Someday I'm going to miss this, right?

Lately being a good and tolerant parent has been very trying.  My oldest daughter is exasperating and exhausting.  She works hard at ruining every situation she is a part of.  Yesterday I took the three girls to the Second Sunday Market on Main St, as soon as we stepped out of the car Lorelei announced she was bored.  We stayed long enough for me to get some bread, let the little girls look at the water and listen to a multitude of complaints.

We piled back in the car and I took everyone to Meadowbrook Park where I had to force Lorelei to get out of the car.  She then spent the entire 45 minutes we were there closely following me and repeating, "Can we go home now? Can we go home now? Can we go home now? Can we go home now?"  I ignored her, gave no response.  I just continued to follow the little girls around making sure they weren't trying too many daredevil stunts (I did wonder what other parents were thinking of us, though).  Then she changed tactics and started bullying Violet, doing things to put her in danger on the monkey bars.  I was forced to acknowledge her behavior and sent her to sit on a bench.  Shortly after that we decided to go home for lunch - I was completely mentally and physically exhausted by the whole outing.

All that came on the heels of a giant meltdown that happened Friday night, nearly resulting in cancelling her plans for Saturday.  I gave her the opportunity to earn back the outing with her friend on Saturday and she did, but barely.  We were being very generous - it's so hard when another family is involved in the punishment, you don't want to also punish them by cancelling.  I was talking to her friend's mom (who was seeing similar behavior from her kid) and we both agreed that we really hoped it was some sort of early hormonal thing rearing its head and not the fact that we have rotten kids.  (We know we don't because each of us can report that the other's kid always behaves marvelously when they are away from their parents.)

There are a few nuggets from my childhood that surface every once in a while when I'm in the midst of some crazy parenting nightmare that make me think I'm being punished for all the terrible things I did to my parents.  I remember my father telling me when I was a kid, probably just a little older than Lorelei is now, "Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you have to put every one else in a bad mood."  That is exactly how I feel.  I'm struggling with how to not let her tantrums affect my good mood. 

And then there's the bathing problem.  She refuses to bathe.  I'm going to have to start buying her deodorant so she doesn't start offending passing strangers.  Sigh. 

No justice no peace

Violet started preschool this week and I discovered what I've been missing all summer  - some kid-free moments during daylight hours when I still have enough energy to function.   Monday was a shortened day and involved me staying there the whole time for orientation, but Wednesday she started in earnest.  Granted the "full" day is only 2.5 hours, but Zoey naps and I have the WHOLE time to myself.

I feel like a new person, I feel like I am probably not going to drown.  I feel like my house might be semi-clean again someday soon.  And I might be able to blog a bit more often. 

If you are my Facebook friend you may have seen my post about Violet's library book, "How to Get Married by Me, the Bride."  The first few lines in the book go like this:

When you want to get married, first you have to find someone you can marry.  You can marry your best friend or your teacher or your pet or your daddy.

Children's books are so weird sometimes - another book she picked out on the same trip was "The Wicked Big Toddlah."  It's about a giant baby born in Maine.  But I digress - back to the marriage stuff.  Violet is obsessed with getting married and being a mommy.

Earlier this week, she asked me when she was going to get married.  I told her it would probably be best if she went to elementary school first - and then middle school, high school and college - but after that she could get married.  She shouted "Hooray!" then asked why she had to go to so much school.  I explained that there was a lot of stuff to learn and when she went to college she could learn about the kind of job she wanted to do - whether that was being a doctor or working at the aquarium or whatever.

She added, "Or being a Mommy?"  Hmmm, sure, honey.  "I'm going to go to college to have a baby!"  Oh, great.  When I told Greg about this conversation he said, "Well, I guess we're off the hook for 3 years of college tuition."

This morning she asked me if her kids will like pasta (something she has arbitrarily decided she now intensely likes, even though it used to be her favorite).  I told her that if there is any justice in the world, then no, they would not like pasta.  Greg said that means they definitely would like pasta.  Her response, "Mama, is there no justice?"

