Our Newest Family Member

Her name is Patches. Hollis picked her out, so he named her Patches, despite the fact that she really doesn't have any patches. But the name seems to suit her anyway.

Yes, she does look an awful lot like Pandy, with white whiskers, white socks, and a white belly. But her cutest feature is totally unique - a little white diamond between her eyes. I thought of all sorts of clever names for her, but I guess the days of actually getting to name our pets are over!

Patches is a rescue kitten and comes with a host of health problems. Our vet tells us she has roundworm, lungworm, and a respiratory virus. We have to keep her isolated from Hilly until she's better. But Patches has made a little boy very happy.


If you're interested, I'm pissing off people left and right on D.C. Metro Moms Blog. I seem to have started a small mommy war. Oops.

Can I Get A Drum Roll Please....?

I have a blogger to introduce.

I know. I see you nodding and thinking, "Yeah, yeah, Steph, but my Google Reader is already about to explode. I just can't give any more." I promise you, you'll want to make an exception.

I am a bit biased. You see, this new "Mommy Blogger" is my cousin. I wrote her a "welcome to motherhood" post shortly before her adorable daughter burst into her world and many of you have seen her comment here on my blog. You may even have followed her link, only to find an empty blog.

Well, it isn't empty anymore.

If you're looking for a new blog that talks about how wonderful life is and how fulfilling and exciting motherhood is, hers is not the blog for you. But chances are, if you're a regular reader here, you'd vomit all over the floor if someone insisted to you that crayons and play doh are more fulfilling to you than any career, dreams, or aspirations you had before becoming a parent.

DM doesn't do puppy dogs, rainbows, and perfect Christmas newsletters. She's a member of my family. We teach sarcasm and pessimism in the womb. Hell, my aunts and uncles even have an informal competition to see who can send out the most twisted Christmas card each year. (For the record, no one has yet topped D&D's card sent out after Hurricane Katrina. It featured my cousin, holding a rifle, in front of the garage spray painted with "Looters will be shot on sight." I'll scan it in some time.)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, DM is not the cousin who was arrested at my grandmother's funeral. No, DM is more likely to get arrested at a protest rally. Or at least she was pre-baby. DM is the person we all wished we could be. She's done everything, from massage therapy to modeling. She was the only bridesmaid in my wedding with purple hair. She's traveled everywhere. (I will never be able to erase that photo of her eating the huge spider from my mind.) She's an incredibly talented photographer and a great writer.

Now, she'll be a great blogger.

If the thought of a minivan and "mom jeans" are enough to make you throw up a little in your mouth, go read Defiant Muse.

Now DM is thinking, "Dear God, WHY did I tell her about the blog?" Just be glad I don't have a scanner at home, DM. It could be worse. This is the only photo I have of you on my computer right now and at least you're not the one wearing a hideously poofy dress that you picked out.

DM is anonymous, or I'd post a more current picture of her modeling. Or if she'll let me lift a picture she's got on her My Space or Facebook pages.... (I got permission, so it's there up at the top!)

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If that photo doesn't intrigue you, I have new ones up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. I know you're all dying to see my homework from my photography class. It's almost as exciting as bark. In fact it is bark.

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I know many of you have noticed that I haven't been visiting blogs lately. I feel like I need to apologize for having such a one way conversation lately.

Do you ever have times where you're really trying to get out of the house to go to the store, but you have two small children and it takes 30 minutes to get them dressed and ready to go. And then when you're strapping them into the car, one insists he has to go potty, so you unstrap them and let him go potty and when you catch them both and begin restrapping them, the other one has to go potty, and then one of them wants a juice and the other one wants a snack, and the other one must find the annoying $.20 Happy Meal gingerbread man toy that says "Not my gumdrop buttons," over and over again, and then the other one has to go potty again, and then the cat barfs on the rug, and then you have to go pee, and all you want to do is sit on the rug with your Resolve and paper towels and cry? But instead you call your husband and tell him to pick up milk on the way home and then everyone takes a 3 hour nap?

That's me lately with the blogging.

I have the best of intentions and sometimes I even get the car out of the garage. But at best I've been driving by the store and not stopping because the kids have fallen asleep in the backseat and I don't want to wake them up.

So please, please don't think I've forsaken you or unsubscribed from your blog, or even stopped thinking about you. To the contrary, I think about you all the time and wonder what's going on with you and you and you and you and you and all the rest of you. (You know who you are, even if I can't possibly link you all.)

When Did I Become The Adult?

I have a new review of The Ultimate Tea Diet up on Lawyer Mama Review. I was skeptical going in, but it really works. Go check it out.

I also have new photos up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. Well, they're not exactly new, but what I did to them is! Want to see a vintage Holden? How about a chocolate and lilac Hollis?

