Terrible Three

   So work has been very busy and stressful recently and so I come home and it's nice to see the kids. They run up to me and give me these big hugs and I am happy for a few minutes to see their happy faces. It's nice.
   Then yesterday I get groceries on my way home and as the nanny prepares to leave, I bring in all the bags and set them up on the kitchen counter. Well, ever since Peewee fell off the counter, I don't put either kid up there to help unpack groceries due to the safety risk. Bubu and Peewee, of course, want to help me put away groceries so I put a couple bags on the ground so they can put items away.
   I guess I just wasn't paying attention because the bag I put down for them to unload has brownie bites in 100 calorie packets and pretzel goldfish. Big mistake. Bubu, with his four cavities, pulled out the brownie bites and asked to open the box immediately. Katie didn't say anything but instead just started tearing open the bag of goldfish. I told Bubu that we could have the brownies for dessert after dinner but that wasn't good enough. He hauls off and smacks me. I mean, it didn't hurt of course, but still, he hit me. It's not the first time. Recently, anytime I say no to something, I get hit by my 3 year old. It's pretty disturbing.
   So, I try time out. I try the whole, use your words conversation, whatever I can think of to stay calm and deal with this. Meanwhile, in my head I'm wondering about what I have done wrong to have caused this bad behavior. I've never hit Bubu, but I have gotten angry at him before. Has he learned to get angry because he's seen me get angry? Is he ever going to understand that hitting is wrong? Will he get kicked out of preschool this fall??
   Anyways, I googled what to do on Babycenter and all the experts say to do the stuff I am doing now. So I guess it will just take time and patience. Two things that are a scarce commodity these days. I will also be downloading the first 8 seasons of Nanny 911 on demand to watch on marathon this weekend.
   So this morning, I decided to gather some data and so I ask the nanny if Bubu ever has hit her. She told me that he did once but he apologized immediately she said because he felt so bad. Of course with me, there's no stopping the mommy abuse. I got smacked a few times in a row for "no brownies, no lollipop, and no juice at night" with NO apology. But anyways, the nanny proceeds to tell me that as soon as I leave the house, they act different, better, because they know they can't get away with anything with her.
   I didn't say anything because I know she isn't smart enough to understand that it was rude to say that. And I have many mommy girlfriends who have kids in preschool who have told me their kids are great at school or in my case, very well behaved with the nanny, but a lot of trouble for mommy. I know it's a pretty common occurrence. Unfortunately, dumbass doesn't know that. So I think I mentioned before that the nanny is pregnant and therefore, she'll be leaving us soon. I can't wait for her kid to be three and start hitting her.
   All in all, I figure if I can just make sure Bubu doesn't beat up his preschool teachers and get kicked out, I'm ok. Right?

Mom of the Year

   So one of my mommy friends, who seems to be my biggest fan, said I should write more often. I thought about it and for the sheer therapy of it, I agree. So, from now on, I vow to write once a month, whether I have a story to tell or not, I will write.

    March 2013: I was brushing Bubu's teeth one night and noticed on his back molars, there was some black shit on there I couldn't brush off. After two days of scrubbing, I called our dentist and made an appointment. We went in this past Monday and turns out he has four cavities. One in each back molar. Wonderful. Thank God we have dental insurance because the worst case scenario is over $3000 which with insurance is now the bargain price of $1633. So, Dear Disneyland, we'll see you maybe in the fall if we're lucky.

   Moving right along, I wonder sometimes if a working mom could ever win "mom of the year." I know I won't win with the four cavities but let's pretend like that didn't happen. And that Peewee didn't fall off the kitchen counter, and that if the kids don't want to take a bath I don't just skip it. Seriously though, is it impossible? I mean disregard that it is 9pm right now and I haven't put either of my kids to bed yet because I'm blogging. I actually just put Peewee's helmet on so she can ride her scooter around the house. Do I get some safety points for that?

   So, did I tell you that my nanny is pregnant? Yeah, so I guess I'll be writing about interviewing new nannies soon. I guess it's fine though. I've learned so much about myself and how much OCD I have thanks to this nanny. I cannot believe how many little tiny things I could nit pick about with her but I don't, because I don't want to be a nut job. I feel like I can train the new nanny, whoever she is, much easier with this knowledge.

   If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to paint a silver lining on my clouds of life. The reason why is because life is too short to "sweat the small stuff." One of my closest friends here in Roseville has taught me that. Even when the most annoying douchebags bug me, or when I owe the IRS a bunch of money, I just remind myself, I have two happy, healthy, beautiful kiddies, a pretty amazing husband, and incredible friends in my life.

The Fall

     So, it's Friday night, my husband is out with his buddies, and I've finally, finally got a moment to be awake and write. I guess I'll start with the the most recent occurrence and work backwards. Thanks to a New Years resolution of sorts, we are eating based on the Zone diet these days. For those of you who don't know, basically this diet means I gotta cut up a bunch of veggies every night. Which isn't a bad thing, don't get me wrong. So, I get home from work a couple days ago, I feed the kiddies their dinner and then Bubu and Peewee "help" me prep dinner for daddy.

     In our kitchen, we have an island so I put two bar stools at the counter, and they basically transfer veggies from one bowl to another. Well, I know it's so cliche to say this but, it happened so fast. Peewee, who is 18 months old now, climbed up on to the counter from her stool. I told her to get down, but she didn't listen to me...maybe because she's 18 months old...and she fell. On her face.

     First of all, she's fine. Thank God. But I didn't know in the moment. She started crying. I scooped her up trying to figure out what to do next. I checked fingers, arms, legs, checked for blood anywhere, anything broken? No. I ran and dug my phone out of my purse and tried my husband, knowing he probably wouldn't answer because he's at crossfit class. I start texting 911 to his phone knowing it's a futile effort. I give up. Then I sit down with Peewee and she's lethargic so I start to worry. I call my sister en law in North Carolina. No answer. I can't call ANY parent for fear of the "why was she on the counter?" question. So, I call my big brother.

