Snarky Mommy

Moving on out

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 03:06:00 +0000

I have decided (read: been forced) to change my blog from Blogger to Wordpress. So just wanted to warn my faithful readers that if things look screwy in the next couple of days, it's not you, it's me.

In the meantime, enjoy a picture of Maeve, looking like a queen on her throne. Jack is apparently trying to get her interested in The Wiggles by showing her an actual DVD.

When Irish eyes (aren't) smiling

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 18:49:00 +0000

Nine years ago today, I saw a cute guy with a glowing Miller Lite shamrock button across the bar. I wanted the button, he wanted my digits and the rest is history. So, if it wasn't for beer, these three little leprechauns wouldn't exist.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to everyone from me and my little pots of gold. And a happy meetiversary to Josh, the best thing that ever happened to me. Well, besides finding my new Hunter boots. Let's not be ridiculous.

Could they ever all smile at the same time again? Just once?

Wasps, and not the New England type

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 01:39:00 +0000

OMFG JACK GOT STUNG BY A WASP IN THE HOUSE TODAY.

You'll have to excuse the crazy-person yelling, but seriously. This calls for it.

Let me first give a little background. For the last few years, every few weeks, I will see a random black wasp on the second floor. That would be the floor where all the bedrooms are. You know, where we sleep. In the dark. When we can't see wasps. Excuse me while I go vomit.

So I see these random wasps and they're usually acting very sluggish, hanging out by the windows. They're easy to kill, since they're sluggish, so I do so and then flush them down the toilet. Because you never know when a squashed wasp could come back to life in the garbage and kill you in your sleep. You can never be too careful as far as I am concerned.

When Maeve was about three weeks old, and not sleeping in her bassinet because she freaking hates that thing, I happened to look down in it as I passed by for a diaper change and saw a black wasp just chillin'. I hyperventilated because HELLO, BABY COULD HAVE BEEN IN THERE, and made Josh kill it and flush it.

But it's weird, I see them throughout the year and never more than one at a time. And every time I freak the hell out and spend days looking for more and then I kinda forget about it until the next one appears.

That brings us to today. I took the kids down to the basement to jump in the jumpy house and was sitting on the couch with Maeve. Josh was sitting in front of the jumpy house and the next thing I know, Jack is screaming and Josh is yelling, "Did it sting you? Did it sting you?"

I jump up and yell, "Oh my God, what happened?" And immediately startle Maeve, who starts wailing. Josh yells that Jack got stung by a wasp and I now see it on the jumpy house slide. Josh pulls his sweatshirt sleeve down over his hand and tries to squish it. Of course, he misses.

So now we have a pissed-off wasp flying around everyone's head. Jack is hysterical because he thinks he's going to get stung again, I am yelling at Josh to get the kids out of there and Emmie is looking at all of us like we're crazy because all she wants to do is jump in the damn jumpy house.

Josh finally kills it while I carry Maeve and Jack upstairs, trying to calm him down. I am usually calm in a crisis, so I take a breath and tell him it is OK. But I have no idea what to do. I am paranoid that he's going to be allergic and stop breathing right in front of my eyes and I kept thinking I really should have been recertified in CPR because I can't remember anything but compressions and breaths and I have no idea how many of each to do and ohmygodhesgoingtodie.

I keep yelling for Josh to come upstairs to help me figure this out, but the jumpy house blower is still on and he can't hear a damn thing. Jack is screaming, Maeve is screaming, I am panicking. And what do I do?

I go to my laptop, duh. Google "wasp sting" and find that you should poor vinegar over the wound to neutralize it, then apply ice. Josh finally comes up and hands me some Neosporin and a Band-aid. I was like "What the hell am I supposed to do with Neosporin? Does the wasp have tetanus and we need to keep it clean?" His response was that it had pain-killing medicine in it and it would help the sting. I can see where he was coming from in hindsight. But in the moment, I snapped at him to get something cold. Like a beer for me.

Jack finally calmed down after I had him hold a bag of frozen strawberries and about 15 minutes later, with the help of "Yo Gabba Gabba," he was fine.

Too bad he'll never go near the jumpy house again. Josh scoffed at that, but I asked if he had ever met our son. This is the kid who after throwing up two months ago has asked me every single night since then if he's going to get sick again. Every. Single. Night.

Needless to say, Terminex is paying us a visit tomorrow. Watch out wasps, we're coming for you.

Rolling like a river

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 13 Mar 2010 04:25:00 +0000

Yesterday Maeve rolled from front to back for the first time.

I put her down on a blanket on her tummy for a minute, walked into the kitchen to grab Jack's backpack, turned to look at something and saw her gracefully go right over. I yelled for Josh and clapped for her.

Then a feeling of dread came over me. What the hell is she doing? She's not allowed to move around, she's my baby! And if she's moving around, then that means I need to pay more attention. And move small 4-year-old and 2-year-old toy pieces out of reach. And now I can't leave her on the changing table while I turn around and wash my hands.

Why yes, I have managed to make one of her milestones all about me.

I tried to convince her to do it again for the camera, but she was having none of that.

If I was her, I would figure out how to do it with regularity so Jack and Emmie stop turning her over while yelling, "Roll! Maeve, roll!" Apparently they saw me "helping" her practice a few days ago and now want to be equally as involved.

Branching out

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 02:57:00 +0000

As you all know, I have been a little more interested in fashion lately. Not that I'm planning to hit the couture shows in Paris any time soon, but I am paying a lot more attention to what people around me are wearing.

Turns out, I'm not the only mom who's trying to step it up a notch and bring the cute.

I've started blogging at All Kinds Of Pretty with an awesome group of moms. Moms from different walks of life, of different ages, in different cities, who work outside the home and inside the home.

Whether you're a mom who wears out the pages of Vogue each month or one who can't tell a Seven from a Citizen, come check us out and let us know what you think!

Now he did it

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 11 Mar 2010 02:18:00 +0000

This afternoon while I was out spending child-free time at the grocery store during Emmie's nap, Jack's teacher called and spoke with Josh. It seems Jack and his two best friends at school had to pay a little visit to the principal's office.