Finally, I have to thank everyone for your emails, comments, and hugs since Pandy got sick. Hell, I have to thank all y'all for your unflagging support all the time. I neglect your blogs for weeks at a time. I post sporadically or post only nonsense and you keep coming back just to let me know you're listening. You open up your homes to me (yeah, I'm looking at you, Joanne and Heather!). You call me and send me your phone numbers. Or you just let me know that you're there.

You have no idea how much all of this means to me. Or maybe you do. Either way, there's a house next door to me for sale if anyone wants to buy it. I'd be thrilled to have any of you as neighbors. And for me, that says a lot!

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Last night was the culmination of weeks of dread. Ever since we got that little slip of paper from Hollis's preschool, I've been nervous as hell. The reason for my anxiety?

Parent Teacher Conferences

That's right. For 3 year olds.

As a child, I was never worried about conferences. I was a nerd model student. Even if I hadn't been, I can usually handle criticism. (Cognitive dissonance works great. You should try it.) But the thought of listening to someone tell me what my baby is doing wrong makes my heart race and my brow break out in a sweat.

It's not that I think Hollis is perfect. To the contrary, I know he's not. I know he's the youngest in his class and that he's probably behind most of them. I know that he's an introvert but he tends to get pumped up and rowdy (and stop listening) when he's in a comfortable environment. I don't know which option frightened me more, hearing that he was completely comfortable to the point of disobedience and insolence or hearing that he was too shy to fully participate.

Well, having actually been in his classroom and witnessed The Toddler in his native habitat, I knew it was more likely we'd be hearing about behavior techniques to get him to listen. I just don't want to be the mom to "That Child." Not that I think we couldn't handle it, but knowing that Holden is far, far worse than his brother, I would be completely freaked out to discover that Hollis is a behavior problem in school!

Plus, every time I go into school as Hollis's "mother" I feel like a teenager masquerading as a parent. Does anyone else feel like this or is this some bizarre personal psychological reaction to schools and bulletin boards?

Hollis's teacher also keeps asking me to call her by her first name and I, stupidly, keep calling her Mrs. N and writing "Mrs. N" on notes to her. I probably make her feel like a grandmother masquerading as a teacher, but really, when did I become the adult? I still feel like I'm not allowed to call a teacher by her first name!

Anyway, it turns out that my fears were groundless. Hollis's teacher told us that, yes, he is young and has a few problems with things a few of the kids have mastered, but he's constantly showing improvement. Hollis is happy and cheerful and obedient (for the most part) and plays well with the other kids. Whew! I mean, we knew Hollis was happy, but it's nice to hear confirmation from his teacher. And to hear that she likes him. We all want our children to be liked, don't we?

At the end of the conference, Mrs. N shared something with us that she calls the "Tell Me" sheet. It's a list of questions she asks the kids and then she records the answers. It starts with basic things like name, age, favorite color, etc.... (By the way, Hollis is still insisting that he's 5. At least he's consistent.) Then she asked him things like, "What makes you happy or sad?" and, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Hollis, to his credit, didn't answer the, "What do you want to be?" question. Honestly, I wouldn't know how to answer if you asked me and I'm 35. How do you answer a question like that? "I want to be happy/thin/tall/a princess/a fireman?" I don't know. On the way home, I decided to ask Hollis the question again, worded a bit differently. Being a creative genius, I asked Hollis, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" My literal-minded toddler answered without missing a beat, "Drink coffee and soda."

That's my boy!

There were a few answers on Hollis's "Tell Me" sheet that cracked us up. For the question, "What do daddies do?" Hollis answered, "Go to work and eat chocolate. I went to Daddy's office and he gave me some chocolate and it was yummy and crunchy." Clearly the kitchen in T's office has made an impression.

In response to, "What do Mommies do," Hollis replied, "Take baths and eat popsicles." Oy. It's time to start indoctrinating the toddler. Does anyone have a copy of The Feminine Mystique that I could borrow? Or maybe I should start out with some Wollstonecraft? Do they publish A Vindication of the Rights of Woman in a picture book?

Hollis redeemed himself towards the end though. His answer to, "What is pretty?" was "Mommy and her smile." Say it with me now, everyone, "Awwwwwwwwww!" When his teacher followed up with, "What makes her pretty?" Hollis's response was, "Her hair and her hair clip."

T was a little disturbed about Hollis's public acknowledgement of his obsession with my accessories. The kid loves to wear my necklaces, hair clips and headbands, and shoes. Clearly, there's hope for my boy!

Life and Death In the Backyard

Last Spring Hollis found a baby bird in our yard that had fallen from its nest. The poor little thing was brand new, awkwardly flapping its gangly, leather-like limbs and opening its beak in a silent yawp.

We collected the baby bird, putting him in a bucket filled with grass. Hollis thought the young bird was hungry, so we tried to feed him sugar water with a medicine syringe.

Upon closer examination, T and I discovered that the baby bird's wing was broken and partially ripped from its body. We knew that there was no hope. So, after Hollis reluctantly went to bed, T took care of the bird. But what to say to Hollis?