    Isn't it interesting, who you end up trusting the most in your life? So he answers the phone, I blurt out what happened, and I wait for his advice. He tells me to call the doctor while he googles it and texts me what google says. Sounds like a plan. I call the after hours nurse, with Bubu stuck on his bar stool at the kitchen counter asking if he can get down now...and me saying, Peewee is hurt Bubu, gimme 5 minutes ok? I can't help but wonder if Peewee is brain damaged but within 10 minutes she's navigating normally on my iphone so I start to relax.

    About 30 minutes later, my husband had come home. Peewee was running around with Bubu at this point laughing and playing, with me stunned silent staring at them run circles around me.

    Let me go ahead and admit, it was a bad idea to put my "climber" on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. I should have known better. Bubu never climbs shit so I guess I wasn't prepared. Peewee the daredevil, the trooper, the bruiser, should no longer be the "Peewee".

The Experiment: Chronicle of Week 1

   We are now in Week 6 of the NFL season and for the past 5 weeks, our family has been participating in an experiment to find a toddler-friendly sports bar in our home town. I've suddenly discovered that I've got this OCD type need to document our experiences and create a spreadsheet with all our findings but that's another story.

   Week 1: In attempt number one, we went to a little place up the street called the Diamond Plate (aka DP) where I have actually been a few times. During those times I've loved it. It's never totally packed and I swear I've seen a high chair there before somewhere, implying kid-friendliness, so I suggested to my husband that we test it out on a football Sunday for lunch.

   We got out of the house right after Peewee woke up from her morning nap and got to the bar around 11:30 am. That means we had a good hour and a half before any illogical meltdowns began. The DP was packed and the only available table was a high top. Bubu was ok but Peewee is 16 months old now and I'm about to change her nickname to Punk. Without a high chair we took turns holding her as she tried to kick, lick, and throw condiments across the bar. The server took my husband's and my drink order and turned away so quickly that I had to shout out over the fairly rowdy old man crowd, "and two kid's lemonades please!"

   We received a couple To-Go cups with lids that weren't quite secure enough for Peewee's onslaught. It's raining lemonade on my lap and so we determined that the DP was not our winner. We paid our tab and went to Chili's.

   Conclusion: In order to spend football Sunday at DP, get a babysitter.

Caution: Explicit Content

     5am, Tuesday, July 31st. Bubu had just climbed into bed with us which is the normal 5am routine. I cracked open my eyes and noticed a slight queasiness in my stomach. I thought it was a little constipation so I rummaged through the bathroom drawers to find some leftover Col-Ease from when Peewee was born. I popped a couple pills, chugged a bottle of water, and went back to bed since I had a good hour before I really had to get up. I figured I'd go to the bathroom one good time and all would be normal. But the tummy troubles never subsided and I found myself on the toilet repeatedly with no relief in sight. As I sat there, sweating, nauseous, I started wondering what I was going to tell my boss. I'm obviously going to be late, my parents happen to be flying into town in a few hours from across the country, and I can't get off the toilet. Do I tell him anything about the toilet? Do I tell him I have no more poop to poop and still feel bad? Ugh! No, are you crazy?! So I text that I'm having some stomach issues and I'm running a bit late.

     I somehow power through the nausea and weird pain to make it to the car, and then to Starbucks. Then, I sit on the toilet in Starbucks. No poop, just nausea. Seriously, is this what my life has turned into? I lean on the counter and order my coffee, thinking I will be fine, just power though it. I repeat to myself, I have a stomach of steel, I have a stomach of steel.

     After about 5 minutes at my desk, I concede to the illness and walk into my boss's office to confess that I am dying. I tell him I'd like to lie down under my desk for a few minutes but if that's inappropriate, I need to go home and lie down for a little bit and hopefully be back at work after I get my parents from the airport. I somehow make the drive home, sneak in without the kids and nanny seeing me, and crash for an hour.

   It's a struggle but I make it to the airport, make it back home with the rents, and out to pizza for dinner with the family. I was miserable, I couldn't eat not one bite of Round Table pizza, which is nuts. All I wanted to do was lay down in the booth. My Mom realized I wasn't feeling well, so she expedited the meal into a box and we drove home. I crashed for a few hours until my husband walked in and started asking questions. We were worried that the hernia was somehow causing this weird nausea and pain so he rushed me to the ER. What a nightmare that was. It happened to be the busiest night ever at Sutter Roseville. Every sick child, elderly person in a wheelchair, and bloody teenager was in the ER that night. We waited for 3 and half miserable hours until I couldn't make it any longer. Meanwhile, I had been using my purse as a pillow and an entire bottle of body spray spilled in my bag. The smell was overpowering and it did not help that I was nauseous in the first place. The people around me were horrified. I overheard some man say he'd been there for 7 hours and so we ended up leaving before we ever saw a doctor.

   The next day, I slept almost all day, no food, barely anything to drink, vomiting that awful stomach acid. On the phone with the doctor , they confirmed I was NOT pregnant. THAT just by itself was a large light at the end of a dark tunnel. So I thought, this will blow over and I'll be fine tomorrow. Thank goodness my parents were there entertaining the kids all day and night. I would have been so screwed if they weren't here. The next morning, I tried to make it to work. I actually was ok for an hour or two, but then felt the queasiness creeping back so rushed home to squat in front of the toilet I knew best. I made an appt to see my doctor at 3:15 pm to find out if I really was dying. After waiting for over an hour in the waiting room, I was scolded for leaving the ER without seeing the doctor. God, if they only knew. I felt so awful I could barely keep my eyes open.

   Without any true examination, it was determined I had a "bug" and needed lots of red Gatorade. Not yellow, or orange, but red or blue or purple. I puked for one more night but got plenty of red Gatorade down per my doctors orders and now it's Sunday, August 5th. I had to cancel our Saturday beach trip to Santa Cruz, our visit to the Monterrey Bay aquarium, and right now, my husband, kids and parents are out hiking by the river without me. But I have managed to eat two bites of toast and a few slices of pear today. I have survived the worst of it.

