One Braid At A Time

"Hey, babe?  I need to learn how to braid so I can do the girls hair. Can you show me?"

These words could have easily been followed by the sound of a needle sliding off a record player.  And in many homes, it probably would have.

But not ours.

Here, it is as common as it being Daddy's turn to cook, or to give the girls a bath, or to iron his own clothes.

And honestly, it's not because I've made a big deal about any of it. It's all him.  And it's amazing.  Not just because it gets me out of ironing extra clothes so I can work on my crush on all of the firemen on Chicago Fire without any distraction.  But because when he busted out the ironing board last week and I offered to do it for him, he said:

"It's important that the girls see my ironing my own clothes, babe.  They need to see that this is something men can do."

Uh.  YEA IT IS.  Because also?  This Daddy?  The one ironing his pink shirt out in front of God and everyone?  The one who wants to learn how to braid?  This Daddy also single-handedly lifted 20 tons of asphalt and concrete onto a trailer with nothing but his hands (and a lot of blood, sweat and cursing) during our remodel.  This Daddy helped build a river in town.  This Daddy brings home river bugs for the girls to play with.  This Daddy bought his girls fishing poles for Christmas and works with them on their cast technique. This Daddy is teaching his daughters how to ride a bike without training wheels. This Daddy built a room in our house by himself.  You know... the one I get all the credit for because everyone likes how I painted the bricks?

And this Daddy?  He wants to learn how to braid his girls' hair.

So, we sat The Bean down and I showed him how to do a French braid.  I explained that he could tell it was French because it was stylish and snobby.  Because I love stereotypes. And because I've convinced The Bean that having her hair done to look like a sister-wife is super stylish.  And snobby.  And it looks gooood.

The French braid was a bit too complicated for him at this early stage in the game.  But I reminded him that this is also how you can tell it's French... its complexity.  Like a fine wine and... Oh... look!  Another stereotype!

So, we decided that he should focus his efforts on mastering a regular braid.  I may have made fun of encouraged him by noting that if he can tie a fly, he can most certainly braid our daughters' hair and "Seriously babe... what's wrong with your hands?  Have you always lacked dexterity or did your hands get run over by a truck??"

Despite my taunting With my encouragement, he actually caught on to the technique pretty quickly, although his large hands and fingers weren't quite as nimble as they need to be to deal with fine hair like The Bean's.  But, he compensated and pretty soon he was on a roll.

The Bean, who is usually adamant that her braid look like she's a sister-wife, was perfectly content to let Daddy do some... things to her hair.  And she was beyond thrilled with how it turned out since she got more than one braid and "I WUV deez bwaidz, Mama!!"  Needless to say, it didn't go over well with her later that night when I explained that we would need to take all of the braids out for her shower.  But that's what vodka is for.

I drew a little pic for The Bean after she was done.  She took one look at it and exclaimed:  "It wooks wike MEEEE!"  Because I'm a good artist and also... because it does.

She then asked me to draw Waldo and I'll be damned if I actually didn't do a semi-decent job. Although in reality, he should have had vapors coming out of his butt because... you know.

But, I digress with my fancy artwork.  The Bird was so pleased that Daddy was working on her hair.  And not just because of the Daddy worship that she practices 24/7.  Only MOSTLY because of that.  Seriously, given the choice between being a princess living in a castle made of chocolate, or having a Daddy-Daughter fishing date in the rain, she'll choose Daddy every. single. time.  (Although she would insist on wearing her princess dress while fishing.  Because what is she?  An animal?)

Since his dexterity had improved in the 20 minutes it took to do The Bean's hair, The Bird's hair was finished rather quickly and looked marvelous.

I'm telling you, this little girl loves her Daddy more than anything in this whole world.  More than ice cream. More than Monster High. More than the braids he gave her.  And she LOVED those.

And honestly, he's either spoiling her for other men, or doing exactly what he needs to do to make sure she doesn't bring home a loser. Either way works for me.

It takes a special man to raise daughters.  It takes an even more special man to understand that what they see him do and say every day, how he treats them every day, how he treats their Mommy every day... THAT is what they will expect from the other men that eventually come into their lives.

So, let's talk about stereotypes.  Not the French stereotypes. Those are for my own twisted amusement and very much showcase my inner Republican. Aha!  Another stereotype!  I'm on a roll!!!

Let's talk about the stereotypes we hear all of the time about men and what being a real man is.  The kind that say that men have to be macho. That it isn't their responsibility to cook or clean. That they don't have as much responsibility in raising daughters as mothers do. That what they think or do or say carries more weight than their wives thoughts and actions. That their worth is defined by their strength or the paycheck they bring home, rather than what they do with their family every day.  That girls don't have as much potential as boys.

These stereotypes.. they're simply not true.

And this man?  He knows it. 

This man... the one that felt it was important to learn how to braid, the one who supports this Mommy in everything she does and dreams of doing, the one who irons his own pink shirts, the one who will color with The Bean while helping The Bird do her homework, the one that will go into work late because he feels like he hasn't had enough time with his kids, the one who they tackle every night when he walks in the door, the one who can fall asleep while they are using him as a trampoline, the one who can fix anything from an owie on their toe, to a toy that isn't working, to a sprinkler system to a freakin' house.

This man is the definition of what a man should be. This man shatters stereotypes.  And in the process, is raising daughters that like him, are going to change the world.

One braid at a time.

My Pre-K Bean

The Bean has been going through a rough patch for the last few months.  She's been defiant and bull-headed in a way that makes bulls seem somewhat reasonable and even-keeled... someone you'd consider inviting out to Girls Night.

At first, we thought it was just a phase... that she would grow out of it. But it's been like a bad case of plantar fasciitis (I happen to know a little about that)... that's gotten worse and more inflammed and even alcohol can't help it.  And I am honestly at the end of my very, very long rope with her.

We've tried everything.  Reasoning... choice and consequence... sending her to her room... taking away her blankie... out right yelling... threatening to give Waldo away (yea, I sooooo went there)... and even threatening to leave her at gymnastics overnight because she refused to put on her pants and shoes after class when it was time to go. 

Five points if you can you spot the slow spiral down to Insanity Parenting.

Her teacher has been flummoxed as well.  She's pulled me aside several times and asked what type of things work for us when she's being so defiant and I was all: "Dude!  Don't ask me!!!  I threatened to give the cat away last night... I'm bottom of the barrel here!"

Yesterday was another rough day for her in school and she got an incident report for being.. well, a general asshole to everyone at school and was sent to the equivalent of the Principal's Office at the day care.  Great... she's THAT kid.

After signing off on the report and taking my copy, I walked into her room where she was playing with her little friends.  She saw me and did her usual routine of: "Yay!  Mama's here!" while clapping her hands and jumping up and down.  Which is hands down the best greeting you can ever ask for, but I digress.

I looked at her and held up the folded piece of yellow paper that was the copy of the report.  And this child's demeanor changed mid-jump and clap.  She lowered her chin down to her chest and wouldn't make eye contact.  Her response was exactly like Bonnie's response when I catch her eating underwear.  I didn't have to say a word.  She knew.  SHE KNOWS SHE'S SCREWING UP.  Which means there's legitimately something going on here... not just the Being An Asshole Phase I was chalking it up to.

That night, I had a heart-to-heart with her.   In the past, thinking maybe it was a personality conflict with the teacher, I have asked her if she liked her teacher, Ms. Jennifer.  She would always respond that she loved Ms. Jennifer.  Then I would ask her what was wrong... and she would say she didn't know.

