular perfume I've been wanting for a while. It's called Pink Sugar, and has this yummy, delicate, sweet scent. When I got home, I let Bean smell it. "Mmmm!" she said, "it smells like flowers!"

"Really?" I asked. "I thought it sort of smelled like cotton candy."

She sighed, and then nodded diplomatically. "Well, you can still think it smells like cotton candy, and I can still think it smells like flowers. We can have different opinions."

I wonder if we'll continue to agree to disagree so nicely as she gets older? ;)

Shhh...

Bean's new favorite thing to do is tell someone she wants to whisper something in their ear. She usually does this when she doesn't want me to hear what she's saying. Because she thinks Daddy/Grandma/Grandpa is a softer touch and will let her get away with whatever it is she wants to do. And she's probably right.

What Bean has NOT counted on is the decibel level at which she "whispers." I would call it a stage whisper, but even that would imply some level of quiet. Now of course I'm not telling her that I can hear everything she's saying. Hey, I'll take any advantage I can get! But she does seem to find it funny that my mommy brain seems to know what it was she was asking.

I guess moms are just funny that way.

Why is Flirting Fun?

A friend of mine recently got honked and whistled at while she was walking with her baby stroller. She said she didn't know if she should be flattered or offended. This brought out a range of comments from other women our age. I, for one, have never been offended if a guy flirts or whistles. Let's face it, it's kind of fun! BigGuy also gets flirted with by the occasional waitress, and I think it's kind of cute how oblivious he is to it.

So it begs the question, how much flirting is ok? We're very secure in our marriage and our monogamous lifestyle. I trust BigGuy implicitly, as he does me. So where does one draw the line between harmless fun and something to be concerned about?

It Takes a Village...

How many clones do YOU need? I often feel like I never have enough time to do the things I want, without sacrificing the things I need to do. Here's my wish list for the Clone Fairy (whom I picture to be as a rather tall, cigar-smoking, middle-aged balding man with a beer belly, for some reason).
- A Cleaning Clone - For only four people, we go through a lot of dishes. And don't even get me started on Mount Laundry.
- A Cooking Clone - So I can live up to BigGuy's memories of three square meals served daily. All complete with sides of freshly picked vegetables, of course.
- A Business Owner Clone - So much of my day is taken up with editing and other work that I need to do. I love doing it, but would love to spend time with the kids as well!
- A Secretary Clone - To take care of the details... mailing bills, pickup and drop-off at school, shipping finished products, returning phone calls and emails, bringing snacks for school, etc.
- A Minor Emergency Fixer Clone - For all of the "Mommy I bumped my chin on the pillow!" and "She's TOUCHING me!" crises.
- A Wife Clone - I think we all know what this one's for.
- A Catching Up on the DVR Clone - Why do I always record way more than I can ever watch?
- A Snuggling Clone - Because Squish is at that age where 98% of her ideal day is spent snuggling on the couch watching TV. Unfortunately this doesn't allow me to get much else done.
- A Facebook/Chatboard/Blog Updating Clone - A favorite past-time, to be sure... but also a huge time-suck. Even after I've let all my farms go to seed.

Ok... what did I miss?

She's already a typical woman.

Lately Squish will say in her best cute-but-demanding voice, "Peez?! Peez!?!" I answer, "Please what?" Because I'm not really sure what she wants. She shrugs her shoulders and said, "Iownno." (I don't know). She's a typical woman already.

Happy Dog

We had two dogs... B and T. After B had her last litter, we decided it was time to retire her. My in-laws' dog had passed away, and they missed having a dog around. So she moved to their house down south. T has missed his wife, but B's SO much happier in her new place.

Yesterday my in-laws came up for BigGuy's birthday. They brought B with, and T has been in doggie heaven. He's actually smiling. B is slightly amused to see him, but is more interested in smelling the entire yard, one blade of grass at a time. T just walks around with this big dumb grin on his face... "Ahhh... my wife is home. Life is good."

The Grapevine Has Gone Digital

Like most people, I grew up with an extended family that had its fair share of dysfunction. We had people we were close to, people we disowned, and people we were close to that we wish we could disown.

All kidding aside, I've always felt lucky to be close to my cousins on one side of my family. Unfortunately the occasional case of sibling rivalry will rear its ugly head. Through most of our adolescent years, my one aunt would compare her daughter and me all the time. While this was a completely one-sided affair (my mom really didn't care), we still got bombarded with news. My cousin developed a chest first, had a boyfriend first, yadda yadda yadda. Meanwhile, I was plodding my way through geekdom, hoping I would "blossom" one day. We always joked that this particular aunt was the family Grapevine. If you wanted to know the news, just call her.

