Ladies Day doesn't mean Manners Day

I had to get the oil changed in my vehicle today and because I had no one to watch the kids, I dragged them along with me. This was a source of great concern to Jack. What were we doing? Why did we need to "change the car?" Where were we going to do it? Would there be a special treat involved? You know, standard 3-year-old concerns.

I herded them into the car and drove in the general vicinity of where Google Maps told me there was a quick oil change joint in Peoria. I chose this sort of establishment because I am familiar with the concept: you pull up, wait in your car, drive into the little garage compartment, wait in your car some more, pay and leave.

It's all very nice and easy because you don't have to get out of the car. Which means you don't have to unbuckle first child, remove first child from car, carry first child to other side of car, unbuckle second child, help second child climb down, balance first child in one arm while trying to keep grip on second child's arm as he tries to run away in parking lot, wait in waiting area with two children, poke eyes out because two children won't sit still or STOP TOUCHING THINGS, Twitter from cell phone about horrid experience while children grab candy out of pay machine despite not depositing any money, take candy away and listen to children die because of unfairness, ignore dirty looks from other man waiting for his car, take windshield wiper out of first child's mouth, pay bill, pick up first child who is now screaming because you are leaving, drag second child by arm as he refuses to walk normally through parking lot, shove second child into car while he yells about wanting a special treat, watch helplessly as second child climbs into front seat and laughs hysterically, walk first child around to other side of car and strap her writhing body into carseat, threaten second child that if he does not get into his carseat THISINSTANTIWILLNEVERTAKEYOUANYWHEREEVERAGAIN, walk around to other side of car, watch as second child scampers into backseat laughing, tell second child there will be no special treat, strap second child into carseat while he wails about lack of special tret, walk back around car yet again, get in car, bang head on steering wheel, start car, drive home, vowing to never, ever, ever take children anywhere again. Ever.

Not that I would be familiar with any of those events.

After I drove about a mile out of my way, I realized I might have missed the oil change place. I turned around, while being interrogated by Jack about where the "car change" place was, and finally located it. I decided to check the price before committing to the procedure and almost fell over when I found out it was $38. Nothankyouverymuch.

Again, Jack shows grave concern over leaving. I explain it was too expensive and surely Mommy could find a cheaper place than the Mobil chain. Walmart! Walmart has an oil change place. Ooooooh, but you have to get out of the car. Dilemmma: save money or damage sanity and place undue stress on unborn embryo. Decide embryo has six more months to get over it. Josh will be so pleased when I report back that I went to Walmart.

I arrived in the lot and hustled the kids out of car, hauled ass into Walmart only to hear the clerk tell me there are six people waiting in front of me. I crumpled to the ground and wept, but he didn't care. So I dragged the children back to the car in search of something else.

You might be asking yourself at this point why I didn't just go another damn day. Valid question. Because at this point, it became the "principle of the thing." Now I had to get the freaking oil changed and no one was going to stop me. Oh ho no.

I started to drive aimlessly in the direction of the new mall (the old mall is still in existence in Peoria, but since this one was built five years ago, everyone calls it the new mall, although it is no longer new) thinking maybe I would just wander around there and entertain the kids for a while.

Except on the way, I saw a drive-up oil change place! Joy in Mudville! Even Jack was smiling and talking about how we CAN get the car changed!

I pulled up to the bay door and asked if I could please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stay in the car with the kids. The pleasant young man checking me in said it would not be a problem as long as he drove the car into the bay. Noooooo problem.

I jumped into the passenger seat, which sent Jack into a state of panic, and the young man drove it in. Another nice young mechanic was about to get to work on the car when a surly mechanic one bay over yelled at him, "Why is that woman in the car?"

Mechanic 1 looked a little startled and said that I requested it because of the kids. Mechanic 2 FREAKS out on him and yells, "Well if the car starts on fire, she'll never get those kids out of the seats in time. You should know better." Because you read all the time about cars catching on fire during ROUTINE OIL CHANGES.

During this exchange between what I find out is a mere worker (nice Mechanic 1) and his boss (surly Mechanic 2), I rolled down the motorized window, removed my sunglasses and said to Mechanic 2, "Dude, calm down. You don't need to yell at him. I told him I wanted to stay in."

Mechanic 2 then turns his seething anger at the gods of carseats on me.