Last night, I asked her if she liked her class... because it only takes me four months to try phrasing the question differently... because I'm super on-point like that. She once again hung her head down and shook her head no. 

"Why not?"
With a quivering lip: "Betuz... I'm bored.  There's widdow kids in there and I'm a big girl and everything we do is bowing."
"Oh! Well... you know what? We can put you in a big kid class with older kids."
"You can?"
"Absolutely! Would you like to do that?"
*silence*
She looked up at me then, with big blue eyes and unshed tears and choked out:
"But... I still wuv Ms. Jennifer!"
"That's okay, sweetie!  She knows you love her... but she knows you're almost four and need to be with the big kids.  And you'll love your new teacher, too!"

At that point, the smile and joy that had been missing from her face whenever the subject of school came up,  returned.  Her smile was so big I thought her face might break and she hugged me around my neck so tightly that I thought I might pass out.

"I wanna go to the big kid class!  And I get to learn things and even have homework, right?"
"Maybe!"
"Yay!" 
 
This morning, I dropped her off at school and she marched right into her new class, no questions asked.  Her only concern was that she didn't have a cubby yet.  "Dude... relax.  We like JUST got here and the decision to bring you into this class happened about 12 hours ago." 

She got over it quickly and grabbed my hand and walked with me to the cafeteria, where she walked right up to her new class, sat down and ate breakfast with all the big kids.  I kissed her, wished her luck, told her to be the best her she could be and that I loved her.  She beamed at me and told me she loved me.

It was the first time in weeks that she hadn't clung to me and sobbed when I left. 

How could I not have figured this out sooner?

Sometimes I don't give The Bean the benefit of the doubt.  She's always been a rascal and she likes to push limits and doesn't always seem congnizant of other people's feelings... and doesn't talk about her feelings.

I should know this by now.  I realize now that she does care and she does love people deeply... she just doesn't wear it on her sleeve like her sister does. 

When I left my little Bean... the one I feel like I need to protect much more than her sissy because I still remember when she came out of me and couldn't breathe... well, she was sitting in that cafeteria, happily eating her breakfast surrounded by new big-kid friends. 

She. Was. Beaming.

A Morning In The Green Boogers & Oatmeal Life

The most common things that come out of my mouth every weekday between 6:27 a.m. and 9 a.m.:

"It's not time to wake up yet... shhhhh!"
"We have 3 more minutes before it's wake-up time."
"If you are in Mommy and Daddy's bed, you have to be quiet."
"Ouch! Go play in your bedroom with sissy... quietly."
"No, you may not have a Fiber One bar."
"Eat your breakfast."
"No... you've had enough Wild Kratts.  Time to get ready for the day."
"Yes... it's school day."
"Oh, I know!  It's horrible. You'll survive." 
"Please get dressed."
"You have to get dressed before Mommy finishes her coffee... or Mommy picks out your outfit."
"Good job getting dressed.  Now, let's try it with the underwear under the pants."
"You look so nice! Thank you for getting dressed on your own."
"No, you cannot wear that.  It's dirty/you wore it yesterday/it's too cold outside for that."
"Did you remember underwear?"
"Did you flush?"
"Wash your hands."
"Hold on one sec... I'll be right there to wipe your bummy!"
"Don't forget to put on your socks."
"Please put on your shoes."
"Nope... wrong feet. Try again, sweetie."
"Where is your coat?"
"No."
"Because I said so."
"Stop asking why... just do it."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Stop teasing your sister."
"You can't have mac & cheese for breakfast."
"COME HERE."
"Please sit on your bummy."
"You do that again, Mommy takes your blankie/teddy bear."
"Don't carry the cat upside down by his tail!"
"Would you like ME to carry YOU that way?"
"You're missing the point."
"Come get your vitamins."
"You get what you get... and you don't throw a fit."
"Deal with it, kiddo."
"No, you can't have gummy bears for breakfast."
"Please go get in the car."
"Because I said so!"
"COME HERE!"
"Brushing your hair does NOT hurt."
"Yes... if you want long hair like Rapunzel you have to stop sucking your thumb and eat your veggies."
"If you want a french braid, you have to sit still."
"You can't ask for a french braid when we're already 10 minutes late!"
"You said you wanted a french braid.  THIS is a french braid!"
"I think what you meant to say was 'thank you'."
"No... I'm done doing hair for a while until you can remember to be grateful."
"You're fine."
"Shake it off."
"You can have Cheerios... or Cheerios."
"We're out of oatmeal."
"We're also out of pancakes."
"No... those are Mommy's special fatty pancakes with whip cream.  No, you may not have them."
"Yes... you may have bacon."
"You wanted toast... that IS toast!"
"It's not nice to steal food off of anyone's plate.  EAT YOUR OWN BREAKFAST."
"The last time I got to eat all my food off my own plate was before you were born, you know that, right?"
"Next time you get out of your seat, that means you're done eating and we give Daddy-monster your breakfast."
"Go get in the car."
"Worry about yourself, please."
"No more tattling!"
"THAT'S TATTLING!"
"No, you can't take that toy with you."
"Because teacher will take it away."
"Because I said so."
"Hurry!!!"
"Where is your blankie?"
"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME TELL YOU TO COME. HERE?"
"Why are your pants on backwards?"
"Why in the world would you take your shoes off IN THE CAR ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL?"
"If you want second breakfast at school, you better hurry!"
"We're totally late... let's move!"
"I'm sorry... I don't know where the Frozen CD is."
"Stop sticking your tongue out."
"You think I can't see you?"
"Yes, I DO have eyes in the back of my head."
"Yes... I DO know everything.  Because I eat my vegetables."
"Because I said so!"
"I love you."
"What do you mean you need something for show and share?"

And that, my friends, is more words than I speak in an entire day at work.

Thirty-One Things I'm Going To Do To My Children When They Are Grown... As Payback

I have been inspired by this guy who wrote about his top 10 things he wanted to do when his kids were older to get back at the nonsense they pulled as kids.  And I was all:  Only 10?  I have 10 per day.  So, in no particular order, I give you:

Thirty-One Things I'm Going To Do To My Children When They Are Grown... As Payback

1 - Stomp around in my high heels on their nice wood floor.  At 6 a.m.

2 - If The Bean serves me anything other than Mac & Cheese, declare loudly that "I don't wike dat!" and refuse to touch it.

3 - Insist that The Bird french braid my hair and if it isn't perfect, melt into a puddle in the middle of the bathroom.

4 - Climb into bed with The Bean and ask if I can have a Fiber One bar.  Bring said bar back to the bed and proceed to eat it... dropping chocolate and granola all over her and rubbing it into the sheets.

5 - Go up to The Bird's neighbors and tell them that I didn't wipe... because I drip dry.   

6 - Insist on wearing my finest dress for a trip to Home Depot with The Bird.

7 - Call little old ladies poopy-face at the market and then laugh hysterically.

8 -When The Bird asks how my day was, answer with:  "Arrrghh! You asked me that YESTERDAY and I ALREADY told you!!"

9 - Insist that The Bird warm up my ice cream by blowing on it... because it's too cold in my mouth.

10 - Poop in my bed and fall asleep next to it.

11 - Take a dry-erase marker to The Bean's friend's pretty white door.

12 - Grab The Bean's breasts in front of her friends and scream:  "Bobo's!  Bobo's!"

13 - Sit on The Bean's lap... and toot.  At will.  Repeatedly.