   Since I've never been sick like this before, except for being pregnant, this was scary I must admit. There is one plus side I guess, I've lost 7 lbs in 6 days. Eeesh. Just to be clear, not a recommended diet.

Love and Concern

   I still have half a glass of wine left so I'm actually writing two posts in one night. A new record for me. So anyways, I am so excited that my parents are coming to visit all the way from NC in a week. They are staying with us for awhile to hang out with the kiddies and also take care of me after my second hernia repair which is August 7th. Thank you Peewee.
  
   I have weekend plans for us, but during the week, the hubby and I go to work so I told the nanny she's on vacation since mom and dad will be here. I think that this is ok, I mean, my mom told me to give the nanny this time off, but my parents are getting older and I wonder if this will be tough on them. Do they know what they have signed up for? Bubu and Peewee for 8 hours/day? I'll admit, they are getting easier the older they get, believe it or not, but it's not truly easy with two little kids all day.

   All Bubu wants to eat is potato chips, fruit snacks, and the occasional chocolate donut hole. So let me tell you, that is wonderful. Absolutely delightful to deal with. I finally realize the trauma I caused my mother because I've been told that when I was a kid, all I ever wanted to eat was potato chips. For the record, I do not remember this.

   I'm sure they will be fine, I mean it is the BOTH of them so they aren't outnumbered. I'm planning a couple dinner parties to keep us entertained. And honestly, I treasure the time they get to spend with Bubu and Peewee since they are so far away and see the kiddies so little each year. So dear mom and dad, I cannot wait to see you. I guess that feeling never goes away. I love you both!!!

Hey Stranger

   Wow, it's been so long since I've written that I feel this might be a pure stream of consciousness. So here we go. I'll start with the kids. Bubu and Peewee are definitely entertaining little beings. I love watching their interactions with each other, even when they are beating one another. I sometimes sit back and allow them to beat eachother just to see how the other one handles the situation.
   Last week, Bubu came into our room around 2am coughing. From experience we knew to get bath towels and lay them all over our bed so that when he coughed till he puked we'd protect our sheets. So, he puked some of that clear, slimy shit a few times and I said enough already. I'm in the medicine cabinet looking for children's cough syrup, cough drops, cough pills, oh! I found some grape cough strips, like little breath strips. Perfect!! I ripped a packet open and told Bubu to open his mouth and I dropped it on his tongue. Then after giving it to him, I read the box. For children 4 and under it says: Do Not Give. Fuck. Did I really just overdose my 2 year old? Well, it's 3am so in my hazy cloud, I decided to just see what happens and let him sleep in our bed with us to monitor his breathing. He totally zonked out, it was awesome. No more coughing, no more puking, I just had to check that he was breathing every hour. The next day I call our Pediatrician to confirm I won't go to jail for the overdose, and she confirms I'm safe. Whew.
   The moral of the story is, it's probably a good idea to read the medicine box BEFORE administering meds to your children. But if you don't like to read, it's ok, the box is totally exxagerated.

The Joys of Parenting

We had a wonderful weekend up in Tahoe over Memorial Day. We took the kids on another hiking adventure, went out for a few cocktails while Tutu and Papa babysat for us, and headed home Monday morning. I was excited to get home and put together Bubu's new toddler bed, well, the Hubby actually does all the home-purchase-assembly. All I had to do was get some toddler bedding and a few Target items and take the munchkins to a playdate at my girlfriends house. We shopped, we played, and we went home. Everything was right in my world in Roseville.

I tried to move the crib into a different room but it didn't fit through the door, and so I decided to just put both kids in one room and see what happens. It was kind of like my own little experiment with our kiddies. So, we read stories and put them down. Then, we laid on the floor outside their room to listen and watch if we saw Bubu's little feet under the door. We were ecstatic that all we saw was that Peewee dropped her paci and Bubu went, stole it, and returned to bed. Success!!! Well, kind of, I guess, I have a thief kid but he IS sleeping in his new toddler bed.

So, we go to bed and make bets on when Bubu will appear in our room. He appeared around midnight saying "Mommy, mommy" in that super high-pitched pitiful voice that means he doesn't feel good. I scooped him up and, of course, breaking all good parenting rules, put him in bed with us. We immediately realized he was burning up and since we know what fever feels like and that Tylenol has magical healing powers, I went to go get his "candy". As I was in the other room, I hear my husband start yelling, "He's puking!! He's puking in our BED!!" I ran back, grabbed the puker and threw him in the bathroom.We were both covered in vomit.

After a 103.4 fever, a couple calls to the pediatrician, and about 18 miserable hours later, the fever was gone. No runny nose, no nothing. I mean, what the f--- happened? Where did he even catch anything? In the f---ing woods? No other kids got sick, not the playdate kid, not Peewee, not me. I don't know what happened. I just know that I had to Shout Out puke all morning, crush Tylenol in Bubu's juice (because he refused to take the medicine), and I missed work for half a day.

As a parent, I guess you can't help but be scared. Actually petrified that a 103+ fever hits and you just pray it goes away quickly somehow. This was not bad in the long run. This was actually pretty easy...but I can't help but wonder, does it ever get easier?

The Thornton Family Hiking Chronicles

A few weeks ago, my husband decided we were going to go hiking every weekend after Bubu's soccer practice. He proceeded to buy hiking cross trainer shoes at REi for $130 in preparation for our future adventures. No comment.

Last weekend, we followed some directions he found on his phone. We drove down the freeway then took some exit and started down a long and windy country road into BFE. I started getting concerned after the first few miles because we didn't pack lunch, just a sole nutri-grain bar actually, and it was already past noon. I kept thinking we'd be that family that gets lost in the woods with no food. Finally after looking at the route more closely, we saw we weren't even half-way to the destination so we turned around. We happened to find a trail off the road back and thought we'd try it out since we had driven all the way out there. We pulled the double jog stroller out, got the kids strapped in, and set out.