Enter Facebook. Now you can tell the world what you're doing in short little blurbs, or incriminating photos. Said aunt has joined Facebook, and was using everyone's updates to try to "scoop" my mom on the family news. When BigGuy got laid off, he posted it in his Facebook status. A few minutes later, my aunt called my mom to ask her if she knew BigGuy had been laid off. At another point she made up some story about me, using information from several months ago. It was just getting odd.

So at what point do you cut off communication? There are things I want to share with my friends, but I don't want them being used against me. I don't want to feel like I have to censor myself for fear it will work its way back to my mom in some twisted form. I was starting to feel like I was being spied on or something.

Last week someone hacked my Facebook and email accounts. Facebook closed my account until it was taken care of... for about a week. Talk about withdrawals! When it came back up, a few of my friends had disappeared. And I must say I was relieved that my aunt was one of them. Sometimes you just need a little less grapevine.

Surrounded by Sadness

It seems like so many people around me are suffering right now. We have our own little problems, but they seem small compared to everyone else. BigGuy was laid off, but thankfully got a job with his old company. So we've had a tight month, but it seems like no big deal.

My friend (mom to Princess, Stinky and Peas... I really need to give her a nickname) just had her beautiful baby, Pixie, but she has to stay in the NICU for a while. She also just found out Pixie needs to be under the bilirubin light. The other day, their dog Ali ran away from home. They drove around looking for her, and reported her missing to the police. Unfortunately, someone had hit Ali with their car. She was found on the side of the road. Can you imagine explaining to three young children that their dog died? It was awful. I went to see if I could help in any way. When I walked in the door, Princess wailed, "Ali was killed by a car!" My heart crumpled. I just hugged her, and wished I could bring their dog back. I can't imagine how hard it was for her mom.

A family that I used to go to school with had a daughter who was disabled.... could not walk or talk. She recently contracted double pneumonia, and Swine flu. She passed away this week. One of her sisters said "she's finally able to walk and talk in heaven."

There's just so much sadness. I wish I could wrap my arms around everyone and make it better.

Birth is so much more beautiful when I'm not the one pushing...

One of my best friends just had her beautiful baby girl. She asked me to be there with her during labor, to support her and to take pictures. It was the first birth I've ever attended where I wasn't the one delivering. I was so moved by the tenderness between her and her husband, and the way they communicated without words. Now, this is a man who normally pisses off his wife on a daily... no hourly... basis. But he gently rubbed her back, and held her hand, and patted her hair. He kissed her forehead, and told her she was doing a great job.

It took me back to my labors. BigGuy is amazing during labor... does all the right things. He's supportive, and encouraging, and loving. I'm so blessed to have him, and I tell him that all the time.

When she was exhausted, she asked for an epidural. Her doula and husband reminded her that she hadn't wanted to do an epidural. I'm fairly certain flames shot out of her eyes as she told them in no uncertain terms that she WAS getting an epidural. So Dr. Epidural was called in rather quickly, since she was dilated to 6. As soon as he walked into the room, she yelled, "We're not doing the epidural!" She was officially in transition.

Things happened quickly after that. Lights went on, the room filled with doctors, and the baby warmer was ready to go. As I stood at the head of the bed, encouraging her as best I could, I snapped the first pictures of her little Pixie. And I cried. I didn't even cry for my daughters' births because I was so exhausted and caught up in the moment. But being there, to see this beautiful little girl come into the world... it was just so amazing.

I've struggled for a while with the way my labors went. They weren't at all what I expected. But being there with my friend, with her husband and doula gently supporting her, I saw what birth could be like. It was natural and non-clinical... surrounded by people who love her. I hope I can have a delivery like that some day.

Mawwiage is what bwings us togethew today...

If that title makes no sense to you, I command you to stop reading and go watch Princess Bride. Now. It's downright un-American of you not to have seen it.