14 - Make both girls push me in the toy carts at the market and drag my hands along the floor the entire time.  And then proceed to suck my thumb.

15 - Lick the floor at a BBQ joint... in front of their friends

16 - Mention loudly that the gentleman sitting across from me at the pool is old... because he doesn't have hair.

17 - Exclaim to The Bean that the guy sitting at the table next to us isn't a boy because he has long hair. 

18 - Eat all of The Bean's food.  Every time she tries to eat.

19 - Insist on smelling all of The Bird's drinks.

20 - When I think they're not looking, drop all of my peas on the floor and then call the dog over.

21 - Run at the pool after being told to walk, slip and fall on my butt... and then cry for 2 hours.

22 -Come out of a public bathroom with a handful of paper towels and insist that I carry them around the rest of the day.  Because they are my FAVORITE things ever.

23 - Go into The Bean's bedroom at 3 a.m. and insist she give me cookies.

24 - Say the words:  "Did not! Did, too!" 83 times in a row until both girl's ears bleed.

25 - Insist on wearing flip flops in the winter, and stockings and closed-toe shoes in the summer.

26 - Throw up all over The Bean on the last night of vacation.

27 - Scream that The Bird never lets me make the rules for ANYTHING.... because she wouldn't let me wear my super fancy dress to bed.

28 - Pick my nose and then go up to The Bean and hand it to her.  Do the same to The Bird 30 seconds later.

29 - Go into The Bird's bedroom at 6 a.m. and ask if I can do chores and sweep the floor.

30 - Freak out because I don't like the song we are listening to in the car, and scream louder than the song so that no one can enjoy it.

31 - Break into The Bird's makeup bag and put her mascara... on my cheeks.  


And that's July's list.

Keep Wunning!

My favorite event in Ogden is the Ogden Marathon.  It's a time when the whole community comes together and rallies to create a simply spectacular event and vibe that you won't find anywhere else.  It's something that would be impossible to replicate elsewhere and it's one of the many things I love about this town and its people.

The amount of volunteers that turn out to help put this on is staggering.  Upwards of 1,400 men, women and children volunteered this year...this is in addition to the GOAL Foundation staff and board that work so hard to put on this incredible event year after year.  Because of everyone's dedication, little old Ogden boasts one of the top marathons in the country, hosting over 5,000 racers this year alone competed in the marathon, half-marathon and 5K races.  And even though I have a hate-hate relationship with running, I am uber proud of my town for doing this... and doing it so well.

Benny and I have been volunteering or running in the Ogden Marathon in some capacity for the last 10 years.  These days, Benny serves on the Board of the GOAL Foundation so he's busy all day race day, working in the canyon, helping with medical issues and aid stations.  I usually work at the expo the Friday before the race because race day for me is all about the kiddos now.  But, pre-kids, I was able to participate so much more.  Back in 2004, we rode our bikes downtown at 3 a.m. to help load buses... and if you really want to get the vibe of the event and its participants, helping load buses is the way to do it. The trepidation and excitement of the runners at that time of day makes the air crackle with excitement.  They're tired, but they're so excited to finally be at Zero Days Left Till The Ogden Marathon.  All of the training they've put in has led up to this one moment. Getting on that bus is the last step in the lead up to race-day.  It's the last time to back out.  Because once you go up that mountain... the only way back down is by self-propulsion.  Putting one foot in front of the other.  It's you and the road... and a few thousand other runners who had the same idea as you. 

In 2005, we spent the day picking up the discarded clothes along the course while cheering on the runners and making sure the aid stations were stocked appropriately.  In 2006, we got to help with the finish line by giving out water and medals to the finishers... and I WAS HOOKED.  This was absolutely the coolest thing I'd ever been a part of. 

All of these experiences are why I decided to add running a marathon to my bucket list. Seeing the people getting on those buses or crossing that line - some who were fit, some who were not, but all who were completely excited and proud of themselves - inspired me.  So, in 2007, I ran the marathon.  It's a beautiful course and I was so excited to do it that one time.  Because I'm older now.  And wiser.  And I now learn from my mistakes.

Me running a marathon?  Mistake. A mistake that ended with me sitting in a bathtub full of ice and cursing my legs for being.  Me sitting at the finish line, cheering on the runners while eating ice cream?  THAT'S HOW WE DO.

After I had The Bird, I ran the half-marathon in 2010, which was so much better for me and my legs... and one day, I'll do it again because it was a wonderful experience.  There were no tears and no ice was needed.  But, I got pregnant with The Bean like the next day, so I'm just playing the odds right now.  Every year I haven't run the half marathon, I haven't gotten pregnant.  I'd be a fool to ignore that data.

This year, my sister was running the half, so I took the girls down to watch her finish.  It was a geeeeorgeous day in O-Town.  One that made you happy to be alive, even if you were sweating down the back of your shirt while cheering on perfect strangers and wondering where in the world your sister was... before realizing that you had missed her crossing the line 30 minutes before.  Because you're just really good at telling time.

This year was also the first year that we felt confident enough to let both girls run in the KidsK.  This is such an amazing event for young kids to be a part of, that really ties in so well with the fitness priority of Ogden.  The organizers of this particular part of the day were fantastic and it's apparent that they really love the children of this town and the idea of creating a building block of health and wellness for them at an early age.

Both girls and their friend TK did the requisite stretching and warming up before the start of the race.  I had made it clear that The Bird was supposed to stay with TK who I knew was going to want to stretch his legs and win the whole thing....  but I thought I had pounded it into both of their heads that YOU NEVER LEAVE A MAN BEHIND.  So, that was Phase I of The Plan.

Phase II of the plan included TK's mom waiting and catching the kids at the finish line, while Phase III of The Plan had me batting cleanup on the course as I was running with The Bean... in case someone got left behind or pulled a hammy.

The Plan was solid.

The Plan fell apart immediately.



TK was gone before I even crossed the start line with The Bean. I'm pretty sure he won the whole thing.  The Bird was left running with some random kid by herself, but refused to come back and run with me and The Bean.  She didn't look upset and was so excited to be a part of the race, that I just tried to keep an eye on her, while making sure The Bean didn't get run over by the strollers behind us. Luckily, Benny was able to put his race day responsibilities on hold for 15 minutes and showed up just when I lost sight of The Bird. After giving me our requisite: "No matter what happens, you STAY ALIVE!! I will find you!" look, he took off and was able to find her and cross the line with her, which she thought was just the greatest thing since princess dresses.   

The Bean, who has never been a follower in her short life, actually bought into the idea of running with all of the other kids.  I tried to carry her at one point, and she insisted on walking/running on her own... which came as a shock to me.  The entire race was a mixture of her running and then stopping to look around her and then walking... at which time I would remind her to "Keep running!"  Halfway through the race, I figured out that I could walk as fast as she was running, so I started walking next to her.  And then this little girl who has more attitude than should be legally allowed at 3-years-old looked up at me, squinted her eyes and yelled:  "KEEP WUNNING, MAMA!!"

This girl is going to be the death of me.

As we crossed the finish line, I scooped her up and we gave high-fives to all of the volunteers waiting for the kids to cross.  Many of whom were friends and were thrilled to see The Bean crossing that line... while also probably wondering why I was in khaki shorts and Keen's.  BECAUSE I TOTALLY PLAN AHEAD, THAT'S WHY.