It was just a little trail through the woods but it was nice! We were out of the house, no TV was on, it was awesome. Then we realized the front tire of the stroller was flat. That made it slightly more difficult for my husband who was the designated stroller pusher. Okay, that probably made it suck for him I think. So we found a spot in the sun next to the lake and Bubu threw rocks in the water for at least 10 minutes which felt like 4 hours. Then after dragging him away from the rocks, we headed back home.

That week I realized it was my duty to fix the tire on the stroller. I took it to a bike repair shop and got it fixed Tuesday at lunch. It was flat when I got home that night. I went on Wednesday on got it repaired again. It was flat again when I got home that night. I took a breather on Thursday so that I wouldn't unleash the wrath of Keya on the bike repair guys. Finally on Friday, I went again and got the tube replaced which worked. Needless to say, skipping lunch for three days to fix the hiking stroller tire was not a highlight of my life.

We looked up stroller friendly trails and headed out Saturday afternoon. Once again it was a long and windy road, but it was gorgeous views and we were excited to find our trail. About halfway up the hill, Bubu told us he wanted to get out, we tried to console him and told him we were almost there. He tried to tell us again about 5 more miles down the windy road, and we again said to sit tight, almost there buddy. Then he puked. And puked and puked. We stopped immediately and pulled Bubu out of his puke covered seat. I felt so bad for the little guy. Crying, covered in nastiness on the side of the road. We've actually done this before with Peewee in the snow so we tag teamed the cleanup, put Bubu in a clean sweatshirt, baby wiped everything down, and headed the last couple minutes to the entrance of the trail with Bubu in the front seat with me.

We had a good time once again, it was nice to be outside. Jackson busted and scraped his knee but seemed to stop crying when mommy and daddy sand songs, so we sang our standard choices, Old McDonald, Itsy Bitsy Spider, and Baby Got Back. He then had fun throwing rocks in the lake which I feel will be a requirement of all our hiking trips. In spite of the puke and bloody knee, we learned a lot and have picked out our next trail for next Saturday.

We'll see how it goes next week, with some Dramamine before we get in car.

The Missing Caveat

ca·ve·at  (kv-ät)n.1. a. A warning or caution.

Two weeks ago, I had the most amazing 34th birthday. Wait, did I say 34th? I meant 29th. So anyways, I got breakfast in bed, some roses, a card, a wonderful lunch and wine tasting in Napa, it was awesome. And as a secondary part of my birthday, we took a family road trip down to Manhattan Beach to visit our friends and take the kids to the beach. We had a blast, it was great weather, we got to hang out with our closest buds, and then slowly, the shit storm started brewing.

My husband, in the excitement of being back in his hometown, with his hometown friends, forgot all parking laws and got two parking tickets. They are $48 each. At this point, a week later, I can understand making a mistake and I guess we all get stupid parking tickets sometimes, and Manhattan Beach is a bitch to park in, but in the moment, all I could think was "why didn't you get some f---ing quarters?"

Then we came home. I unpacked by dumping everything out on the floor including our parking tickets, and starting sorting through clean from dirty. In the moment, I decided that I was going to make the guest bathroom officially into the kids AND guest bathroom. I set up the step stools, training toothpaste, potty seat, and inform the nanny the next morning that all kid related bathroom activities will happen there now. Then, I get home from work the next day, and the nanny timidly informs me that they got locked out of the kids bathroom accidentally.

On the weekends, with two working parents that like to sleep, and kids that get up anytime between 5:30am and 6:30am, we have an agreement. I get a morning to sleep in, and you get a morning to sleep in. Deal, right? I took today as my morning since Dad's Night Out is tonight and daddy probably will want to sleep in tomorrow. After daddy and the kids got out of my room finally, I got to sleep for a good hour. It was nice. I get up around 9am and walk out into the living room to see my beautiful family.

Well, I don't see any kids or husband but instead I see a total disaster area of our house. The frying pan on the stove needs to be soaked for hours. Plates of uneaten scrambled eggs, shredded cheese and Cheerios scattered around randomly, but at least the coffee was made. So, of course, then I start cleaning. And cleaning. And cleaning. And then I remember the parking tickets so I start looking for them, everywhere. They are gone, nowhere to be found. Great. Fantastic.

Then, since Bubu has been brushing his teeth with water all week, I remember the locked bathroom door. I call a locksmith, and it ends up being $90 to get the damn bathroom door open. I really wanted to beat the locksmith with a baseball bat, but we don't own one.

If only someone had told me to feed the meter, to duct tape the kids bathroom door, that sleeping in had a nasty consequence, to buy a baseball bat...if only I'd gotten the missing caveat.

General Upkeep

I've realized that I have friends in various stages of maternity and children so this posting is a random selection of thoughts, much like the Jack Handy random thoughts of Saturday Night Live Past. So, the two darkest times of pregnancy and post childbirth were when I was pregnant but had not popped yet and so no one in the general public could tell I was pregnant, I just looked large. And it would be rude if someone asked me if I were pregnant and I wasn't. So if you are in this stage currently, you should make a T-shirt that says "Yes, I'm pregnant." Wear it everyday. It will make you feel better. Trust me. The other dark period was after I gave birth and I somehow weighed the same as when I drove to the hospital. It's not logical and I did not fit into all the clothes in my closet for awhile. I would stare at my clothes every day, praying that they would still be somewhat in style when I finally fit into them again.

Now, I fit back into some of them, but as a Mom, I feel the need to not wear the slutty shit I used to wear. I didn't even consider this stuff slutty before! So maybe I should call them "not-so-conservative" clothes. Or basically, shirts that are too tight. Don't get me wrong, I want to be that "Hot Put-together Mom", who is accessorized and has her hair done. Really, I do. But I guess I must admit, that doesn't happen everyday.

Moving on to childbirth, if you can avoid a C-section, avoid it. Everyone who has had a C-section tells me that the scar is no big deal and it gets better over time, blah blah blah. They all say "Put some scar cream on it." Let me just say that Peewee is 8 months old today and I hate this f---ing scar. I don't know what else to say except it is f---ing gross and I hate it. And it itches.