So apparently Bean has marriage on the brain. And she's already got a groom all picked out... her friend "PeterPan." PeterPan is the son of one of my good friends. She also has a little girl that's Squish's age... "Teeny." We get together, and have some fun mommy time while the kids play. We get such a kick out of watching Bean and PeterPan interact. They already act like a little old married couple. When they disagree on something, they calmly discuss it until they've reached a compromise. It convinces us that we must be modeling healthy discussion techniques in our marriages. That or we argue a lot. ;)

So every once in a while, Bean or PeterPan will make the announcement that they want to marry the other one. Peter Pan said he wanted to travel all over the country with Bean, which she thought seemed like a pretty good idea, as long as she can bring her favorite stuffed animal Big Dog. When Bean went to PeterPan's birthday party, he left all his other boy friends and cousins to run around with her. He even ignored the big fancy birthday boy seat so he could accept her invitation to sit next to her. True love at its best. ;)

Bean also said she thinks PeterPan will make a good husband because he "treats her right," (her words) is nice to his sister, and he loves God. I think she knows what to look for better than some adults I know... Haha! She said she hasn't heard him pray yet, and plans to ask him to pray for the food next time we play with them. I don't know where she gets this stuff, but it cracks me up.

Bean usually says she wants to have 12 or 15 children (I blame the Duggars). But recently she said she doesn't want ANY children. I asked her why, and she said it's because they won't let you eat while you're in labor. I reminded her that it's only a few hours, and she nodded gravely, noting that that's a very.long.time. You have to understand, this child eats continuously. Kenny G has circular breathing, and Bean has circular digestion. So if it's been more than a half hour and she hasn't asked for something to eat, I know she's sick.

So when PeterPan decided he wanted 10 children the other day, I told Bean she'd better look for an OB who will let her eat while she's in labor. Otherwise it may be time for a new suitor.

I'm sure her other two "boyfriends" Montana and Stinky will be relieved.

Christmas Wish List: A Flare Gun and a Lift Kit for my Minivan

I'm beginning to think my last name is really Murphy. Because, try as I may, I seem to have inherited the constant state of Murphy's Law that followed my family growing up. I apologize for the epic novel below. But would you really be satisfied with a Reader's Digest account? I thought not.

Earlier this month, I found out my mother-in-law and her good friend were taking a short trip up to Traverse City, Michigan. BigGuy has family up in Traverse City, and his grandfather has a beautiful farmhouse on a nice amount of acreage. It's relaxing up there, and I haven't had the chance to go in a while. So I decided Bean and I would take a trip up to visit with them. It's about a 6 hour drive, so I opted to leave Squish home with a good friend of ours... "Peter Pan" and "Teeny"'s mom. BigGuy had work and school, so he wasn't going to be home most of the time.

So I packed up the minivan, which has been named Paddywhack for the little song it plays when you leave the lights on. We left at 1 a.m., because that's my peak time for energy. Plus, there's less traffic, and I figured Bean would sleep most of the way. Let's face it... 6 straight hours of listening to chatter while fighting traffic is not high on my list of favorite things. As we were pulling out of the driveway, Bean was SO excited. "We're going on a girl trip... yay!" So I started our official trip chant, "Girl trip! Girl trip! Girl trip!" She joined in heartily. The estrogen was flowing... all was well. A half hour later, as I worked my way through the light downtown traffic, I started chanting "Girl Trip!" again. Bean sighed politely and with all the maturity of a teenager said, "Yeah... I'm gonna take a nap now, ok?" So much for the excitement. ;)

Not to be dissuaded from my excitement, I plugged in my iPod, and car-danced my way through Indiana and Michigan. I even caught up on a few Podcasts I had wanted to hear. I sipped delicious caffeine-laden drinks, and felt like I was back in college... road-tripping with the girls. There's an energy that comes from leaving the day-to-day behind and doing something spontaneous. All was right with the world.

And then the road ended.

And no, I do not mean that figuratively. I mean the expressway literally ended. As in "All traffic must exit and take the detour." Believing myself to be a smart and flexible person, I wasn't too concerned. I had my loyal GPS, Lola, and she never failed me before. So I stopped for gas, and hopped on the detour road. I turned my music back up, and jammed my way down the business road.

And then the road ended. Again. With a great big "Road Closed" sign. Hmm. Well, Lola pointed out a nice little road that was right next to the road I was on, and continued in the same direction. By zooming out, I could see that it eventually wound back to where I needed to be. Patting my thoughtful GPS on her little head (what, doesn't yours have a head?), I hummed along to the music and took the bypass.