My first thought was to laugh. I mean really, they're 4. Unless they're burning down the school, what could possibly merit a visit with the principal? But then I snapped into Serious Mom mode and asked what happened.

As I heard from Josh and then from Miss A later at pickup was that the three boys were being loud and talking and not listening during Spanish class. Senorita had had it with them and Miss A happened to be sitting in during Spanish as well and even she couldn't get them to stop fooling around.

So she sent them to the principal's office. Adios, amigos.

No seriously, they went to the principal's office. Which I doubted was a proper punishment considering they probably thought it was cool and not something they should be afraid of.

And of course, Miss A said Jack was smiling the whole time. This kid seriously either has a nervous smile or nothing really does bother him.

He ran out of school and announced excitedly that he went to the principal's office and told me her name and the name of the assistant principal. Apparently they're all BFFs now.

Under the heading of "Maybe He Gets It," Miss A did say Jack's behavior was much-improved after the visit down the hall and he was the only one of the three boys who got to go out for recess. Whoo hoo?

I could chalk it up to spring fever, considering it was 60 degrees and sunny today for the first time in four months, but after yesterday's behavior report that's just not possible. Yesterday he was flinging yogurt at one of those same boys in the lunchroom. Yep, I have the kid who starts the food fight.

Unfortunately I imagine this is just the first of many, many principal visits in Jack's future. Is there a scrapbooking layout for this? I want to remember it in all its glory.

The never-ending ear infection

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 04:32:00 +0000

I took Emmie in for her two-week ear recheck today only to find she has another ear infection. Or maybe the same one from two weeks ago that never fully went away. We'll never know.

What I do know is that the day after she finished her big-gun antibiotic (Omnicef) she started dripping snot all over the place, coughing up a lung and woke up multiple times per night.

Now she's on the Z-pack. Thanks to her delightful penicillin allergy, she's a little limited on the drug choices. If the new meds can't kick it, then it looks like tubes for Miss Em.

She probably didn't get rid of the infection on purpose because she knew more visits to the doctor meant more ~~crack~~ Dora stickers. She started happily screaming "Ticker! Dorda! Dorda ticker!" as we walked into the office. She even willingly ran into the exam room and sat on the table like a big girl.

Perhaps I should invest in a sleeve of these stickers for home use. I could have her loading the dishwasher and taking out the garbage in no time.

Maeve: Three months

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 23:24:00 +0000

Dear Maeve,

Here we are the three-month mark and that's the same amount of time most stores list as their return policy. Lucky for you, you're cute and we love you, so we're going to keep you.

This last month was pretty much the same as your second month, but with more alertness. You still sleep a lot and eat a lot and generally hang out with us wherever we force you to go. And as the third kid, we force you to go a lot of places. That's the funny difference between first kids and later kids: with the first, parents are crazy about the schedule, OH MY GOD THE SCHEDULE. With later kids, the parents are all, oh, she needs a nap? Just stick her in the stroller, she can sleep while we're out.

But you are starting to get yourself on a little schedule, despite being dragged all over creation every day. I usually have to wake you up to take Jack to school at 8:30 and you stay awake for about an hour before you go down for a three-hour nap. Up for an hour after that, then down for another two- or three-hour nap. Repeat again after that, then you're usually down for the night around 8 p.m. That doesn't mean you sleep through the night -- hahahahahahaha, good one -- but you sleep for a decent stretch of four or five hours before you need to eat again.

The sleep is still coming mostly in the swing, with your arms swaddled up tight. But I can get you to sleep in the bassinet for the first stretch almost every night, and the rest of the night is usually spent next to me in my bed. It's easier for me that way, because I can just nurse you on and off all night without having to get up out of bed. And we all know it's all about the maximization of sleep for everyone in this house.

The nursing has also settled into a nice little pattern, with you eating every three or four hours. But you've hit that cute stage where you like to pull off and flash a huge grin at me. Which is cute the first time you do it, but less so when you keep doing that instead of eating and I am sitting there with my boob hanging out waiting for you to get back on track.

The smiles were bigger and more frequent this month. You love to get your diaper changed, kicking and waving your arms and smiling up a storm on the changing table. I am pretty sure you would lie there all day if we let you, but that would probably take a pretty big chunk out of my day, so we won't be doing that anytime soon. But a baby can dream, can't she?

Another thing you love, which I do let you indulge in as much as you like (see: third child) is the bouncy seat. This is your refuge from Jack and Emmie and the only place I can reliably put you so no one can injure you in any way. I set the bouncy seat on top of the kitchen island, away from little hands, and you just kick your little butt off. You talk to the spinning fish and watch the bubbles intently. After a while, you tire of this and start to fuss, which is the signal to take you out and put you to bed. You're pretty easy to read.

The bouncy seat is probably the only time you don't have either Jack or Emmie right up in your face. They love you. Seriously, they can't get enough of you. Emmie in particular is so excited to see you sometimes that she jumps up and down. They both want to hold you and and show you toys and make you smile. Emmie runs over to where you are and yells, "Hi baby! Hi Maeve!" and giggles and grabs your hands and kisses your head and then my heart literally melts. You often reciprocate with a stare as if to say, "What the hell is going on and why are you so excited to see me?" I think you'll be a lot more excited in a few months when you can actually interact with them on their levels.

Just today you started showing signs of interest in tummy time, which means instead of screaming your head off when I put you on your stomach, you actually pushed yourself up on your arms and looked around a few times, then laid back down and sucked your fist for a while. You also were able to kind of almost sort of roll over once I put you on your side. I'm hoping by getting you into position, you'll get the hang of it and want to do it. But you know, it's a lot easier to put you down and have you remain in one place, so I am in no hurry to have you rolling all over the place.

I'm actually not in a hurry for you to do most things. I want to savor this little baby time. And it's slipping away so quickly. A minute ago you were newborn and I was bringing you home from the hospital and putting you in teeny little newborn onesies. And now you have outgrown all the newborn clothes and love to look around at the world and can hold yourself up when I carry you around. Next thing you know you'll be driving yourself to the mall.