This is how you raise kids in Ogden, Utah.  You do it with your community and its people that share your values and philosophy of life.  The ones who know your kids by name and who you know would protect them and corral them at the finish line until you got there.  The ones who want to create a beautiful world for all of our children to grow up in, and they do so by their words and deeds.

I had a friend ask me the other day if I would ever consider moving if it meant making more money and having more influence in my chosen career.  The answer is no.  Which goes against everything I learned reading Lean In.  I know.... I'm a disgrace to working women everywhere.  But, there's more to life than work.  I don't need a lot.  I just need... enough.  Enough time.... enough love... enough energy... enough joy... enough laughter... and enough money to help teach my girls how to take care of our world and our community.  Just... enough.  I can figure it out from there.  Because enough to me includes living in a place where the town rallies to show the world what we're capable of.  Where success is not measured by how much money you make, but how you have helped your community. Where the mayor voluntarily bikes to work every day for an entire year to set an example for the people and the children of his city. 

That's living.     

That's where I want to live and grow my family.

It's where my family will keep wunning.

Nytro

Finding my cat's old collar in the console of my car last week got me to thinking about her... and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.  

I got Nytro from a shelter in Huntsville when I was in college.  My roommate and I both decided that if no one would date us, we may as well start being the Crazy Cat Ladies and really sell the crazy.  And yes, we also started The Boys Don't Like Me Club.  I believe I was President because I was the oldest, and I'm told that's how things work.

It was a good plan.  

Shortly thereafter, I met Benny... who wasn't exactly a fan of Nytro (nor she of him) but because they both loved me, they found a way to make it work.

I had her for 13 years.  She died in 2010, when I was about 6 months pregnant with The Bean.  

A lifetime ago. 

The day after she died, I went to the coffee shop with my laptop and big belly, and poured my heart into a blog.  Cheap therapy.

When I found the entry today, it made me think about things from a different perspective than I had before.  I guess that's what growing up does for you.  

I had Nytro for longer than I've been married, and yet... I got too busy for her.  When I became a mother, she became an afterthought.  I began rushing through so much of my life, that I didn't notice parts of my life were being neglected and withering away.  As I read this, I realized there are so many things in my life that I haven't been attentive to.  When you've got two kids under the age of 4, well, you get caught up in just living that life.  Surviving each day.  You're trying to soak up every moment ... and at the same time, trying not to let those moments drive you insane.  And it just seems like we need to slow down.  We need to take care of the things and people around us who matter.  Who sometimes become a low priority because you've got kids who need you to wipe their butt or their nose, who need you to 'watch diss!', who need you to feed them and read them a story and cuddle with them and take care of them when they're sick.  They're the vocal ones. They NEED to be vocal to survive.  You just can't ignore them because they won't LET you. You're not allowed to have adult conversation in front of them because it's all about them.  But there are others - other people, other things - that don't speak up.  They may not be dying, but you're losing touch with them.  You're losing touch with things that fulfill your soul and help make you complete.  Gardening, reading, writing, date night, girl's night out.  All of these things... you need them in your life. 

Nytro... she was never vocal.  And I lost her.  And in doing so, lost a part of myself.  

I need to remember that.  

--------------------------------

November 27, 2010
Dear Nytro,
I wish I had left you there. Under your favorite bush. The one that always seems to be in the direct line of the sun, and you would doze for hours under. The one that also served as camouflage when you didn't want to be found.

If I had left you there, maybe things would have been easier.

For you.

For me.

Even for Benny.

But I didn't. When we got home from our Thanksgiving trip to the farm, we found you laying under that bush, just like you always have.

Only you weren't sunning yourself. It was 30 degrees out. And you weren't moving.

I thought you were dead.

I called out your name, and you didn't even flinch. I touched you, and your tail only lightly twitched. And you still didn't raise your head or open your eyes.

I wish I had left you there. I wish I had gone in, grabbed a blanket and a hot pad... and let you die the way you lived life. Comfortably and on your own terms.

I could have sat there with you in the garden, by your favorite bush.  It would have been a cold, yet peaceful passing.

Instead, I took you from your chosen location, wrapped you in a towel and rushed you to the vet. To the place you hated most in this world. To a world full of stainless steel tables, IV's and vet techs rushing around trying to stave off the inevitable.

Has city living really taken that much of the farm out of me? I grew up understanding clearly the circle of life. I had never seen a pet actually die in front of my eyes, but I have heard the sound of the rifle when a horse had to be put down. I saw  the anguish in my parents eyes when they had to tell us that they accidentally ran over the dog or the cat.

And all of that sucked. But I got over it and moved on.

After all, this is how life works. Rarely did a dog or cat live past five years on the farm. Exposure to the elements, dangers from the highway, coyotes or even neighbors who have too much time and bullets on their hands.... this was all a part of having pets.

But you... you were different. 13 years old. I can't believe you made it that long. I can't believe that the little kitten I brought home from the shelter 13 years ago and who had nothing but attitude from day one was still around after graduation from college, marriage, a new house, a baby and another pregnancy. It was my new instinct to do whatever I could to help you. You were only 13... you still had a few more years left.

On the drive there, in the back of my mind I knew that when older animals are ready to die, they usually find a quiet place to go - like a favorite bush - to make the transition. And I blew it for you. But I wasn't ready yet. One day later and I'm still not ready.

As we sat there with you in the room, and the vet talked about things like kidney failure and total body shutdown, I just looked into your mostly lifeless eyes. You never blinked. You were already gone, weren't you? Your body hadn't quite stopped working at that point, but you were ready to go.

Benny says that you held on as long as you did so that you could say good-bye. I don't know if that's true or not. See, for the rest of my life, I'll believe that I'm responsible for your death. I will never believe that it was your "time to go".

While yesterday was pretty much a blur, I remember the vet asking me when you started to lose weight. He asked how long you had smelled so bad. He asked if you were drinking water. He asked when was the last time I noticed that you were "normal".

I didn't really have an answer for any of those questions. Had I noticed you had lost weight? Yes. On Monday I picked you up and thought you felt lighter. But in my haste of being a Mommy, I attributed it to the fact that my "normal" these days is that of a 28 pound toddler. I noticed that day that you seemed a little sluggish. But I thought it might just be the cold and since you were getting older, it was effecting you more.

When was the last time you were normal? When was the last time I did more than give you a passing pat on the back or rub on the head as I was feeding you? When was the last time I did more than acknowledge your existence when Hazel was petting you before I rushed her into the car to go to the store or school or a play date?

Weeks?

Months?

I failed you, Nytro. In the worst way.

While we sat in that room hoping your body would warm up, I rubbed your ears. I scratched your chin. I told you that it was okay if you had to go. That you had lived a good life. Your eyes sparked a little when I scratched your chin. That always was your favorite. You had lost your voice, but it seemed like you were trying to talk to me. But they said that it was just spasms.

When the vet was finally able to get an IV in after 30 minutes of trying due to your collapsed veins, I started to think that maybe you were going to pull through this. You always were a fighter. You rarely backed down from a fight with the neighborhood strays that sometimes ventured onto our property. Of course, you also knew that in any fight, Benny or I would soon be bursting through the door in our bathrobes ready to take out whichever cat was messing with you that night.

So, when you started to perk up after they got some fluids in you, I felt myself relax with relief. You were going to be okay. Just had to get some fluids in you... maybe some meds... and pamper you for a little while.

I thought that we had dodged a bullet.

As the vet talked about what was possibly going on with you, you started to struggle... like you were trying to get up and move.  At first I thought: There's my girl. Hates the vet!!

