The end

I made it through another NaBloPoMo. Yay! I was going to end the month with a nice, content-free picture post, but this computer doesn't have any of my pics on it and I left my external hard drive at work. So you're getting a picture-free no-content post instead. Sorry.

Thanks for joining me for my month of drivel. Feel free to hang around and keep reading. I promise to try to be more consistent with the posting. But, honestly, I can barely manage to remember to put pants on before loading up the car in the morning, so remembering to blog might be a challenge. Just throwing that out there.

Ok, maybe I don't hate them so much

But lawyers still really annoy me sometimes.

After talking to the prosecutor on our murder case, I feel kinda bad about bitching about the last minute plea on our trial that was supposed to start tomorrow. Turns out the state's investigator finally, FINALLY talked the head honcho into agreeing to the deal. They made their offer on Friday, and the defense attorney spent his whole weekend trying to talk his client into it. I guess trying to convince a 19-year-old boy that 15 years in prison isn't so bad, and he's not going to be ancient when he gets out at the age of 34, took some doing.

I guess I should explain that part of my annoyance came from me putting forth a ton of effort to rearrange appointments, childcare, and my life in general for a week-long trial, and they couldn't be bothered to try to work it out until the last minute. If this weren't so typical, it wouldn't be so annoying. But, other than the boss' refusal to allow a plea, nothing happened this weekend that didn't exist a week or two ago, and the boss could have been talked to before hand.

Oh well. It is what it is. And I don't think we have any more trials for the rest of the year, so there's that.

Sometimes I hate lawyers

We had a big murder trial that was supposed to start on Tuesday. Everyone swore up and down that the trial was going to go. The big man in the state's office wasn't interested in letting the defendant plea.

So I prepped.

I was supposed to take a half day on Wednesday so I could go home to clean and cook for Thanksgiving, but I stayed late to work on the jury instructions from hell. I got those done, but didn't want to stay long enough to do the verdict forms, so I took them home. Tonight, I worked on them. Shortly after I finished, I got a text from my coworker telling me they had agreed to a plea.

At 8:00 PM.

On Sunday.

After I had finished all the trial prep.

I hate lawyers.

Thanksgiving menu reveiw

I have to say that my Thanksgiving dinner turned out pretty well. Here are brief reviews of the recipes I tried this year.

Fresh Herb and Salt-Rubbed Roasted Turkey - The turkey turned out pretty well. My mom pushed me into putting it in the oven earlier than necessary, so it was a smidge dry by the time we got to eating. It was also just a smidge on the salty side. I think this might be because B did all the salt-rubbing, and he didn't bother to measure out the salt...it's entirely possible that he used too much salt. Everyone else seemed to like it, though. This recipe is a keeper.

Cap City Buttermilk Mashers - Super tasty. I thought they were a bit chive-y (I don't remember the restaurant's potatoes being quite that chive-y), but they were a hit.

Soul Sweet 'Taters - The recipe calls for lumpy sweet potatoes, but I wasn't a fan of that. I might have slightly undercooked the 'taters (pre-mashing), too, which may have been part of the problem. The Mexican vanilla I used was a bit too strong for the recipe, and I found it a bit overpowering. I think I'll try this one again because the things I disliked about it were mostly my own fault.

Cranberry-Pomegranate Sauce - This was really good. It could have used a bit more sugar. And it NEVER thickened. It was really liquidy, so I tried to cook it down. It didn't work. At all. I ended up using a slotted spoon to drain most of the liquid off of it right before I served it. I would make this one again.

Pumpkin Cream Pie - LOVE. This was AWESOME. From the crust to the filling, it was perfection. And super easy. The crust was really, really thick, but it worked. I'm permanently adding this one to my dessert rotation.

How to spend 6 hours at Toys 'R' Us

Step 1. Arrive at TRU about 15 minutes before the store is supposed to open on Thanksgiving night. Marvel at the ungodly number of cars in the parking lot and the line that starts - and ends - in front of the store and winds aaaaaaalllllllll the way around the parking lot.

Step 2. Sit in car for two hours until line to get in is short enough to prevent us from having to stand in the cold, wind, and rain for more than a few minutes. Pass the time by trying to figure out what the hell was on sale that brought out the staggering number of people, judging parents with infants/toddlers/preschoolers with them, trying to guess what "sport" is on the back of the varsity jackets we saw (hint: it's almost always band), analyzing the size/shape of the bags people carry out to figure out what they're buying, and talking about the songs that come on the radio. Get a phone call from the husband about an hour in asking, "So, are you on your way home?" Laugh at him and tell him to give the baby a bottle.

Step 3. Brave the cold/wind/rain for 20 or so minutes to be part of the last of the horde to enter the store. Head straight to the bathroom. Wait in line to pee.

Step 4. Hunt for the things on our lists. Have a 75% success rate.