The next morning we told Hollis that the baby bird's mommy and daddy had come for him and they had gone back to live in their tree.

We punted. I really hadn't regretted what we did, but now I wish we'd at least broached the topic of death with Hollis.

You see, my little kitty, Pandora, is dying.

Over the last few weeks she's been losing weight and suddenly stopped eating. While unusual for any cat, it's even more so for Pandy. We affectionately refer to her as our glutton. At one point she weighed nearly 22 pounds, and she's not a big cat. For most of her life she's weighed more than Sir Hillary, our Norwegian Forest cat, one of the largest domestic breeds.

Pandy is almost 8. Sir Hillary is almost 12. They're both Aries cats.

We got Pandy when Hilly was 4 because he was so incredibly high maintenance. He was an extremely energetic young kitty and developed this annoying habit of trying to sneak up behind us and latch on to our legs to play. Fortunately, he would let out a loud "rooooowwwwr" before attacking, so I could usually manage to fend him off before I got any puncture marks. It wasn't fun at 2 am when I was stumbling to the bathroom. Anyway, Pandy did the trick. Hilly hasn't attacked my legs once since we adopted her as a kitten.

We named her Pandora because she really was a Pandora's Box for our spoiled Hilly. He tolerates her, and all the woes of the world that she brought with her. Barely.

Pandy is a bit dim, but very sweet and loving. When she was a kitten, she used to crawl up on my shoulder, rest on it like a baby and kneed my hair. If I wore it in a ponytail she got really upset. Even though she's a little big to drape on my shoulder now, she still tries to go for my hair.

Pandy is cute in a quirky way. She's black and white, with a black back and white underbelly. Her legs are black and end in white socks. But when you look at the pads of her feet, they are, adorably and surprisingly, black. She has a black face and contrasting white whiskers, with a little white goatee and mustache that stretches up to her nose on one side as if in a lopsided grin.


Pandy also has a lot of personality quirks. She overeats (um, that's kind of an understatement) and has been on a diet for most of her life. She spends every night roaming the house and yowling. She's never been very good at cleaning herself, and developed a tacky coat and dry skin over the last 5 years or so, despite grooming by us and Hilly. She's never really liked having the bottom half of her back touched, but now she will bite if anyone other than me touches her there. (And she still snaps at me.) Pandy also hates to be picked up and carried with an arm under her abdomen, my cat carry of choice.

Because Pandy hates to be picked up, it took me awhile to notice the weight she'd lost, but I could tell a few weeks ago. Then I started watching her to make sure she was eating. She was eating, but then over the last week or so has stopped and become very subdued. I made an appointment for her with our vet and then one of the cats started peeing in our hallway by the bathroom where their litter box resides.

When we saw the vet on Friday, Pandy was remarkably well behaved, but a bit dehydrated. The vet took some blood, gave her some subcutaneous fluids and a Vitamin B shot and sent us home. We got the blood test results back Saturday morning.

Chronic renal failure.

Her blood levels are very, very bad. It turns out that my poor kitty was peeing in the hall because she was too exhausted to get to the litter box.

My kitty "crashed." She's at the animal hospital for the next 3 days while they administer IV fluids and try to get her blood levels back to normal. If it's successful, she'll be on medication and a special food and we'll learn to do subcutaneous fluids at home. Many cats with CRF can be managed and comfortable like this for years.

If it doesn't work, we'll have to discuss our "options," which T and I both know means putting Pandy to sleep to prevent further suffering.

I'm more than a little upset with our past vets. In consulting the internets regarding CRF in cats, all of Pandy's "quirks" are actually symptoms of kidney failure. It's been going on for quite some time. And all of those symptoms are in her charts. We took her to the vet for her annual check-up every year and always mentioned our concerns about her weight and the fur and skin. We assumed it was because she was so large she couldn't adequately clean herself. The vet recommended grooming her ourselves and gave us some fatty acids to add to her food 2 years ago.

Four years ago, we even took her to the emergency vet because she was vomiting clear, foamy liquid and we thought she'd eaten something poisonous. They kept her overnight and told us she'd probably eaten something that bothered her tummy, even though Pandy is an indoor cat. We ended up feeding her baby food and rice until she got her appetite back and could hold down food. It's happened many times since then and we've always made jokes about how Pandy must have been hoovering inappropriate things off of the floor again.

Anyone want to guess what some of the major symptoms of renal failure are in cats?

Yep. In fact, pretty much all of what we thought were Pandy's quirks, from the overeating and back sensitivity to the dry skin and nightly yowling were actually signs and symptoms of kidney failure. And we had no idea.

Four different vets over 5 years and no one ever thought, "Hey, maybe we should take some blood." I guess it's because CRF usually happens in older cats. Pandy is 7, although this problem has clearly been going on for at least 4 years.

I got off on a hinsight rant there, but I know my cat. I'm pretty sure she won't be coming home long term, even though I'm trying to block that thought from my mind right now.

