Done!

NaBloPoMo, oh how I will miss you. Wait, not so much.

Thirty posts in 30 days. Some of them interesting, some of them ridiculously boring. All of them written with little forethought. That's how I roll on this site: don't think, just write.

For all of you who joined me on this epic journey, I thank you for your support. And I apologize for taking those minutes of your life you will never get back.

As I write this, there is several inches of snow on the ground* and my holiday decorations need to be dug out and strewn about. I am really looking forward to the holidays this year since Jack really gets it. Everytime he sees a lit-up tree, he yells "Dat Chrisssmisss!"

So I will be busy with that tomorrow. I think I deserve a day off from the posting.

* Josh and I just debated the use of "is" or "are" in the phrase "there (is) several inches of snow on the ground." I say you use "is" because you are talking about snow, not the several inches. He says "are" because it sounds better. Thoughts?

Almost missed it

But here I am, in under the wire.

And don't you know it, I have nothing to say.

Oh, well, I am tired. Emmie is still waking multiple times a night. We had her ears rechecked tonight and there's no more infection, just a little fluid in there. So that might be causing her some pain when she lays down.

So. Tired. Sick of NaBloPoMo. Blah.

What was he thinking?

Wednesday afternoon we were getting ready to leave for Thanksgiving when I asked Jack to please go use the bathroom. I wanted to make sure he went before we got on the road so we wouldn't have to stop.

He told me he didn't have to go, I insisted he try, he ran away laughing and I told him if he didn't get in the bathroom THIS MINUTE that we weren't going to go to Grandma's to eat dinner. That got his attention, and he went into the bathroom.

I was busy getting the last of the stuff together and yelling at Josh to get off the damn computer for the love of GOD I am so sick of being late all the time. Jack ran out of the bathroom into the kitchen laughing maniacally with the front of his hair wet.

Looking at him suspiciously, I asked why his hair was wet. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "Jack put his hand inna toilet! Jack get hair wet!"

I tried to remain calm, failed, and told him to knock it off because that is disgusting and he could get sick and it is gross. Not to mention, he still hadn't peed on the potty. I sent him back in, but this time the door stayed open.

As I walked back from the dining room, I saw the the back of his butt, fully clothed. I could not see his head BECAUSE IT WAS IN THE TOILET. He stuck his whole head in the bowl, in the water.

I grabbed him by the arm, yanked him out of the bathroom and got right in his face. I told him that he was never, ever to do that again. Josh happened to walk by as I was down on my knees with my face inches from his and asked what the problem was. When I told him his son's HEAD was in the TOILET, he grabbed him and told him that was a timeout.

Honest to God, I have no idea what he was thinking. But I can tell you if this is what his little boy brain thinks up at almost 3 years old, I can't even imagine the surprises I am going to be in for in the next few years.

I walk out to the

Happy Thanksgiving!

Gobble, gobble all you pilgrims.

Today I am thankful for my children, my husband, the rest of our families and our good health. May you and yours enjoy your turkey and pie and football.

At school last week, they asked all the kids what they were thankful for and posted the one-word answers on the door. Almost every child answered, "Mommy and Daddy." My kid? He said "school." Brownnoser.

What are you thankful for this year?

Stop 1 on the Turkey Train

Today was our first Thanksgiving dinner of the season. We do Thanksgiving at my parents' house on Wednesday, which allows us to go to Josh's family Thanksgiving on Thursday without any conflicts. We began our journey north to Wisconsin this afternoon, continuing on with a stop in Peoria tomorrow.

There was great excitement during this, Emmie's first Turkey Day: the fire department almost joined us for dinner. There was a (minor) kitchen fire during the preparation. One minute I was grabbing something from my bag in the other room and the next I hear a huge commotion and my mom screaming, "Dave! Dave you started it on fire! No, not there. Just put it down!"

Appparently the disposable pan in which my mom was roasting the turkey had a hole in it. That allowed the grease to drip out and onto the bottom of the stove, where it started smoking and eventually caught fire. When my dad tried to put it out, the towel caught fire and all hell broke loose.

Luckily, the turkey was safe. Oh, and my dad was fine, too. Although my first instinct was to yell, "Stop, drop and roll!" Not so much useful in this scenario, but good to know my instincts will be spot on if I ever catch on fire myself.

Busy day

Emmie and her double ear infection slept until 8:15 a.m. this morning. She did wake once at 6 a.m. and then we threw her in the swing and got two more hours out of her. So that was awesome.

Not so awesome was the fact she ran a fever off and on today. So apparently the three doses of antibiotics have yet to kick in. And I took her for the Thansgiving celebration at Jack's preschool this morning. In my defense, I had no other option and I didn't let her touch anyone else. And it's an ear infection, for God's sake. It's not like it's leaping from her ear to someone else's.

But oh my, what cuteness the Thanksgiving was. There were headbands and snacks and stories and snacks and did I mention the snacks? Because those were Jack's favorite part.



After turkey day at school, I put Emmie down for her nap and headed out with Jack for his flu vaccine. Lucky for Jack, he is old enough for the flu mist so he didn't have to get a shot. He was a trooper and collected his two stickers after allowing the nice nurse to "look in his nose," as Mommy put it.

Then this evening, Josh and I hosted a cocktail party for the parents in Jack's preschool class. We had a great time and it seemed like everyone else did as well. At least they left with a few glasses of wine under their belts, so it had to be somewhat fun.

Tomorrow, we begin our holiday travels hither and yon -- with two kids this year! One of them sick! I can't wait!

Two times the fun

If you had "double ear infection" in the Guess Emmie's Ailment pool, you are the big winner. Your prize will be waiting for you in your mailbox real soon. Just after I get over the Mommy Guilt.

She definitely was batting at the back of her head and her ears this weekend, but I figured she was rocking to some weird beat and gettin' down in her wee little way. She was waking up multiple times per night, but I figured she was just being needy. Her father insisted we make her cry it out, although I only made her cry a few times before I finally went in and rescued her. She was inconsolable and crabby, but I figured she was just pissy that I wasn't spending more time with her because I was busy. Her nose has been running like a faucet, but I figured she just had a cold.

Mother of the Year nominees, the line forms to the rear.

The doctor said her rash might not be related to the ear infection, it might just be a weird way her body is responding to the fever. And the great news is that if the ear infection is viral, not bacterial, then the other child is probably going to get it too! Since we're T-minus two days to Thanksgiving and lots of travel, I would put my money on Jack coming down with it, oh, about 10 a.m. on Wednesday.

For now, the Emmie gets lots of hugs and spoiling and two doses of antibiotic per day for 10 days. And a pony. And her own phone in her room. And a car. That Mommy Guilt is a powerful thing.

Fifth time's a charm

The past few days have been rather challenging with Emmie. Oh hell, let's just call it like it is and say it's been a pain in the ass.

She has had a little cold this week, nothing more than a runny nose for a few days, but was waking up multiple times each night. Like four times a night. I look like someone punched me in both eyes due to lack of sleep. She's also been generally fussy, in a "Nothing makes me happy so leave me alone! No, pick me up! No, put me down!" kind of way.

I attributed it to the fact I was busy working nonstop on Snarky stuff, so grandma was babysitting. I figured she was just mad I wasn't paying nonstop attention to her and she was going to let us know how she felt about that. Tonight, her fussiness increased to orange on the National Fuss Level scale around 5 p.m., so I whipped out the boob in the hopes of calming her down. She nursed for a few minutes and then up and fell asleep on the boppy for 45 minutes. I let her sleep because she was so wiped out. She only woke up because her brother was screeching like a dinosaur a mere 3 feet away.

After she complained all the way through dinner, and ate about half of what she normally does, I swooped in to take her upstairs for a bath. That was when I noticed her legs looked really weird -- they were covered with a lacy, red rash that almost looked like the circulation in her legs was not right. Then I saw it on her arms, back and stomach, too.

Here's what it looks like, because I am nothing if not a documentor of my child's life on the interwebs. Seriously, my first thought after seeing the rash was, "I need to take a picture of this for my blog."



Dr. Google told me it was probably Fifth's Disease or possibly Roseola. But she didn't have a fever, which was a little confusing. Except when I thought about it, she did feel a little warm. So I took her temperature and damn if it didn't read 102.1 -- perhaps more than a little warm.

I gave her some Tylenol and generally kicked myself for a few minutes for not realizing she was SICK, not a pain in the ass. Who's regretting that cry-it-out theory from last night now, huh?

So tomorrow I'll take her in for what will be the first sick-baby visit of her 10-month life. But I am guessing I am just going to hear "It's a virus, let it run its course, give her Tylenol and call us if it gets worse."

Look at my kids

NaBloPoMo: Making my blog suck in late November for three years!

Since I have nothing to say, let's look at pictures of the kids. I haven't posted any recently, anyway.

Wok's up?

When we remodeled our kitchen three years ago, I remember picking out the cabinets and planning the layout and being so freaking excited that we would have a refridgerator again. You know, after living with a college fridge for six months, it's the little things that excite you.

Because we had never unpacked the kitchen accoutrements after moving in, I had kind of forgotten what we had in all those boxes stacked floor-to-ceiling throughout the whole dining room. Plus the whole lying-flat-on-back-for-four-months-trying-to-keep-the-baby-in-me thing happened during that time, so I was a little distracted by that.