Now for parenting random thoughts. I recently googled "How to potty train" and have decided that I'm not ready for that yet. I also googled "what do I feed my 8 month old" because it was only 17 months ago that I was feeding my previous 8 month old and that was SO long ago I have forgotten how babies work. I ignore Bubu's tantrums and try not to laugh at them when Peewee laughs at him. And it really is funny so it's seriously a challenge not to laugh. I have signed up Daddy and Bubu for spring soccer with a bunch of 2 year old kids, which I'm really excited about. Am I over-compensating for the fact that I wanted my parents put me in soccer or some other sport at a young age and they didn't? Maybe not. I know Bubu is little but I don't care, I just want him to go outside and run around.

I could go on with random thoughts forever but I'll just close with this. I loved Whitney Houston and she was such an amazingly gifted singer. Hearing her sing, to this day, will bring me to tears, and I love that about a beautiful voice and she definitely had a beautiful voice. Rest in Peace, Whitney. I admire your brilliant career.

Fight the Jealous

It was icky and rainy outside Monday morning and I was on my way to work. At Starbucks, I stood and line and composed myself after running through the rain into the store like Kramer on Seinfeld. There were a few people in front of me so I had a moment to observe my environment and I noticed a woman next to the creamer station. She was reading a book, and for a split second, I was jealous. Jealous of her ability to sit there and read with her cup of coffee for some undetermined period of time. I love to read, but I don't seem to read books very often anymore. I read babycenter.com emails on my phone instead. I'd read at night before bed, but I have my 7 month old in a bassinet next to me in our bedroom so I can't turn on a freaking light. And yes, I know she should be in a crib but I haven't gotten that far yet. Anyways, I had to get to work so I hustled out of the store, but then I thought, that lady was old. I mean old like my mom, old. When I'm that old, I'll be able to read then too. So, I accepted that consolation prize and moved on.

Then I got home, and I was so excited to see Bubu and Peewee. We all sat together on the floor to play and almost immediately after I picked up Peewee to give her a hug hello, Bubu started insisting that I put her in her down and pick him up. And this wasn't the first occurrence of jealousy displayed. We've been running into it more and more lately. I looked away for a moment and when I looked back, Bubu was sitting behind Peewee slapping her on the back. No clue why, he just felt like beating her I guess. So, I explained that we don't beat the baby. I mean, really, I said, "No, no. We do NOT beat the baby. Okay?"

It's very interesting to see such a little kid experience this totally icky emotion that I wish I never felt as an adult. But we do, right? And so do our little kids. It's an awful emotion that we learn how to fight as we get older. My question is how do we teach them how to fight the jealous?

The Binky Battles

Every year, my husband has a get-together trip with his high school buddies. It was this past weekend, and since I've gone back to work and have that weird absent mom guilt, I got all psyched up to have a fun-filled weekend with just me and the kiddies. I made all these plans in my head, like going to the park, taking them for a ride in their new red wagon, maybe even Target or grocery shopping, whoo hoo! So, here's what really happened.

Friday night was good. I maneuvered bath time and bedtime with the two munchkins and it actually went pretty smooth, if I do say so myself. I got both kids to sleep, poured a glass of wine, and relaxed for a moment thinking "this isn't so bad" and "I can handle this!" This was going to be an opportunity for me. All these months I've felt uneasy because I felt like the kids were learning how to behave based on someone else's example in place of mine. But now, I get to be the one and only example and disciplinarian for the whole weekend.

Saturday morning I decided that we'd run some errands first and then after nap time when it warmed up, we'd go to the park and play. It reminded me of my stay-at-home mom days where I planned some random errand almost every day just to get us out of the house and more importantly, to kill time. It wasn't as easy as last night but we got ready and piled into the car and we were off to Target to shop. Overall, not a bad trip, but eye-opening. Peewee slept through most of it and Bubu ate three cheese sticks out of the package that I had bought at the store. It kinda grossed me out and normally, I wouldn't have given in to the repeat requests for cheese sticks but  honestly I wanted to avoid a public meltdown so I didn't fight it.

We made it home and I started making lunch for us. Bubu, thanks to the cheese stick meal at Target, refused to eat lunch but did still ask for a candy cane. Ugh, what was going on here?? Once again I was totally grossed out that all he had eaten so far was fat and now he was asking for sugar. Seriously, I was disgusted.

After nap time, I thought it would be so nice to go outside and play. I attempted to get Bubu into his jacket and shoes, and it was so weird, he totally fought me on it and didn't want to go. All he wanted was his pacifier. I went from Mommy Jekyll to Mrs. Hyde in less than 3 seconds and yelled "Fine, don't put your shoes on! We'll just sit here at home then and do nothing!" Bubu was totally okay with that. It made me wonder, if he's happy, then why am I pushing this?  And the "paci" is just for naptime or bedtime so I had to had to let him lay on the floor and scream for awhile.

Saturday night, I had this great idea that I could give both kids a bath together now that Peewee could sit up by herself pretty good. I got the kids in the tub, and everyone was happy and playing with their bath toys. I got up and started cleaning up the bathroom like I always do when Bubu is in the tub. I picked up all their dirty clothes and turned around to dump them in the hamper when I hear Bubu yell, "baby fell down!" I spin around around and Peewee is totally submerged. I grabbed her up and out of the water and she was startled but breathing and fine. Let me just admit, that I was not fine, I almost started crying actually. I held Peewee tight in my arms for what seemed like forever on the floor in the bathroom. Needless to say, I've learned that 7 month old babies require more supervision than 2 year old kids in the tub.