But then I see you sleeping face and I realize you are still my baby. You smell like a baby and sigh like a baby and cry like a baby. There times I put you to sleep in your swing and I will check on you a few minutes later only to find you wide-eyed, just looking around. I always wonder what you're thinking. Do you recognize the things around you? Are you mad I left you on your own? Do you know I am coming back?

And then you lock eyes with me and I know you know the answer to the last question. Of course I will come back. I will always come back. No matter if you're sleeping or 50 feet away at the playground or at college. I will always, always be there for you. Being there for you brings me joy and I hope you realize how much I love you. With every night feeding and every diaper change and every bunch of kisses on your cheek, I am happier. I hope you are too.

Love,
Mommy

We finally learned our lesson

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 02:51:00 +0000

We have two cars. One, our SUV, is used primarily by me to ferry the children hither and yon and for all our general family-car needs. The other, Josh's 1999 Acura with 167,000 miles on it, is used primarily by him if he is working in town or by one of us running an errand during naptime without any kids.

For the last two months, Josh's car has sat in front of the house on the street. Through several snowstorms and the general yuck of a highly-trafficked street, it just hung out, looking like a fine 11-year-old piece of automobile. We moved it a few times to go places, but for the most part, it was just sitting there. Actually, it was the car we took to the hospital when I was in labor, so that was a pretty significant trip. And come to think of it, a pretty significant reason to wash it.

Last week I had the pleasure of driving Josh's car, which I liken to being a Flintstone because after driving an SUV for four years, I feel like my feet could just run along under the car. I tried to look in the side mirror when I pulled out into traffic and couldn't see anything but grunge. How helpful.

I finally had the time to hit the carwash this week, and came home very proud of the cleanliness. I forgot the real color of that car and how nice it looks when it's all shiny and spiffed up.

Unfortunately, because I left in the middle of the day, I lost the rockstar parking in front of the house. So I parked on a sidestreet a half-block away and figured I would move it when I had a chance. But with three kids in the house, I didn't get the chance.

Yesterday, just two days after I parked it there, I noticed the door was not shut all the way when I drove by. Uh-oh, I thought, someone's been in there.

Longtime readers know we've had not one but two GPS devices stolen in the last three years and the two cars have been broken into a combined four times. And thanks to that, we've gotten smart. We never leave anything in the car and Josh actually leaves his car unlocked. Partly because he doesn't want people breaking the windows to get in and partly because his car alarm doesn't work and goes off randomly if the car is locked. Which is awesome fun for the neighbors at 3 a.m.

When I investigated further, I saw the contents of the glovebox all over the front seat. But HA HA on the would-be thieves, there was nothing in the car to take. Not even loose change. And because we leave the doors unlocked, we didn't have to pay for any broken windows. Score for us! It was such a non-event I didn't even call Josh to tell him. I just mentioned it in passing when we chatted last night.

Josh was disappointed they didn't try to take the whole car. That would have been infinitely more helpful, he said. Maybe next time.

Tripping out

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 03:45:00 +0000

You all know how Josh has been traveling for work the last two months, leaving Monday nights and returning Friday evenings. Traveling away from his family. His family that includes a newborn. And a wife who wakes up multiple times per night to feed the newborn. Then gets up at 6 a.m. with the other two children. Then single-parents the three kids for four days.

You would think if he had some vacation time scheduled, he would spend it in Chicago giving his poor wife a break. OH BUT NO. You would be wrong.

Instead, he went on a snowboarding vacation with his friends. His single friends. You know, the ones who don't have wives at home who look like they got two black eyes in a bar fight because the undereye circles have gotten so bad from lack of sleep.

During a recent "discussion" about his trip, I told him I didn't know any other guys who leave their wife and kids for a mancation every year. Oh yes, this is a yearly occurrence, did I mention that? And it was slightly untrue, as I know of at least one friend who's husband went on a ski trip a few weeks ago while her pregnant self stayed home with their two kids. But sometimes you have to make the argument sound better than it is. And really, one friend out of all my friends is so statistically insignificant, it's not like it even warrants mentioning.

Also, it's not even just a guys "weekend" because he left on Wednesday night and comes back Sunday afternoon. Last I checked, a weekend consists of Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Full disclosure: I gave him the plane ticket for Christmas. But only because that's the only thing he asked for. But this was before he knew he would be working out of town for three months. And before Maeve had actually arrived on the scene. I maintain that since he travels all week, it's pretty shitty to take a vacation away from us. And he keeps insisting that I am welcome to go on a girls weekend whenever I want. But I keep telling him I should get a girls weekend because I am here 24-7, not because he wants to feel equal in the trip department.

But now I ask you readers, does your spouse take a vacation away from you and the kids? If so, does it piss you off? And for the trifecta: does the spouse travel for work all week?

Jack v2.0

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 02:05:00 +0000

You think she looks like her brother a little?

Maeve, almost three months

Jack, three months

Skating on thin ice

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 03:40:00 +0000

Yesterday morning I woke up and told Josh we should take Jack ice skating. Neither Josh nor I had been ice skating in the last 15 years, but it seemed like a perfectly good idea. Last day of February, the Olympics inspiring me, not too cold -- great idea.

We headed down to Millenium Park after what should have been naptime, but was just run-around-upstairs-and-go-pee-12-times time, with high hopes. Josh scoffed when I said Jack needed his snowpants, but I held firm that it was going to be too cold to do without.

After securing our $10 rental skates, we set about lacing them up. Jack was, how shall I put it, less than helpful. He kept trying to kick me and when there's a metal blade that close to your face while you struggle to insert an uncooperative child's foot into an unforgiving boot, well you get a little twitchy.

Once we finally had everyone ready to go, we had to cool our heels for 15 minutes while the Zamboni did its thing. But Jack thought it was kind of cool and we all just watched it go around and around and around while listening to the piped-in 80s music. Nothing says "winter fun" like sitting on the cold ground with Rick Springfield crooning telephone numbers in the background. And then I couldn't stop thinking about "Californication" and Rick Springfield. Eww.