Once the cabinets were installed and the island was finished and we were able to start unpacking our stuff and moving it in, I realized we were in big, big trouble. We didn't have enough cabinet space for all the stuff. Somehow, 13 cabinets was not enough to pack it all in. We had to buy a sideboard for all our china and an additional armoire-type thing for the rest of the crap.

Even with all that, we still don't have enough room. With the recent conversion and remodeling, we lost a huge cabinet in the kitchen that used to hold our liquor and other appliances. But we gained some storage in the basement, so that's where the breadmaker and icecream maker now live. It made my stomach hurt to put them there, because I am one of those weird OCD people who like all "kitchen" things grouped together, you know, in the KITCHEN. Or at least the nearby dining room.

The food processor and slow cooker had taken up residence in the laundry closet, which is located off of the kitchen. I use those two things enough to need them nearby, but not enough to earn them cabinet space. Because, you see, I need a lot of that precious cabinet space for the wok.

This wok is the bane of Josh's existence and could very well be a contributing factor if he ever serves me with divorce papers. Right there next to "irreconcilable differences" it will say "wok storage." You see, I put this wok on our wedding registry, excited about the prospect of making stir-fry. I had never made stir-fry before, but damn it, I was going to now that we were married! Except, yeah, I never made any stir-fry. And I have yet to take it out of its very pretty, pretty wood storage box. Every few months when I whine about not having enough storage space, Josh threatens to get rid of the wok and I shriek and throw my body in front of the cabinet to shield it, and we all go back to our storage-challenged existence until the next time we have this chat.

So because I need to keep my wok within reach, my food processor sits on top of my stacked washer and dryer in the closet. Today, I was making homemade applesauce -- why yes, I am Betty Crocker, thank you for asking -- and I needed it. I am not a short woman, but at 5-foot 4-inches tall, I am not above needing a stepladder on occasion, either. As I reached above my head to grab the food processor, I realized I would have to move it around a piece of copper pipe that was in the way. (Yes, the laundry closet also contains our furnace. And water heater. I told you we were storage-challenged.)

As I moved it around the pipe, I realized it was much heavier than I remembered. It crashed to the ground, on my foot, narrowly missing MY FACE. Yes, the blade of the food processor was millimeters away from not only my nose, but also my eyeball. How I escaped death, or horrible disfigurement, I have no idea.

Josh ran upstairs thinking the termites had finally gotten the best of us and caused the collapse of the entire house, only to find me looking down at the various blades that could have caused my untimely death.

Do you think he was concerned for my welfare or even his own at that point, because he would have had to pretend I was still a MILF with a big jagged scar on my face? Nope. He took one look at me and as he headed back downstairs, said, "I told you that you should have gotten rid of that wok."

Seriously, don't even bother

I have nothing to say today. No, really. If it wasn't NaBloPoMo, I would have skipped today. No funny quips, no amusing kid stories, nothing.

Emmie woke up four times last night for the second night in a row. I am beyond exhausted. I am working my ass off on SnarkyBabies right now and I really need some sleep. So that's where I am headed right now.

On all fours

Emmie started real crawling yesterday. No more of that pansy-ass army-crawling for her. Oh no, she pops up on all fours and purposefully moves her arms and legs in unison.

I like to think she was waiting until she could do it perfectly, so she could show off.

But it's so cute -- I think she looks like one of those mechanical toys that move around and make noise. Except she's real!

(That's all I got for you today. Big week at Snarky prepping for some cool new stuff, so I am ridiculously busy.)

Turning into a pumpkin

Tonight we saw the Smashing Pumpkins at the Chicago Theater. I was really excited about this show as I have long liked them, dating back to the "Siamese Dream" CD, which was the soundtrack of my sophomore year in college.

Ahhhh, memories. At the time, I was just back from summer vacation, tanner and thinner than ever before. I was living in the dorm with the biggest rooms and my roommate had just bailed on school that year, leaving me with my own huge room. My fake ID was awesome and I was flush with spending money from a summer of working at the kiddie pool at the local park.

My friends and I were so excited to be back and the boys had a place off campus. We spent a lot of time at their place those first weeks back, drinking and playing games (Asshole, anyone?) and listening to the Pumpkins. I remember the guys talking about how cool the female bassist was and thinking their music was like nothing I had ever heard before and I started listening to it nonstop.

One of the guys who lived in the house was a fan favorite of many of my friends. The year before, we all announced we wanted to make out with him. Well, guess who was the first to lock lips with the object of our affection? And you know what was playing in the background? You guessed it. Smashing Pumpkins. I want to say "Disarm" might have been playing, but it could have been any one of those songs because we listened to it so damn much, it all just runs together. That and I kissed him kind of a lot in those first few weeks. And there was a lot of beer involved.

My point, other than to recount yet another time when I had a boyfriend and was kissing some other dude, is ... well, I am not exactly sure. Apparently that is a theme this month. Next year for NaBloPoMo, perhaps I can just post 30 entries about making out with guys who were not my boyfriend.

But I can tell you the concert tonight was not that great. They played way too much new stuff and way too many extended songs that went on and on. And on. Billy was yapping on stage about nothing when he could have been playing "Disarm," which he didn't. He did play "Tonight, tonight" and that made me happy. Other than that, I knew four songs. Thanks Billy. There were also kazoos. Yes, kazoos. For the encore.

Goodnight kittens, goodnight mittens

Today I had to take the kids out in the stroller in the freezing cold to the post office. Granted, the freezing cold is relative at this time of year. It was 34 degrees. Which in January would be downright balmy in Chicago, but in November, is bone-chilling. But soldier on I did because Josh really needed something overnighted and he had my car in Bloomington.

So I got the kids all packed into the stroller with their respective foot muffs encasing their legs and torsos. Jack dutifully tucked his arms into the muff and looked extremely warm. Also quite cool with his hat and sunglasses. He's a pimp, you know.

But Emmie, well she was another story. I got her equally bundled up in her coat and hat and tried to tuck her little hands under the cover. And she pulled them out. And then I tucked them in. And then screamed and pulled them out. And then I laughed and tucked them in. And then she started to cry and pulled them out.

Because I didn't buy her any mittens, knowing Jack never would keep them on at her age and it would be a waste of money, I was at a loss. But! I am resourceful. I have a college degree. I am 34 years older than her. So I ran upstairs and grabbed a pair of her socks, shoved them on her hands and away we went.

She kept her hands out the whole time with a smile on her face and I averted frostbite with a smile on mine.

Emmie: Ten months

Dear Emmie,

It's double-digit time for you little girl! A whole 10 months you've been with us. And wow, have you done a lot this last month. I am pretty sure this has been one of your busiest months yet.



Now that you've been mobile for several weeks, you're getting more and more proficient at getting around. You still army-crawl 99 percent of the time, but more and more, you are taking a few tentative crawls on your hands and knees. But the army-crawling gets you where you need to go -- and pretty darn quickly I might add -- so you really don't see any need to do it the other way. But you are a pro at sitting yourself up now. You started pushing yourself up from your side with one arm, and now you can back yourself into a seated position from your hands and knees as well.

You are also an old pro at pulling yourself up now, as evidenced by the fact I found you standing in your crib grinning at me about two weeks ago. At this point, nothing is safe from you. You pull up on the couch, the ottoman, the exersaucer, your crib, the fireplace and my leg when I am standing in your general vicinty. You once tried to pull yourself up on Jack, but he was having none of it and you just toppled right over when he scrambled to his feet to get away from you.



I have seen you stand unassisted for about seven seconds on a couple of occasions, and you're starting to cruise along the ottoman to get to toys or remotes out of your reach. You so love the remote and even know to point it at the TV when you are playing with the buttons. Smart girl, but don't even think about turning off the football game to watch PBS.

The vacuum is getting quite a workout these days because you are smack in the middle of the "put everything in your mouth" stage. Last week you tried to consume a plaster chip, a dried-up piece of pancake that had fallen off your brother's plate undetected, a torn-up piece of coloring book and 571 pieces of fuzz off the carpet. I could vacuum four times a day and you would still spot the teeniest piece of string from across the room and make a beeline for what you hope is your afternoon snack. While it is resulting in a much cleaner house, it's still pretty annoying to be fishing stuff out of your cheeks all the time.



It's not like you're not getting enough food at mealtimes. You are starting to eat more tablefood here and there, like pieces of pancake and turkey or scrambled egg yolks. I am pretty sure you would live on Veggie Booty alone if we let you, but you're pretty amenable to eating the two jars of baby food we give you at all meals. Because you still can't have any dairy products, we were lucky to find a new yogurt made from coconut milk. Because it's dairy- and soy-free, you are allowed to eat it and I must say, it's quite tasty. You gobble it up and look pretty content, so it's a good thing.

The breastfeeding has gotten a lot better this month after last month's distractable disasters. You are more on task and doing longer sessions, which makes me feel better about how much you are taking in. Of course, you are getting more in during the night because YOU ARE WAKING UP MULTIPLE TIMES AGAIN. To say I am tired of being tired is an understatement. This past week, you were sick again and that meant lots of wakeups where only the boob would console you. Because you were sick, I took pity on you and fed you every time you cried. Which one night was at 10 p.m. and 1, 3, 5, 6 and 7 a.m. It's like you were a newborn again. Wheee! But once you appeared over the worst of it, I got you back on a somewhat-better schedule by making you cry out the first wakeup. Last night you were awake for the first time at 1 a.m., which is better than 11 p.m., but not great by any means. You had been sleeping from 7:30 p.m. to 5 a.m. for a few weeks and I am hoping you will start doing that again. Real soon.