The next day, I decided that morning was the best time for an outing and since it was chilly outside I took the kids to Chuckee Cheese. Sometimes I wonder, what the hell am I thinking? Well, I guess it wasn't too much of a nightmare, and Bubu had a blast as I followed him around pushing Peewee in her stroller through the tight spaces in between all the games and people. Oh and I only lost him twice, which I think is a victory. He actually won a bunch of tickets and so I let him pick out a prize in the glass case. He of course picks some incredibly large piece of candy and I hand the girl the tickets to count, and she says to me, "You have to go feed your tickets into that machine over there and get a receipt to get prizes." Huh? really? I have a 2 year old here pointing at this piece of candy like it's the most important thing in the whole world and you want me to go feed probably 100 tickets into a machine? So I take a deep breath and drag Bubu and the stroller over to the machine, where there's a line. I go to another machine, and it's out of order. Finally, I just ask a different cashier if I can just buy the candy instead of redeeming these stupid tickets. Yes, thank God, so I buy the $0.86 lollipop. Mind you, I've calculated that I spent over $100 of my time to get that lollipop. I get out to the parking lot, get the kids in the car and it's pretty windy so as I put the stroller away, I have freakin' tickets flying everywhere. I hate the Chuckee Cheese tickets.

I got my quality time with the kids, lots of laughs, a few tears, and I was happy when my husband walked in the door. Unfortunately, Bubu is only on Team Mom again and won't even let Daddy read him his bedtime stories. Maybe I should plan my girls weekend so Team Dad can win back his players.

The Train Wreck

Every year for Christmas we drive up to Lake Tahoe, CA where my en-laws have a vacation home with five bedrooms, fully equipped with cribs, pac-n-plays, bouncy chairs, bunk beds, etc. so all of us kids and our families can get together. It's a beautiful house and I'm pretty sure we all feel lucky to have this tradition.

A few years ago, all of us brothers and sisters would go out to dinner, have a few drinks, maybe even gamble at the NV state line for a bit, it was fun. Now, we all have kids. There's actually six kids age 3 and under right now. This year for Christmas, it was like we were running a daycare. The first morning we were there, we had plans to go to a 'Breakfast with Santa' event. Sounds exciting! Right? We packed up the kids, diaper bags, cameras, and headed out. We had a nice breakfast, changed a big poopy diaper, and listened to some carolers sing as we waited for Santa to show up.

Santa must have been running late because it was 30 minutes later that we all got in line which was an eternity in toddler time. The fireplace was blazing with absolutely NO safety gate and it was about 105 degrees in the room, but Santa was handing out gifts so we waited in line to see him. Why do we do this crap? Is it for the photo to email to my parents? I mean, the 3 year old was fine, she gets it. But my kids, almost 2 years old and 6 months old, were just tired, and perhaps miserable. I, personally, was sweating profusely waiting for these other kids to hurry up and get their gifts and photos taken so I could throw my kids up there and get out as quickly as possible. Bubu refused to sit on Santa's lap so I had to sit next to Santa with him, Peewee was miraculously fine with the bearded stranger, and we made it with a couple decent pictures.

Christmas morning was fun yet oddly stressful. The kids opened presents and we tried to keep track of who got what so we could hopefully safely get the presents home somewhat intact. Some of the toys were definitely the "winners" and so every child wanted to play with those and I'll just say, we are all still learning what the word "share" means. Maybe it was the fact that my watch battery died so I had no clue what time it was for days that made it tough for me. I actually forgot to give Bubu lunch one day because I just didn't know what time it was. Maybe it was tough because after a full day of chocolate, candy canes, and goldfish, Bubu had a tummy ache all the next day and I had to hold him for 5 hours straight. Did I mention he's got to be over 30 lbs now? He is. And for some odd reason, Peewee did not want to be held by anyone except mommy or daddy. So basically, I showered once in 3 days.

Regardless of all the constant commotion, we had a good time and the kids all had a pleasant experience that they may not remember. And we will all do it again next year. So yes, it was a train wreck, but with no casualties.

The Working Mom Analysis

A few months ago, I had a massive meltdown and it felt like just in the nick of time, I happened to find a job. Remember that? I do. Pretty vividly actually. And I'm pretty sure my husband and mother-in-law do too. So anyways, just to give you an update, I got called about another opportunity that seemed better all around and I recently accepted the new offer and switched jobs Dec. 1st. Over the past 4 or 5 months I've realized what it's really like to be a working mom. And it's taken awhile, but I finally feel like I can discuss it.

There are some mornings when Bubu cries hysterically because I'm leaving for work. It is truly heartbreaking and it makes me question leaving him. But then I leave and ask the nanny if he was okay after I left and she always says that as soon as I leave, he's totally fine. I wonder if I'll ever get over it, or when will he get over it, and when will Peewee start doing it? Eek. I have years of separation anxiety in front of me, so I guess that's a con.

But then I drive to work, I get my Starbucks and I don't have a double stroller with me. Did you know that it's a much quicker stop without the double stroller?? It is. I listen to the news instead of cartoons on the DVD player, and every other day I call my mom without interruption to let her know that Bubu and Peewee are fine. And I have to admit it, I like to work. I like accomplishing my work stuff. And I like contributing to our household income.

Then I come home. I cherish my time with the kids when I get home, and I'm so excited to see them. I try to cram in all the playtime I can, they help me fix dinner, we get ready for bedtime, and 9 times out of 10, it's a good time. Okay 8 times out of 10 it's a good time. And by 7:30pm I'm ready for them to go to bed.

I wonder, do they miss me all day? Are they somehow negatively impacted because I'm not the one caring for them 5 days a week? The nanny seems to be great so far, but I know it's not as good as I would do with my own kids, right? She cleans up the house every day though, which is awesome. But I wonder, will Peewee turn out okay? Will my kids appreciate the fact that we are working to provide for them?

In addition to my job, I also have the task of cooking, shopping, paying all the bills, oh and don't forget the all important, Target trips on my lunch break. Would it be easier if I just stayed home with the kids? Or would I start going nuts like before? I do miss the 10am playdates with my moms group so Bubu could play with other kids. I hope he doesn't turn into some anti-social loner uni-bomber kid. I guess I better find a preschool for him.

So there you have it. The pros and cons, the good and bad. Of course, we've all heard this one, that one way is not better than the other. Each of us choose what's right for us individually, right? I guess the true analysis will be many, many years from now when I ask Bubu and Peewee if they resent me for working when they were young. Maybe they'll understand, we will see...