On the ice finally, I have no idea why, but I thought we would just hold Jack's hands and glide along. After a couple of turns around the rink, I figured he would be good to go.

Let me be clear: I have been a mother for four years now and I should know better. You never, ever go into any event involving children with anything but the lowest of expectations. Oh but how I was wrong.

Jack clung to Josh at first, his feet scrabbling underneath him. I tried to calmly tell him to just stand still and get his balance. He tried, but then insisted he couldn't.

He then clung to the railing, kind of sidestepping his way in five-foot increments. He kept sitting down on the side, which caused me to point out to Josh just who made the snowpants mandatory. I know all, don't doubt the Mommy.

It took us an hour to go around one time. ONE. HOUR.

When we had the last 15 feet in sight, I told him he had to hold my hand and go to the end. Damn it, I paid $30 for this fun and we were going to finish strong. And he did. Yay Jack!

I must say, at the end of the day, I was proud of him. He wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but he tried and he kept getting back up and trying again. When it was over, we asked if he had fun and he said yes.

Clearly, my hopes of him throwing a triple axle on his first time out were slightly premature. But he did it, and that's what counts.

Old fashioned

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 02:06:00 +0000

Everyone in my neighborhood suddenly started wearing these rain boots in the last year.

At first I was all, those are kinda weird. Then I was all, those must be really dry. Then I was all, I gotta get me some of those. I am nothing if not a follower when it comes to the stuff other moms are doing in my neighborhood. That's how I convinced Josh to let me buy the Bugaboo back in the day.

Anyway, considering I walk to and from school and the store and whatnot every day and there's always a lot of damn puddles around, I thought they would be a good investment. That's what you call rain boots in this price category. An "investment." I might as well put solid gold on my feet for these prices.

But when I went online to find them, it was impossible to find size 7 in any color, much less black. What the hell? I tweeted about my lack of boot availability and a friend sent me a message that I should check Nordstrom. So I drove my ass up to the suburbs this week with Emmie and Maeve in tow to see what was happening. Shoe shopping with two kids. Why yes, I am clinically insane, thanks for asking.

Success! A size 7, but in silver. Not too offensive, but not my first choice. The saleswoman told me I could get on the waitlist for black, and that I would be No. 3 but she recommended taking the silver ones because they were the last pair on earth in size 7. OK, not really earth, but in America.

I took them home with hopes of a black pair dancing in my head. But then the color became less significant because ZOMG WHAT KIND OF PANTS DO YOU WEAR WITH THESE?

Leggings? Leggings are making a comeback. But what the hell does a three-months-postpartum fatass wear with leggings so as not to look totally 1987 or totally fat? And skinny jeans? Yes, skinny jeans. But God knows I am not forking over designer money for jeans that could A. be uncool in a minute and B. fit me for a few months before I lose all the weight. So I was thinking maybe Old Navy would do me right in that department, but I have never purchased jeans at Old Navy. Are they decent? I am looking for looks, yes, but also cheap since I'm not going to get much mileage on them.

What to do, what to do? So readers, those of you schooled in all things fashionable or even those who just read US Weekly and read about the fashion, can you recommend what I should do? It's not like I will wear these boots every day this spring, just days when it's rainy or wet. Which is like almost every spring day in Chicago. But you know what I mean.

Nighttime is the new naptime

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 01:27:00 +0000

Yesterday, I put Maeve down after her customary hour of awake time at 5:15 p.m., expecting her to wake up refreshed and invigorated about two hours later. I left for a meeting at Jack's school with a bottle of freshly thawed milk in the fridge and figured I would just pump when I got back.

Except when I got home, she hadn't woken up. And she continued to sleep until 9:15 p.m. when I woke her up after deciding via text with a friend that she would be up all night if I let it go much longer.

Apparently she was as exhausted by Operation Bassinet as I was because she woke up, ate and went right back to sleep. In the swing. Sigh. I couldn't take another zombie day like yesterday and decided unless there is someone else here with me during the day, I just can't function on such little sleep.

So swaddled up like a burrito in the swing, she slept until 4:45 a.m., ate, went back in the swing and slept until 7:15 a.m. Effectively, she slept just shy of 12 hours with three feedings.

She also woke up snotty-nosed and sneezing. Guess who caught Emmie's cold? Fun times with the snot sucker ensued.

Again tonight she went down at 5:15 and she's just now making her intentions to wake up known. At least it's only 7:40 p.m. though.

In short, Operation Bassinet is going to be some half-assed military action where the dictator remains in power because I can't follow up on intelligence leads.

Fevered pitch

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 02:57:00 +0000

This is what a 104.1 degree temperature, coupled with a double ear infection and strep looks like.

Poor Emmie. She started acting like a lunatic on Friday afternoon. We stopped at the park after school and because she didn't have her snowpants, I told her she could only go in the swing. After about three minutes, she started protesting that she wanted out and I told her if she got out, she would go straight in the stroller and we'd have to head home.

She still wanted out, so homeward bound we were. With Emmie screaming her fool head off the entire way. She screamed the two blocks home, all the way into the house and for a solid 15 minutes after we walked in the door. I was all "What is your deal? Knock it off." I even went so far as to walk away and tell her to let me know when she was done.

Eventually she calmed down and I forgot about it. The next day, Saturday, she went swimming and to Jack's soccer class and acted fine. After Josh got her up from her nap, she was red-cheeked and clingy. I touched her neck and it was hot hot hot.

A temperature check revealed she was at a solid 103.3 degrees. Awesome. Motrin and some extra love seemed to help, but after multiple nightwakings, I suspected an ear infection. When she was a cool 104.1 the next morning, I called for an appointment. Hooray for seven-day-a-week pediatricians.

He confirmed mom's diagnosis of an ear infection -- times two -- and added that she had strep. Well isn't that just dandy? I remarked that it should be no time at all before Maeve had it, but our doctor said it's incredibly rare for babies less than a year old to contract strep. Small favors, I guess.

After a few days of antibiotics, she is almost back to normal. That means she's still screaming and crying over little things and sticking her germy face and fingers up in Maeve's grill all day.