As for your sunny disposition, it continues to be the most charming part of your personality. You are almost always smiley and happy and content to babble away at your toys or your books. You stop to look at your brother like he is crazy whenever he deems you acceptable to play near. You save your best smiles and laughs for Daddy because apparently he is the light of your life. You definitely don't like it when I leave a room, but you can be pacified if Daddy is around.

One of the only times it is acceptable for me to actually leave you in the other room for a few minutes is when your brother is around. You love to watch him run around and play and now that you can get around, you really try very hard to play with him. He's not exactly keen on that idea, however, and it's led to some battles. Just today, you started to play with his garage and cars and he fuh-reaked out on you and you may or may not have been kicked in the head. He is having a hard time sharing, and will instead try to bring you some other toy to play with. But because you are so easy-going, you generally accept the substitute with a smile. You also get so excited in the morning when we go into his room, kicking your legs and laughing and trying to throw your little body at the door to get it open. He has been less rough with you as each month has gone by and he really does love you too. Just today when he got home from the park, he ran over to you and said, "Hi Emmie! Jack home from the park. Jack give Emmie a kiss!"



Every day I look at you and I think to myself, "I will remember her like this forever." And then the very next week, you already look different and I have forgotten that previous stage. I was looking back at some pictures of you this weekend from the previous months and I can't believe how much you have changed. You used to have chubby little baby cheeks at one point and now it's all dimples and cheekbones. Your little blonde hair is starting to darken up with the winter, and I think it might be a thing of the past soon. Your eyes are definitely settling into a nice shade of hazel, which proves to me I really was in the room when you were conceived! Finally, something that I can say looks like me, since you're clearly the spitting image of your father. Hopefully you will get my brains and good humor -- and humility -- as well. But whatever you end up looking like, I will always remember what a sweet, sweet little girl you were when you were 10 months old.

Love,
Mommy

Lameass NaBloMe post

It's always around this midway point of NaBloPoMo that I get fatigued and bored of my own boring blogging. Lucky for you, I soldier on. Oh yes, I am nothing if not dedicated.

Anyway, I am sick. With a terrible cold. The cold both my children have had this week. And now I know why Emmie was waking up multiple times per night, because I woke up multiple times last night. I cried and wanted Josh to come and get me, but he made me cry it out.

Tonight, we're going on a Date. Capital D. A movie and something to eat. And for the first time ever, we are paying a babysitter. Up until now, we've been lucky enough to leave them with family. And because we're cheapasses, it works out well. Tonight's babysitter is still family (Josh's cousin) but we're paying him. Our immediate family better not get any ideas from that though -- they're still on the hook for free.

Not sure what this means

You know, I always thought Amazon and I were close. Their recommendations were always right on the money. But tonight, I received this recommendation e-mail.

"Amazon.com recommends 'The Journey : Living by Faith in an Uncertain World.'"

Does Amazon know me anymore? I think we have to break up; we've apparently grown apart.

He's a little runaway

Several times a week, I take the kids out for lunch. Sometimes with other moms and their kids, sometimes just us. Today we were out running errands after school and as we started to head home, Jack asked in a little voice from the backseat, "Out eat Mommy?"

I was all set to give him almond butter and jelly at home, but since he asked nicely and he was well-behaved in the stores, I said we could stop. Plus we were right across the street from a Corner Bakery and I love me some reuben.

It was pushing past naptime, but I figured I could feed him and get him straight into bed when we got back. Either way, he needed to eat. But I should have known when we walked in the door and he started touching everything in sight that we should have just gone home. That would have precipitated a tantrum of epic proportions, and I just didn't want to deal, so I started bribing him.

"If you don't stay with Mommy, no Elmo tonight." That brought about the desired effect for about 15 seconds. Then he was off to the races again.

I finally got the lunch ordered and everyone settled into a booth. I fed Emmie with one hand and ate my sandwich with the other while I kept up a constant stream of "Jack, sit down. Jack, turn around. Jack stop touching that. JACK. Jack, I am going to put you in a high chair if you don't turn around and sit down right now."

We are a pleasure to sit near, let me tell you.

After I was finished and he was done eating the inside of a grilled cheese sandwich, I got his coat on him and then turned to put Emmie's on. In the split second that I reached for her coat he ran away from the table to a door three feet away. A heavy door. One that I was almost sure he could not open, but still used my very stern Mommy voice to hiss, "Get back here NOW."

He looked back at me and then opened the door and ran out. Literally ran away from me. I ran after him, catching him by the arm three steps from the parking lot and dragged him back inside. He, of course, was cackling. I, of course, was shaking.

I sat him down and made him look me in the eye while I told him he is never, ever supposed to run away from Mommy because he could get hurt very badly. I think I was about an inch from his face when I was saying it.

Poor Emmie, she was just dumped in her high chair while all of this went down, staring at us like we were crazy. Another mom asked if I needed any help, and I smiled and said no, thank you. I think I have the "almost letting my kid run into a parking lot" parenting technique all wrapped up by myself, thankyouverymuch.

Apparently I should go with the Josh approach to dining out with the kids alone: just don't.

Good report

Yesterday was our first parent-teacher conference at Jack's school. Yes, conferences at preschool.

Now, not having ever experienced a positive parent-teacher conference as a child, I must admit I was a little tentative. The recurring theme when it came to Amy the Student was "Amy talks too much in class. If she spent as much time on her schoolwork as she does on socializing, she would be a straight-A student." Some variation of those phrases were used for 12 consecutive years on my permanent record. It got a little old by my senior year, but it never did spur me to change.

But I was pleasantly surprised when we sat down on the tiny chairs in his classroom. His teacher said he is a joy to have around and he is doing great. He plays well both with others and alone, he communicates well and he's a bright kid. She said he'll do awesome in all-day Montessori next year and that it will be good for him.

But. You knew there was a but, didn't you? He needs to temper his enthusiasm for school just a tiny bit. He is so excited to be there that when they walk up to the classroom in the morning, he runs down the hall. As in, runs away from the group and his teacher in his excitement to get started. He gets points for enthusiasm, I guess.

Apparently, we'll have to wait until he can actually speak in complete sentences all the time before we find out if he's going to take after his Chatty Cathy mother.

Would you like freshly grated cheese on that?

Tonight I was working on our new site -- Snarky Pets -- and one of the pet names totally made me think of a story from high school. I have weird memory associations like that.

My senior year I switched high schools. The new high school had been all-boys for decades, and then became co-ed. Since I went to an all-girls high school, imagine my delight at now being able to attend school with boys. Eight hours of flirting! Pure heaven to a 17-year-old girl. That and they had Pizza Hut in the lunchroom. God, to have that metabolism again.

I was dating a new guy that fall after my seeeeerious high-school boyfriend and I broke up. Anyway, new guy. Ahh, young love. More like young like. Sometimes. His friends called him Scooter in that ironic, self-deprecating way that high-school boys do, although they have no idea what that even means at that age. They just think they're being weird and amusing. Little did they know that Scooter would be the 64th-most popular dog name 15 years later and it would make me think of him.

Did I have a point? Oh yes!

The name reminded me of my breakup with this young lad. As high-school girls and their fickle hearts are wont to do, my eyes -- and lips -- wandered to another. But I wasn't entirely ready to be done with him because we had a big date coming up. He was taking me to the Olive Garden and I had never been there before!

So my plan was to break up with him after I had me some soup, salad and breadsticks. But alas, he discovered my indiscretion and ended it faster than I could say "mostaccioli."

Never fear, however, I did eventually make it to the OG with another boyfriend a few months later. The good news is I have moved upward with my Italian cuisine since then. But who doesn't crave a raspberry lemonade every once in a while?

An elephant never forgets

We take the same route to preschool each week, one that takes us past the hospital where Jack and Emmie were born. You know, the one where I spent more days than I care to count during two high-risk pregnancies.

I am usually too focused on running yellow lights and flipping off slow drivers to pay attention to our surroundings during the drive. That and listening to NPR. Which has become my new go-to station, much to Josh's chagrin, because I used to make fun of him for listening to it.

So I am driving by the hospital and I hear a little voice from the backseat say, "Mumber (remember) Mommy go dat store? Jack come see Mommy, bring Emmie a bunny."

I almost drove into the El supports when I heard that. My son -- my bright, articulate little boy -- pulled something out of his wee brain that happened almost 10 months ago. When he was days shy of 2 years old.

Not only did he recognize the building, but he recalled the fact he brought Emmie a present and what that present was. I am still amazed by the whole exchange.

Now if only I could harness his freaky memory capacity for something useful, like counting cards in Vegas. We could be rich!

New 'do

Today, I decided Jack needed to shake things up a little bit, style-wise. I took him for a haircut this afternoon and told the woman to give him that spiky/messy cut that all the fashionable young men are sporting these days.

After she was done, I clapped and laughed and just could not believe how different he looked. Amazing what a little hair product can do for a toddler. Every time I look at him, I do a double-take because he just looks so different.



He's really not a baby anymore. He's definitely my little boy.