But then, I knew... something wasn't right.

"What's wrong?"

The vet listened to your heart. There was a rapid heartbeat, but you weren't breathing. Suddenly, you gave one last huge exhale. Your eyes dilated. Your heart stopped.

And that was it.

You were gone.

Just like that. Right in front of me.

Words continue to fail me when I think about witnessing that event. When I think about what you went through in those final moments... when I think about the relief I felt mere seconds before you died... my heart breaks into pieces.

I remember looking at the vet and asking him if he was sure you were gone. I couldn't believe it. Just like that. So fast. Gone.

It's so unfair.

I want a chance to make it up to you. I want the chance to sit with you on the porch and rub your belly again. I want the chance to take you to the vet the second I noticed your weight loss. I want to hear the little bell on your collar jingle outside the door to remind me that it was 5 minutes until dinner time and you wanted to let me know that you knew this.

I want you to meet our new baby in February.

I could have prevented this. And I didn't. Because I was busy. Because I felt like you could take care of yourself. Because life got in the way.

And for that, I'll never forgive myself.

After you passed, we were left with the decision of what to do next. It's too cold here to bury anything in the ground, and I decided I didn't need your ashes. I wouldn't know what to do with them. I said good-bye to your spirit... I was in the room when you made the transition, and didn't need anything else. I even refused the paw-print ornament that they offered to make. I don't know why... other than the fact that I already have a lifetime of memories of you, and more pictures than I know what to do with. An ornament doesn't really seem your style, you know? A framed hairball seems to be more you. But, I'll settle for your collar and bell.

It breaks my heart to know that when we go out in the mornings to get into the car, Hazel will look for you, and you won't be there. She will never again point at you, say "Kee-Kee!" and then excitedly walk over to you while you are eating and softly pet you. She won't remember you. She'll never get to laugh at you when you get another haircut in the summer. She'll never get to snuggle with you and hear you purring.

But, I'll remember all of that. I'll remember those 13 years with fondness. Both the good and the bad.

I'll remember how you never wanted to drink out of your water dish... preferring instead my glass of water. I'll remember how you never ever got aggressive with us... but let us know of your displeasure by peeing in our shoes or the closet. I'll remember how when you were little, you would wait for me to get home from practice and hop in the shower, and would then jump on the counter, grab my elastic band I had just taken from my hair and take it to my closet and hide it in an old pair of shoes I never wore. I found those hair bands 9 months later when I was throwing those shoes out. I'll remember the exact day when I realized that I didn't own a cat, but that my cat owned me. It was the day I ended up apologizing to you for yelling at you for knocking over my drink. I'll remember the first night I brought you home and you snuggled up in the crook of my neck and slept there all night. I'll remember how you were a one-person cat who didn't really need anyone else in her life. I'll remember all the days we made fun of your cow bag... especially after a haircut. I'll remember how much you hated getting a haircut, but how much you enjoyed it after the fact. I'll remember how you used to look out the window at the birds and smack your lips. I'll never have a Christmas where I don't remember you sleeping under the tree for a month. I'll remember when you caught a baby quail and brought it into the house to play with... and then got bored. Watching me chase that baby bird around the house was definitely entertaining for you. I think I even saw you smile, before regaining your composure and feigning indifference. I'll remember the day I found a rat in the house... a rat that was bigger than you.  You took one look at it, then me standing on the bed with a broom over my head screaming... and then slowly turned around and left me to fend for myself.  I found you later on the couch dozing.  I'll remember how you never got too excited or upset about anything. EVER. You had the most calm demeanor of any cat I've known... except if dinner was late.

But I'll never forget the fact that you were there for me during some rough times in my life. When all you had to do was curl up in my lap and start purring and I knew that things would be okay. The weekend when both Benny and my roommate moved away.  When I was broke as a joke and couldn't afford to fill up the car with gas, much less give you as much food as you wanted. As long as I had you, everything was fine. The therapy you provided me in those days was amazing and those who don't have pets... will never understand.

I'm sorry that I failed you in your time of need, Nytro. I will never not feel guilty about the role I played in your passing. And the fact that your passing wasn't what you had hoped for.

But thank you for hanging on long enough to say good-bye.

I will always love you.

The Styrofoam Perspective

The morning started off a little hectic.  Someone didn't like that we were having Cheerios with milk.  And she also didn't like that she had to wear a nice sweater with 3/4 sleeves, rather than the tank-top she had her heart set on while it was 30 degrees outside.  So, when Mommy turned her back, guess who accidentally-on-purpose spilled her milk ALL OVER HERSELF?

Someone else was upset because she wanted 500 ponytails, and Mommy only gave her two.

Someone else was upset because he'd left his car at the office and couldn't get out of the chaos sooner because he needed a ride to work.

And then someone else was all:   "What's the big deal?  I call this a Tuesday!"

Luckily, things calmed down rather quickly (as they always do on Tuesdays) and we piled in the car to head to day care.  I had forgotten that it was Show and Share Day, but The Bird had apparently remembered and Daddy had helped her pick out something to take.  Can't remember to put on underwear every day, but totally remembers Show and Share Day every Tuesday...  but, whatever.

We were almost to day care when The Bird started screaming and sobbing. I looked in the rear view mirror and... yes, yes indeed... her face is melting off.  This isn't exactly out of the norm for her, but it wasn't clear this time what the deal was until Benny turned around in his seat to address the face melting.

"It's okay, sweetie!  Look!  Now you have two pieces of styrofoam.  And two is better than one!"
"Um... styrofoam?"
"Yea.  It's Show and Share Day."
"And you gave her styrofoam?"
"Hey!  She picked that piece out all on her own!  What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that it's styrofoam.  And not even a solid piece of styrofoam!  No... it's two pieces of broken styrofoam!  Who brings broken styrofoam for show and share?  I normally don't care what people think, but surely we can do better than two pieces of broken styrofoam! PEOPLE WILL TALK!"
"No way!  She loves it!  She wants to share it with her friends."
"She is NOT sharing styrofoam at Show and Share."

And thus began the mad scramble of digging through the console of the car to find something acceptable to share with The Bird's class.

Found:  Half bottle of tums, knock-off Louis Vitton clutch, phone charger cords for phones we no longer own, a half-dozen receipts for airport parking, the collar my cat used to wear which I've been apparently holding on to since she died 3 years ago, a Cadbury egg that someone had hidden from me at least 2 years ago, one earring, a kids toothbrush, STAMPS!, a baby sock, half-eaten bag of Jalapeno Cheetos, parking ticket from WSU, a DVD of an ultrasound of The Bean in the womb, an empty CD case, a wash cloth, Bonnie's fish collar from when she was just tiny and didn't make my brain bleed, MY DISCOVER CARD!, 87 cents in pennies and nickles, a looney from our trip to England 7 years ago... and Jimmy Hoffa.

I know. It's a big console.

Not Found:  Anything "shareable".  So...you better believe I sold The Bird on taking Bonnie's collar to class.  "Look!  Look at the fishies on her collar!  Those are Daddy's favorite animals! Can you remember when Bonnie was so small that this fit on her neck?"

The more I think about it, I'm not sure why I was so upset by the styrofoam.  I mean, the woman writing this?  As a little girl, her parents brought peacocks to Show and Tell when she was in 1st grade... Live peacocks.  Plural.  More than one.  And she then had to help chase said peacocks down when they got loose in the school.