The Christmas Card Revelations

Let me just preface by saying, I love Christmas. Aside from all the Toys R Us commercials, there's something magical about it and people are nice and I love it. I love Santa, I love the lights on people's houses, I love our fake tree.

So, it seems for weeks now, I have been working on a one person assembly line every night to complete our Christmas cards. How did the list get so freakin' long? Anyways, needless to say, I've had some time to ponder the meaning of life, dinners for the month, and scrubbing the card list for next year. So most important first, who will I cut off our list? Right now we have over 100. Seriously, let me say that again. Over 100. Which basically means I'm spending our Christmas present money on cards so me and my husband don't get jack. Do we dump our parents' friends? Do we dump the ones that don't send us a card? Do all family members make the list by default? As I mindlessly stuffed envelopes, I thought about who really appreciates getting a card from us. Hmmm, so maybe next year, we'll shoot for the 50 people who I can envision oohing and ahhhing about how the kids have grown and who stick us on their fridge for a year.

Next topic at hand, dinners every night. I know, I know it sounds dumb, but it really requires some planning and effort to keep the family fed for a week. Maybe it's a good thing that I had so many cards to get out, at least my mental grocery list is made. So once again, with too much time to over-analyze everything while addressing envelopes, I start thinking about why my assembly line consists of one person? There's actually another capable worker watching TV about 4 feet behind me. Hmmm, should I invite my husband to join in the card process? Or will that just mean I have to micro-manage another employee? Yikes. Therefore, no invitation extended this year.

As for the meaning of life, still the same as always, my two little miracles Bubu and Peewee. Merry Christmas everyone.

Admitting It

A few years ago, back when I was on my own, I decided that it would be a good idea to learn how to take care of someone other than just myself. I started looking for a dog. My husband, boyfriend at the time, knowing about my search, surprised me with a cute little puppy. Looking back, I should have gotten a plant.

So, we named our new addition Chewy. Between the two of us and our busy careers, we took care of Chewy. I lived a few feet from the ocean but since Chewy barked at other dogs like he was crazy and had rabies, I walked him every morning in the dumpy alley instead of the beautiful Manhattan Beach strand, gazing at the back door trash cans and garage doors in place of the ocean . Oh well. Then I got married and we had to move. It was traumatizing for everyone involved, especially Chewy. But we all survived and moved to Brentwood, where I walked Chewy in the alleys there. Then Bubu was born.

We joked that Chewy was our first born and that he now had a brother. Don't we all do that? Pretend that our pets are siblings with our children? Okay, well, we did. I think that was a turning point. Chewy went on fewer walks and he seemed to get in trouble a lot more. We tried to be understanding of the transition he was going through but we didn't do good enough a job with that. Then we moved to Northern California. It was a seven hour drive and my husband and Bubu drove up together ahead of us and then many hours later, after the movers had finished packing us up, Chewy and I headed up North. Leaving my home of ten years was tough, but I wasn't alone, I had my dog.

When Bubu started crawling, we realized we had to be a little more careful but we weren't on high alert at all time with the dog and the baby. Needless to say, we had a few incidents and our sweet little Chewy got blacklisted with our family. That part really sucked but we totally understood and it just gradually became a lot more trouble for us. After Peewee was born, we had another incident and that was it.

It took me months, but I finally found a rescue that accepted Chewy and is putting him up for adoption. My husband and I had to surrender our first born yesterday. It was hands down the most awful, painful thing I've had to do in I don't know how long. I still feel like I've been punched in the gut numerous times. Did we do the right thing? I don't know, I guess. What is it that hurts so bad? It's because I failed him. I failed Chewy by not trying harder to train him, to take him for longer walks, to care more, to make more time for him, and now what? It was my failure as a an owner, as his parent, that has led to poor Chewy probably sleeping in a crate last night instead of in our warm, cozy bed with us.

At this point, I'm just praying that he goes to a good home. To an owner that won't fail him like I did. 

The Halloween Edition

Oh Halloween. I have to admit I love Halloween. I remember back in the day, which is defined as 22 months ago, when we would get dressed up and go to costume parties and have cocktails with friends. Now, it's still fun but in a slightly different way I guess. The majority of this weekend was trying to get a good photo of Bubu, in his costume, looking at the camera. Much harder than it sounds.

So, anyways, let me back up for a moment. A few weeks ago, I decided to sign up to run a 5k mudrun on October 30th, which is basically a 5k with some obstacles and a lot of mud. Sounds fun, right? Some of my girlfriends in my moms group were also running it and I was really excited to get out there and finally do some real activity for the first time since Peewee was born. This, for some reason, symbolically meant a lot to me. I thought of it like a real accomplishment to jump start perhaps more of the same.

Then, a couple weeks ago I had a doctor appointment and asked why my belly button had not gone back to normal after my last pregnancy? What's going on here? Am I going to have to have plastic surgery to fix this and pay for it myself? No! Good news! It's a hernia and so she refers me to a surgeon to have it fixed. I was really happy about that. I felt like I had some weird tumor for the past few months and I have been really self conscious about it. SO I go to the surgeon and they schedule my surgery for Nov. 1st. Okay, so yes, it's the day after Halloween but I think whatever, I can swing it.

I then, of course, jam pack plan the week full of a pumpkin carving, pizza party, costumes, candy, cupcakes, groceries, and the mud run, oh and work too. SO, inevitably this past Thursday I threw out my back. Thank you beautiful children for giving me a bad back and a hernia. I love you both dearly.

I tried to ignore the pain and power through the day thinking I could use The Force to make it go away. Well, it totally backfired, and adding insult to injury, I woke up Friday morning sick. I felt so awful I didn't make it to work, which rarely happens. Ugh, the timing couldn't have been worse. I pulled it together on Saturday to get the pumpkin carved and outfits ready, but I did not make it to my mud run on Sunday and that part made me sad. My back is still not better unfortunately but we did take Bubu and Peewee out Trick-or-Treating for the first time which was awesome. I am still having my surgery tomorrow. And despite it all, I still love Halloween.