As upset as I am at losing one of my fur babies, I'm even more upset for Hollis. You see, Hollis has really grown to love his kitties over the last few years. Whenever he's asked if he has a dog, he proudly proclaims, "No, I have two kitties!" He pets them and plays with them and hugs them. He likes to sit with one of the cats on his lap and ask me, "Pandy is my kitty. Right, Mommy?" In the last year he's really begun to understand that Pandy and Hilly are part of our family. We belong to them, just as they belong to us. We take care of them and we love them.

Hollis loves them too.

Yesterday when I drove Pandy to the animal hospital for her 3 day stay, Hollis repeatedly asked me why Pandy is sick. I've been very careful about what I say because I don't want him to fear that being sick or going to the hospital or doctor will lead to death. I've simply been telling him that Pandy is a very old kitty (even though she's not) and that sometimes very old kitties get sick. When he asks why she has to stay at the vet, I tell him that the vet is going to keep Pandy for a couple of days so she can try to make her feel a little better.

Beyond that, I have no idea what to say. If Pandy doesn't get better, I have no idea what I will say.

Right now, I'm just hoping that our Pandy will be with us for many years to come. I can't bear to think of the alternative.

I. P. Freely

I have new photos up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. I've been having fun with my new toy!

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In early December, my friend Lauren and I took H&H and her Pumpkin down to the Yorktown pier for some fun. I've blogged about it and posted photos a couple of times, but I've been holding out on you. You haven't heard the good stuff yet.

Nearly every time that Lauren and I venture out for some fun, we end up exhausted and frazzled or I do something brilliant like marinate the baby in rum. But, hey, at least I get some good blogging material.

Our trip to Yorktown didn't disappoint.

First, Holden kept trying to kill himself on the rocks of death. He would not stay off of them, even though his little feet kept getting trapped between the rocks. Holden is a climber. It's just what he does. He was frustrated beyond belief that he could not climb and he punished me by hitting, kicking, scratching and screaming. (Just for good measure, in case anyone in a 5 mile radius missed the injustice of it all.)

Then, up on the safe (we thought) pier, Holden found another way to do bodily harm to himself. See that little opening in the rail? It leads out to a little 4 inch wide ledge with nothing but water and rocks below. Guess who squished himself out there?

You know my husband is entertained by my blog because, upon hearing this, the first thing he asked wasn't, "Wow! Was he OK?" No. It was, "Did you get any PICTURES of it?!"

(For the record, I was too busy restraining my child from jumping off the ledge. Why am I seeing recreational cliff diving in my son's future?)

After that narrow miss, we decided to let the kids loose on the beach to run. With, of course, the appropriate threats of death if they put so much as a finger or toe in the water.

Do you think those threats worked on my little Hurricane Holden? Nope. He just walked right in and would have kept going.

Cold water? In December? Sounds like fun!

Holden's little dip in the water earned him a one way ticket to his stroller and a trip back to concrete. Unfortunately, once I was tethered to a stroller, Hollis took the opportunity to disappear with the Pumpkin. Seriously, we couldn't see them anywhere. I started panicking and screaming their names. Luckily, some people walking by let us know that the kids had run around to the other side of the bathroom building. Damn those kids!

So then the Pumpkin and Hollis earned a ride in the stroller. Since I hadn't brought my double stroller, Lauren forced them to sit together in her stroller. While we shopped. The kids were not happy.

Tough tiddlywinks, boys.

This is what happens when you scare the crap out of Mommy, boys.
It only gets worse. When you misbehave in your teens, Hollis, you'll earn a trip lingerie shopping with dear old Mom.

After our shopping trip the boys' punishment, we decided it was time to pack it in and go home. We headed to the car. Of course, the moment I started buckling Holden into his car seat, Hollis had to pee. Lauren asked me if Hollis had peed in the trees before.

Well, we weren't anywhere near the restrooms at this point, so I fully intended to take advantage of having a child who can pee standing up. He learned how to water the weeds as soon as that diaper came off for good. The parking lot was surrounded by these big bushes, so I figured we could sneak in one and drench the dirt in no time. Plus, Hollis is terrified of the "scary potties" with automatic flushers. (Are the people who designed those things sadists? Because they've clearly never potty trained anyone.)

I tossed back a, "Sure, he does it all the time," and then told Holden, "I'll be there in a second."

Can you see where this is going?

Lauren came around the other side of the car to get the Pumpkin in the car, while I finished up with Holden. We both turned around to check on Hollis at the same time only to find him naked from the waist down and assuming the pee stance right beside the car. He'd removed his shoes, socks, pants, and underwear completely. (What can I say? He doesn't like to dribble on his clothes.)

So, of course, a minivan full of women and girls pulls up across from Hollis and starts emptying. At this point I was laughing so hard I could hardly get out of the car. But I pulled myself together and tried to redirect Hollis to the lone scraggly little tree in the parking lot in a median beside the car. Hollis tried it out, but he didn't like the mulch on his feet, so back on to the concrete we went.