"You can't be in the car," he said.
"I have stayed in the car hundreds of times for oil changes, I will take my chances," I said.
"I can't let you do that."
"They let you do that at Jiffy Lube."
"Well, this ain't Jiffy Lube."
"I can tell you, I wish it was right about now."
"I sure don't."

Since the oil pan was already open and I was staring down imminent death from spontaneous oil change combustion, I sighed and went through the complete works of child removal from the vehicle. (See: paragraph 3.)

Except there was one more little "F-you" from the universe waiting for me. This oil change joint didn't take American Express. Guess who only had her driver's license, AmEx and $18 in cash with her for a $28 bill? Of course. Because the world hates me.

The manager stared daggers into my tires, willing them to deflate by the power of his mind while I asked nicely if I could leave my license and come back to pay later after my husband got home with a suitable Visa card. They said that would be fine and I was on my merry way.

I returned later in the afternoon with Visa in hand and the guy seemed surprised to see me. I asked him if he really thought I would skip out on the bill and he laughed and said no, but that he would not blame me. He then lowered his voice and said he was sorry about the whole thing. I remarked that his boss was a wee bit crabby and he said he was like that all morning. He rang up the order and asked me for $27. I asked why it was cheaper than what they billed me for in the morning and he shrugged. "They must have forgotten to give you the Ladies Day discount," he said, gesturing to the huge banner hanging outside.

So not only did the bastard ruin my day, he tried to screw me as well. In the end, I saved $3 over what I would have forked over at Walmart but gained some outstanding blog material. It was a wash, I guess.

Ramble on

And a happy belated Memorial Day to y'all, too. Over said weekend, I actually uttered the words, "Man, I love the short week." And then I realized what a complete and total IDIOT I am. Really? Short week? As if I only work five days a week to begin with, so a national holiday means more days off.

I kill myself sometimes.

The actual holiday did see me sleeping late, compliments of visiting grandparents. So that was nice. And thanks to more grandparents hosting the children for a sleepover for a few days at the beginning of the weekend, I also got to sleep late on Friday AND Saturday. So I guess I did get a real holiday. How about that?

In other news, I am 11 weeks pregnant today. According to pregnancy math, that means I am starting my 12th week. And that means the first trimester is about to be behind me. Most of the stupid pregnancy books (such as "What to Expect When You're Expecting" aka "What We Can Scare the Hell Out of You About When You're Expecting") tell you that the morning sickness should be declining at this point. That would be a DAMN LIE. The afternoon/evening sickness is worse than ever for me right now. And knowing my history, I have at least another three weeks of this torture to go.

I have no funny way to tie this post all together, so I am just leaving it like this. I am lucky I woke up long enough to post something semi-coherent at all.

School's out for the summer

Way back in September, when I took my baby to preschool for the first time, I remember thinking that the end of the year was so far off. Today, he graduated from his first year of preschool. But I am not sure how that is possible as I just brought him home from the hospital and dressed him in frog hats.

School was such a great experience for him and I think he's sad it's over. He adored his teachers, Miss Liz (MissWiz, always pronounced as one word) and Miss Melissa (Miss Wissa) and all of his friends. He loved getting out of the car each morning and lining up with all the kids. He enjoyed running around in gym class. And he really liked snack time.

As the year went on, he matured and learned how to sit in the circle. I remember lamenting that he would never participate in circle time and freaking out that he always wanted to do his own thing. And you know what, like almost all of the commenters said he would, he eventually started getting it. People on the Internets are really smart!

Like all 3-year-olds, he had his moments. Like when he went through a phase of screaming at the top of lungs. And dumping whole bins of toys out. And pushing his friends. But like all phases, they passed. And the sweet little boy I know and love outweighed the evil, smirky little boy who sometimes made appearances.

School gave him a chance to be his own person, outside of me. And gave me a chance to spend some one-on-one time with Emmie so she could figure out who she was, minus her constant companion. And it allowed me to miss him twice each week and experience the sweet joy that is seeing his face light up as he comes out of the classroom and throws himself into my arms after school. Never once in the nine months he was there did I fail to return that smile and hug -- it was truly the best part of my day.

Each Tuesday and Thursday, he would jump out of the car, grab his backpack and his lunchbox, kiss me goodbye and leave with a huge smile on his face. Never once did he say he didn't want to go, never once did he cry or want to leave early. I hope his love of school continues for years to come. He's already talking about his "new school" next year and how he's very excited about it.