How you can help CiCi

Life changed in an instant for sweet little CiCi and her family last month when she lost consciousness after choking. Due to the quick actions of her mom, Jenny, CPR was started and she was helicoptered to a children's hospital where they were able to save her life. CiCi is facing a long road to recovery and her family is trying to figure out their new normal. That new normal will include medical care, bills and child care for their other two children, Max and Penny.

What can you do, you might ask? You can take part in our T-shirt fund-raiser for CiCi. All proceeds from the sale of each shirt will go directly to the Fischer family. So click here and buy a shirt today. Feel free to tell others about this great cause as well. If you can't buy a shirt, please keep CiCi in your thoughts. Every little bit helps!

The fun never stops

It's been awhile since I wrote about our construction. It couldn't just all work out for the best, now could it? Of course not. Because this is us and things never go right for us when it comes to construction.

A few weeks ago, we noticed a funk coming from the downstairs bathroom. (I could make a ton of jokes here, but since it's not that kind of website, I will let them go. We only talk about kid poop around here, not adult poop.) Since the only plumbing that changed was the installation of a new toilet, we suspected it was the culprit.

We called our contractor and asked him to come and fix it. And then we called him again. And again. Finally, three weeks later, he assured us he was going to give us the attention we deserved. We called him again the following week. Like how that works?

Last week, he finally sent one of his guys over to reseal the toilet. Super. Except it didn't work. It was still the home of the funk down there. We called him back. Twice.

A visit from a real plumber was arranged and he came for the first time on Monday. He smelled the smell and said he would be back Wednesday to do a smell test. He returned as promised and poured peppermint extract down the drain on the third floor. He said if it smelled minty fresh in any of the other bathrooms, we had a leak in a pipe someplace.

Great news! It only smelled like peppermint schnapps in the third-floor bathroom, which meant no leak. I am not sure if the guy really poured it down the drain or if he got a little tipsy up there, but apparently it doesn't matter. But if there's no plumbing problem, then what in the hell is causing the funk?

The plumber gave us his best guess: a dead rat. If one crawled under the house and got trapped under the bathroom floor, then we're smelling the decomposition. It should go away in 30 days. Give or take a few.

In the meantime, I won't be hosting any playdates down there.

Little of this, little of that

Last night, as you can see on my Twitter feed, Josh and I attended the Obama election rally in Grant Park with our friend, Ed. It was amazing. We were surrounded by tens of thousands of people who jumped to their feet everytime CNN flashed the graphic that it was about to call a state. Tens of thousands who cheered every state annoucement. Tens of thousands who screamed and clapped, and even cried, when they called it all for Barack Obama.

I have seen my favorite team win a World Series, but the electricity of the crowd at Grant Park far surpassed the mood at Busch Stadium two years ago. It was like nothing I have seen before. I am so glad I was able to be a part of it.



But my enthusiasm was tempered when I got home and saw the day's update from my friend Jenny, CiCi's mom. Jenny said CiCi has suffered brain damage in all parts of her brain and they just don't know what her prognosis will be in the long term.

I encourage you to read her update. If you ever wondered what true selflessness looks like, look no further than Jenny. I am not sure I could get to the place she has gotten at all, much less within a week of the accident. She has inspired me more than she knows with her reaction to all of this.

Get out and vote!

As you can see, Jack is carefully reviewing his ballot for accuracy while Emmie has already cast hers. I had the same look on my face as she does after voting for eleventy-billion Cook County judges. I am not kidding, there had to be 50 on the ballot and you had to mark each one.

I would not, however, advise you to vote with two children in tow. By yourself. With no stroller. Actually, they should just rescind my voting rights for even thinking I could do such a thing.

We vote at a firehouse. So of course, everything in the garage is of the utmost importance to an almost-3-year-old who can't keep his hands to himself. He somehow got ahold of a hose and dripped water on the floor and then started pumping some blue gunk out of a bottle. He was never more than 36 inches from me while this happened.

Through gritted teeth I hissed there would BE NO ELMO TONIGHT while I grabbed him and wedged his upper arm between my knees. He then freed himself and melted into a puddle while yelling "Elmo! Elmo!"

Not to mention my left arm lost all feeling because I had to balance Emmie while trying to fill in the little lines with my right. She was squirming all over the place and looks like she was trying to be the ballot, as there is black marker all over her hands from where she kept trying to "help" me vote (read: grab the pen and eat it).

I walked out of the firestation after completing my ballot -- with one mistake where I voted yes and no for a judge because SOMEONE was grabbing my pen -- and I do believe the election judges were cheering as we departed. I did get a few dirty looks from other voters during this debacle, so thankyouverymuch Mr. Asshole In The Brown Jacket Who Clearly Has No Kids And Probably Hates Puppies And Rainbows Too.

However, as we walked up to the machine to insert my ballot, Jack pointed at the election judge and yelled, "OBAMA!" So at least he understood why we were there.

My mouth just runs and runs

Tonight I had a little parent meeting at Jack's preschool. Kind of a PTA thing, but on a much smaller scale. There were six parents and two administrators; seven women and one man.

We were talking about gifts for the teachers at holiday time. Somehow the talk turned to what some of the parents (former teachers) had received from their students back in the day.

One mom shared that she had received bottles of wine from several parents, which she joked either meant they really liked her or thought she really needed to relax.

So what do I do? I pipe up with a teacher/student gift story of my own.

One of our good friends was a high-school art teacher at an all-girls high school. She was leaving at the end of the year and was not returning to teach the following school year. Our friend is a very cool girl, so I can see how all her students would think she was cool as well.

On her last day, one of her students gave her a teddy bear and told her to look inside it when she got home. The bear, it contained a bag of pot.

And I told this story. To the director of my son's preschool. Seriously, does my mouth have an on/off switch? (Josh, do not answer that.)

Monkey see

I have always looked forward to the day when Jack would make friends with the other kids at the playground. I had visions of him running and kicking balls with a group of boys while I sat on a bench nearby and read a book. Somehow in this vision I don't have another child who requires my attention, my hair looks awesome, I am wearing a really cute outfit and it's a perfect 73 degrees with golden-hued lighting, but that's neither here nor there right now.

Today, a beautiful late-fall day here in Chicago where the temperature was in the mid-60s, my vision came to life. Kind of. Although I was wearing slouchy pants and a T-shirt and I hadn't showered.

Jack was playing on the bridge to the slide and two boys were up there with him, running back and forth and yelling. So Jack starts running after them and yelling. I realize they are yelling, "FIRE! FIRE!" So he starts yelling it too.

Great. Now I have a kid screaming about fire. I hope he's never in a crowded theater.

Then they throw themselves down the slide, headfirst. Of course, Jack jumps right in and does the same. So now I have an almost-3-year-old careening down the fast slide, face first. I am having visions of stitches and disfiguring facial injuries.

He gets to the bottom, stands up on the edge of the slide, jumps off and laughs hysterically. He repeats this about 47 more times and has the time of his life.

From now on, I am hoping he just hangs out in the sandbox with the little kids. It's a lot safer there.

******************

I also have a CiCi update for those of you wondering. She is making progress! She was taken off all the blood pressure meds and was moved to a smaller ventilator this weekend. She also got a visit from her twin sister, which everyone thinks is going to help so much. You know what they say about twin bonds. She also reacted to a toy being brushed across her cheek, which is a great sign. She is still on sedatives so she is not awake or moving, but scans showed there is activity on both sides of her brain.

Tomorrow they will perform the big MRI to check her brain, so if you could spare the positive thoughts for one more day, I know her family would appreciate it. What a fighter she is!

NaBloPoMo-a-gogo

Here we are again, Day 1 of the third year I am participating in NaBloPoMo. For those uninitiated, it's 30 straight days of posting in November. Which usually results in serious malaise around, oh say Nov. 5, and then I just throw content up without much thought for the rest of the month.

But aren't you looking forward to that? Unthoughtful content, all the time! It's my new tagline.

I am currently typing this from the passenger seat of my vehicle while Josh pulls a quick nap before we head into a wedding reception in Milwaukee. This is dedication, my friends.

So my story for today involves my Halloween from yesterday. After Trick or Treat, Josh and I headed out to dinner with friend/reader Ed and two other friends. During dinner, Ed told us he wanted to head out to a party. A house party. At an apartment.

Oh dear lord. If you know anything about me, it's that I hate dressing up for Halloween and I hate house parties. I am 34 years old and way too old to be drinking out of a cup in the living room of someone I don't know with 100 people who are probably 10 years younger than me.

So we go to this party. Josh and I are not wearing costumes. Someone asks what I am and I glare and reply, "A MILF." Classy.

We grab a beer, I mouth to Josh, "I HATE THIS" and he smiles and drinks from his cup. Bottoms up! I wander outside to the deck, where there is a Beer Pong tournament and an ice luge for shots. I head back inside and see a couple completely making out in the corner. I am not sure she was wearing anything under her costume. Eww.

Upon finally leaving, we pile into a cab and head for a bar that I have not been to since my very first days in Chicago. TEN YEARS AGO. Josh remarked it was the first bar he ever went to in Chicago. And we are here why? Oh right -- our friends want to meet SINGLE CHICKS.

Again, I am 34. Not single. A mom of two. Definitely NOT my scene. Then I find we have to wait in line. This sends me over the edge. In a moment I am not proud of, Ed asks we what's wrong and I scream, "What's wrong is I am standing in line at fucking TIN LIZZIE."