Suddenly that paved bypass started to look a bit more... gravelly. Ok, who am I fooling? It was a gravel road now. I was doing a lot less humming, and starting to shoot irritated questions at Lola. She was not responding, but kept primly directing me down the road. She has a real attitude sometimes. I began noticing a lot less gravel on that gravel road. Before I knew it... it was a dirt road. A dirt road that had had a LOT of rain in the last few days. Lola had directed me into the middle of the woods on a dirt road, and I was Dora-the-Explorering my way through it in a minivan. Fantastic.

About 30 seconds after I decided I needed to turn around and find an alternate route, I turned a sharp corner and hit the puddle. This was the mother of all puddles. In fact, I'm not entirely convinced it wasn't a part of Lake Michigan. Needless to say, Paddywhack is not built for off-roading. I was stuck, and stuck good. I tried rocking the van. I tried the old reverse and then forward trick. I tried stuffing some undergrowth under the tires for traction. Nothing was working. So I called 911.

After getting my latitude and longitude coordinates from Lola (we were barely on speaking terms at this point), I let the dispatcher know where I was. He realized I was in a completely different county. Apparently the cell phone tower that picked up my call was not the one right by me. I told them they were still going to help me. Apparently I used my Mommy voice, because he was quick to say that of course he'd connect me to the right county. They got me connected to the right county, who connected me to a local tow truck company. And this is where the fun begins.

I told the driver, Joe, what my coordinates were. He gruffly replied that he didn't HAVE a GPS. "Do you hear that Lola? He doesn't have a GPS. Maybe he's smart. Maybe I should sell you." Lola looked unconcerned. After I told Joe the grid of streets I was surrounded by, he took off to find me. He said it should take about 15 minutes. I should have known that BigGuy's habit of GROSS underestimation in regards to time came from living in Michigan. 15 minutes apparently means 2 hours.

Joe began calling every 10 minutes or so to ask more questions about how I got there, and to try to locate the exact dirt path I had come down. He actually resorted to having me honk to see if he could hear me. I KNOW. I was able to give him some more direction by telling him I was facing north (the moss was growing on the trees in that direction), and there was a river about 100 yards downhill from me. I felt I could possibly survive a reality show. I'm telling you... next season it will be Survivor: Northern Michigan Woods.

A few times, I think he just called back to chat while he looked. I learned all sorts of local trivia. For instance, a dirt path is called a two-track. Which would have been fascinating if I was not stuck.in.the.woods.with.a.4-year-old. I was already figuring out what to use for toilet paper for when I inevitably heard Bean's plaintive "I have to go potty" voice. I hadn't counted on this being her first "becoming one with nature" experience, but I was ready. Thankfully I had taken her in for multiple stops on the way up, so she didn't have to go. One less thing to worry about.

By the fourth time he called to have me honk, I began to think my knight in shining armor was a bit rusty in the helmet. I got out to put more stuff under the tires for traction, and decided it would probably be a good idea to avoid the undergrowth. It's been a long time since I was in Girl Scouts, so I am not sure what all the poison plants look like. So, armed with my girly all-purpose tool, I grabbed smaller branches off a few saplings to see if I could build a mat of sorts for the tires. I managed to cut my hand open at some point, because I noticed it was bleeding when I got back in the car for one more feeble attempt at getting out of there. I began to think we may need to hike back up the road to the nearest house, but my fear of facing some north woods psycho armed with only a MAG light kept me from doing that.

Finally, I saw a white sedan pull up behind me on the "road." I had several emotions at once. Worry that it was some nutjob that would hurt me and Bean; fear that this was the "tow truck" I was waiting for; and relief that maybe it was someone local and normal who could tell me where.the.heck.I.am. Thankfully it was the third one... and even better, he had seen the tow truck up the road! He went back to tell him exactly which dirt path I was on. (God forbid these people name their roads).

Not long after, we heard the rumble of the most beautiful tow truck in the world. I think Santa must look a little bit like Joe. Well, except without the yellow teeth, tattoos and cigarette. I hugged him in my excitement, which made him a bit bashful. He pulled us out, and led us back to the main road... even pointing us in the direction of the shortest route to Traverse City. He said he had passed 5 other lost people on his way to find me. In fact, he cheerily informed me, he'd been pulling people out of the mud all week because of those detour signs. Now tell me... wouldn't you think the city would rethink their detour signs? Just a thought.