Hollis then asked, "Mommy, can you help me aim?"

I was thinking, "Oy. Kid, you're killing me. Don't you realize that adults can get arrested for stuff like this?"

So, I crouched down beside my naked child in the middle of a public parking lot with God and everyone walking by to see the show, and helped him aim. He was getting a little gun shy so I asked, "Hollis, are you going to pee?"

Hollis replied, "It's coming, Mommy."

Five seconds later still nothing and I said, "Hollis, are you going to pee?"

Hollis replied, "It's coming, Mommy."

Thinking I have the only 3 year old in the U.S. with a prostate condition, five seconds later I said, "Hollis, are you - "

"It's coming, Mommy!"

"ok.

Sorry, sweetie."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I helped Hollis get redressed and got him in the car.

What was Lauren doing, you ask?

I think she was looking for a spare diaper in Holden's bag because I'm quite sure she peed herself while rolling around on the ground laughing.

At least I had the foresight to warn Lauren I was soooo going to be blogging this. Hollis is lucky I didn't have the foresight to take pictures.

Opening the Door, Just a Crack

I feel like I've been dishonest on my blog lately.

You see there's this 250 pound gorilla sitting in the room with us and I've just been ignoring it. I sit on the couch with my mug of tea, blithely chatting with you about my new camera, Brittany Spears, and the Iowa primaries. Then I get up and carefully step over those large gorilla limbs to get to the teapot.

Depression sucks.

There's no other way to say it. Well, hell, we all know there is, but I can't think of a more succinct way to say it.

I've been sinking into a green hole for awhile now. I've hinted about it. I've whined about it. I've even danced around my anniversary date with the great gorilla. But I've never really come out and said it. So let's get it out of the way.

I'm depressed. I'm on a new medication. I'm seeing a therapist. I've taken a leave of absence from work. My job that I love, that I'm really good at, that I can't seem to properly perform in my current state.

So now you know.

Now you know that I'm not perfect. I'm not superhuman. I can't do it all. I can't have it all. Frankly, right now I'm struggling to just hold on to the things that matter the most.

And it's really hard for me to let other people know about this very real, very raw struggle I'm having right now. Some of my co-workers read this blog. Some people I've known since high school read this blog (Hi, B! Hi, C!). My family reads it. But this is my space. My space. And even if it makes other uncomfortable, I'm going to write my truth.

Let's face it. I'm not really worried about others being uncomfortable. I'm more worried about what others will think of me. Because that's what I do. I talk a good game about not being a conformist, yadda, yadda, yadda, but my life is really about as conventional as it gets.

In one of my posts I once wrote,

I do not save lives. I will not cure cancer. I will never fly to the moon.

If I have an Achilles heel, a tender spot in my self worth that can be breached, this is it. The feeling that I am not living a life of meaning. The fear that I won't leave this world a better place. The fear that I chose the path of least resistance.

Gwen wrote a post several months ago that struck a similar cord in me. She wrote about how so many of us grew up thinking we were extraordinary. That we would do amazing things. We would change the world. And, of course, most of us haven't done that, have we? That pretty much sums up my completely unrealistic discontent.

I know that relating my depression to the realization that I'm not as damn special as I've always thought I was is too simplistic. But it is part of the picture.

In becoming a mother, I faced a seismic shift in my personal identity. It happens to all of us. We have no control over it. It just happens. One minute it was all about "me" and the next it was all about "baby." Now it's all about "toddler." Oh, and "toddler." Can't forget the second one.

While this change in identity and expectations is automatic, it doesn't make acceptance of the change any easier. And it's been hard for me to align my internal view of myself with external and instinctive actions.

Don't get me wrong. I do not regret having children. My family is the one thing I can see with perfect clarity. My family is the best of me. But something about this identity shift, something about becoming a mother has changed me.

Before I even contemplated children, my life was fine as it was. My accomplishments weren't ground breaking, but they were mine and I worked hard for the life and education I had. Now, for some reason, being great at my job and working hard and playing hard just isn't enough for me. I want meaning. I want worth. I want something more.

I just wish I knew what that something is.

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Don't feel too sorry for me. I wrote this post more than a week ago but have trying to decide whether to publish it or not. I have bad days, I have good days. At some point the good will outweigh the bad. I know it will.

I do know that tomorrow will be a good day. You see, the DC Metro Moms Blog is having a party and I'm heading up to DC to see some old friends , some friends I somehow missed meeting at BlogHer, and meet some new ones. And if KC hasn't popped yet, maybe she'll be there too!

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I have new photos of the boys up at Lawyer Mama Dabbles.

Caught in the Act

...of hiding.

...of nose picking.

...of being a grandpa.

...of watching a plane go by.

...of losing a shoe.

...of flying.

...of ... who knows, but he certainly looks guilty.