It was one of those movie moments where the crowd goes silet, so your voice is the only thing people for miles around can hear and everyone just stares. The doorman wryly tells me, "No one is forcing you to be here, you know." My husband, the man who vowed to stay with me through good times and through bad, says, "Maybe you should leave then."

I jump out of the line, cross the street and get in a taxi. I head home. Where I then have sit shivering on the porch steps for 10 minutes -- without a coat -- because I forgot my keys. Not my finest moment as an adult, I must admit.

Moral of the story: don't go out with me on Halloween. I am a barrel of laughs.

All over but the shoutin'

Sweet lord, the end of NaBloPoMo is here. Finally.

I mean of course I love babbling on and on and on for 30 days on end. But even I get a little sick of myself after 30 straight days. I can't imagine being Josh. Three years of nothing but me? I shudder.

Anyway, a big thanks to all of you for sticking it out and reading. I was so excited to see all your comments and check out some new blogs as well.

So I would like to thank the baby Jesus, my family, my friends and my manager. Without all of them, this month would not have been possible.

I feel punchy. I just got back from traffic court and boy howdy, do I have a blog post out of that for Monday. How you like that? A cliffhanger!

The penultimate post!

Whoo hoo, only two more days left in NaBloPoMo! While it's a been a pleasure, I could use a break.

But instead of wimping out and posting something lame, I actually dug into my ideas folder and found a post by Zoot from a few months ago I had saved for this month.

Basically, it's a list of books.
Italicize books you have started but couldn’t finish.
Add an asterisk* to those you have read more than once.
Underline those on your To Be Read list.

So I am going to give this one a whirl. I omitted the on the "To Be Read" category because I can't really say any of these are on my list, but left the requirement in there in case anyone wanted to steal this idea for their own.

So here's my list. I think it's pretty respectable. Most of my reading taste runs toward new fiction, and I have been in a book club for five years now, so I don't read a lot of classics.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi: A Novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the Fates of Human Societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States: 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

Seven minutes in heaven

My son made out with his first girl today. I am so proud. And it wasn't even at a grade-school dance.

We had a playdate with his little friend this afternoon and as they were leaving, I told Jack to say goodbye. So in addition to his regular waving, he ran across the room humming, "mmmmmmmmmm," which means he wants a kiss.

His little friend seemed game, so when he leaned in for a smoocher, she let him. He laid one on her, full-on on the lips.



Then she leaned in and gave him a huge hug.



My friend and I were dying of the cuteness and snapped some pictures. I feel like there should have been some cheesy REO Speedwagon song playing in the background, but alas, there was no time to set a mood. Although I could always have him send her a mix tape later.

I told Jack I think she might be a little fast for him, but since we are such good friends, I will reserve judgment. I also told him to be sure to keep his options open and play the field. He doesn't want to be tied down at such a young age.

I know you're out there

Since I have provided you, my faithful readers, with stunning and engaging content for the last 27 days, I feel it's time for you, the readers, to respond.

I missed out on the big National Delurking Day when I was in France, so I am declaring this Delurking Day on Snarkymommy!

I encourage you to leave a comment, one and all. Don't be shy. I know you're out there, I see my stats. So leave a comment and a link to your blog if you have one and I will return the favor.

Feel the love, people, feel it.

Cyber Monday

So I have been reading all this business about today being the biggest online shopping day of the year. In honor of that, I am pimping my business.

See those nice little links to the right? Click those. Buy stuff!

SnarkyBabies and SnarkyMommies -- for all your holiday gift-giving needs!

Too old, too fat

So the club was... ummmmm... interesting.

I present to you, photographic evidence before we left the house!



First, we went to dinner. Because the reservation was for 9 p.m. and the bitchy pregnant lady gets crabby eating that late, Josh and I had stopped for dinner with Jack at Panera earlier in the night.

And because we didn't want to get stuck splitting a dinner bill 10 ways when we ate a salad, we didn't order anything. Cheap? No. Money-saving? Definitely. We did end up ordering a dessert to share and Josh split a bottle of wine with two other people. So we dropped $40 in at the end of the meal and everyone was happy.

Since we were going out big, I decided to rock the fur coat for the evening. I swear to God, I am so pretentious. How can anyone be so vain and this pregnant?

Anyway.

So we headed to the club. I was told we were going to a cool club. Guest list and the whole shebang. But then the plans changed slightly, and we ended up going to a club that is literally across the street from Cabrini Green, one of the most famouse housing projects in all of Chicago.

As I contemplated whether or not I would give up my fur coat in an armed robbery, we headed to the door. As we roll up on it (how ya like that lingo?!) the group of people we are with start getting asked who they are there with and do they have ID and yada yada. I walk up and say, "Morgan? Hi! I'm Leah's friend, Amy. How are you?"

Turns out I knew one of the managers and she waved us right in. That's right. The pregnant one knew the doorperson and walked right in. I am so in demand.

So we walk into this club, and I look around say to Josh, "Don't you think there are an inordinate amount of fat chicks here?" Because seriously, there were a lot of women who should not have been wearing the outfits they were wearing. There's a difference between being overweight and being a fat chick and most of the difference involves wearing skin tight clothing.

Josh agreed and his friend basically said the same thing to us about 10 seconds later while we were standing near the bar. Which lasted about 10 more seconds before roughly 17 post-college-but-still-acting-like-they're-in-a-frat boys muscle their way past me, roughing the belly.

I headed for a seat, where the guy next to me proceeds to ask me, "So, you having fun?"

I do a double-take, like seriously, is he talking to me? I respond, "I am wildly out of place here."

He says, "That's because you're wearing a big wedding ring."

I say, "And not because I am PREGNANT?" as I point to the belly.

He is now dying laughing, says he didn't even notice and has to tell his buddy because this is hilarious. I'm sorry, this is just surreal. I am the oldest person in this bar by at least seven years and I am a mom and oh my God, I just felt so old.

Then Josh gets called up to the bar to do shots by his friend, Ed. (Ed, who specifically asked for a shoutout in the blog, so Ed, here you are.) When they are up there doing shots, one of the other guys, Vinny, says something about paying and Ed tells him, "I got this round buddy" and shoves some money in his pocket. They all do Patron shots and when Vinny walks back over, he sees Ed dropped a $5 bill in his pocket. For an $80 round of shots. Hilarity ensues.

I manage to hold on until 1:15 in the morning, an hour I am usually seeing as I get up to pee in the middle of the night, when I announce to my drunky husband that I am leaving. He, however, of the Drunky McDrunkersons, doesn't want to leave and apparently wants to do more shots with fat chicks. He does put me in a cab, though, so chivalry is clearly not dead.

I arrive home 10 minutes later, wake a sleeping babysitter (Grandma) and go upstairs after telling her she is so lucky because when Josh gets home, whenever that might be, she gets to get up and let him in since he does not have his key.

Which she does. At 3-freaking-30 a.m. He then proceeds to come upstairs to bed, where he announces, "There's a 50-50 chance I am going to puke." He didn't and was asleep within 30 seconds.

So that, my friends, was my big night out. I think I may never do it again. Especially when pregnant. There's just nothing sexy about a pregnant chick dancing on a table now is there?

In da club

I am 33 years old.

I am 31 weeks pregnant.

I am on my out the door to a club. Like with a doorman and velvet rope and VIP room.

WTF?

Pass the stuffing

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

I have to say, I am thankful for many things this year. My family, this pregnancy, my friends and most of all, maternity pants after a big turkey dinner.

Seriously, what better time to be pregnant than on the biggest eating holiday of the year? I had seconds and two desserts and I am feeling no guilt.

As an aside, there was snow on the ground when we woke up this morning. We took Jack outside all bundled up and he didn't know what to make of it. He sort of shuffled around in the white stuff and looked confused. Which reminds me, I need to get him some boots.

Helliday travels

I have bitched about our holiday travels on many occasions, but any of you who missed it, I shall recap again today.

We live in Chicago. My family lives in Milwaukee. Josh's family lives in Peoria. Milwaukee and Peoria are separated by a 3:45 ride. Chicago is kind of in the middle, but not really, as it only takes us 90 minutes door to door to my parents' condo and about 2:45 to Josh's parents' house.

So we end up spending a good chunk of each and every holiday in the car. We can't not go to one if we go to the other and especially with the child, we just don't have the option of staying home.

The one-day holidays (Thanksgiving and Easter) we've arbitrarily made into two-day holidays in our families. We do Thanksgiving with my family on Wednesday and with Josh's family on Thursday. For Easter, we have started doing Josh's family on Saturday (and really, does a family that celebrates both Passover and Easter care that Jesus hasn't techinically risen and saved us by Saturday?) and my family on Sunday.

Christmas is split up thusly: we drive to Peoria on Christmas Eve morning and open presents with Josh's immediate family. Then we spend Christmas Eve evening with his extended family. Then we pile into the car and drive almost two-and-a-half hours to Chicago, where we spend the night and celebrate Christmas morning at our house just the three of us. Then we get in the car and drive to my parents' house, where we open presents and have dinner. Then we drive home again, where I collapse from sheer exhaustion and try to drink a bottle of wine by myself.