The SAME little girl also introduced her school to lice in the 2nd grade because her parents had caught a rock chuck and kept him as a pet... and did you KNOW that animal lice can live on humans, too?

(Side note:  When The Biologist I Sleep With heard this story, he told me to change rock chuck to yellow-bellied marmot because it's the same thing as a rock chuck, but sounds soooo much worse.  "I mean, WHO KEEPS A YELLOW-BELLIED MARMOT AS A PET, BABE?"  I told him he was getting to biologist-y on me, and people around here?  They know what a rock chuck is... and they'll be asking themselves the same. exact. question.)

You know what?  Styrofoam would have been absolutely fine. 

This Is Having Kids

Things My Kids Licked in 2013

1. The slide at McDonald's.
2. Shopping carts at all major grocery stores... and WalMart.
3. Handrails.  All handrails.
4. The dog.
5. Snow.
6. Each others tongues.  In public.
7. The door handle.  Every door handle.
8. The remote.
9. My face.
10. The backs of chairs at any and all public gathering places.
11. Each others faces.
12. Their toes.
13. The drinking fountain.
14. Crayons.
15. Boogers off their faces while sledding.  Who am I kidding?  Eating, licking... potato, potahtoe.
16. Maple syrup off their breakfast plates.
17. The trunk of our tree.
18. The Christmas tree.
19. A rock.
20. My keys.
21. Cake beaters.
22. Have I already mentioned boogers?
23. Bottom of their shoe.
24. The window.
25. A used band-aid.  The dirty, oozy part of the band-aid.

 Things I Hope My Kids Lick in 2014

1. A freakin' vegetable.

In Other Words, It Snowed On Saturday

Today at crossfit, Coach asked me:  "What was your favorite thing about this weekend?"

I hesitated because I'm often dubious of these types of questions because, you know... what's your angle, here?  How do you plan to use this information against me during the WOD to make me cry?  How many burpees are you going to throw at me for that margarita?

Honestly, given the way my weekend rolled out, I thought it was a trick question.  Because the weekend?  The weekend was rough.  Like Pull-Out-My-Eyelashes-One-by-One rough.  My favorite thing about the weekend?  I dunno... that I survived it?

But you say that, and people think you're joking.  Or being sarcastic.  They don't realize that saying it out loud is just another form of coping and processing what could only be described as a shit show.  And you know what?  We should be celebrating that survival!  Not sitting back as parents and feeling bad that the only thing to brag about the weekend is that everyone made it out alive.

But, we don't.  Because some scars... they're just too fresh.  The wounds too deep to just get over with high fives, a joke, or a glass of wine shot of tequila with your husband.  

And that's why God invented blogging.  

 So, yea.. we're alive and hey!!  For the first time in months my kitchen and living room floors are cleaned.  I mean, I still wouldn't consider eating off them because it's highly likely that the dog has already dragged her butt on them because that's just what she does whenever she sees a clean floor.  But to the naked eye?  LOOKS DAMN GOOD.

And, of course, the only way the cleaning of the floors was able to happen was because Sunday, I put on my Mean Mommy hat, made both girls play downstairs with their toys (the AUDACITY!) and put the dog outside for two hours so that I could properly muck out the barn.  Because, yes... when I dumped that bucket of mop water, I found hay, oats and a substance that's either pre-chewed hot dog in the corner of the kitchen... or turkey poop.

I thank the Lord for that Sunday and my complete and utter worshiping of the clean floors.  Because Saturday?  Saturday was a lesson in getting my ass handed to me by the tiny humans that I feed and clothe and love with all of my heart.  Don't believe that two grown, educated adults can be brought to their knees by 3-footers who don't know how to spell cat, yet?  Here are a couple of examples of the typical asshatish stunts they pulled all day:

1)  Nostalgia Can Go Ahead And Suck It

After purchasing The Little Mermaid soundtrack, I attempted to relive some of my childhood memories and put it in the CD player for some quality Disney time with the girls.  At which point they both started screaming that they couldn't see it.  Because - and this is not their fault - they don't know the difference between a CD and a DVD.  (Side note: I blame myself, but at the same time, I also give myself a high-five that they are so technologically disadvantaged.  They still live in a 3D world and know what grass and dirt feel like. Point Mommy.) I didn't try to explain the difference, but I did lay it out  that this was just songs.  JUST. SONGS. 

And THAT went over like a fart in church. 

When they finally calmed down enough to "understand" that it was just songs, I had to repeatedly stop the CD because they would not stop asking who was singing.
  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the mermaid?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the witch?"  

"MOMMY!!! Is this the crab?"

"MOMMY!!! Why are they singing that??" 

"MOMMY!!! Is this the THING THAT'S GOING TO MELT YOUR BRAIN?"

And the answer to that one is: "Yes, okay?  It is!!  It's melting my brain as we speak.  JUST LISTEN TO THE SONGS!!!!"

   

For those of you who are thinking of having kids... seriously, just close your eyes and try to picture how this whole thing went down.  Think about how a 36-year-old woman who will never back down from a fight if she knows she is right... who can, if challenged, walk the ridgepole of a roof a la Anne Shirley... who has jumped off 70-foot cliffs into the ocean into shark infested water because YOLO (before YOLO was a thing).... who once hit 60 mph going down a hill on her road bike (and who, it is increasingly clear, is a bit of a thrill seeker)... who has a successful career and is not cowed by much in her work life... Go ahead and think about what it takes for THAT woman to end  up pulling into the driveway, jumping out of the car and punching the bricks on the house to give her a good reason to scream and cry.  THAT woman is broken for that one moment.  

Her kids were able to accomplish that break in less than 30 minutes.  No one and nothing else has even come close to that feat. But her kids, they drive her bucking fanana's sometimes.  And it's just so hard to love someone so much, but also be incredibly annoyed by them.  It's a disconnect that will drive you absolutely BATTY.

And if you read that and didn't hurry to get yourself some more birth control, it's clear that you, too, are a serious thrill seeker.  And don't mind losing your ever-loving mind. I don't blame you for thinking that it can't be that bad and it's likely more of an outlier, rather than A Day In The Life of every mother, everywhere.  Go ahead and tell yourself that. If I hadn't gone through that bit of madness, I would have no idea how maddening something like that would be.  

After pulling into the driveway with the girls crying because of the Curse of The Disney, Benny had to come out to the car and run interference as The Bird had dropped her fries twice and after I helped her pick them off the wet driveway once and she dropped the whole box AGAIN?  I. Was. Done.  And I needed to hit some more bricks.  This time, with my face.

2)  Shoe Time
The Bean needed new shoes so last week I went to a consignment shop and found two super-cute pairs of size 8 shoes.  I picked size 8 because it seemed about right.  I mean, her toe was literally sticking out of the size 7 I'd had her in all summer.  So, size 8 should work.  Plus, she's only 2... how big can her feet be?  She was pretty excited about the purchase when I brought them home, but I noticed that putting the shoes on was difficult. Of course, try to explain that new shoes might be too small to an opinionated 2-year-old and watch her face melt off.  So, on Saturday, I took both girls to Target and decided we'd just check her sizing there.  When she came back as a size 10.5, I punched myself in the face for being that mom that doesn't track on her youngest child's sizing the way she did with her oldest.  Of course, we needed to purchase her a new pair of shoes right then and there because... I FELT HORRIBLE.  But would The Bird stand for it?  Would The Bird remember that last week, she got two new pairs of shoes that actually fit her so she didn't need another pair of shoes just because The Bean was getting one?  