I'm sure she'll be fine just in time for Jack to come down with it. Or me. Please God, don't let it be me.

Non-sleeping beauty

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 03:32:00 +0000

I have several things to share with all of you, but unfortunately, I can't sit down for more than 10 minutes because I picked this past weekend to launch Operation Get Maeve In The Bassinet.

When you have three kids, you learn some sleep tricks. My favoriye is that there is nothing wrong with a baby sleeping in a swing next to your bed. And sleep in that swing she did, going six hours at a stretch.

And that was fine until I realized I would like her to sleep in her own room sometime soon. If she won't sleep in her bassinet, I can't imagine she would be grooving on her crib. And I'm sure as hell not running down the hall every 15 seconds to replace that damn pacifier when I can just do that at the end of the bed for now.

The first night was fine -- she slept in three-hour chunks and did awesome. The next night was horrid. She wouldn't sleep more than 15 minutes at a time and I broke down and put her in the swing at 1 a.m.

Tonight, I had high hopes after a solid first hour and now we're back to every 15 minutes.

In the time it took to type this, I had to stop three times. As Academomia said last week, these are special, special childhood times. Perhaps I should scrapbook this milestone. It would contain pictures of the pacifier lying next to Maeve's screaming head because she spits it out and then cries. And little stickers of eyes with bags under them.

So if you'll excuse me, I will now commence with the non-sleeping portion of my night.

Sit quietly

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 18:29:00 +0000

For the last 11 weeks, oodles of people have been telling me I need to get some help. Well, yes, mental help, too, but they mean help of the childcare persuasion. And I would sigh and say yes, that would be awesome but where to start? Where does one find a babysitter?

Apparently, the veritable treasure trove of available young women down the street at the large college in our neighborhood wasn't coming up in my brain as the logical place to start. Besides, I would actually have to go put up flyers and do research and interviews in all my spare time. That was said with the most dripping of sarcasm tone I can muster, by the way. Spare time! What a concept!

But when Josh weighed in and told me I should get someone to come a few hours a day, I knew he must have felt bad for me. I was complaining about it yet again to a good friend this week and she reminded me she sent me an email way back in the summer with a college student's info. At the time, I needed someone during the day to help lift Emmie when I was riddled by my pregnancy restrictions and this girl had class during the day so I never followed up.

But because I never delete anything -- my inbox contains more than 6,000 emails (my friend and longtime reader SupaCoo just died of cardiac arrest when she read that; she keeps her inbox as close to zero as possible) -- I still had the girl's info.

I called her, reached her on the first try and explained I was looking for someone two hours a day, mostly as a mother's helper, during the witching hours of dinner, bath and bedtime. She said she was available on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I fainted from excitement and then recovered and asked if she could come over to meet me and the kids. How about the following afternoon, she asked. Umm, let's see, YES!

She arrived promptly, didn't look like an axe murderer and came highly recommended by a friend of a friend. Pretty much unless she killed some kids, I was going to hire her. And even then, if they deserved it, I would have been OK with it. As soon as she walked in, Jack and Emmie started screaming that they wanted to show her their jumpy house (Doesn't everyone have a 12x9 inflatable bounce house in their basement? No? Must just be us. Moving on.) and dragged her downstairs to play.

I hung out with them for a while, chatted with her and then thrust Maeve at her and announced I was going upstairs to start dinner. Everyone seemed to have a good time and nobody cried, so I think I might have Mary Freaking Poppins on my hands here.

She said she could start Thursday, which was yesterday, and she did. At first I felt bad asking her to watch all three kids while I ran to buy batteries. After all, the reason I need a babysitter is because three kids is crazy insane. But then I remembered I am PAYING her to watch my kids. So off I went. Niggling guilt, yes, but I think I'll get over it. (But no, Aunt Marnie, I don't feel guilty leaving three kids with you and I don't even pay you. Thems the breaks.)

While it was still massive chaos, even with another adult here, it was my own fault for trying to do too much. Note to self: never again host book club thinking "That way I won't have to get a babysitter." Yeah, it's the food prep and cleaning that you really need the babysitter for, not the actual sitting-around-drinking-wine-and-gossiping part of the night.

Hopefully next week will go even better. She'll be here Tuesday with Emmie and Maeve so I can take Jack to swim class, and Thursday with all three so I can get stuff done around the house. Or, I don't know, take a nap since I have an infant who wakes up at night. Twice a night. If I am lucky.

And yes, I am now the stay-at-home mom who has help with the kids. Next thing you know, I'll be shopping, going out to lunch and getting manicures.

Twitchy

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 03:00:00 +0000

Wanna know why I am really not a good mom? I can't relax when it comes to doing fun stuff with the kids.

Today we made cookies. Well, that's only half true because we actually made the dough last week but because I am a dumbass and didn't realize you need to chill the dough overnight, we had to delay rolling and cutting them out.

The making of the dough was quite stressful. It started out beautifully, with Jack and Emmie bellied up to the island helping dump various baking stuffs into the mixing bowl. But then Emmie started trying to climb on the counter. And Jack kept sliding his chair around. And I can't count the number of times I uttered the words, "That's it, you're not making cookies anymore."

So we finally got around to the rolling and the cutting and the baking today. I am pretty sure I will require hospitalization after the events of this afternoon. Perhaps a nice quiet psych ward; someplace I can calm the eff down.

Again I get everyone set up at the counter and I roll out the dough. Once it's thin enough, I hand each of them a cookie cutter and show them how to cut the shapes. Now I realize they are 4 and 2. I realize this intellectually. But in practice? How hard can it be to just cut a damn shape out the right way?

Jack takes the star-shaped cutter and slams it down in the middle of the slab of dough. OK, perhaps not the way I would have started out, but whatever. I offer to peel the dough away and put it on the cookie sheet and he screams that he can do it by himself. All right, all right. Keep your Thomas underpants on.

He grabs the dough, tearing all the points off the star and throws it on the baking sheet. Not just my eye, but my entire body starts twitching. I actually say, "That's not how you do it! Now it's all broken. Does that look like a star?"