...of smiling.

By the way, I've gone red. What do you think?

Jealousy on Toast

Me (having a conversation with Grandma): "Blah, blah, blah, something about jealousy."

Hollis: "Mommy, we're not supposed to say that."

Me: "Say what, Hollis? Jealousy?"

Hollis: "Yeah. Jealousy's a bad word."

Me: "Says who, sweetie?"

Hollis: "Miss 'Rie." (His sitter, Marie.)

Me: "Is it that you're not supposed to say jealous, or you're not supposed to get jealous."

Hollis: "I'm not supposed to get jealous."

Me: "Oh."

For a moment I contemplated the maturity of my 3 year old, who could apparently somewhat comprehend the complicated emotion that is jealousy.

Hollis: "Jealousy goes on bread and peanut butter."

Oh well.

What's Up With All the Photos?

I know many of you are wondering why my posts have been lacking in substance lately. I've been neglecting all of the blogs I write for lately. There are some things going on with me that I haven't been brave enough to share here yet. Partly because I'm a 'fraidy cat and partly because I feel like I'm whining whenever I complain about anything in my life. When other people share their troubles, I'm awed by their honesty and ability to open up and share their feelings. When I do it, I'm whining. I'm my harshest critic.

So until I ball up, I give you yet another photo series. This is another one from our trip to Yorktown with Lauren from Not Exactly A Princess, who has also been neglecting her blog lately. (No pressure, Lauren.)

How to Exhaust Three Toddlers in Two Hours:

Before

The task? To exhaust these children into compliant little Stepford tots.

The secret? Running, running, and more running.

Lauren engages in man-to-man defense.

Lauren quickly switches to a zone defense. Why? Because Lawyer Mama was too busy taking photos to mind the children.

Off they go.

After.

Mission complete.

Heard from the Boys

Scene: Family sitting in Cracker Barrel restaurant, near the fireplace.

Hollis spies deer head with large antlers over the fireplace.

"Look, Mommy! It's a reindeer!" Begins singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer while his parents pray that he won't ask why Rudolph has been decapitated and placed on the wall.

The kid is obsessed with Rudolph. Oh, the therapy he will need.

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Scene: Family sitting around kitchen table eating dinner. Daddy passes around rolls he was supposed to let thaw and rise overnight, but actually just stuck in the oven frozen.

Holden tries to bite into his beloved carbohydrate unsuccessfully.

He tries again.

He knocks on the outside of the roll.

"Daddy, it's a rock!"

Mommy busts out laughing.
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And more cuteness:

Ripping Casey Off Again

Casey just did a post about where the Moosh got her blond, curly hair. Because it wasn't enough for me to copy Casey's series about infertility and pregnancy, I had to copy this too.

It drives me absolutely insane that everyone is always telling me how much the boys look like T. Yes, Hollis does look like a little mini-T. I'll acknowledge that. But Holden? With his brown eyes and blond, wavy (would be curly if his dad would friggin leave it alone) hair?

Well, why don't you be the judge:

Me and my mother

Holden

Have I mentioned that T has dark brown, stick straight hair?



And my hair now:

Me with Oh The Joys and Redneck Mommy at BlogHer '07.
Gotta love the bra showing. Classy, Steph. Classy.

Does that settle it?

The Age of Why?

Conversation overheard one night:

Hollis: Daddy, why is it dark?
T: Because the sun went down.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because the earth rotates on its axis and we're facing away from the sun right now.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because of the gravitational pull of the sun.

Hollis: Why?
T: Because ... um... it just is.

Hollis: But why?
T: The sun went to sleep.
Hollis: Oh.

Hollis: Daddy?
T: Yes, Hollis?
Hollis: Does the sun have his pacifiers?
T: I'm sure he does, buddy.

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This is Day 6 of Wil Wheaton watch. He's guest starring on NUMB3RS tonight, so I've set my TIVO for some prime time stalking.

Bad Influence

Last week Hollis's teacher gave us some homework. That's right. Homework. For the parents. (Apparently doing Hollis's homework for him late at night was just the beginning.)

We had to cut out 6 pictures of foods that Hollis likes, as well as 6 to 10 items that we also purchase regularly. They're learning food names in Spanish and this was for a project they're doing. Since Hollis can't really man grown up scissors yet, I can see why we needed to do this. But they clearly don't know who they're dealing with here.

T ended up cutting out the foods because I did the lion's share of the feather in the last homework assignment. T cut out some pancakes, broccoli (I think that was wishful thinking on his part), cheese, milk, you know, the usual toddler stuff. Then he just randomly cut out a bunch of other foods we eat. None were all that notable except for the picture of the wine.

Well, they did say it was supposed to be items we purchase regularly. We just interpreted "food" a little more loosely than most. Hey, it's made from grapes!

I'll let you know if the nice people at Hollis's church school decide to let this one slide.