A punch to the cups

While checking out at Target recently Violet was chatting with the grandmotherly clerk, going on and on about how her friend, Daniel, was five and he was going to start kindergarten, but she was going to go to four-year-old preschool - all very compelling stuff.  Then she switched to, "And my sister hits me."

The clerk glanced over at Lorelei, the bigger kid, and said, "Well, someday you'll be big and you'll be able to get her back."  I chuckled, pointed to little Zoey and said, "Oh no, she's talking about this one." The poor lady looked a little appalled and really had nothing to say about that.

Our Zoey's got a mean streak.  There doesn't even need to be any specific provocation.  You'd understand, if not condone it, if the littlest was fighting sibling injustice with her fists but she's more of a random acts of violence kind of girl.  The other day she threw her sippy cup on the dining room like she was spiking a football.  I told her "we don't throw our cups on the floor, please go pick it up."  With balled fists she said, "No!" then marched over and kicked the cup.

"Zoey, pick up the cup."

She shouted, "No!" and followed up with a punch to the cup.

"Zoey Alexandra, pick up the cup right now."

"No! I hit you!" And she did.

I'd like to say I handled it firmly, but gently and set Zoey on a course toward a peaceful, non-violent protest kind of future, but instead I giggled. She's probably gonna start punching more than cups.

It's only just begun.

Summer ended with a bang - missing the first day of school thanks to Irene.  I know, technically summer isn't over, but school has finally begun - so I'm calling it the end.  And now the craziness begins. 

I swear I am not one of those parents who over-commits her kids.  I wasn't thinking clearly when I signed Lorelei up for soccer.  I loved playing soccer when I was a kid, LOVED it, I was super excited when she finally started showing interest in it and asked to play.  I did a little research, asked around and then signed her up for SAC's Rec U10 team.  My only reservation was that I had no idea when her practices or games would be before registering - she also takes ballet and jazz/tap.  Of course I now know that five of the ten soccer games begin at the exact minute that her ballet class ends on Saturday mornings - the only other day that ballet class is offered is on the day she has soccer practice.  ARGH.

And to complicate things a bit more, Nutcracker rehearsals for the production her dance school puts on every November start at the beginning of October...also on Saturday afternoons.  In the past her rehearsals have always been on Friday evenings, I didn't even think to factor that in.  Two of the eight soccer games coincide with those rehearsals - if you miss too many rehearsals, you don't get to be in the show.  I know what you're thinking - "Just don't do the Nutcracker this year."  I would love that.  This will be her seventh Nutcracker.  I used to really enjoy the Nutcracker, up until about five years ago.  Now I hate it.  But Lorelei loves it, I can imagine the meltdown that might happen during that conversation would get ugly.  Double and triple ARGH.

I have no idea what we are going to do.  I guess discover a system of teleportation or depend on magic. That's a solid plan, right?

I had hoped to sign the little girls up for gymnastics, but I think I'll put that off for at least a couple of weeks to make sure I can maintain my sanity.  Thankfully they can take those classes during the day and simultaneously, so we would only have to be in one place at one time. 

If wishes were horses, moms would step in the manure

No matter what, if you actually get something you covet for yourself, you always pay for it, most of the time a lot more than it's worth.

The other day I was feeling all hopped up on Mommy life, things were going well, a fun morning was had by all, then I posted this on Facebook:

Kid #1 at a friend's house, kid #3 down for a nap. Anxiously awaiting kid #2's accidental nap on the couch so I can catch up on the DVR'd stuff inappropriate for children.

Then it all went to hell.

Turns out kid #3 wasn't actually asleep.  She was playing in her bed and when she got tired of that she started yelling for me.  I ignored it, so she decided to just come on downstairs.  After putting her back in the bed she started crying and crying.  I've mentioned before that Violet (kid #2) has many-a-time cried so hard she puked; well, little sister is picking up the slack since she has stopped doing that.  I ran in, but too late, she threw up in her bed.  I lifted her out and sat her on the changing table where she continued to cry and puke.  I took off her clothes, rolled it all up in the filthy changing pad cover and sat her in the bathtub where she cried that she didn't want to take a bath.  Too bad - when there's puke in your hair, you take a bath.