When he told me what the charge was, it was all I had left in cash. I asked if he took credit, and he said no, that he doesn't believe in it. So he handed me the bill and told me to mail him a check. We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

So we finally made it to our destination, albeit 2 hours late. My wonderful mother-in-law greeted me with a glass of wine. I can honestly say that's the only time I've had a drink at 9 a.m., but it was much deserved and much needed. At dinner that night, she toasted me, saying, "Here's to being a stick in the mud."

A Loss and a Lesson

Well, it's been a long time since I blogged, and a lot has happened in my life. BigGuy and I were shocked and thrilled to discover we were expecting baby number 3... due at the end of April. Bean was especially excited... already choosing names, and "just knowing" it was a boy. She wanted to name the baby Jon, after my brother who passed away on September 6, 2003.

I had a strange feeling about this pregnancy. Maybe because we didn't have to try this time (both of our other pregnancies required 2 years of fertility treatments). Something just seemed wrong.

Unfortunately, my mother's intuition was absolutely correct. On September 5, we found out the baby no longer had a heartbeat. On September 7 (Labor Day, ironically enough), I miscarried. I found it symbolic that I lost yet another loved one over the same weekend as my brother's anniversary.

I have never felt so carried by my friends and family as I did through my miscarriage. You really don't know how terrible a miscarriage is until you've walked through it. I know that sounds cliche... because we can't understand ANY loss until we've been there. But it seems especially true of this. I was in a dark place for a while, but the people who love me walked through it with me, and I came out on the other side feeling healed. I still mourn the loss of what could have been. But I learned that I am surrounded by amazingly strong women who will do what they can to help their friends. I am humbled and blessed.

I was also amazed that I felt stronger in my faith, rather than angry with God. I don't understand it, but am grateful that my response was to draw closer to God. I know that He has reasons that I can't always understand. But I trust Him even when the road is dark.

Bean was obviously very sad at the news that her brother or sister had decided to go straight to heaven, rather than join us on earth. I thought her response was so poignant, and yet so indicative of her innocence and sense of humor.

"It's not fair. The baby didn't get to do what we're all supposed to do. Be born, grow up, get married, have kids, get old... and get fat." - Bean

What's the magic word?

Just like I did with Bean, I work hard to teach Squish sign language and communication skills. I also try to teach her to have some manners. While Bean picked up on signing quickly, Squish wants nothing to do with it. She learned "milk" quickly, because she knew it would instantly result in food entering her stomach. We've tried teaching her to sign "more" or "please," but it's falling on (pardon the terrible pun) deaf ears. She would much rather shriek like a teradactyl being dismembered with a spoon.

Now Squish loves her food. The girl can pack it away like a truck driver who's been on a starvation diet for the last month or so. She has literally out-eaten me on some days, and I'm no light-weight. She has a much more limited vocabulary than Bean did at this age, but the few words she does say are adorable. No, I'm not biased. Even the mailman will concur. So we've tried adding "please" and "more" to her vocabulary. She's not interested... even when there's food involved.

In my Imperfect Mama day-mares, I imagine her as an adult, demanding more food in a restaurant with an ear-piercing shriek.

A couple of weeks ago, I came home with some Italian beefs from our favorite beef restaurant. If you're unfortunate enough to live in a city without Italian beefs, I pity you. As the delicious smells wafted from my paper bag, she toddled over to me with dilated pupils. I hoped for a sweet welcome "Mama!" or something similar. Instead, my darling little cherub grabbed hold of my shorts with both hands, and with the urgency of a dying wish demanded "FEED ME!"

So much for manners.

The Squish that cried Wolf

Squish has taken to screaming "OWWW!" Whenever she wants attention. Or is frustrated. Or hungry. Or just plain bored. She uses just the right amount of edge in her voice to sound both insulted and adorable.



Obviously when we hear it all the time, we don't take it seriously when she says "Ow." She never says it when she's actually hurt... then we just get the delayed siren wail. You know the kind. Where she's crying but completely silent until she can catch her breath. And then she takes it to 11. The windows rattle, and the neighbors run to see where the ambulances are.



The child also has the fastest-growing fingernails I've ever seen. I have to cut them every other day, or we all look like we've been in a catfight. So obviously we say "Ow!" quite a bit around here. I guess it's a good thing we don't cuss when she scratches us.

Let me introduce you to our daughter... Mirena.

Today BigGuy and I were joking that perhaps we should give Bean the nickname Mirena. Lord knows she's much more effective at preventing pregnancy than any other birth control method we've tried. Although she has a negative influence on my hormonal shifts, and has definitely caused weight gain.