Now we'll be back to trying not to kill each other every day for the next month. He will go to a little day camp three days a week for three hours starting at the end of June. Again, I think he'll love it and excel. What's not love about running around, getting wet and drinking from the water fountain?

Top-mom award issued to me today

With the first trimester crabbiness in full effect these days, I realize that my patience is running on the thin side. At least I see it, but that doesn't stop it from happening.

This morning, we made an early stop at the park because it was so nice out. Jack loves hanging out in the sandbox and while Emmie tolerates it for a few minutes, she spends most of her time plotting how to run away from me to the big-kid equipment on the other side of the park. She hasn't yet figured out I am faster than her, but I am sure that'll come.

While both of them managed to play nicely within two feet of each other, I took a seat on the side of the sandbox to observe. Of course a Super Mom was actually IN the sand with her kid, digging trenches with a truck and talking sweetly to him about how squishy the sand was and wasn't this fun? Blow me -- she's got one kid and waaaay too much energy for 9 a.m.

The nannies and I sat on the side, you know, like normal people. Jack brought a bucket the size of Rhode Island over to where I was sitting and promptly dropped it -- and it's concrete-like mixture of wet sand -- on my pinky toe.

My natural reaction was to yell out. My first instinct before having children would have been to drop an F-bomb, but I have since curtailed that kind of potty-mouthedness. Instead, I said through gritted teeth in a raised voice, "God BLESS IT Jack, that hurt."

Super Mom just stared at me. The nannies didn't blink an eye.

I immediately regretted losing it. Jack ran off to the other side of the sandbox, but I wanted to make nice with him so I called him over.

"Jackie, come here," I said sweetly.

He came within a foot of me and as I tried to hug him and tell him I was sorry I yelled, he ran away laughing. Great, now I look not only like a jackass, but like a child abuser because my kid flinches when I try to comfort him. Awesome.

Super Mom then kissed her kid and offered him ice cream on the way home. My eyes rolled so far up in my head I am not sure I will ever see properly again. You win, Super Mom, you win.

Margaritaville

Temperatures in the 80s, sunshine and a great breeze: today was the beginning of summer in Chicago. To celebrate, a mommy friend in the neighborhood hosted a "margarita and popsicle" playdate this afternoon.

Now despite not being able to have a margarita, it was an incredibly satisfying outing for several reasons.

First, my friend has a small, fenced-in yard. So we could plop the kids down on the grass and not worry about chasing them hither and yon. Second, they had a blow-up pool. You would think letting my kids get soaking wet in their clothes would send my eye a-twitchin' but you would be wrong. Third, with 13 kids 3 years and younger, there were enough children running around that no one noticed my older one caking mud on himself and my younger one eating sidewalk chalk. Fourth, it took place at the Witching Hour of 4 p.m. And every mom knows the worst time of day for parents is the hour right before dinner.

The moms hung out, with drinks and celebrity gossip ("Jon and Kate Plus Eight" marriage scandal, y'all!,) and the kids played in the pool and ate watermelon and popsicles and juice. Water was thrown around, mud puddles were jumped in and everyone went home with red juice stains around his or her mouth.

It was chill and just before dinnertime, we all departed for our respective houses. No fights, no crying, no hitting. In my book, that's a successful playdate. Especially with 13 kids.

If only I could haven had a margarita...

Thanks, but no thanks

I have decided the milestone I am most looking forward to with these children is not going off to school or getting braces or driving a car. It's the ability to write their own thank-you notes.

I swore after we got married and had an engagement party, three showers and a wedding with a 475-person guest list that I would never write another thank-you note as long as I lived. Because Josh never wrote ONE. I wrote all of them. Myself. His excuse before the wedding: I had better handwriting than him. His excuse later was that he was working on the wedding website so I had to do the thank-yous.

But then we had babies. And lots of people send you gifts for that. Which is awesome. But I had to write them all again, by myself, because SOMEONE said I was the one on maternity leave with Jack and not working outside the home with Emmie and had all this time to get it done. Clearly he never tried to write with a small person latched on your boob for hours on end.

Now the kids have the birthday parties where they get lots of gifts and guess who's writing the thank-you notes again? That would be the stay-at-home mom. You know, the one with all the time on her hands.