Once she was clean and getting dressed she gave me this exhausted look and said, "Can I take a nap, now?"  like it was my fault that a nap hadn't happened yet.

Meanwhile, Violet had fallen asleep on the couch.  I don't know why I'm always excited when it happens - it's a short term joy.  I got an hour or so to myself but at 10pm when both of the little girls were still fighting bedtime, I wanted to kick myself for letting her fall asleep.

And then there's the big kid who came home from her friends' house tired and in a mood.  She wanted to go for a bike ride with me after dinner but my bike is out of commission awaiting repairs.  She got mad and yelled that she never gets any attention - we only pay attention to the little girls (she's partially right that they get more attention, but hey, she's the only one who can actually wipe her own ass after a poop).  She went on to yell at me about how I pawned her off on somebody else so that I could take the little girls to Build-a-Bear and it just wasn't fair. 

I nearly lost my frigging mind at that point.  That morning I gave her the option of going to her friend's house when they called, but told her what was already planned for the day.  SHE chose to abandon us, not the other way around.  More crying and drama followed so I did the only thing I could think of that didn't involve jail time for me - I put her to bed at 7:30pm. 

I dream that some day I will be able to make it through a whole day without longing to dissolve in tears in the closet.  Ah, crap, I never should've said that out loud, now something terrible is going to happen.

Picking up the poop

It's that magical time of summer when this stay-at-home mom starts to loose her frigging mind.  Too much together time plus not enough alone time equals lots of crazy.

Today Violet declared that it was "Pets Day".  I took it with a grain of salt - some days are "Pink Shirt Day" or "Blue Socks Day" - so I just assumed that we were going to be carrying around a set of stuffed animals that were her pets.  No, that was not it at all.  She totally expected that we would be picking out a puppy today. 

Our last cat died a while ago and the kids have been begging for a dog.  I am so not interested in having three kids (one still in diapers) and a dog in our townhouse.  I don't want to take care of another living thing right now - especially not a dog.  I would be all in for a new cat - they are so much easier than dogs, but my husband is allergic to cats and is enjoying living without one for the first time since we moved in together in 1997.

I had to explain to Violet that, despite it being "Pets Day," we would not be getting a puppy today.  Grand theatrical crying ensued.  "But whhhhhhyyyyyyyy?"  I was really trying to be gentle with her, I gave her all that crap that parents tell their kids about the great responsibility that comes with being a pet owner.  Dogs are a lot of work and that Mommy was already pretty busy taking care of three little girls.  You have to feed dogs, walk them and pick up their poop.  On and on. 

She was very thoughtful about it.  She said, "Well, I could feed it and walk it.  And Lorelei - you could pick up the poop!"  Problem solved. 

Still, we did not get a dog.  Luckily though, I have been informed that tomorrow is also Pets Day.

I have a new mission for Ponce de Leon

My oldest just spent a week at "Aunt Heather Camp" - she visited my sister and her family in North Carolina.  This is the third summer of "camp" - I meet my sis halfway and hand Lorelei off; then we usually plan a visit for the whole family the following week.  My sister always raves about how wonderful Lorelei is - so polite and helpful and gets along so well with her cousins.  This time while we were there, she even used Lorelei as an example to my six-year-old nephew, "See, Lorelei always takes her plate to the kitchen without being asked." 

Who is this child and why can't she live with me?

In the car yesterday, about 30 minutes into the 7.5 hour drive home, Lorelei says, "How long have we been driving?  When are we going to get there?"  The child knows how to tell time, she's been on this route at least four times a year for the past 7 years - she knows the deal, so it was just all about pushing buttons.  Next she was bored, then hungry, then had a stomach ache, then a headache.  All offers of books, games, movies, snacks or suggestions on how to feel better were met with sighs, eye rolls and yelling, "That won't work!"