As I am schooling him in the proper layout and lifting of dough, I look over and see Emmie lightly pressing the bear cutter all over the surface of the dough. Not enough to cut through it, mind you, just enough to make little marks all over. I wrestle the cutter away from her, ignoring her screeching protests of "Emmie! Emmie! Emmie do!" I show her how to press down on the cutter, and secretly press it down before showing her where to put her hands, therefor saving myself from feeling like a hot poker has been stuck in my eye when I watch her do it wrong.

Jack starts banging the spatula against the wire cooling rack, making enough racket to wake Maeve in the next room, and I tell him no less than three times that's he's not going to help with the rest of the cookies because he's not listening. Each time he desperately tells me, "I want to make cookies!" and then continues to not listen.

He proudly squishes the middle of every cookie, making misshapen bears that look as if they had more lipo to their midsections than Heidi Montag. I want to cry. After Emmie grabs the knife and waves it around laughing, I shoo everyone away from the kitchen and quickly cut out the next dozen and place them on a tray. The right way.

When they come out of the oven, Jack and Emmie are so proud of their creations and I feel like an ass for being such a perfectionist. I effusively praise their cookies, telling them what a good job they did. Hey, I feed them the line about a man with flying reindeer coming down the chimney once a year, I can lie with the best of 'em.

Yet again, real life intrudes on the idyllic Norman Rockwell scenes of motherhood. This is exactly why I don't let them have playdoh in the house, either. Not only would it be ground into the crevices of my hardwood floors, but they would probably mix the yellow and the red and green all into one big ball and my head would pop off.

Be mine

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 04:34:00 +0000

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone out there. I realize it's a day late and $15 dollars short (damn that inflation), but as you can tell from the expressions on all their faces, it was one of those days.

And yes, that was the best shot of the bunch.

He's scared

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 03:43:00 +0000

Tomorrow I am going away for 24 hours to a little girls spa outing with mom and sister. I mean how do you turn down an invitation to a spa from your mom that starts with the words, "Totally my treat"? You don't.

Of course I was gleeful not only because I was going to relax with no children in my general vicinity for a day, but also because Snarky Daddy was going to have all three kids by himself. I am evil like that. I want him to have a small taste of the experience I have for 112 hours each week. Not that I am counting.

But Snarky Daddy is scared. So scared he called his Mommy and asked her to come help him. Wah wah wah. Big man can't handle three kids by himself, apparently. Lame. Very, very lame.

This one even made me laugh

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 03:34:00 +0000

Every couple of weeks I look at my search terms to see how people find my blog. Recently, there's been a whole lot of searches for hot moms in yoga pants, milfs in yoga pants, and pictures of yoga pants showing ass crack.

Let me just tell the people using those terms and landing on this page: you are not, I repeat NOT in the place you think you should be. There is nothing hot about my ass in yoga pants right now. Come to think of it, not ever. Yoga pants are for when I don't feel like showering. Not for trolling the Internet for fun new friends.

But this particular search made me laugh out loud.

"Me and my fionce split up she is 24weeks pregnant and realy full of shit."

Seriously, dude, I am sorry that happened to you. Not sure what the "full of shit" part entails, but it sounds like a little counseling might get you to the bottom of that. Unfortunately, you won't find what you're looking for here.

You will, however, find some spelling and grammar advice.

It's fiance. Those are probably two different sentences, but perhaps you could get by with a semicolon. And really contains two Ls.

You're welcome.

Awful all around

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 03:28:00 +0000

This afternoon, I entered the 10th circle of hell when I took all three children to the pediatrician so Jack and Maeve could have their 4-year and 2-month checkups at the same time. What planning, I thought to myself when I booked the appointments together. Way to kill two birds with one stone! Except really it was more like killing myself with multiple stones over and over and over.

I didn't live blog the appointment, but if I had, it would have looked something like this...

3:40 p.m.: I finish feeding Maeve and ask Jack and Emmie to get their socks, boots and coats on.

3:41: Tell Jack to stop pushing his sister and get his boots. Hand Emmie her socks and ask her to please put them on.

3:42: Raise voice, threaten to leave Emmie at home if she doesn't put her socks on. Thank Jack for finally getting his boots on, point out they are on wrong feet, however.

3:43: Put Maeve in the swing and grab Emmie's socks off the floor, wrestle her into my lap and put the socks and boots on her.

3:43:30: Chase Emmie to the dining room, pick her up, get kicked as she thrashes and screams. Ignore tantrum while shoving her arms into coat. Tell Jack for 39th time to put his coat on.

3:44: Everyone finally has a coat on, so I put Maeve in her carseat and she screams like she is being killed. Turn my back to grab my keys and turn back to find Emmie trying to shove Maeve's pacifier in her mouth. Maeve's mouth is tightly closed, but Emmie is determined and is yelling, "Maeve! Fussy!" Thanks for the news flash Walter Cronkite, film at 11.

3:50: After walking world's slowest 4-year-old and 2-year-old out the door and down the steps to the car, fight with Jack about buckling himself in. He claims he can't do it, I insist he try since he is all the way on the far side of the car. He throws a tantrum, which results in me climbing into the backseat and leaning over Emmie in her seat to buckle him, then buckling Emmie, then going back in the house to get Maeve and putting her seat in last.

3:50:01: Serenity now, serenity now. I ignore wailing from backseat from Emmie, who has been wronged when Jack stole her little Wiggles book, and Maeve, who hates her carseat.

4:05: Arrive in doctor's waiting room five minutes late because it is snowing and people on roads have apparently never seen snow in Chicago before. Might or might not have laid on horn several times on short drive.

4:07: We are ushered in to the exam room. I get Jack stripped down to his Thomas underpants and Maeve to her diaper. Emmie sits down and removes not only her coat, but also her boots and socks. I am powerless to stop her as I am holding Maeve and trying to keep her warm since she's effectively nekkid.

4:08: Our doctor breezes in, he's nothing if not prompt, and gets started with Jack. I ignore Emmie jumping on the scale and try to focus on Jack's exam.