Bean has the most sensitive Romance Detector I've ever seen. She can be on the other side of the house, and if BigGuy gets a sparkle in his eye she instantly appears and needs attention.

Squish is learning from her big sister, and will now protest loudly at the sight of us snuggling without her. Apparently she doesn't plan on giving up her place as the baby of the family any time soon.

So when someone ever-so-delicately asks what method of birth control we use, would it be a bad thing to say, "my children"?

All the world's a stage

Bean and Squish have effectively turned our fireplace hearth into a stage. There are lights that shine down on it, and the hearth is raised high enough to make it the perfect spot to act out their dramas. Squish mostly just claps and babbles, laughing at Bean's silly faces. But Bean takes this very seriously. She spins tales of heroic princesses, beautiful brides, and puppies who need to eat/sleep/scratch every 15 seconds or so. Every so often, Bean will pause to ask, "are you watching?"

When I was little, my sister and I used to act out elaborate productions. Being the older child, I reserved the best roles for myself. I was the boss, and she was the secretary. I was the queen, and she was the princess. We both grew up in ballet classes, choirs, and drama clubs, and both have a love for the stage. My sister is much better than I am at all facets of stage arts... and in fact, she has a job where she's on stage very often. So these mini-dramas make me wonder where my girls will be in 20 years.

Now every time we turn on the lights over the fireplace, Squish happily claps her hands and climbs "on stage." Bean runs to find something she can use for a costume. I guess the apples don't fall very far from the tree.

Fortune Cookies

Last night, we had Chinese food for dinner. This of course ended with fortune cookies. The adults all ate their slightly stale cookies, read their fortunes, and laughed them off. Bean, however, took her fortune to heart. This is now her greatest treasure. It goes with her everywhere, and she insists that it's important.

I wonder at what age we lose the wonder of small things like this? I remember as a child having a metal cash box that I considered my "treasure box." In it were things that were dear to my little heart. A note from a special boy that I met one summer at the lake... the wing from some large insect... a stone in the shape of a heart... my favorite sticker. Anyone else would label these things as junk. But they were more important to me than silly old money.

So I wonder when our priorities shift. Now, with a mortgage and four mouths to feed, BigGuy and I place much more value in cold hard cash. As we try to maintain some order in the house, we throw out bags and bags of garbage. When dandelions rear their ugly little yellow heads, the last thing on my mind is the fun white wishmakers they'll be in a few weeks.

I need my daughters to teach me to find the wonder in life again.

It's a woman's prerogative

Well, they say it's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. Apparently Bean has tapped into this at the mature age of 4. To understand the full weight of her announcement today, I have to give you some back story.

Since she was old enough to safely eat it, Bean has hated peanut butter. We're talking full-body shudders, and facial contortions that would make Jim Carrey proud. We gave her a Reese's peanut butter cup when she was about 2 years old (I know... feel free to revoke my Mommy of the Year award), and she disappeared with it. I went to find her, and she was in the bathroom, washing the peanut butter out of the cup so she could eat the chocolate. She has developed the sensitive taste buds of a wine connoisseur, and can sense peanut butter in the smallest traces.

This has come at no small level of shock to me, since I am the Peanut Butter Queen. Not only is there always peanut butter in the house, but I require a backup peanut butter to be present at all times in our pantry. Just in case some fluke summer blizzard hits the area, and the grocery stores are overrun with panicked people who take all the peanut butter. You never know. "Forget the toilet paper! Who needs water! Give me the peanut butter!"

After honeymooning in another country, and finding out they did not have peanut butter available, I now bring an emergency peanut butter jar with me on all out-of-country travels. I know... I really should get help.

So today, with all the gravity that such an announcement requires, Bean declared, "I have decided that I like peanut butter." Once I recovered from my shock, I rallied forth with a joyous shout: "Huzzah! PB&J for dinner!"

Bean's introduction to the male anatomy

Recently Bean saw her (boy) friend "Stinky" changing out of his swimsuit after a day at the splash park. I saw her staring, and managed to distract her, albeit too late. I knew she was processing, so I was just waiting for the bomb to drop.