Today she had some friends over (I was technically babysitting, but they are close friends that she loves to play with).  She was a complete pill.  After lunch I gathered everyone up to go to the park.  I thought I'd run them around, make 'em sweat then take them to Rita's for a treat.  As soon as we got there Lorelei started in with, "it's hot, this place is boring, can I sit in the car?, can we go home?"  She climbed on a fence directly beside the large sign that said "No climbing on fence."  She picked fights with me, her friends, her sisters and basically badgered me until I gave up and left the park.  We did not go to Rita's (she even did a little sarcastic fist pump along with a "Yes!" when I told her no Rita's).

Then, this afternoon when I was trying to get Violet to wake up from her unauthorized 5pm nap, Lorelei was super helpful and sweet.

What gives?  I guess it's because she got her way, I gave in and left the park before I was ready.  She pushes me and pushes me (she does it to her dad, too) until I can no longer remain calm.  She just does not know how to back down.  She has to have some sort of giant blow up to act as the reset button. 

I hate that.  I don't want to lose my cool, I don't want to yell, I don't want to punish.  By the end of the park visit she was grounded from computer and TV through Sunday.  And it didn't work.  I kept very calmly adding days and she just kept pushing until I lost it. 

Forget finding the Fountain of Youth, can someone please tell me where the Well of Patience is hidden?

Husband v. Boyfriend

The other day my husband told me he'd had an interesting conversation with Violet (age 4).  She was asking him about husbands/wives versus boyfriends/girlfriends and wanted to verify that a boyfriend is a different person than a husband.  He was confused so she explained that Mommy had a boyfriend that wasn't Daddy.  At this point he came looking for me.

After some laughing, we worked out that she was talking about the flower delivery guy.  For our anniversary (back in May) Greg had flowers delivered to the house.  It was a Saturday, so we were all at home.  I jokingly said, "Oh - they must be from my boyfriend!"  Poor Violet must have been trying to work this out for a while now.

Clearly, if I ever do get a boyfriend I'm going to have to be more careful.

Please visit me in jail

Someday I'm going to be arrested by the Department of Children and Families or whatever they have here in Maryland because my kids died of either starvation or malnutrition.  But I swear, it isn't my fault. 

Lorelei eats less than most kids we know, but still eats okay compared to the little girls.  It seems like they are living on juice, milk, water and air these days.  And the treats that the ladies at the retirement home across the street give them.  I swear I provide them with well-balanced, colorful meals but most of that ends up on the floor and/or the trash.  When I asked Violet if she wanted some grapes a few minutes ago, she very politely said, "No thank you, I just had a whole cone of ice cream last night" (which she got from one of the ladies).

Aren't they hungry?  I know kids go through cycles in their eating habits - but I don't know how they are achieving an energy level sufficient to keep them upright.  And they don't sit around all day doing nothing - usually they are running around like banshees.  Zoey (the two-year-old who is only 32.5 inches tall) can now climb the rock wall tower that leads up to the top of the play structure at Centennial Park - completely unassisted.  That thing is like 10 feet tall!  She is also proficient at every single jump structure at the Jump Zone - the mazes, the faux rock wall climbs to reach the tops of the slides - everything!  How is she doing this on a quarter piece of toast and a bite of an apple slice? 

Hopefully the next phase of eating everything in sight will come around soon so I can have something new to worry about.

Red Robin, again?!

We're down a kid this week - the oldest has gone on vacation with family friends.  Sounds like a vacation for us, too, right?  Only two kids to manage - hey that's easy.  Sure, you just keep believin' that, Wendi.

Since we're having some air conditioning issues I decided not to cook tonight and heat up the house even more.  I really wanted to go to Victoria Gastro Pub, but alas, the clamor for Red Robin won out.  We met Greg there and the girls were so excited to see him - they both crowded into his side of the booth.  Zoey proceeded to eat her mac and cheese all over me (between us we used about 10 napkins), constantly switched seats, took one bite of every fry in Greg's basket, bumped my arm so my water spilled down my shirt - fun stuff like that.  I did get her to eat a vegetable (sort of) - she stuffed a Ranch-drenched carrot that fell on the floor into her mouth before I could stop her.  But no worries, she sucked off all the Ranch, chewed it up a bit then spit it back into my hand.  I'm sure all the germs came off into my hand.