The short answer is HELL. NO.   The long answer is that I was punching myself in the face for walking into that one like a freakin' rookie.   After which, it's entirely possible that I texted a girlfriend that I was raising a generation of self-entitled a#$holes.  

3) My Daughter, Ladies and Gentlemen

Because Saturday also happened to be Benny's birthday and we were going on a much-needed date, my sis came over to babysit.  After we left, The Bird threw some food on the floor and when she was told to pick it up, she smugly said:  "No... that's what Mommy does."  

EXCUSE ME??  Last week, The Bird was being... well, a 4-year-old... and decided to purposely tilt her pelvis up while peeing on the potty and shoot pee all over the floor.  The bathtub.  And Mommy.   The Bird ended up cleaning up her mess and also ended up with quite the talking to.  And guess who decided to copy her sister 30 seconds later because it seemed like the right thing to do?  Holy geez, I don't have enough toes to stay on all of them all the time.  Something's gotta give here.

Bottom line:  I've had both girls clean up their spills for the last few months. So, I want to know what in the hell THAT comment was all about.  Because there's a serious disconnect and mama's not down with that. 

But did I mention any of this to Coach?  Nope.  Because he was holding his little baby boy and was happy and genuinely wanted to know about the good parts of my weekend.  I could have said that my favorite part of the weekend was 7:30 each night when the kids went to bed, but that seems overly harsh to a somewhat new parent.  And, you know... I tend to complain. A lot.  Even when I'm happy.  I could have mentioned the 25 minutes of clean floors I had before lunch on Sunday.  That made me very happy.  I could have mentioned that I told The Bird that the secret to having super long hair like Rapunzel is that your hair doesn't grow when you suck your thumb... and seriously, that might be the thumb-sucking lie that actually works. 

But instead, I went with: 

"We went to Movie Grille and saw a terrible movie.  But they brought us beer and wine and we had recliners.  It was awesome."

So, all in all?  It was a good weekend.

50 Reasons Why We're Late

Full disclosure, I stole this idea from Suburban Jungle. And also? She's my new hero.

We're late.  A lot.  And although sometimes it's totally my fault, most of the time it's the fault of the Little Dictators to whom we provide food, shelter and unconditional love.  And I can only console myself with the fact that pre-kids, I gave my mommy friends a lot of leeway when showing up late for something... because I had a feeling I would end up in a similar boat and didn't want karma to kick me in the face. Let this be a lesson for all of you Not Yet Parents or Never Want To Be Parents.  Take it easy on us... we have a whole 'notha life going on.

So, in Suburban Jungle style, here is a list of reasons of why our little family is late all the live long day.  I want to be clear that each of these things has happened at some point... some have happened at the same time because if we're going to be late, let's really make it worth our while.  As twisted as my mind is, even I couldn't make up some of the ridiculousness that is listed below.

So here they are, in no particular order:

50 Reasons Why We're Late
1 - The Bean can't find her tie shoes.  Because Mommy threw them away.

2 - There wasn't enough milk put into the Cheerios.  Hostages were taken.

3 - The Bird's socks weren't smiling at her.

4 - It's not Tumblebus day at school, so we have no incentive to get moving.

5 - The kids made me drink and I had to sober up.  Which is why we just decided to walk, mkay?

6 - Bonnie chewed on the corner of The Bean's blanket.  Causing The Bean's face to melt off.

7 - We're not going to make it to Second Breakfast at school anyway, so who cares?

8 - I had to wrestle a badger.  Which is to say I had to clip The Bird's talons toenails .

9 - The Little Dictators wanted more bacon.

10 - The Little Dictators insisted on toenail polish because I had new polish on my toes.

11 - I lost track of time because I was hiding in the closet, eating the one slice of bacon left... and painting my toenails.

12 - The Bird's leotard is making her bummy itch.

13 - The Bird wants the leotard that The Bean is wearing.

14 - The Bean has taken off all of her clothes to go potty.

15 - The Bird tried to put The Bean's leotard on and got stuck.

16 - The Bean refused to let me help her put on underwear.  And then got stuck in said underwear.

17 - The Bird discovered that The Bean was wearing her underwear and "She's already pooped in three pairs of my undies, Mama!!"

18 - While spinning around in circles, The Bean managed to run into the fridge eyeball first.

19 - The Bird had an imaginary owie that needed three bandaids.

20 - We couldn't find The Bean's Cat In The Hat socks.

21 - The Bird couldn't decide which baby she should take for Show&Share.

22 - The Bean had to go to timeout because she couldn't remember not to hit Mommy when she didn't get her way.

23 - The Bean had to go to timeout because the words "poopy butt" were banned after she said it to a little old lady at the store.  And they certainly are banned at the breakfast table.

24 - The Bird called the The Bean "Earwax" and Mommy had to go into timeout so they didn't see her laugh hysterically, lest they decide that calling someone Earwax is encouraged in our family.

25 - Mommy can't find her phone.

26 - Mommy can't find her keys.

27 - Daddy has Mommy's keys.  But left his phone home.  So Mommy is keyless and upset.

28 - On the way out of the door, it comes to Mommy's attention that wait... WHY DID YOU TAKE YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS OFF???

29 - The Bird decided that shorts go much better with her winter coat than long pants.

30 - The braid in The Birds hair isn't quite perfect.  START AGAIN, MOMMY.

31 - "We've only had 3 bran muffins each.  We need 16."

32 - The Bean needs to poop.

33 - The Bird needs to poop.

34 - The Bird does not like the jacket she's supposed to wear. 

35 - "But I wanna watch Super Why!!  I never get to watch Super Why!" This, after two episodes of Super Why that morning.

36 - Mommy had to run in and get the vitamins she forgot to give them over breakfast.  Because without them, both may end up with scurvy due to a lack of nutritional elements that chicken nuggets and peas don't provide.

37 - "It snowed!!  DID YOU SEE IT SNOWED?  WOOK AT DAT!  IT SNOWED, MAMA!  Wookit!  Wookit!  WOOKIT, MAMA!  YOU ARE NOT WOOKING!!!"

38 - Time to eat snow.

39 - The dog got on top of the table and started eating the bran muffins the kids had left while taking their shoes off.  So... we need more muffins!

40 - The Little Dictators found out that where we're going?  Doesn't have cookies.

41 - "But whhhyyyyyy do I have to wear pants?"

42 - The Bird had a meltdown because I used The Bean's flyswatter to kill the moth, instead of her flyswatter.

43 - The girls got in a knock-down fight over who got to climb in the car first.

44 - The girls want to see the video Mommy just took of them fighting over who got to climb in the car first.

45 - The Bean needs a tissue for her nose.  NOT THE TOILET PAPER YOU BROUGHT HER.  Heads will roll.

46 - Desperately needed to read Go, Dog, Go!  For the 32nd time.

47 - The Bean decided to wash her cup in the toilet.

48 - The Bean decided that her walls needed a splash of Crayon color.

49 - "I wanna do it!" is the refrain heard from both girls for everything from buckling their car seats to getting out of the car. 

50 - Both girls were downstairs playing quietly and Mommy decided she was actually going to enjoy a cup of coffee, because that moment has been 4 years in the making.  Fine.  This one's on me.