This year, we had the added fly in the ointment of a family wedding in Peoria the weekend before Thanksgiving. So this will be our driving log for the week:
Saturday: Amy and Josh drive to Peoria.
Sunday: Amy drives back to Chicago, Josh stays in Peoria to work in Bloomington.
Monday: Amy and Jack get ride to Milwaukee with Grandpa.
Tuesday: Josh drives back to Chicago.
Wednesday: Josh drives from Chicago to Milwaukee.
Thursday: Amy, Josh and Jack drive from Milwaukee to Peoria.
Saturday: Amy, Josh and Jack drive from Peoria to Chicago.
Monday: Josh drives to Bloomington.

Did I add that it's snowing today? And that I am doing all this car travel when I am 30 weeks pregnant? And that we're expected to do all this again in a few weeks when I am 35 weeks pregnant? Can you tell how much I love this?

Project managing my pregnancy

When it comes to labor and delivery, my mantra this time around has been, "I like to manage my births."

I am not a fan of surprises. I mean not when it comes to things like gifts or last-minute trips or something like that. But for major life events that could involve an embarassing episode of bodily fluids cascading onto the floor in a Starbucks, I like to be in control.

The added benefit of having an Incompetent Cervix is that it is, generally, not able to perform to the best of its ability. With Jack, I had my cerlcage removed at 36 weeks and immediately starting contracting and slowly dilating. I would just contract contract contract all the live-long day, but nothing in enough of a pattern to send me to the Labor and Delivery ward. By the time 38 weeks rolled around, I was dilated to 3 cm and was swollen and my blood pressure was a-rising and I was contracting and I think my OB was so sick of seeing my face that she induced.

So this time around, I have been walking around telling people I was having this baby on Jan. 22, but that my due date is Jan. 28. And they say "Oh yeah?" like "You are such a dumbass. No one can predict that." And then I lay the smack down on them that I am going to be induced and they're all, "Really? Your doctor will do that before your due date?" Of course that was before checking with my doctor, but she's cool and I figured she would let me.

At my appointment yesterday, I laid out my case. My due date just happens to be my birthday, which falls on a Monday. I am really not keen on the idea of sharing, but whatever. But my doctor is on call on Tuesdays, so I proposed we go with the Tuesday before my due date. With a husband who travels and a child at home and the incessant need to control every last detail, I like me a good induction.

My OB said as long as my cervix is favorable, and she laughed and added "And we all know how your cervix is," then we're good to go for Jan. 22. I am more nervous I won't make it that far after the cerclage is out, but I am optimistic.

We also decided my cerclage will be removed the first week of January, at the standard 36 weeks, and then the we're off to the races toward Jan. 22.

For those of you playing along at home, jan. 22 is NINE WEEKS from today. Holy shit. Nine weeks. Nine. Single-digits. I think I just threw up in my mouth. For at least three weeks, that means I will have two under 2. I need to lie down now.

So there we have it. An induction and a cerclage removal. It's starting to seem a little more real. Just in case this huge belly was not enough of an indicator.

My Heroes

Josh and I have just finished watching season one of "Heroes."

OH MY GOD.

If you watch already, please do not say a word about season two, as we have them all Tivoed, waiting for us.

If you don't watch already, you need to Netflix this shit pronto.

I hated the first episode. I even told Josh I didn't want to watch it and he could watch it without me. But then I was sitting in the living room surfing while he was watching the next one and one of the characters pulled me in and I was hooked.

I can't even tell you how awesome this show is. It is AMAZING. I have never watched anything like it. I have heard ominous rumblings about season two not being as good, so we are nervous. We watched episode one, and so far, it seems great.

So there's my public service announcement for the day. Watch "Heroes" because it's unreal. The end.

The one where I say nothing

We're on our way to a wedding and I was all "omg I have to blog!" So here I am moblawging from my phone.

It's hard to type on the phone y'all!

I am pretty sure we're going to be late. The whole day has been a total cluster. Swim class, a contractor at the house, a quick breakfast out, a stop at the bakery, a shower but no time for makeup, a quick packing job, hand the Jackster over to Grandma for the night, dash off to book club and then get picked up late by Josh.

I am tired just reading that.

So here I sit, jeans and a sweater, no makeup, hair needs a flatiron and we're running about 30 minutes behind an already tight schedule.

I'm sure the bride won't mind if I walk in right behind her right?

Good gravy

A few days ago, I made Jack some turkey meatballs for dinner. And by made, I mean I took frozen turkey meatballs out of the freezer and microwaved them and then mixed them in gravy. A gravy I did actually make on the stove, albeit from a mix. An organic mix.

Anyway.

So I made the gravy and put the remainder of it in the fridge for use the next time Jack had turkey meatballs. I am smart like that.

For lunch that day, I had made a can of potato and leek soup, but only ate half of it. So I put that in the fridge too. How very economical of me.

Today, I decided to eat the rest of my soup with a panini that Josh made me for lunch. So I pulled the container out of the fridge and heated it up.

You see where this is going don't you?

After taking two spoonfuls of it, I said to myself, "Self, that is some mighty salty soup. And it's a little thinner than I remember it. And ... darker."

Yes, I had just eaten gravy. Straight up gravy. With a spoon. Two heaping spoonfuls.

I am not sure that this is a sign I am pregnant and forgetful, lazy or simply a bad keeper of leftovers.

Nails on the chalkboard

When I get a pedicure, which is about every six weeks or so, I usually like to go to an upscale nail salon chain, called Nailbar. It's a fun atmosphere with lounge music, the people don't talk to you (which I hate when I get my nails done because I just want to be by myself and read a magazine or a book) and you get a really good pedicure that takes about an hour.

I define that really good pedicure as one that includes a nice foot soak in a whirlpool, a good salt scrub and a decent-length foot and leg massage with lotion. For this, I pay $50 and drive about two miles.

But there is also a nail place right across the street from our house. This nail place gives you a soak in a whirlpool, a cursory rub of some lotion on your feet and you are out the door in less than 30 minutes. For this, I pay $15 and walk across the street.

You can all guess which place Josh prefers that I frequent. But damn it, it's just not nice. They have cut me TWICE. I have bled. It hurt. And yes, this can happen anywhere, but it has not happened to me at Nailbar.

So tonight I told Josh I was going to get a pedicure and he got a huge smile on his face and said, "Across the street right?" And I felt guilty so I sighed and said yes. So I trudged down there and was able to get a mani AND a pedi for $25 -- half the price of just the pedicure at Nailbar.

Yes, it was not the "experience" I was looking for. But my nails are done for the wedding we're going to this weekend and I did get to read a book and be by myself for an hour. But, I didn't really relax or enjoy it. And isn't that half the point of getting your nails done?

Garish at any size

I had to exchange some maternity clothes this weekend, which meant I had to actually shop for and try on maternity clothes. Which, holy hell, is there anything worse?

During my pregnancy with Jack, I shopped only a couple of times before I was relegated to the bed. There was really no need for a wardrobe outside of yoga pants and T-shirts, so the two pairs of jeans and handful of tops were fine for my doctor's appointments and for the end of the line, when I had about a month to go out and enjoy myself.

This pregnancy, I got a bunch of new T-shirts, two pairs of casual cargo pants and a couple sweaters from Old Navy. I added one more pair of jeans and a dressy dress and now I have a pretty respectable maternity wardrobe.

Oh let me sing you the praises of Old Navy maternity: inexpensive, trendy and did I say inexpensive? I got short-sleeved T-shirts for $5.99 that I wear allllll the time and while I abhor going all the way downtown or to the burbs to see their selections in person, it's been worth it. My Old Navy that is four blocks away, sadly, does not carry maternity. Boo hoo for me.

So outside of Old Navy and a couple higher-end boutiques in my neighborhood, I really don't venture too much into maternity sections. But twice now, once at Motherhood and this weekend at a department store, I have perused the racks.

Holy loud prints and tenty-styles batman. There is nothing out there that is not either a large-scale geometric print or hot pink and turquoise, sometimes at the same time. I am not really sure how that is supposed to make pregnant women feel attractive or even remotely sexy, but it sure doesn't do it for me.

I tend to fall into the "form-fitting black shirt and Seven maternity jeans" uniform during pregnancy. Hell, take out the adjective "maternity" in that sentence and it sums up my whole wardrobe when I am not pregnant as well. I detest baggy maternity shirts -- you know the ones, they look like tents and make you look 10 times bigger than you actually are -- and will not wear them.

Don't even get me started about buying maternity clothes in my second pregnancy to begin with. I feel so guilty, like I am wasting money. But ... wait for it ... we're not entirely 100 percent certain that two children will be the end of the road for us. I know! Crazy high-risk pregnant woman considering a third child. Film at 11. But for now, it's just an option. Let's move on, shall we?

So this weekend really scared me. I had about five racks to choose from and I think I found four things to try on. I came away with two: a cute black cardigan and a print shirt that is allllllmost form-fitting. But it shows off the cleavage, so it will do.

But could someone please tell the mass clothing manufactures out there: less is more when you are smuggling a basketball in your stomach. No need for people to see me coming three blocks away. Just give me some neutral colors in fitted styles and we'll all be happier in the end.

Yuck

Two days ago, Jack was getting into his little pushcar to go to the park. He likes to get in and then buckle himself into the strap and yell "Goooooooo" until we open the front door and take him out.

But two days ago, the normal sequence of events took a wayward turn when he buckled the fleshy part of thumb into the buckle. Which resulted in howling and crying and much hugging and assurances from Mommy and Daddy that all would be OK.