They were both so worked up and crazy by the end that Greg just took them out to his car while I stayed behind to pay the bill.  As I walked to my car I noticed Greg was still in the parking lot - he was sending me a text:  "Violet lost balloon bring new one stat".  She was crying inconsolably, going on about it being the worst thing that had ever happened EVER.  Once the new balloon was procured Greg said, "Okay, thanks - see you at home." 

"Sure you will, honey."  If only I had somewhere else to go. 

Damn you, Broccoli!

Without knowing it, I threw down the gauntlet with Zoey.  Some nights trying to get the kids to eat dinner is torture - for all of us.  Tonight we told Violet she couldn't go outside and roller blade until she'd eaten at least one bite of everything on her plate.  She didn't like it, but she finally did it.  With Zoey, I nonchalantly said, "You can go outside, too, if you eat one piece of broccoli."

That was it - my act of war.  We've been at this for an hour.  Everyone else has eaten their dinner and the dishes are all done except for one little Minnie Mouse fork with a bit of broccoli on it.  She just will not budge.  I hate it, but I guess I can't budge either.  She's sitting on my lap right now crying and twirling my hair around her little fist (that's her comfort thing), but I guess we're not going to go outside and join Greg and Violet as they play.

The Luck of the Cute

I love my children, I really do, but lately it seems like more drinks are required to tolerate them.  Violet is in this fun new stage where she cries the tears of a broken soul at every little thing.  We're going to visit the grandparents over 4th of July - she's sad because she's going to miss Ellicott City and the big corn (in case you're out of the loop and let's face it, you are, it's a giant picture of corn on the cob hanging from the ceiling at Target).  She can't take no for an answer without breaking down.  It's our fault for giving in to her for so often - but, cripes - until recently she'd throw up every time she cried.  Cleaning up vomit all the time isn't as fun as you think.

Zoey is in the delightfully cute stage (that will probably last well into adolescence) of copying every crazy thing her sisters do, including all the crying.  Every time she bumps anything she cries and needs a kiss.  Luckily, I can be across the room and say, "Oh, you need a kiss?  Mmwwa!"  Crying stops, "Tanks Mom! I feel betters!"  Clearly I have magical kisses and need to figure out a marketing plan - hmmm, is that legal?

Lorelei turns on a dime, one minute everything's great, next minute she's bored and starts torturing Violet, then a couple of hours later she's kindly playing Memory with her. 

Anyway, it's lucky they are cute, that's all I'm saying. 

The journey of a thousand miles

Oh ma gah.  Life is driving me crazy.  I feel like all I do is wait at the door so we can leave the house but while I wait I'm also forced to tell people over and over - "Put on your shoes.  You too.  Wait, no, you had your shoes on, what happened?  Put on your shoes."  With one kid it was manageable, with two a bit more difficult, with three, forget about being anywhere on time and sane.  Even when we're leaving to go somewhere fun they can still suck the life force from me so that by the time we make it to pulling out of the parking lot I'm really not in the mood to bother with having fun. 

Violet is the worst.  She has to very carefully choose her outfit for the day, one piece at a time, with some sort of dance maneuvers happening in between (this is for another blog post, but she has some serious Elaine Benes action going on).  Plus there is the eternal Violet monologue we have to listen to - she constantly chatters at us, although, it is interspersed with nonsensical singing.  You might recognize some of the lyrics from various Spongebob episodes or Disney Princess songs, or Glee cover of a Cee Lo Green song - but there will be absolutely no recognizable tune.  Once the clothes are picked out, then you have to go through the agony of actually getting them on her body.  At least she willingly brushes her teeth (once she finally makes it to the bathroom), with Zoey it's practically like waterboarding - actually that might be an easier way to get her teeth clean.