Immense Restraint

So, remember how I said I'd have to write about the nanny diaries later? Well, here it is. And I'll go ahead and say it up front, this might be a longer story than usual.

I was so excited to get a job back in the beginning of August and get back into the work force. We interviewed nannies fairly quickly, like 2 days, and chose who we thought was best. Everything seemed fine at first, the kids seemed happy and we felt good about our choice. Then the weirdness began. We found cigarette butts on our back patio one weekend and since we had requested a non-smoking nanny, we were confused. Well, I immediately suspected it was her but I didn't have any proof so I texted her and asked if she smokes outright. Maybe that wasn't the best Nancy Drewing I've ever done but so anyways, she said No. Alrighty, so we decided to play along for now and if it wasn't her, then there was some creepy peeping tom smoker coming up to our house un-noticed and dumb enough to put the butts out on our patio. That seemed unlikely, right? So we basically forgot about it in the bustle of life, but then a couple weeks later I got a text from the nanny while I was at work saying that she had found 2 more cigarette butts outside. So then I freaked out because maybe there really WAS some weirdo lurking around our house with the kids there. It couldn't be the nanny or else why would she tell me that? So I call my husband and start planning how big a padlock we need on the gate, how much are video cameras for outside, what if there's some freak seriously coming on to our patio smoking?

Then a couple Mondays ago, I came home and of course had to pee immediately after walking in the house because I have birthed two children, and I see a cigarette butt in the toilet. See, our toilet hasn't been flushing well recently and the shower started clogging up too, maybe because someone has been flushing cigarettes down the toilet for two months. So I didn't know what to say in the moment but of course I knew she had lied to us. I kept quiet for a little while...wondering how to approach this delicate situation, because I don't want to jeopardize the care of the children so I can't really fire her right that minute. And I need to think and discuss with my husband so I say, "So, did you find anymore cigarettes out back?" And she stumbled over her answer but she said oh yeah, I found one today, blah blah. In my head now I f---ing hate this kid and would punch her in the face if I didn't have the kids there and a husband to answer to. But I didn't. I said ok, see you tomorrow.

Well, my husband agreed this was way too super weird and she not only lied to us, but tried to make us think there was some creepy lurker coming on to our property and endangering the kids. And she has probably destroyed the plumbing as well.

There's other stuff too like she got engaged, then 3 weeks later the boyfriend dumped her, and they live together so now she has to find a new place to live, etc. Every week has been some weird drama. "My wallet got stolen, my car key broke, my dad went to the hospital." And then she'd also ask me almost every day what time I was coming home. Seriously, I mean, what are you doing that it matters when I'm coming home? You're bugging me. And are you so eager to leave that you're not taking good care of the kids? Omg I hate her.

Even if all this stuff is true, the concern is how can you focus on taking care of the kids if your life is always in shambles. And at this point I didn't trust anything she said anymore. I started interviewing new nannies as I questioned the trade-off of being a working mom. Once again asking that haunting question...is it worth it? Because no matter who we hire, no one will be quite good enough. Can I deal with that?

So, let me just say how bad an actress I am. And I'm trying incredibly hard not to go psycho on this kid everyday with a fake face each morning and afternoon. Then Friday rolls around and my mother in law said she's driving through and will drop by un-announced to check on the kids and nanny. So one more thing I forgot to mention, last week the nanny got sick and now both my kids have gotten a cold. Thanks bitch. But so anyways, Friday morning I specifically tell her NOT to take the kids anywhere because they are sick, especially Peewee because she is not even 4 months old yet. I even went so far as to explain WHY you don't take a sick 4 month old tromping around town in case she needed clarification. Then around 1:30pm I get that dreaded phone call from my mother in law saying she was there and no one was home and the nanny's car was gone.

Are you f---ing kidding me?? Really? I was livid. My eyes hurt I was so mad. My voice was shaking as I told my husband to handle this and find the children instead of me so as not to kill anyone and avoid jail. (Deep breath.)

The kids are fine and I texted her yesterday and said I lost my job so we don't need her anymore. I lied because my husband told me to...in order to avoid drama. If I had my way I'd have already ripped this kid a new one and made her cry 18 times, and hopefully taught her a lesson so some other family didn't go through this BS. But I guess it's not my job to teach a 23 year old how to be honest, right? I haven't slept for days. I've interviewed nannies and checked references non-stop for 3 days now. Good news is I found a new nanny. She starts tomorrow. And through this process I did not yell at anyone, I didn't damage anyone's personal property, and I didn't set a bad example for my kids. I told my husband he should be proud of me because I showed Immense Restraint.

Reno Eve

It's been an interesting week. The nanny got sick which was one of those extremely irritating situations where you can't really get mad at anyone. I made arrangements with a babysitter for Monday, had to come home early on Tuesday and so then I finally got the kid some soup and Dayquil on Wednesday which hopefully translated into "suck it up." There are other weird nanny issues but I haven't personally analyzed them enough to explain them in writing quite yet. I'll just say that her fiancé dumped her a few weeks ago. Stay tuned for the next episode of The Nanny Diaries.

Bubu seems to be going through a phase where he is totally on Team Mom and he has denounced Team Dad. So when Daddy gets home after a long day at work and all he wants is a hug from his little boy, he gets rejected. It's awful to watch. Tonight, Team Dad says "can I have a hug?" No. Kiss? No. Don't you love Daddy? And Bubu says "No" as he climbs on my lap. Ugh, I felt guilty for some reason and just plain bad. And no, I am not brainwashing my toddler.

So tomorrow I am going to Reno, NV with some moms in my moms group, for a little getaway weekend. Well, actually, for one night but for us, just to lay out by the pool and sleep all night without a baby monitor sounds like heaven. I think we could be in any city, anywhere, with a cocktail, and be happy. But so I'm hoping while I'm gone, Team Dad wins Bubu onto his team.