4:25: Jack's done and Maeven takes center stage. I am now ignoring Jack and Emmie jumping on the scale.

4:26: The doctor passes out those nifty disposable measuring tapes to the big kids and they commence measuring their heads. Awesome.

4:45: Maeve is pronounced healthy (10lbs 2oz, 23 inches) and the doctor departs, promising to send in the nurse for the dreaded shots.

4:50: Finally, the nurse strolls in. Maeve is interested in the oral vaccine she gets first, but then decides to spit it all over her shirt when she realizes it's not her preferred flavor of breastmilk. She then takes the first shot like a champ, but squeals for the second and bleeds profusely through her little Snoopy Band-aid. Mommy, stuck holding her arms down, feels awful.

4:53: Start to nurse Maeve to calm her down and lose any remaining control of Jack and Emmie. Realize I am prisoner in 5x9 room and can't move because I am feeding Maeve and have no free hands.

4:54: Jack takes Emmie's measuring tape. Emmie screams and throws herself on floor. Maeve jumps at the sudden noise and pulls off the boob, spraying milk all over her face and in her eye. I laugh at her.

5:06: Emmie rips Jack's measuring tape, causing him to melt down and push her.

5:06:01: "Stop hitting your sister. Emmie, that was not nice. Just sit down in this chair and wait, please."

5:06:10: "Jack, stop pulling that drawer out."

5:06:20: "Emmie, get out of the garbage."

5:07: "EMMIE GET OUT OF THE GARBAGE."

5:08: "Jack, do not climb on the table."

5:08:10: "JACK WHAT DID I JUST SAY?"

5:08:20: "If you two don't shape up, we are not watching The Wiggles when we get home."

5:08:21: (Unintelligible crying and protesting)

5:08:31: "THAT'S IT, NO WIGGLES."

5:08:32: (Louder unintelligible crying and screaming)

5:09: "Do I need to call Daddy?"

5:10: Time to get coats on. I want to die because this gets no easier the 300 times a day we do this. Stick Maeve in the carseat, then have to wrestle socks and boots back on Emmie.

5:13: Walk down hall to the bathroom, where Jack is excited about the prospect of peeing in a cup. He asks me if girls can pee in cups too and how do they do it? I tell him they kid of sit on the cup. He doesn't believe me and says that wouldn't work. OK, whatever. Just pee kid.

5:14: "Mommy, Emmie is all wet!"

5:14:01: I look up to find Emmie's hands (and clipped-to-her-coat mittens) in the toilet.

5:14:02: "EMMIE NO! NO! YUCKY!"

5:14:03: Pick Emmie up off the floor and stick her hands under the faucet to wash them. Thank all that is holy that Jack peed in the cup, not in the toilet, before she decided to go fishing.

5:15: Walk cup down the hall to cabinet, lose older two children when I stop to write Jack's name on his cup o'pee.

5:15:05: Nurses laughing at my children running down hall.

5:15:35: Tell children I am leaving without them and start to walk away. Am instantly joined by two crying children. Mean? Perhaps. Effective? Yes.

5:20: Head for parking garage with validated parking ticket. While paying at automated kiosk, am greeted by attendant through the speaker asking if I need assistance. "No, sorry, my kids are pushing the call button." Give child dirty look. She laughs and does it again.

5:22: Walk to car holding carseat in one hand and Emmie's hand in the other. Instruct Jack to hold her other hand and stay with me.

5:22:10: Emmie falls in wet parking garage, despite holding two hands, blackening her pink coat and mittens and screaming because her hands are dirty. This from the girl who willingly played in a toilet minutes ago.

5:23: Finally get to car, again fight with Jack about his ability to buckle his own carseat, end up buckling everyone in.

5:24: Cry in car because this sucks so bad.

Jack: Four years

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 03:22:00 +0000

Dear Jack,

My sweet, crazy, smart, handsome, funny little man -- today you are 4 years old. Four years ago tonight you burst into our lives and made us parents. When I saw you for the first time, I didn't think I could ever love you more and then you turned 4 and I realized my love for you grows every day.

In the last year you have changed so much I don't even know where to start. You're taller, thinner, faster, smarter, more articulate and more interesting. You carry on the most fascinating conversations about your day, your friends and random things you see out the window. Your new favorite thing is to ask me what the street signs say, and then you remember and tell me what intersections we are driving through days later. You're freaky like that when it comes to memory -- you don't miss anything and it's all stored in the vault.

You started all-day school in the fall and you adore it. When we get to school, you're so excited to get in the door that you literally jump out of the carseat or the stroller, shrug your backpack on and hurriedly kiss me goodbye before running up to the door. You go in all by yourself, walk down the hall to your classroom by yourself and put your things away in your locker all by yourself. A locker! You're 4, what could you need a locker for? You love all your friends and your teachers and you always come out in the afternoon with a huge smile on your face. And that is my favorite part of my day -- no matter what, you look for me and when you catch my eye, I wave and you light up. But you're also a typical 4-year-old boy when it comes to behavior and we've had to remind you to keep your hands to yourself and try to keep your mouth quiet. Some day you'll figure it out. Hopefully.

You've grown so much I swear you get bigger overnight. Just last week all your 4T pants were suddenly too small in the waist and too short in the legs, so we had to get all new jeans. You love to eat, always asking, "What else can I have?" Some of your favorites are smoothies, spinach salad, tikka masala, almond butter sandwiches, yogurt, cereal bars, apples and pizza. Like your father, you would eat pizza at every meal if we let you. Thankfully, you are pretty open to trying new things and love fruits and veggies, so we hope that continues.

This past year you became a big brother for the second time and this time, it's been a completely different experience. You genuinely love Maeve and are so gentle and nice to her. You always want to know where she is and what she's doing, and you ask to hold her quite a bit. You love it when she smiles at you and have a great time playing on her little play mat with her. You give her lots of kisses and gentle pats on the head and I love to watch you interact with her because it's so sweet. Your interaction with Emmie isn't always as sweet, however. You do get along more and spend more time playing together, but she's normally the target of your aggression. You can just be walking around the house and out of nowhere, boom, you hip-check her for no reason, sending her wailing to the ground. But then you can turn around and be completely nice, sharing a toy with her or asking if she wants to watch "The Wiggles" with you. I suspect this hot and cold relationship will continue for many years, hopefully with less violence.