When it's time for shoes, you have to wait for her to find the perfect pair and thanks to a wonderful friend who sends us beautiful hand-me-downs, we have about a dozen choices.  They have to be put on the wrong feet, every single time.  I know she knows what shoe goes on which foot, but this is part of her whole schtick.  I tell her to switch them, then she comes back after taking both shoes off and then putting them both back on the wrong feet again and sweetly says, "Is this the right foot?" 

With the shoes finally on, we open the front door.  Wait, wait, wait.  A toy has to come with us.  It's a different toy every time and it's always always a toy that requires a search party.  Every once in a while I get frustrated enough to say, "No toy!  Let's go!"  But the crying and tantrums that ensue are usually not worth it.  So, find the toy, head to the car where she has to do the seat belt herself except I have to tighten it because she's still in a 5-point harness thing and can't reach the belt to pull it tight, so I have to stand there tapping my toes trying not to lose my mind.  (And don't forget, while all this is happening with just Violet, I'm also fielding all the crap that the other two are throwing at me.)

Finally, I'm in the driver's seat where I realize I've forgotten to bring the crucial whatever that the whole trip out of the house was about, so I have to run back inside and find it. 

Ah, now we're on the road.  It's 10:30am, we've been up since 6:00am - only four and a half hours between boarding the space shuttle to crazy and lift-off, not too bad.

The sport of parenting

I have a very funny husband.  It's one of the things that keeps me sane.  I was telling him about the frustrating morning I'd had with the little girls - meltdown over the absurd, the kick in the face while changing a diaper, accidental cursing out loud, etc.  His response, "I know, I've been there. Parenting is a contact sport filled with trash talk and psychological games." 

Oh, so very true.  I have the headache and fat lip to show for it.

Violet's latest thing is telling us we're wrong about stuff (i.e., psychological games).  Violet, the Earth revolves around the sun.  No, Mommy, you're wrong, the sun is just a figment of your imagination, the Earth spins only for me.  It drives me crazy.  She asks me questions, I give her answers and she tells me I'm completely wrong.  I know it's a part of her growth and development, I know it's normal.  But does she have to be so smug?  Sometimes when she's telling me some elaborate crazy thing I'll just give her the nod and smile.  So what if she grows up thinking Greg is my boyfriend or that 3-year-old preschool is on Sundays and Wednesdays.   It's not going to scar her too much, right? 

With Lorelei I would explain things and she would have this little light bulb of knowledge above her head (sure she went through a bit of the know-it-all phase, but not as much as Violet).  With Violet I explain things and she takes whatever I've said, changes the first letter of every third word and makes it her own crafty bit of nonsense.  Lorelei was like a little sponge soaking up facts and information.  Violet is like those bracelets Wonder Woman wears - deflecting stuff left and right. 

Every kid is different and that is wonderful, but damn, it is a pain constantly revamping all those parenting skills you learned with the first kid.  Just when you think you know something a four-year-old comes along to prove you wrong.

Forecast calls for a good day?

Yesterday started off so well.  Everyone slept through the night, Greg and I woke up on our own schedule before the little girls.  I made pancakes and bacon for breakfast on a weekday.  We had a play date planned with a neighbor.  All good stuff.

Then the whole cashew thing happened.  Plans changed, craziness ensued.  By the afternoon things calmed down and were back to normal.  Napping, playing, going to the bus stop, yadda yadda.  Then I smelled that smell that tells me a diaper needs to be changed.  I look over to see Zoey digging her hands down the back of her shorts and a little rain of debris was on the floor.  Took a closer look and yep, those cashews had struck again - this time partially digested.  ARGH. 

Straight to the bath tub, hosing her off with the shower nozzle when Violet comes running in, "Mommy! I gotta pooooop!"  Of course, why wouldn't she need to poop?  And it only makes sense that she would have to use the bathroom I'm in, even though there are 3 other toilets available to her.  After all that was done, I still had to go clean up the mess on the floor.