Tonight when I dug Emmie's stationary out to send her birthday notes, only two weeks after her party, I found three thank-you notes in my bag that were from gifts she was given when she was born. Oh yes, shitty mom that I am, I wrote the notes but put them in my bag and never sent them. So those are going in the mail a year later. Better late than never, I suppose.

Next year, I might just give them both a pen and paper and let them scribble something and send them out like that. I will still have to address them, but at least I won't have to come up with the text.

Emmie: Nine months

Dear Emmie,

Today, kiddo, you have been outside of me as long as you had been inside of me. Looking at it from the other side, I can tell you the pregnancy sure seemed a lot shorter than this. You have grown and changed so much in nine months, although I guess going from a couple of cells to a complete human being in that same time frame isn't anything to sneeze at either.



This past month has been one of the busiest in terms of development. You learned to stand up at the furniture, crawl and pull yourself up on things. The last two, you performed for the first time within 15 minutes of each other, proving the theory that Mommy can indeed spontaneously combust into flames. I was not ready for the motion part of this picture, and was hoping you would be content to sit and play with your toys for another two years. But you were ready and there was no stopping you. One afternoon you just decided you wanted to play with your piano, which was about two feet away, and you went for it. I cheered for you and clapped and made huge deal about it and you looked up at me as if to say, "What's all the fuss? It's just a piano."

But now that you know how to crawl, you realize that your mobility is somewhat limited. You want to go go go, now now now, faster faster faster. Now that you can crawl, you also want to walk. You're not content to hang out on the floor playing anymore, now you want someone to hold you upright so you can stand. Then you get tired of that and try to squirm away, where you would fall flat on your face if we actually let you twist your arms out of our grasps. It's a furstrating time for you, but this too shall pass.



These frustrations have manifested themselves in a high-pitched screech that only dogs can hear half the time. If you get pissed or don't like what we are forcing you to do -- you know, things like play with a toy you have tired of or spend 1.2 seconds longer in your exersaucer than you deem acceptable, terrible things like that -- you let out this blood-curdling screech that makes me jump out of my skin. It certainly gets my attention, since you used to be such an easygoing baby, and I usually jump to right whatever wrong you feel you are suffering. Which has set a great example for your brother, who has also started screeching to get attention. So thanks for that. Hopefully this phase will end soon and you will go back to your compliant little self.

Your independence has also extended to your diet. You can now feed yourself Cheerios, which you will happily do for several minutes, allowing us time to eat at restaurants without having to hold you or entertain you. But so far, it's the only finger food you have mastered, partly because you only learned to feed yourself about a week ago and partly because I am lazy and haven't given you anything else. You're still quite happy being fed baby food, although we're started to give you purees that are a little chunkier and with more flavors in the hopes of getting you ready to transition to table food in the next few months.



Breastfeeding has been a bit of a struggle these last few weeks. You've hit the age where everything is so interesting that you don't have time to slow down and eat. So you latch on, get in a quick snack for about five minutes, and then you're done. There's no coaxing you, no luring you back to the boob. Once you're done, you're done and if I try to convince you to eat a little more I am met with back-arching, red-faced, arm-waving, screaming displeasure. Which makes for a really pleasant bonding experience. But I know this is something that a lot of babies go through at this age and if you're not getting enough milk, you'll let me know. In the meantime, I offer it up as much as possible and humor you by letting you nurse once during the night. Of course it's this middle-of-the-night feeding that is always your best one because you're sleepy and there are no distractions. We only have three months to go, and I know we can weather this storm and get to my one-year goal. Like it or not, you're stuck with the boob.



You started sleeping through the night about three weeks ago, but I missed out on that fun because Daddy and I were away on vacation for a long weekend. You apparently took pity on Grandma and slept 12 straight hours for her. Of course when I came home, you discontinued that new trick and asked for more boob in the middle of the night. So while you don't sleep straight through, you are only waking up once and you are sleeping in your own crib for the whole night. Which is a pretty good breakthrough.



Now that you're mobile, Jack is starting to realize you are a force to be reckoned with. You can get to his toys, and he's not all that excited about sharing. So in his role as Arbitor of Toy Distribution, he will take something of his from your hands and replace it with something he wants you to play with instead. Usually something boring like a stuffed animal. Now I can't really fault him for replacing a toy, but I tell him he has to learn to share and let you play with the fun toys too. You're also able to follow him around the room now, which is freaking him out. But just this week, he was reading a book and you crawled over to see what he was doing and he "read" you the book. You patted the book and his leg and smiled and it was so nice to see the two of you playing together. I can't wait to see more moments like this. It's just like when the two of you are sitting in the dining room together while I get dinner ready and you make each other laugh. I watch the two of you and realize how awesome it is that you have each other.