But then he was off to the park without a second thought and everyone moved on.

Then the next morning, he got up for breakfast with Daddy while Mommy was dying from the effects of the plague. He kept showing Josh a little blister on his thumb and saying, "Yuck" and trying to get it off. Josh had to explain that it didn't come off and that it wasn't yuck.

When I came down a few minutes later, he showed me his "owie" and tried wiping it off on his pajamas. Then later he kept taking me with him to the garbage and trying to the throw the "yuck" away. This would be where I got all teary-eyed, because, my god he is so cute.

Even today he kept looking at the blister and showing it to me. He is quite concerned about it.

So apparently every time he hits another child, I should hope he hits hard enough to leave a mark and then he will be so concerned about the bruise that he will never do it again. Good plan, huh?

Again with the plague

How many times can I get sick in one year? Seriously, this is so annoying.

I have the plague again. So does Jack. Between the two of us, we went through an entire box of Kleenex yesterday. Today, I started coughing. That was after the fun of last night when I couldn't breathe lying down, making sleep impossible. Oh and I think my ear hurt today, but I am trying to pretend that didn't happen.

But soldier on, I did. I still got up with Jack. I still went to music class with him. I still went to the park. I still made and served him a dinner that he chewed and spit out instead of ingesting.

I know it sounds like I am complaining. That's because I am. I am sick of being sick and not being able to take anything for it because I am either pregnant or breastfeeding. I am pretty sure that of the last three years, I have spent approximately 28 months in a state where I could not take any over-the-counter medication. I just want some damn Nyquil so I can fall into a drug-induced sleep. Is that too much to ask?

Whole Paininmyass

As I believe I have mentioned in the past, we live three blocks from a Whole Foods, Trader Joe's and Sunflower Market. I want for nothing when it comes to organic food and to have it in walking distance is ridiculously awesome.

But the whole "no lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk" restriction with a cerclage makes my shopping a wee more difficult. If I can't fit it in the basket under the stroller, I can't buy it. Or I have to send Josh.

Today, we needed just about everything Jack eats in a week. I knew we needed milk for me and for Josh (yes, there are three of us in this house and we all drink different milks: whole, chocolate and skim) so there was no way I could carry it all.

Since I was going to look for a new pair of maternity pants at the Gap (Ha! Hahahaha that was a great time. I came home empty-handed.) I told Josh I would just take the car to Whole Foods on the way home.

Let me set the scene for you. We live three blocks from one of the busiest retail corridors of the city. Between now and Christmas, we generally try to take the car out as little as possible on the weekends because the traffic is so hellacious. Don't even get me started on the parking at Whole Foods, which shares a 200-spot parking lot with a Best Buy. They actually have valet parking at Whole Foods between Thanksgiving and New Year's. It's INSANE.

Of course, where am I on a Sunday afternoon, when there is no Bears game on to occupy people? At a grocery store. What an idiot I am.

So I pull into the back row of the parking lot and see an open spot, which someone is blinkering toward from the front of the spot, and a guy going to the car right next to it, which I blinker toward from behind. So two cars (on the same side of the row), two blinkers and two spots.

Of course, some asshat in a Jetta comes the opposite way down the row and turns into the empty spot. OH NO YOU DIDN'T. And seriously, people still drive Jettas?

I gesture wildly, in effect communicating, "Get the hell out of there, that is so NOT your spot." He smirks and waves and the people in front, who actually have dibs on that spot, just get pissed and drive on. But I roll down the window.

"Dude, I was here first, and that is not even the spot I was taking. It's for that guy up there. That is so not your spot."

Smirky Driver says, "Calm down. There's two spots."

Me: "Right, and two people waiting. Neither of which was you. Move."

So he pulls out. And his girlfriend decides to get in on the act and inform me I should just "calm down" while gesticulating with her manicured hand. Smirky Driver rolls up his window and away they go.

So yes, I won the parking battle. And it felt damn good. Then, on the way back to my car after shopping, I nudged a Porsche with my cart by accident. I am not sure what kind of karmic message that is, but insert your own interpretation here.

You put your right arm in...

Guess who came to live at my house two weeks ago? Why it was Hokey Pokey Elmo!

Now if you know me, or at least knew me in my pre-child life, you would be familiar with the fact I detest the Hokey Pokey. It was outlawed at my wedding, naturally.( I can't even tell you how tacky I find that when done at weddings, which reminds me of the Dollar Dance, and it's equal horror in my mind, but that is another post.)

But Jack, he loves him some Elmo. And he now loves him some Hokey Pokey. And he can get us all to do it with him any time he wants now. I do respond to his commands, it is sad.

I present to you, my son in all his glory:

Jack wins by KO

Could his noggin be any harder?

This morning, after returning from my doctor appointment (more on that in a minute), I was sitting on the couch with Jack and Josh. Jack was talking on the phone to Grandma and kept trying to slide the keyboard out on the phone. Apparently he wanted to text her instead.

The problem with sliding the keyboard out is that he is able to activate the screen, which then enables him to hang the phone up. As Grandmas don't generally like to be hung up on, we try to discourage that little trick.

And know that by discourage, I mean "take the phone away" from his hot little hands. Which results in screaming and tears and tantrums the likes of which you have never experienced.

Today's little fit resulted in him throwing his head back with the force of an atom bomb. Into my eye socket. I saw stars -- literally. I ran from the room, clutching my head and sat down on the kitchen floor, where I actually shed tears.

That shit hurts!

Jack ran over and tried to pull my hands off my face, and then when I finally looked at him, telling him he hurt Mommy and that she was sad, he hit me and laughed. That's right kid, kick me when I'm down.

So now I have a knot on my eyebrow bone and a headache. Jack, of course, was rubbing the back of his head for like a milisecond and then was off to the next adventure.

After that we settled down and I showed him my "owies" from the doctor's office. My OB gives the pediatric flu shot to pregnant patients, since that is the thermerisol-free one, so adults get two shots: one in each arm muscle. I showed Jack my bandaids, but lamented that Mommy did not get an Elmo sticker for her bravery. He pulled my sleeve down and didn't want to look at it anymore. Great bedside manner on this kid.

But everything looked great at the doctor. She said my cervix is closed, but short, but no shorter than it was on Monday, so we're still calling it 1.5 cm. I am free to roam about the cabin, she just said to sit down or lie down if I start having contractions again.

And HA! I lost 3 pounds this month, which I didn't really, but it all balanced out. Last month I went in right after my hospital stay and all the IV fluids they had given me were apparently still floating around in there. They tried to tell me I gained 11 pounds that month, which I disputed vehemently. So losing 3 pounds this month really puts me at 8 pounds over two months, which is what I figured. So for those playing at home, I have gained a grand total of 21 pounds in seven months, which puts me on track to gain exactly what I did with Jack.

My twice-monthly appointments start now, continue for the next two months, and then right after Christmas, I go weekly. Which scares the living hell out of me because here is the progression: Thanksgiving is in two weeks; Christmas is a month after that; my stitch comes out the first week of January and then HOLY SHIT we're having another kid. See how quick that comes up? It's like boom, it's Christmas and we're having a baby.

Excuse me while I go hide under the bed now.

Work-at-home dad

Many moons ago, when I was first pregnant this summer, I might have mentioned that Josh was traveling for work four nights a week. Five hours away. I think I mentioned it probably more than a few times, as it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Perhaps that sounds a bit melodramatic. But I was so so so sick all the time and here I was with a toddler all by myself and the days stretched on endlessly as I swung from dibilitating nausea to extreme exhaustion.

I clearly remember days where I was convinced I would not make it to Jack's bedtime. My mom would come to help overnight one day a week, which oh my God, thank you baby jesus. But other than that? Shitty times.

Well the week after Labor Day, Josh called me very early in the morning. It was 7:45 a.m. and I had to get up to answer the phone and who the hell would call that early? It was Josh, telling me his role on the project was done. Effective the end of that week.

By the end of that week, he had already had his next project lined up, and it was set to start a few weeks after that. Since we were going on vacation at the end of September, it was perfect timing. He did a bunch of training from home and wasn't I excited to have my husband around so I could ask him to do things like scrub the floor and change diapers! And of course, Jack was thrilled Daddy could take him to the park before dinner every night.

Well the few weeks stretched into more than a few and while the new project is just awaiting contactual signatures, he remains here, working at home. Which has been more than convenient this week with my ass on the couch.

Let me take this opportunity to publicly thank my husband for all he does. I know I don't tell him enough, but he is an awesome dad and husband. He's been lifting Jack and changing diapers and feeding some meals and taking park duty and playing legos like a champ. Of course, his expertise on all the parenting things I should be doing is appreciated (I am rolling my eyes so hard right now they might pop out of the back of my head) but he really is awesome.

So they are saying next week, he'll probably maybe perhaps be working away from home again. You'll never guess where! Bloomington! It's like deja vu and the last seven months have never happened and he's never left his project there. I'm still not jumping up and down about him traveling, but at least he's only two hours away instead of five and he can be here in a flash when needed.

But I sure will miss having him around all day. Who will make me paninis now?

Rest for the weary uterus

NaBloPoMo should really be called NaPoAboMyUteMo on snarkymommy.com because apparently I am just going to talk about my uterus every day.