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How on earth could I have forgotten to put in a Wil Wheaton plug? This is Day 3 of my campaign to get Wil to comment. Help a sister out, would you?

Filling a Pail

Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
- William Bulter Yeats

I'm a product of public schools. I've always insisted that my children would attend public schools. After all, we all have an obligation to make our schools better and that won't happen if involved parents and their children flee to the private schools. I was quite judgmental about the topic and looked down my nose at those who spent a small fortune on sending their kids to one of "those" schools.

Well, then I had children. READ MORE....

The DC Metro Moms and all our sister sites are discussing education today. Stop by to read my introductory post and all the discussions about education throughout the day.

From the Mouths of Babes

I was cleaning out old draft posts and I ran across this gem that I failed to publish for some reason. So I updated it and here you go!

It's amazing what kids pick up. Hollis and Holden are rapidly gaining the skills necessary to maneuver in our world.

Conversational skills

My 2 1/2 (2 1/2 when I wrote this, now 3) year old has recently become a parrot. While I'm thankful he hasn't picked up any of the big 3 - shit, fuck, or damn - he's still got quite a colorful vocabulary. Recently heard from Hollis:

"For Christ's sake!" (OK, I admit it. This one is totally my fault.)

"For the love of God, man! Get a grip!" (OK. Also my fault.)

"Doofus!" (Yep, me again.)

"Mommy/Daddy, you're stinky." (We must make an effort to shower more on weekends.)

My kids are also working on their future parenting skills. Here are a few tools in the parenting box that they've mastered already:

Guilt

LM: "Sweetie, where did you get that bruise on your leg?"
Hollis: "You dropped me in the street, Mommy." (Insert accusing tone here.)

LM (on computer) (again)
Holden: "Computer off, Mommy!"
LM (in surprise): "OK, sweetie."
Holden: "Now!"

Upon LM leaving the room to pee, Holden: "Come back, Mommy! Come back!"

Manipulation

Hollis to T: "Can I have this candy?"
T: "After dinner."
Hollis to LM in another room: "Open this, please?"
LM: "Where did you get that?"
Hollis: "The kitchen. Daddy said I could have it."
LM (cursing T under breath) opens candy for Hollis.
Hollis runs back to kitchen to eat candy.
T to Hollis: "Didn't I tell you to wait until after dinner?"
Hollis: "Mommy opened it for me."
Later, T to LM: "Did you give him that candy?"
LM: "I opened it for him. He said you said he could have it."
T: "I did. After dinner."

We both pondered our conversations with Hollis and realized that he had not technically lied to either of us. Score: Hollis 1, T & LM 0.

Discipline

LM to Hollis: "Do you want a time out?"
Hollis: "You're not the boss of me!"
LM: "Actually, yes, I am."
Hollis: "Well, I don't like it!"

Hollis: "Can I have that toy, Mommy?"
LM: "Not right now, sweetie."
Hollis (whining): "But I need it!"
LM ignores Hollis
Hollis: "You're bad, Mommy!"

At least I haven't heard those dreaded three words yet: "I hate you."

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I also have to thank Mary G. from Them's My Sentiments for the ROFL award she gave me for this post. Mary is a (somewhat) new blogger, but you'd never know it. She was born for this community and is one the most talented writers and supportive bloggers I've ever run across. Thanks again, Mary!

Crabby

I grew up with family seafood boils. I have so many wonderful memories of our extended family gathered around a huge table covered in thick layers of newspaper and piled with steaming crab, crawfish, shrimp, potatoes, and corn. We sat around the table and eat and talk and drink for hours. (Well, they really didn't let me do much drinking when I was 6, but I get to now!)

During those gatherings, I learned my family's stories. I heard about the time Uncle Scott had a burn on him bottom, couldn't wear diapers, and his older brothers charged the neighborhood kids $.05 to come in and look at his naked, burned butt. (And, of course, I learned the story of the burn itself. Your instincts are correct if you guessed that his older siblings had something to do with it.) And then there was the time two of my mom's brothers burned down a garage. And the marijuana plot in the backyard. (I could go on and on, but my mom might never forgive me!) These loud, raucous gatherings are some of the best memories of my childhood and so, of course, I'd like to pass the tradition onto my children.

My parents taught me how to pick crabs when I was tiny. My mother grew up in a household of 9 where it was every man for himself when the food hit the dinner table. Consequently, the rule in our family has always been that once you're old enough, you pick your own crabs and you peel your own shrimp and crawfish. Or you starve.

Last weekend, we got a bushel of live crabs from a friend's connection in Pungo and invited some friends over for a crab and shrimp boil. The kids ran around like wild animals and stayed up way too late. The adults drank wine and beer and ate way too much food. We gorged ourselves on spicy boiled crabs, shrimp and potatoes and crusty French bread. By the end of the evening, my nose was slightly runny from the spices,* my fingers were a little pruned and chewed up from prying sharp crab parts apart, my hands smelled of seafood and newspapers, and my tummy was pleasantly full.