Apologies In Advance To Aunt KC

As we were driving home from school today, we passed Odyssey Elementary School, and I pointed out how cool that school is because it has a spaceship built into it.  It was Hazel's first experience with the word spaceship, so I channeled my inner Neil deGrasse Tyson to attempt to explain to her about space and astronauts going to the moon.  It helped that I had just watched the video below and was still feeling inspired:



And by the way, I'll just put it out there right now... I've totally got an NPR/Daily Show-induced crush on Tyson.  And Ira Glass.  And Peter Sagal.  And given the fact that NdGT is a scientist, I really think I could get approval from Benny to get him on my Laminated List.  And that particular joke right there will only be understood by a select few people of my generation who were as rabid fans of Friends as I was. 

Anyhoo, so there we were, driving along talking about how cool it would be to go to the moon and, BTW... why has no one ever told me about the genius and hilarity of conversations with 3-year-olds? Had I known that the light at the end of the tunnel during those first few months of newborn hell included the innocent and sweet humor that only a three-year-old can produce was just 36 months away, I would have certainly considered not crying every night.

Seriously...there is honestly no one on this planet that can make me laugh as hard and as heartfelt as The Bird.  How can you not laugh when the following conversation takes place:

"So, do you want to be an astronaut and go to the moon?"
"Yea!  I do!  And I can bring Millie?"
(Heart swells with pride) "Sure!  You can bring Millie!"
"And you?"
"Yes!  I'll come, too!"
"And Daddy?"
"I bet he would want to come, too!"
"Okay!"
"Should we bring Bonnie?"
"Yes... I mean, NO!!"
"Why not?"
"That's because Bonnie will poop and pee on the moon."
(Must control laughter) "That's true..."
"And she will poop and scratch  and chew and ruin the moon."
"But since there's no gravity, the poop and pee would float!"
"EW!!!"
"I know!  Floating poop!!!  But we could put a diaper on her. That would help and she could come then, right?"
"Yea!  But she has to have a diaper on."
"Okay.  What about Aunt KC?"
"Aunt KC can't come!"
"Why not?"
"That's because she'll poop on the moon, too!!"
(DYING) "Maybe we should put her in a diaper, too?"
"Aunt KC can't be in a diaper, Mommy!  That's just silly!  That was a silly question."

The Wormhole

Kiddos.  Love them.  Greatest thing I'll ever do with my life.

End of story.

But in order to survive this wonderful gift that we give to ourselves... this gift of no longer putting ourselves first and the gift of celebrating major victories like showering at least every other day... we must acknowledge the complete ridiculousness that is raising kiddos.

This is one of those acknowledgements.  Or as Law and Order would say:  THESE ARE THEIR STORIES.

Kids are funny.  They will make you laugh harder than you ever thought possible when you see your reflection in their actions.  For instance, when The Bird immediately removes her shoes and socks in the car after school and starts cleaning out the lint between her toes ("that's because they're dirty").  Which I realize I have inadvertently taught her because:

#1 - I hate socks.  And shoes. 
#2 - I hate lint between my toes
#3 -  I LURVE playing with my toes absently... usually while watching TV.   Which grosses Benny out.  Benny... the man who plays with fish each and every day is grossed out by me touching my toes.

Think about that for a minute.

But, I digress.  While kiddos will delight you in unexpected ways, like when The Bean will repeat over and over "Wuv. Eye. U!" to my "Eye. Wuv. U!" as I'm putting her to bed.  But, they're also prone to completely irrational meltdowns because - as they so eloquently put it between the sobs of despair - "I ONNA DO IT!".

'IT' being the first step of  a process - ANY PROCESS - that I've perfected over the last two years of raising two strong-willed children. Like almost all Mommy's I know, I have instituted policies and processes to help ensure survival of the Nadolski Clan.  There are processes for most everything... with the notable exception of laundry.  And then it's every man, woman and child for themselves.

For example, herding both kiddos out the door and into the car to go to school each day.  The Bird walks out to the car on her own.  She is now able to do so without falling on her face when she misses the first step off the porch... so yay for time healing all wounds and learning from past mistakes!! She can now also open the car door on her own (and very rarely falls out of the car as she's attempting to close the door) and then waits for me to come buckle her into the car seat.  It is now rare that I have to hold her down to buckle her in while she goes into convulsions because I put her ponytail two centimeters too far left on her head and WHAT AM I TRYING TO DO?  KILL HER?  She can now sit in the seat and "help" me buckle her in.  Which I let her do because... hey, we're on the verge of a morning without tears and if it takes me cutting off my left hand to meet that standard of parenting excellence, so help me God, I'm going to do it.

Now The Bean... her usual routine has been me carrying her out to the car and putting her next to her car seat so that she can climb in, stand up and then on my count of 1-2-FREEEEEEE! jump up, hit her head on the ceiling of the car and land on her bummy in the car seat amidst giggles of delight before letting me me buckle her in.  This is, of course, after she has turned on the light above the door... which I will not realize until after I make the day care drop off, head to the airport to catch a flight to whocareswhere and return two days later to a dead battery in 8 inches of snow... BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT BEING A MOMMY IS THESE DAYS. 

Yea... those were the days.  Those days ended about two weeks ago.  Almost exactly on her 2nd birthday when suddenly she began to repeat her mantra of "I DO IT!"  Usually followed by her second favorite phrase:  "I FAW DOWN!"  Followed by:  "HEP ME!"

But, back to the original point. What I've learned in the last few days is that it's not just the end goal of doing something by herself that The Bean is after.  If reaching the goal is a five-step process and you try to help her reach that goal by helping her get past step one... say, opening the front door and helping her on to the porch to begin the now TIME KILLING process of climbing into the car so that she can turn on the light, jump up, hit the ceiling with her head and then land on her bummy?  Well, there are things that are unacceptable: North Korea with a nuke... unacceptable.   Snow in July... unacceptable.  Pre-mixed mojito served in Miami... UNACCEPTABLE.

Then there are things that will cause a 2-year-olds brain to melt right out of her ears and open the flood gates to the point where you start looking for the animals to show up in twos.  Skipping the first step because Mommy did it for you?  That's one of them.  And it will cause a scene that makes me wonder why I ever thought that I could schedule that conference call for 9 a.m. because yea... we're not getting out of here any time soon. And there will be tears, snot and probably a little of my blood at the end of it.  And so much for that new blouse I was going debut at the office today to prove to everyone that it's a choice to continue to wear my maternity clothes because they're so damn comfy but yes, I can dress up when and if I feel like it.

*Ahem*

So, The Bean cries up a storm while I'm buckling The Bird in and then proceeds to backtrack the progress I made for her... insisting on going back into the house so that she can walk out of the house on her own because... say it with me now:  "I ONNA DO IT!"  The roadblock in this little plan being that she is unable to open up the door... like physically unable to open the door to get back into to the house so that she can open the door to go outside.  You see my problem here?  I open the door for her to get into the house so that she can perform step one and then she gets upset that I opened the door for her to help her to get to step one, but let's not forget that she's not physically capable yet of performing step one because she can't open up the door, which is where we are right now and OMG I'M IN A WORMHOLE. 

Which is right about the time that Mommy's Patience Clock - which was reset at approximately 8 p.m. the night before when both kids were finally, blessedly, in bed - runs out.  The Bean may be the strongest little rugrat (seriously... her quad muscles make me green with envy) you've ever met, but for now I still hold the upper hand... what with my ability to open and shut doors... and pick her up kicking and screaming, carry her to the car and hold her down in the seat while I buckle her in.

All while The Bird looks on in bewilderment as if to say:  What's her problem?

As if she didn't JUST age out of this behavior.