Now that your personality is coming out, I am really enjoying hanging out with you. You like to cuddle and touch my face and now when I say "kisses" to you, you smile and lean in and lay a huge open-mouth baby kiss on me. When I go in to get you from your crib, you get a huge smile on your little face and reach your arms up while trying to kick a hole in your mattress because you are so excited. But there is still no one quite like Daddy in your eyes. You wave to him and flap your arms in excitement when you see him. You lunge for him when he enters a room and you always smile biggest for him. Your first word was "dada" and you often say "hi dada" when he's around. While I would like to hear some "mama" sometime soon, I am being patient because you have something different for me. When you see me come into a room, you make a noise that defies description. It's kind of like a whiny grunt. But you only make it when someone else is holding you and you see me. Once I pick you up, you calm down immediately. I'm so glad just being in my arms can make you feel better. I hope someday when you're older you will still feel like that. If someone makes fun of you at school or you fall down and skin your knee or you stick your foot in your mouth saying something stupid (not that I would know anything about how that feels) or you have a bad hair day, I hope a hug from Mommy can make it all better.

Love,
Mommy

Falling for you

Who is the asshole that lets her second child fall head first off a changing table while she stands literally three inches away and turns her head for one second?

I will give you one guess. You'd think a second-time mom would know better. Not so much.

Emmie is fine. I think I just stopped shaking an hour later.

There's nothing quite like the sight of your child falling face-first into the carpet and hitting her face on the metal heating vent. I think I aged 10 years. Jack happened to be standing right there as well and while Emmie was screaming, I kept telling him it was OK, that he didn't do anything wrong, it was mommy's fault. He looked scared and kept yelling "Josh! Daddy! Josh!" down the stairs until Josh finally came back in the house from outside.

Stellar parenting today, folks, stellar.

I need catcher's equipment

A chest protector, mask, helmet and shin guards would definitely be in order for me these days. That would be because I am the punching bag for my son and I need to protect myself.

It was so bad this week that I actually considered spanking him. I didn't -- and that's the important thing -- but I had almost reached the end of my rope.

If he wasn't hitting me, he was kicking me. In the face. Or the boob. Have you been kicked in the boob while you are lactating? It really freaking hurts, let me tell you. It didn't matter if I was one-on-one with him during Emmie's nap or if we were all playing together. The end result was always the same: me getting injured and him getting a timeout.

At one point, I was sitting with him on the kitchen floor -- just the two of us -- and he was pretending to make pasta sauce for Daddy. We were having a grand time. The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor and seeing stars. My 2-year-old literally laid me out with a Tuuperware mug to the nose. I had tears in my eyes and I said to him, "Look, Mommy is crying! You hurt Mommy."

His response? He laughed at me.

Which worries me somewhat. I have a kid who delights in causing pain. Great. This ought to go over super at preschool. But you know, it's actually not a concern. Because he only delights in causing harm to me and Emmie. He sometimes hits Josh, but I would say it's extremely rare he hits anyone else. I have never seen him hit his little friend we have playdates with once a week.

I know, I know. He's pissed at us for bringing Emmie here. I get that. But it's still heart-breaking to see that look in his eye and just know he's coming right for me. I reflexively pull my head back and put my arm up when he starts squirming around me now. And I hate it.

I have tried everything I know. I do 2-minute timeouts (unless I am nursing, then he goes to the naughty mat by himself and we count to 10). I have yelled right in his face. I have calmly said, "No hit." I have tried talking to him and telling him Mommy doesn't hurt him, why would he want to hurt Mommy? I have even tried walking away from him and sitting on the other side of the gate for a minute. But none of it is working.

Josh thinks the solution is easy. We just give a timeout every time. But let's be practical. I can't give a proper timeout when he smacks me in the cart at Whole Foods. Nor when he kicks me as I am getting his pajamas on for bed. Nor when I have the other kid on the boob and he's smacking her in the head.

So I'll just be over here cowering in the corner. I know this too shall pass, but probably not before I get a black eye.