Some of your favorite things right now are playing at the park, watching "The Wiggles" and "Go, Diego, Go," playing Uno, playing with your train set, pretending to be a veterinarian with your stuffed animals, playing video games on your Leapster, reading books, riding your tricycle, going to the park, playing soccer and swimming. You want to do everything yourself from zipping your own coat to carrying your own milk and food to the table. If you can't get something after a few tries, you're getting much better about asking for help instead of throwing a huge tantrum and screaming. Not that you don't still do the tantrum thing, but they're usually shortlived and not very often.

When you take a shower, you wash your "armhips." You like to go to the nature "nuseum" and you won't eat salads without "yummy screwtons" on them. You like to help Daddy make "smoovies" and you're getting ready to celebrate "Valentime's Day." There are a million more cute things that you say, but your speech is getting more adult by the day and soon, you won't say any of those cute little things anymore.

Yesterday, I took you to a birthday party for one of your friends and there was a magic show. As an adult, I usually roll my eyes and get annoyed by things like that, but watching it through your eyes was a whole new experience. Your eyes lit up and grew wide as he made doves appear out of thin air and you clapped with obvious delight when he changed four birds into a poodle. As I watched you watch the show, I saw unabashed joy in your face. You don't know how to be cynical or doubt what you see. You live in the moment and wear your heart on your sleeve. It makes me so happy to see you enjoying yourself. It makes me sad to see you disappointed. It makes me crazy when I think someone has slighted you. I only want the best for you and while I know disappointment is part of life, I wish you would never know it.

In the last few months, you've been a little wary of Daddy and I being gone. It started when I went to the hospital to have Maeve and has gotten a little worse since Daddy started traveling for work. Every night you get a serious look on your face and ask me, "Mommy, are you leaving? Are you going to leave me alone?" And I always tell you that I would never leave you alone, that someone will always be here with you. I've never experienced this kind of thing with you before, so it's been a little surprising. There are nights when you ask me for the 20th time, when you are supposed to be in bed, and it's a little annoying. But mostly, it makes me want to scoop you up and hug you tightly. Don't worry Jackie, in 10 years, you'll beg me to just leave you alone already, slamming the door to your room. And then I will remind you that when you were 4, that's the last thing you wanted.

When I think back to the tiny baby you were, with your wrinkly brow and skinny arms and legs, I am amazed at the big boy you are now. How did you get from there to here? How did I witness all these days yet miss you growing up? I love the baby in you, but I can't get enough of the big boy you have become.

Love,
Mommy

Maeve: Two months

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 03:18:00 +0000

Dear Maeve,

It's been two months since you joined our family and it's like you've been with us for two decades with how easy the transition has been. Sure, you like to get up twice a night to eat, and you aren't such a fan of being put down and come to think of it, you're pretty high-maintenance in the napping department, but other than that, you're quite easy to manage.

This last month went by so fast I'm not even sure what happened. Daddy started traveling for work four days a week at the beginning of your second month of life and since then, I have kind of lived in a haze of sleep deprivation and have tried to make sure you and your brother and sister are all fed, clothed and alive at the end of the day. So far, so good.

You've started smiling a lot more this month and you're so much more aware of your surroundings. You look around, stare at the banister (your favorite object in the house, even more than the boobs) and try to watch Jack and Emmie when they are running around like lunatics. You tolerate their frequent close encounters, which mostly consist of Emmie poking you in the face or trying to shove a pacifier in your mouth and Jack rubbing your head and kissing you. They really do love you and love it when you are awake and smiling. We'll see how much they love it when you start shoving their toys in your mouth in a few months, but for now, it works.

For the most part, your sleep patterns are still pretty awesome. You sleep a stretch of five or six hours overnight, mostly in the swing, but occasionally next to me in my bed, and still nap most of the day in short spurts. You love being wrapped like a little burrito in your Miracle Blanket and immediately start to calm down when we wrap you up. You also love being carried on my chest in the Moby Wrap. You love it so much you will nap several hours in it every afternoon when we pick Jack up from school and if I could find a way to legally drive with you in it, I would never take it off. That might be weird in the shower, but if it meant you would sleep, I would sacrifice. But if you're not strapped to my chest or being held, you're becoming less of a great napper. So wrap you up I will.

I also took my first trip away from you this month, going on a snowboarding trip with Daddy. You went to Grandma and Grandpa's house for the weekend and lived it up with bottles of pumped milk. When I came home, you stared at me for a minute like you couldn't believe it was me, and then you promptly started nursing and fell asleep. Welcome home, indeed.

You weighed 9 pounds and were in the 90th percentile for height at the beginning of this month and I estimate you've gained at least a pound and even more length since then. Your newborn jammies have been relegated to the "outgrown" bin and you fill the 3-month size out rather nicely. Clearly the breastmilk does a body good. And we were finally in a great place with the nursing until the thrush struck this week, making breastfeeding hurt just as bad as it did in the first few days of your life. Hopefully the gentian violet will do the trick without turning your face purple, but rest assured if it does, I will have the camera at the ready.

As the third child, you would think you'd be getting the least of our attention, but that's not the case. I love the time we have together every night after the big kids go to bed. You usually have about an hour of alert time every night and we hang out, me trying to get you to smile and you trying to talk to me. We play with your toys and read a few books and I smother you with kisses. It's great to have one-on-one time with you and get to know you and figure out what makes you happy. Plus, if you're not in the swing, you're pretty much glued to my body the rest of the time, so I kind of have to give you attention. Maybe as a third kid, that's your way of assuring I pay attention to you. But you don't need to worry, as the baby you'll always have a special place in my heart.

Love,
Mommy

Dance dance revolution

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 01:48:00 +0000

Behold the cute: my little ballerina at her very first dance class. I might have died from the adorableness of it all.