My mom babysat her, and (of course) this is when Bean decided to talk through everything. "I saw a little boy getting changed, and his stuff was hanging out!" Bean proceeds to look disgusted. "Oh... really..." said my mom, moving quickly into panic mode. "And he didn't have fur like mommy or daddy." This would be the point that most people would start dialing Child Services, so of course I had some 'splaining to do when I went to pick her up. I managed to reassure Mom that Bean has NOT seen BigGuy naked (much to my mom's relief), but that she's seen me go to the bathroom. So that of course was why I had to explain to her that mommies and daddies have hair down there, and she would too when she grew up.

Here's hoping it's a LONG time before we have to have a discussion like this again.

Mommy Nazis

We all know them. Some of us may actually be them. Mommy Nazis.

These are the moms who are intent on making every other mom feel insecure about her parenting skills. Who sneer down their nose at your garage-sale-find stroller because it doesn't have the right name on it. Who are horrified that you don't buy organic food for your baby, let alone that you don't make it from scratch. Her child is learning Mandarin, while mine learns Spanish from Dora and Handy Manny.

Why do we do this to each other? When will we accept that there is no right way and no wrong way to raise a child? That as long as the kid is happy and healthy and safe... it's perfectly alright for them to play at the park without 2 gallons of antibacterial lotion being involved.

Unfortunately, I think we'll always be at war. The Stay-At-Home-Moms (SAHM) versus the Working Moms. The Breastfeeders versus the Formula Feeders. The ones who let their kids watch TV, versus the ones who would never dream of it.

I recently had someone tell me I could never do a fantastic job of parenting because I work from home. Therefore I can't give 100% of my attention to my children at all times. My question is this... what is this mother preparing her children for? When these kids go to school, and the teacher has to divide her attention between 25 children... will there be a meltdown? But this M.N. is in the bully category... she can do no wrong, in her eyes. So I just went on my way, and tried to put it out of my mind. Add it to the list of fears I have as a mom... that I'm somehow depriving them of a normal childhood because I choose to work.

When are you having another?

Let's talk about this ladies. Pretty much from the moment Squish slid out, we've been getting this question. Part of me takes it as a compliment... that people like our children enough to want us to keep reproducing. But part of me wants to tell them we'll have another when they can pay for its college education. I usually settle for a much more friendly and enigmatic "well, we'll see."

I love my girls. They make me so happy, and I'm proud of the little people they are becoming. There's not a day that goes by that I don't get some sweet snuggle time with Squish, and hear Bean tell me she loves me.

But some days I would trade them in for a new Corvette and 5 minutes of peace. I may or may not have recently chased BigGuy with a pair of scissors and demanded that he drop his pants so we could make SURE we wouldn't have any more children. Does this change when you add to the brood? Does it get worse? Or do you just adjust to a new level of crazy?

I watch my friends with 4+ children, and it scares me. All of them are in dire need of a long massage and a dinner where they don't have to cut anyone's food. I also don't want to be an old mom. I envision myself at 50, still covered in spit-up and finger paints, still spelling the words I don't want to hear repeated in front of my mother.

I recently had a stranger compliment my girls' behavior in a store. I had one of those brief shining moments where you feel like all your hard work has paid off. I felt a uterine twinge as I contemplated whether we should grace the world with another one of our stellar children. And then, with a sigh, I pulled Bean's finger from her nose, and reminded Squish AGAIN not to chew on the shopping cart. Maybe we'll get another dog.

Don't Touch Me

I feel bad for BigGuy today. I was in the shower, and he reached around the curtain to give my backside a squeeze. "Get out!" I snapped. He was hurt. So I had to explain to him that showers are the only time I have where no one is touching me. No little person is clinging to me and demanding snacks/juice/one.more.episode.of.Dora.the.Explorer. Does this make me a bad wife?

Getting to Know You

I decided to start this blog because I so often want to comment on life, but don't necessarily want to share it with my friends and family. I hope to keep some anonymity, but we'll see how that goes. Comments are welcome, but please keep it clean and friendly.

A little about me: I'm very happily married, despite the occasional rant you'll see on here. ;) "BigGuy" is my best friend, and I couldn't ask for a better husband. I'm a 30-something mother of two girls. "Bean" is 4, and "Squish" is 1. They warm my heart with their sweetness, and make me pull my hair out on occasion.

I'm a Christian. While I don't plan on making my faith a focus in my posts, it's a big part of our life as a family. However, I think motherhood is something we all struggle through, no matter what we believe in.

I own my own business, and I work from home. I'm enjoying the pro's of that, and working through the con's. Mostly I'm learning how to balance all the parts that make up me.

So grab a glass of whine, and hopefully we can laugh and cry together.