Not my type

At some local playgrounds, you overhear other moms talking about preschools and nannies. This is what I heard at my playground the other day.

"Well now we might leave early for the Bahamas. John's brother is taking a private plane and it seats three other people so he said I should bring the kids. But I can't decide."

OMFG. Seriously.

This is the playground around the corner, folks. The one I showed up at today not showered, with my hair in a ponytail and a headband, wearing yoga pants and a little concealer but no other makeup.

I guess I better step it up a little.

Sucky Mommy

That should be the new title of this blog.

For the last few days, Jack has really been trying my patience. We had a meeting of the minds yesterday night where I sat him down after a particularly annoying burst of light-switch antics that ended with a raised voice and a tantrum.

I told him he needs to listen to Mommy when she says no. When Mommy says no, she says it because she is trying to keep him from doing something dangerous or not nice. Such as turning the light off when I am changing Emmie. Or whipping his Nemo backback around and hitting his sister in the head. Or doing headstands on the couch. And when Mommy says no, that means stop what you are doing.

Of course he was wiggling and squirming away from me as I was talking to him and telling him to look at me and then laughing and thinking it was just all fun and games.

Granted, these are all normal toddler behaviors. And I know the blah blah about him testing his limits. But there comes a point where the limits are beyond tested. That point came at 7:27 this evening.

As I was nursing Emmie on the couch, he kept climbing up next to me and throwing himself against the back of the couch. And then he started with the headstands again. I asked him repeatedly to stop. I said no in a stern voice. I even grabbed his arm and told him to get down and stop.

He laughed and did it again, knowing full well there was nothing I could do about it while I was nursing, but this time his foot connected with Emmie's head.

So she was screaming, I was yelling and Jack was laughing. I stood up and told him he was getting a timeout and to go to the naughty mat. That would be the naughty mat that he has to be lead to and held on for him to stay there. Yeah, that's real effective. Especially when he hits his sister so she's wailing and needs comforting and I have to put her down so I can physically make him sit on the mat for two minutes. We used to use the pack-n-play for timeout, except now we actually use it for packing and playing.

So when he refused to sit on the naughty mat and I needed to help the walking wounded calm down, I told him it was time to clean up toys because we were going upstairs to take a bath right then. And he refused to clean up his toys and purposely climbed on the couch and started kicking me. No headstands, no pretense of jumping. He just kicked.

So I told him, in a rather loud voice, that he lost his chance. There would be no bath and he was going to bed right that minute. The hysterics ensured and I saw tears and crying and rolling on the floor the likes of which I have not seen before.

He was hysterically sobbing and repeating, "Bath! Please! Bath! Please!" and I stood there unmoved and held my ground. I told him to walk up the stairs. He laid there screaming. I put Emmie in her swing and carried him, sobbing and still chanting his mantra, up to his room.

He then added "Daddy! Daddy!" to his repertoire and I maintained a stony face and told him Daddy would not have let him take a bath either. I stayed calm and told him he could not take a bath because he didn't listen to Mommy and he was going to bed. I put him in his jammies and read him his book, all the while he is sobbing, and then I put him in his crib, told him I loved him and he sobbed, "Lovey" (which is how he says I love you).

While I listened to him cry himself to sleep, I second-guessed myself. Seriously, I took a bath away from my 2-year-old? WTF? He doesn't understand taking something away as punishment, he's too young.

I guess I am the winner of the Shitty Mommy crown for today. I can only hope I can't fulfill my duties tomorrow and the first runner-up has to take my place.

Now I am THAT Mommy

Today I took Jack and Emmie to the park, as I have several times recently. It's been so nice the last few days and we try to get them outside in the morning and the afternoon for the fresh air. Jack runs around like a maniac and Emmie is happy to sleep in the stroller or the sling. Win-win for everyone.

Until today.

Today, I was playing with Jack on the equipment, trying to make sure he didn't fall off the 5-foot-high rock wall (seriously, who builds these death traps?) when I noticed two moms peeking into my stroller.

How nice, I thought. They must be taking a look at the cute new baby.

Except then I noticed they were looking around. And asking nearby women something, only to have those women shake their heads nervously.

Then it finally hit me -- holy shit, that baby must be crying. And that baby would belong to ... me. Me, the Mommy 15 feet away who is ignoring it.