If we follow yesterday's logic, today should be awesome, though.  Zoey woke up at 4:30am with an over-soaked diaper.  I changed her and tried to keep her quiet so Violet wouldn't wake up then brought her to our bed only to have her squirm, pull my hair and scratch me with her nearly Guiness Book record long toe nails for an hour.  Greg gave in and got up with her around 5:30.  A few minutes later I hear a ruckus of crying and running around downstairs - she was throwing up.  It was all liquid, so probably she just got choked up drinking her apple juice, but she did feel a little warm and complained that her head hurt.  Gave her Tylenol and in her cute little way she pipes up immediately after swallowing, "I feel betters!" 

I'm not going to hold my breath, but maybe I'll feel betters today, too.

Another story about my nuts...

A dear friend has a hilarious story about when her little sister was a toddler.  She stuck a McDonald's French fry up her nose and ended up in the emergency room.  That story is no longer funny at all. 

Zoey was eating some cashews this morning - you can connect the dots.  So, I tried one of those nasal aspirator things - she screamed and kicked and made it virtually impossible for me to get near her nose.  I thought I might've gotten one or two little snorts out of it, so I calmed her down and she let me take another look with the flashlight.  At this point I couldn't see anything, her little nose was too puffy.  I called the pediatrician's office and they said, "Oh, you'll have to see an ENT - here's some phone numbers."

I called the first one.  A very nice lady answered the phone, but very nice doesn't mean very helpful.  The doctor was in surgery and when I asked what I should do, if I needed an appointment right away, all she could tell me was, "I'm sorry - the doctor handles stuff like this, I don't know."  So, I called the next one and thankfully got an appointment for a short time later.  Meanwhile, Zoey calmed down, had some juice, watched some cartoons and seemed totally fine.

My personal experience with doctors is that there is never anything wrong enough with me that they can actually do something for me besides the basic - rest, liquids, blah blah blah.  But you know, something is stuck up the kid's nose, so it can't be a waste of my time or money to take her to a specialist, right?  Wrong.

We had checked in at the front desk, paid the co-pay and were in the intake room with the nurse answering the myriad medical history questions when Zoey sneezed.  And there, on the nice tiled floor lay a small hunk of cashew.  You have got to be kidding me.  The nurse looked pretty stunned and said, "Well, do you want to go on with this, or just leave?"  Damn right I'm having her examined - I already paid for it!

The offending little nut.

We shuffled into the exam room where the doctor had me wrap my arms and legs around a flailing and screaming Zoey while the nurse held her head in place so he could stick a speculum up her nose and check things out.  And of course it was all clear.  Goodbye 2 hours of my life, goodbye $40.

Bedtime stories

There's a lovely new book that's not quite on the market yet called "Go the F**k to Sleep".  Have you seen it?  I got a copy of the PDF from a friend.  When I first looked at it, I didn't realize that it's going to be an actual book.  I thought it was a really (really) elaborate joke email.  I have to admit that even though it made me laugh, I cried a little, too.  Someone else gets it, someone else knows, oh sweet mother of little lambs, someone else curses the night, too.

At least a couple of nights a week things go a little something like this...fight about bathing, run around naked (not me - the kids, I'm not a perv), put on pajamas, read books, fight over who turns out the light, sing Baa Baa Black Sheep, sing Twinkle Twinkle, sing Baa Baa again.  Go downstairs, argue with the big kid about brushing teeth, send her to bed.  Ignore littlest girl calls from upstairs.  Send big kid back to bed complaining about having nothing to read (despite new library books on the shelf).  Forced to respond to middle girl calls, take her to the bathroom.  Sing Baa Baa again and again and again (why does she like this song so much?).  Argue with big kid more about the irrelevance of having nothing to read since it's past time to turn out the light.  Pleas from middle kid for more milk.  Listen to big kid's loud sobs from her room about the unfairness of life.  Take turns with husband calming her down enough for sleep to take over.