Last night, after having a whopping three contractions in 20 minutes after leaving dinner, I broke down and called my OB. She was the one on call, so she personally returned my call and said she didn't think I needed to come in to Labor and Delivery since I was just seen on Monday. Hooray!

But she was slightly troubled by my three days of contractions and did say she wanted to see me on Friday and that I should "stay off my feet" until then. Which seemed pretty reasonable, considering when I stand up, I have a contraction. Or 20.

So I laid on the couch today. I slothfully drove the five blocks to Jack's play class and sat watching from the sidelines as Grandma chased him around. Then I came home and returned to the couch.

I am not calling it bedrest. I am just viewing it as lying around. Jack toddles over to play every few minutes. It's all very laid back.

So. Staying off my feet. Not contracting. BUT IT'S NOT BEDREST. No bed here. Carry on. Move along. Nothing to see here.

Contractual obligation

So hey, remember yesterday when I said I was still having contractions? And the day before that too? Yeah, still enjoying them today. It's like the gift that won't stop giving.

If I sit down or lie down, my uterus is at peace with the world. The second I stand up, I contract. Last night, I went on a date with Josh. Of course, my irritable uterus had to butt in and come along as well. God, it's such a third wheel.

We walked about four blocks to our dinner destination -- mmm Mexican food -- and then took the El downtown, walked another three blocks and sat down to see "American Gangster." Which was awesome. Go see it. Really.

I had about 20-25 contractions on the five hours we were gone. Most of them while I was walking in an upright fashion. (As opposed to walking on all fours? God sometimes I sound stupid. Moving on.)

I refused to call my doctor, however. I know these are just annoying Braxton Hicks and I know if I lie down and drink water, they will fade for a while. So ignoring my husband, who kept saying I should just CALL already, I laid down and drank water. Three contractions and 45 minutes later, I was asleep. I woke a few times during the night -- you guessed it, contracting -- and by this morning they were mostly gone.

Except when I stood up to make breakfast for Jack. Or walk over to the little reading corner to read a book to Jack. Or quickly moved to the kitchen as little arms threw toys and a cell phone into the sink.

This afternoon I have sat on my ass and only had about three total. two of which came when I was standing up. I am sensing a trend here. One I don't really want to see, so I am ignoring all the statistical data screaming "bedrest you fool, you clearly need bedrest" and also ignoring my mother, who is saying the same thing.

My 28-week update

Holy shit, I am in my third trimester. How did that happen?

I had an ultrasound this morning, which went just swimmingly. Baby2 weighs 2 lbs 10 oz and is measuring three days ahead. She's head down, low in the pelvis, which is contributing to all my nice Braxton Hicks contractions. And yes, they are continuing. Let's not speak of them.

Baby2 is looking great. My cerclage is looking great. Cervix is looking great, although down slightly from 2.0 cm below the stitch to about 1.5 cm. But my peri is not concerned at all and the ultrasound showed no signs of funneling, which is awesome.

Apparently, my incompetency is non-existent this pregnancy. Yay me.

We had discussed the possibility of my lifting restriction being lifted at 28 weeks, but my doctor said Jack and his 30 pounds of mass is a pretty significant weight to be placing on the wee stitch and I should hold off for at least a few more weeks.

I had previously dismissed the Granny Nannies from their duties, but now will have to reinstate them. I am also not allowed to resume my housework duties, so Josh will have to soldier on scrubbing the floors and vacuuming. Damn, I was really looking forward to that too.

I hate you daylight savings

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I hate you.

It's not me, it's you. There is no way we can work this out. I'm so over you.

Sincerely,
Amy

**************************

I abhor this clock-switching business. Last spring, I was so smug. Ha! The clocks are springing ahead! My child will be fooled and will sleep until 8 a.m. and I will sleep the sleep of queens and the princess and the pea!

Oh but no. He woke up at the same damn time, not even acknowledging the fact the clocks had switched. I felt cheated. It was such a letdown.

Of course this time around, I knew it would be even worse since we were setting the clocks back an hour.

Last night we put the Jackster to bed at 8 p.m. That's a full hour later than normal. He had also taken a much later nap because of some problem falling asleep, so we were thinking maybe we beat the system.

You know what time I heard the crib soother this morning? That would be 5-it's-way-too-freaking-early a.m. I listened to babbling and singing a short bursts of silence until 7 a.m., when I finally dragged my ass out of bed and staggered into his room.

Because I am an idiot and realized a half-hour before lunchtime today that I needed to make a Whole Foods run, his nap was an hour later than normal, but with the time change it was really two hours later and oh my holy hell, all this thinking about what time it is and what time it would have been yesterday makes my head hurt.

Also, it is making me have Braxton Hicks contractions. Well, not entirely true. It's not all the thinking, it's the lack of water I would imagine. So I shall go lie down now and drink some water and think about how great it will be in a week when everyone forgets what time it could be and instead just thinks about what time it actually is.

Why yes, he's fluent

Today Josh and I attended a preschool informational fair.

Oh my sweet lord. Our child is not even 2 years old, and there were were, standing in line with our e-tickets and IDENTIFICATION. Yes, you had to show ID to get in. One person per e-ticket. One e-ticket per account member. Do not even think about sneaking in any contraband parents who are not members of the super-secret society of parents that sponsor the fair.

Note of disclosure, I resisted joining this society, because it costs $40 per year and hot damn, I was not paying anyone $40 per year to read message boards and set up play dates. Except then I heard they had a preschool fair every fall and all the cool parents were going and I of course wanted to be like the cool kids, so about five seconds later, they had my AmEx number and I had an e-ticket in my hot little hand.

They told us we had a one-hour slot. There would be more than 1,000 parents attending, they told us via e-mail, so we were to be on time. I am not sure what they planned to do once the clock struck 1 p.m. -- beat us all about the head with pamphlets and herd us out of the fieldhouse? But I was too scared to find out.

So at the appointed noon hour (OK, we were 15 minutes late, but for God's sake, we had to drive all the way north in traffic and it was Saturday and have you SEEN Lincoln Park traffic on the weekends?) we arrived and waited in line to speak with all the nice preschool representatives.

While we were waiting, there was a booth about learning Chinese. Our child, that is, not us. DVDs and books and pictures of multi-ethnic children grinning from ear to ear decorated the booth. I snorted, because, well the notion of teaching Jack Chinese when he refuses to even say two-syllable words in English seemed just ridiculous.

So the woman asks would we like our child to learn Chinese and Josh responds, "No thanks, he mastered that last month. This month we've moved on to Portugese."

Road trip! With a child!

Today we are embarking on a four-hour, one-night trip to see our friends in Bloomington, IN. With an almost-two-year-old ball of energy.

I am not sure yet if this is a good idea. I will let you know in, oh, about four hours.

This is the longest we have ever spent in the car with him. Sure, we've taken him on an eight-hour plane ride and a three-hour train ride, but that was with other people. This is just the three of us.

We're taking snacks and milk and toys and books. I think we have Elmo on the computer for cases of extreme emergency.

What constitutes an Elmo Emergency, I am not sure. But I will know it when I see it, that's for sure.

I also have some grave reservations because our friends are the proud new parents of a seven-week old boy. And we all know how Jack likes him some target practice.

In his defense, I should say he has not hit any babies in quite some time. Just this week we had a playdate with a friend and her three-month-old little girl and he was quite fine with it.

I am actually glad he'll get some practice hanging out with a wee baby. Maybe the shock to his system won't be quite as profound come January.

Yeah, right.

Happy Halloween

Nemo collected an absurd amount of candy for a child who does not eat candy. But he was so cute, who could resist?




There were even two houses on our route, right around the corner, that were giving out full-size candy bars! Full-size! A neighbor told us that after we were done for the night, there were even some houses giving out beer and wine to the grownup trick or treaters. I love Lincoln Park. Mansions, Bugaboo strollers, $17,000-a-year preschools, Starbucks every two blocks and full-size candy bars and beer on Halloween. I am never moving.

Notice in the second picture, the kid behind me IS AS TALL AS ME. And he was trick or treating. I really think that's a bit much.

But not as much as the kid who marched up next to us at a house around the corner and held out his school backpack. The homeowner said he wanted to know where his costume was, because he was not giving candy to kids without costumes. The kid, without missing a beat, replied, "I am a black gangster." He was dressed in black sweats and pretty much looked like he probably did at school all day. I would say he was about 13 years old.

He did get his candy, incidentally.

But that was not the best part of Halloween 2007. Oh ho know.

We left with Jack about 4:30 p.m. But I didn't want to not leave any candy for the kids who stopped by while we are gone. So being Dorothy from Kansas, I assumed that leaving a bowl of candy out on the porch with a note saying "Please take one!" would be sufficient. Plus, I reasoned, if people took more than one, then they clearly needed that candy more than someone else. So I left two bags worth of candy in the bowl and off we went. I have lived in this city for nine years, I didn't grow up on farm either. I grew up in a fairly big city. You would think I would know better.

Please let me note, we live on a busy street. Lots of foot traffic.

We come home an hour later, and not only is all the candy gone, BUT SO IS THE BOWL. Now come on, that's just shitty. Who steals the bowl? Like no one noticed a kid carrying a heaping bowl of candy down a busy street in broad daylight? And for god's sake, where was this kid's parent?

So yeah, Happy freaking Halloween. I hope that kid's teeth rot from all the Snickers and Skittles in there.