I rushed over to the stroller and as I got closer, I could hear her cries. Now she wasn't hysterical or anything, but she was certainly not pleased. And the two moms were shooting looks of death at me and I said, "Yes, she's mine. I thought I would hear her, but obviously not." I followed up with a lighthearted, "I'm the bad Mommy!" and a sickly smile and the one mom walked away and the other stared at me and said, "Well, we didn't know what to do."

Come on now. I was 15 FEET away from the stroller. I could see it the entire time. In fact, that's how I knew they were looking in the stroller in the first place. I guess I didn't anticipate the sound would not carry in my direction. Well, that and the fact I didn't think she would wake up and cry.

So I came home to tell my caring, sensitive-to-my feelings husband what happened. I started to get a little upset when I was telling him what happened and how shitty I felt. Only to have him reply, "What were you thinking? You should NEVER leave her alone in the stroller. I would never have done that."

Wow, apparently superparent extraordinaire has 50 hands and eyes in the back of his head and supersonic hearing, rendering him much more capable than I of supervising our children at the park.

This after he announced he would do his own wash earlier this week because he was annoyed I was putting his T-shirts in the dryer. You can add laundry to the list of things in which he excels.

So please hold your applause when they announce the winner of the 2008 Bad Mommy Award. I will have a speech all ready, but I am sure they will cue the music and cut me off. It will have something to do with the best of intentions and the pavement on the road to hell.

A four family

Some crazy person took over my blog yesterday. Apparently he is having delusions of grandeur and taking over SnarkyMommy full time. Mmmhmmm. Not happening.

Actually I must thank Josh for his tireless blogging of the birth and his ability to make me laugh while in labor. It's good to know he can make me giggle even with an oxygen mask on my face. That's a sign of true love. He did a great job.

Anyway. Wow. I have two kids! Emmie is great and sleeping all the time and she finally got in a good breastfeeding session and I am so in love with her. Jack was her first visitor this morning and he was non-plussed. He gave her the bunny we bought for him to give her, presented him with the bear she got him and then we gave him his tool belt, a present for being the Big Brother from Mommy and Daddy.

Well once he had the toolbelt, forget about everything else. Baby? What baby? Where's my hammer? I need to get this screw in the wall right now. But he was well-behaved and we got some great pictures and when we come home tomorrow, he'll probably freak out when he sees we brought that thing from the hospital home with us!

Without further ado, here are a couple pictures.


We'll need a table for four now.

Emmie on Day 1.

Nary a sign

Another day, another "nothing to report." But I am pleased with this week's non-progress as it allows me to get to tomorrow night and Josh's company holiday party. It's at a club downtown and while I can't drink or wear anything remotely appropriate for a club, I am looking forward to it.

The contractions could, perhaps, be considered a little more numerous today. By no means anything to get excited about, mostly non-painless and just tight. But it's still something. Could be the fact Jack keeps asking me to sit on the floor and build lego towers or read books. The floor, and the getting down to it and getting up from it, is not so easy to navigate at this stage.

But let me tell you about my exciting day. We slept in until 9 (another post for next week, but my child's ear infection several weeks ago reset his sleep pattern and he now routinely sleeps until 8:30 a.m. or later) and then went to the bank and hosted a playdate. After naptime, we went to the grocery store and I whipped up chicken and potatoes for dinner. By the time Josh got home from work, Jack was fed and happy and the house was clean.

I asked Josh if there was anything more he could ask from his stay-at-home wife extraordinaire. He told me he had a list, would I like it. Hardee har har. Comedian.

Farewell 2007

What a crazy year this was. I'm not usually one to get all retrospective at New Year's, I'm more of a "look forward" kind of gal, but I am throwing caution to the wind this year.

Jack turned 1, I lost my job, I got pregnant, we started SnarkyBabies, Josh started a new project in Michigan, I got morning sickness, I stayed sick for the like the whole entire summer, I had a preventative cerclage placed, Josh was off the project in Michigan, we went to France, I was in the hospital with the flu and then it was the holidays. Look at that, 2007 summed up in less than 75 words.

As we get ready to usher in 2008, however, I find myself pretty excited. When people ask if I am excited about the baby coming, I usually reply, "No. I am terrified."

But truth be told, there is a little glimmer of excitement in there too. I can't wait to push her out and have her here and see Jack's face when he meets her. I think things will be all right, after a little adjustment period, and I am confident I will be able to handle motherhood squared.

So goodbye 2007, hello 2008!