And a mere two hours after "bedtime" all the children are asleep.  Of course, at least one of them will wake up during the night (usually the littlest one - whereupon I will sleep walk to her bed and bring her back to mine) and then the awakening will begin no later than 6:00am (lately it's been trending more toward 5:30am).

Why-o-why can't they go the f to sleep AND stay that way till a decent hour?!

What's going on in that cart?

I enjoy entertaining strangers with my children and I'm betting I was a bundle of laughs for everyone in Superfresh on Wednesday afternoon.  I stopped in for two things I'd forgotten during my shopping trip earlier in the week.  Two things.  Superfresh is seconds from my house so I didn't bring the diaper bag, I didn't bring an army of snacks, I didn't bring any sippy cups.  Shame on me for thinking I could get away with that.

The entire ten minutes we were in the store, my sweet little two-year-old screamed for a snack at the top of her lungs.  Of course, what she was screaming could have easily been misconstrued...

"MY NUTS! MY NUTS!  MY NUTS! MY NUTS!  MY NUTS!"

What a day.

Weeks ago I scheduled appointments for Violet and Zoey to have their 4- and 2-year-old check-ups.  They gave me a date and time, I looked at the calendar - no conflicts - another thing checked off the To Do list, don't have to think about it any more.

I might've mentioned before that I'm not really a superstitious person, but maybe I should've thought through scheduling simultaneous check-ups for little girls who will be getting shots on Friday the 13th.

During my first pregnancy I worried about all the icky things that come with parenting - I'm not good with bad smells or blood or guts - but surprisingly, I've always been okay with doctor visits and seeing my little ones cry when they get shots.  I have always been able to be calm and help them either stay or recover their calm.  Today was no different, even with a little extra Violet trauma.

Lorelei was out of school today and was there to comfort Zoey after her shot while I held Violet down.  I've done this before, many times.  Hold her hands, lean over her body on the table, look her in the eye, talk in a soothing voice, tell her it will be over soon and it only hurts a minute.  Lorelei never struggled, never really even cried (except as an infant), it was always more of a really hardcore wince.  I was spoiled.  Violet looked terrified, cried A LOT and really, really struggled.   But, I hugged and held them, helped pick out the stickers that weirdly make everything okay and we took our leave.

Just as we were walking out of the the building Violet asked for her jacket, so Lorelei took Zoey's hand while I got the jacket out of the diaper bag.  Zoey decided this was a good time to work her wicked wiggle, escaped Lorelei and took off for the parking lot where a van was making it's way toward us.  Lorelei ran, I started to run and a wonderful stranger turned around, saw her coming and grabbed her.

Heart attack.  She cried, I nearly cried, everybody's nerves were frazzled.  So much for maintaining calm at the doctor's office.  This calls for a movie night with ice cream and candy!

That Karma, She's a Bitch

When I was a kid we had a recliner in the den.  It was Dad's Chair.  When he wasn't home or in need of sitting, it became The Chair Everyone Wants.  By everyone, I mean me and my sisters.  As the oldest, the biggest and the one to most willing to inflict bodily harm, I generally won the fights to become Queen of the Chair.  I also had elaborate schemes to get my sisters to do things for me while I was in the chair.  I would trick them into fetching me books or snacks or the remote so that I didn't have to get up for even a second and relinquish my hold on the Chair.  There was even one afternoon reign that ended in the ER (it was only a sprain - no fingers were actually broken).  It was good to be the oldest. 

I don't know how I didn't drive my poor mother to drink.  For those of you who don't believe in karma, you are a fool.  My oldest daughter was brought to me for a special purpose - the world will be a better place for having her in it, she is intelligent, thoughtful and beautiful - except when she is fulfilling her karmic duty to drive me  mad.  I just have to remind myself that I deserve it, I deserve all the "you're on MY side of the couch don't touch me" fights, all the "nah nah na-nah nah you can't have it" fights, all the moody storms that brew at the worst moments.  I deserve it all. 

My one solace - someday that poor, wonderful girl is going to deserve it, too.