*No Old Bay seasoning will ever enter my house. We use a combination of Zatarain's crab boil and my own special spice combination. Lots of red pepper is involved.

My family may be far away, but I thought of those wonderful family gatherings often throughout the night. T and I shared our family stories with friends. It wasn't the same as my childhood memories, but it was fun. There's nothing better than good food and good conversation. Hopefully, my children will learn who they are and where they came from in the same way I did, even if we have to create our own extended quasi-family.

One thing if for sure though. Hollis and Holden better learn to pick crabs quickly if they want to keep eating them.

Am I *That* Mother?

After the kids came down off of their sugar highs last night and T and I packed them away to bed at a very late hour, we had an "oh, shit" moment.

You see, a few days ago my three year old had come home with a note from pre-school and a cardboard feather. His first homework. We were to let him decorate the feather in any way he'd like, with art materials, pens, markers or whatever and then send it back to school with him on November 1st.

T and I at 10:30 pm last night: "November 1st? Holy shit! That's tomorrow!"

In our defense, we aren't complete slackers. Hollis came home with the feather on Tuesday. I was out of town Tuesday (so it didn't happen), leaving one night - Halloween. Of course we forgot, so it's not like I can say we chose Halloween over a cardboard feather but still, it's not like we had a lot of notice.

I was all for sending a note back to his teacher explaining that I had been out of town. I'm not opposed to pretending my husband is an idiot who can't be trusted to supervise the coloring and gluing of a feather when it serves my purpose. T wasn't opposed either. (He plays stupid when it suits him too.) But then we read in the note that the children were to share their feathers during circle time and explain how they decorated them. My husband looked at me with these big, sad puppy dog eyes and said that we couldn't let Hollis be the only one without a feather.

Sigh.

Damn it. T was right.

So at 10:30 at night, I dragged my butt upstairs and retrieved some materials from the area of my bedroom affectionately known as Crafting Mecca. Here lie all the fun markers, papers, stickers, scissors, glitter, and ribbons that mean Mommy won't let H&H touch because some day she may get off her butt and actually finish those scrapbooks.

And yes, T and I decorated Hollis's goddamn cardboard feather.

The next morning, T loaded the kids up to take them to daycare, gave Hollis the cardboard feather (now artfully decorated with Hollis's name, some ribbon, any many buttons) and two of my glitter pens and let him go to town. We figured this way we could say that Hollis had actually decorated the feather. Of course, Hollis took one look at it and asked "Did Mommy do this?" T, apparently thinking that three years old = idiot said, "You did it, Hollis." Hollis replied with a knowing, "No, Mommy did this!"

Hollis then merrily scribbled away on his feather and even rearranged some of the buttons. But we know he totally narced on us during circle time. I can almost hear him telling his teacher and all his classmates about how Mommy and Daddy decorated his feather in buttons and ribbon.

I'm not sure what's worse: actually doing my three year old's homework for him or getting caught in the process.

Ouch.

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Pundit Mom, my favorite psychic cheerleader, nominated this post for a Perfect Post award. It meant a lot to me because that post, more than any of my more recent posts, explains a lot about me. I'm never more vulnerable than when I open up all my squishy parts for all of you to see. Joanne, I love you to death, babe. When you come visit, I promise to protect you from my ghost.

Knife to the Heart

Thank you all for your kind words after my mini-meltdown earlier this week. I tend to get all maudlin and question everything about my life when my finely tuned schedule is thrown into chaos. Hollis had a sinus infection, a serious case of the whines, and two days home with Mommy. And Mommy lost it a little bit.

Anywho, thank you for being so understanding. I'm trying to cut back on my blog reading so that I can still write and get my corporeal and psychic houses in order. T and I cleaned out our bedroom closets first. I'm already feeling more grounded. And a bit appalled at the sheer volume of clothing in our house. Goodwill will be getting a windfall this weekend. (Do you think they'll take all of my mental baggage too?)

Despite all the Mommy time this week, Hollis is still singing the, "Why Can't I Have All of Mommy's Time, All The Time?" blues. Whenever I pay the slightest bit of attention to Little H, who at 21 months requires quite a bit of attention, he immediately launches into pay attention to ME mode. This evening, bath time ended with Hollis writhing at the top of the stairs screaming, "DON'T YOU LOVE ME, MOMMEEEEEEEE?" while I carried his little brother down the stairs instead of him. Ah, the injustice of life.

Where on earth do they learn these guilt inducing techniques? I can guarantee that the phrase, "Don't you love me?" is one that has never before been uttered in our household. Is there a subversive class in preschool called "Stab Your Mother in the Heart 101?" It must be taught along "Passive Resistance 201," "Advanced Clothing Avoidance 302," and "The Art of Ignoring Seminar." Maybe we should rethink this private school thing and send him off to military school.*

*Completely kidding here, folks. Well, mostly kidding. On a good day.