Snarky Mommy

Seriously, don't even bother

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 05:06:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 03:35:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 04:55:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 18 Nov 2008 02:55:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 21:22:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 00:14:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 03:43:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 03:23:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 03:07:00 +0000

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?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 03:53:00 +0000

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?

Snot-nosed kid

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 02:17:00 +0000

Poor Emmie is sick again. Her nose had finally stopped running for a mere five days after her epic 21-day cold of last month and now it started again.

This time, however, I am fighting it with a humidifier and Vicks on the bottom of her feet. I read it really does work, so I am giving it a try.

Unfortunately, her cold also throws her sleep all to shit. Two nights ago, she woke up at 10 and would only be pacified by the boob. And even that didn't put her to sleep, it only calmed her down. Last night she woke at 9, same drill. Screamed hysterically, snot everywhere, until I finally brought her in my bed and fed her.

Can't wait to see what tonight has in store for us. Because I do so love being up multiple times per night 10 months into this.

An elephant never forgets

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 03:20:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 01:33:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 17:32:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 02:57:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 02:53:00 +0000

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!

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 20:07:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 02:29:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 01:52:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 22:24:00 +0000

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.

Trick or treat 2008

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 01:37:00 +0000

Trick or treat!

Elmo gets an early sugar rush.

Our little pumpkin.

Close observers might notice a major haircut in that last photo. That would be the result of 4 inches leaving my head this afternoon. I chickened out on bangs. Again. They scare me.

And how 'bout that road soda in that there picture? Who knew trick or treating involved beer?

(Also, an update on little CiCi: she is taking baby steps toward improvement, but they still don't know any more. Please continue to send your positive thoughts her way. Mom Jenny says knowing how many people out there are pulling for them is helping more than we can know.)

Update on little CiCi

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 15:04:00 +0000

Yesterday, I wrote about a friend's baby, CiCi, who was airlifted to a children's hospital after she either choked or had a seizure and stopped breathing. She is on a ventilator in critical condition this morning and they don't know any more. She is still fighting.

CiCi has an identical twin sister, Penny, and a big brother, Max, who is the same age as my Jack.

If you want to check out Jenny's blog, I am sure she would appreciate your positive thoughts.

Positive thoughts, please

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 02:49:00 +0000

I had a whole post ready in my head about something trivial when I came online to find some horrible, scary news about a friend's little girl. She choked, turned blue, stopped breathing and lost her pulse. She was taken via ambulance and then helicopter to a children's hospital where they brought her back and she is breathing again. Her mom has no further news yet, so we're hoping good things.

Her little girl is only a few weeks older than Emmie. So if you are the praying sort, please pray for little CiCi, mommy Jenny and the rest of their family. If you aren't the praying sort, please send some positive thoughts their way. Every little bit will help.

No fair

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 02:00:00 +0000

Tonight, they finally released the details about the Obama election-night rally here in Chicago. They've been talking about it for a few weeks, but only in the vaguest terms, with no official details.

On the 5 p.m. news, there was a story about an e-mail being sent to all the Illinois Obama supporters, which would get them on the ticket list. By the time I called Josh to see if he got the e-mail and he looked on his phone for the message and he got home to click through, we were waitlisted for the tickets.

I don't know why I assumed we would be able to just snap our fingers and get tickets -- there have to be more than a million Obama peeps registered in Illinois alone and they were only giving out 70,000 tickets.

The lack of tickets totally bums me out. I really want to go to this rally. I really want to be there to see Obama speak. I really want to be surrounded by tens of thousands of people who are just as excited about where this country is going as I am. I really just want to go.

Who need a fork anyway?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy) — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 02:31:00 +0000

I really think it's important to teach your kids good manners from a young age. With Jack, we try to instill saying please and thank you, among other things, which he does almost all the time.

But teaching table manners to an almost-3-year-old boy is like herding cats.

For the last three months, Jack has been sitting in a booster seat at the dining room table for all his meals. For the most part, he does pretty well. Sure, he has his moments, which are represented by the applesauce stain on the wall two feet behind his seat, but these things are to be expected sometimes.

Usually, we go through two placemats at his spot per day because someone insists on eating HEAPING spoonfuls of oatmeal and half the spoonful ends up next to the bowl. Occasionally, he drops some food on the floor. I haven't seen him throw food in months and now when he is finished, he puts his cup on top of his plate and hands it to me saying, "All done Mommy!" It's a place I didn't think we'd get to six months ago when he would show us he was done by flinging his food or untensils on the floor.

But tonight, he decided to test me. I was sitting with him, telling him if he ate all his peas and carrots, he could have a special treat. "Candy?" he asked with a smile. Let me be clear, this child has never had any candy. He won't even poop in the potty to get his hands on some candy. So why he would think that, I have no idea. "No, cookies!" I said. He got excited.

He then leaned over and tried to eat his vegetables, without using his hands. In the process, he laid on the plate, getting ketchup all over his shirt.

I told him firmly that we don't do that because it's bad manners. I reminded him to use his hands. He smirked at me and while giggling, leaned over again and tried to do the same thing.

I swooped in, removed the plate and told him dinner was over. He, of course, broke down into hysterics. Clearly, we have a future pie-eating contest winner on our hands and I just ruined his training.