Step 5. Get in line to check out. The line starts - and ends - at the cash registers. Stand in line for a loooooooooooooooong time. Continue shopping as you take a leisurely tour of the store. Find a couple more items on the lists that were discarded along the side of the line. Score a cart when the group in front of you (who had a whole cart for nothing buy a board game and a lazy tween girl) decides to give up and leave. Head to the front of the store to get sodas for yourself and your shopping companion. Lose your shopping resolve in the baby section as you wind up and down every.single.aisle, and pick up several more things that weren't on your list (including three boxes of diapers for $10 each. That's $.142 each for size 5s and $.104 each for size 3s. Awesome price!). Justify baby purchases by explaining to your shopping companion that your diaper stash is getting low, you need starter sippies for the baby, and OMG THEY HAVE THE RED PAJAMAS GRANDMA WANTS THE GRANDKIDS IN FOR SANTA PICTURES IN THE BABY'S SIZE! Ignore shopping companion's half-hidden smirk.

Step 6. Reach the register. Be amazed by the efficiency of the poor cashier who looks like she might be pregnant. Pay. Almost get your purchases taken away because you don't have an ID on you (which may or may not be because, several weeks ago, your toddler got a hold of a wristlet that may or may not have had your driver's license in it, and now the license is nowhere to be found). Find old law school ID in wallet that grumpy manager accepts. Take the haul to the car, load up, and head home.

Start time: 9:45 PM, November 25.

End time: 2:40 AM, November 26.

The truly ridiculous thing in all this (HA! As if wasting all that time at TRU for a whole lot of nothing weren't ridiculous enough) is that, after all of the above, I seriously considered going out to do some more shopping before going to bed. I figured I'd get home, nurse R (because I hadn't nursed since, oh, about 7:00, and my boobs were about to explode), and head to Target. What did Target have that I wanted? Toy Story 3 for $13 and a MagnaDoodle-type thing (non-door buster) for $10. As I was struggling to keep myself awake while R ate, I realized that saving $7 on a DVD and $5 on a toy was not worth the time and effort it was going to take to go to Target. Then I went to bed and passed out.

The end.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I hope everyone has a wonderful day filled with family, football, and turkey. See you tomorrow!

Drafts from the Past #5: Newborn no more

This one was originally started on January 28, 2009. I only ever wrote a paragraph of it, and have no idea what else I wanted to add to it. So, here's what I had sitting on my drafts list.

* * *

The baby is three months old today. It's amazing how much he's changed in three short months. He's finally getting to the point where he's starting to resemble a little person. Now, instead of being a crying, screaming, puking, demanding little lump, he's a crying, screaming, puking, demanding, squirmy little lump who sometimes smiles at us, if he's in the mood. He's got a lot of his dad in him.

My Thanksgiving menu

I'm hosting Thanksgiving this year. This isn't my first time, and the crowd is smaller than most years, but I'm still trying to do it up right. B's pretty excited about it, so we sat down and came up with a menu together. Here's what we're having:

1. Appetizers

• Bacon crackers - Don't laugh, they're crowd pleasers.
• Cheese/cracker/summer sausage tray
  

2. Main course(s)

• Fresh Herb and Salt-Rubbed Roasted Turkey - it's dry brining away in the fridge as we speak.
• Ham - courtesy of my mom and only because my siblings are losers who don't like turkey.
  

3. Sides

• Cap City Buttermilk Mashers - B and I ate at Cap City Diner once, and fell in love with the mashed potatoes. I love, love, love that they post some of their recipes online so you can try and fail to make some of their yumminess at home.
• Soul Sweet 'Taters - This Pioneer Woman recipe is pretty similar to the recipe my mom and I usually make for Thanksgiving, but it sounds slightly tastier. So, since I'm in charge this year, we're trying it.
• Cranberry-Pomegranate Sauce - I made this tonight, and it's awfully tasty. It wasn't nearly as thick as I thought it should be, though, so I'm hoping it thickens as it cools. Otherwise, I might have a bit of an issue.
• Your basic, run-of-the-mill jellied cranberry sauce - You know, the kind that comes in a can, slides out in one big, can-shaped blob, and is pure deliciousness? What? It's the one time a year I eat the stuff. Back off. Also, I'm in charge this year, so we're having it.
• Green beans
• Peas - yeah, yeah, two green veggies. But it's what the young'uns coming to dinner will eat, so we're going with it.
• Dinner rolls - my mom's making these, so I don't know what recipe she's using.
• Green bean casserole - *Gag* *Vomit* *Hurl* My brother's baby mama #2 girlfriend fiancee has a thing for green bean casserole, so my mom is making some to bring. I'm pretty sure she's the only one who will touch the stuff.
• Stuffing - from a box. Only the finest 'round these parts.
  

4. Desserts

• Pumpkin Cream Pie - Pioneer Woman, why can't I quit you?
• Apple pie - another dish my mom is making because the weirdos in my family don't like normal Thanksgiving food.

So there you have it. Are you hosting this year? What are you making?

I want out

I really don't expect too much from my life. A reasonably clean house, a home that doesn't smell like a sewage treatment plant, a reasonable amount of sleep every night, the luxury of using the toilet alone and behind a closed door, a solid hour where NO ONE IS TOUCHING ME. That's about it.

So why is that NONE of these things ever happen??? Every time I make progress on getting one room clean, another is destroyed by a toddler or a husband with muddy boots. If it's not one of the boys' diapers stinking up the house, it's the husband's (ungodly awful) gas. Sleep? What's that? I always seem to have a "helper" when it comes time to go potty. And they all touch me. ALL.THE.TIME.

I'm over it. All of it. I want out. Now. I want to be single and childless. I want my adorable little cottage-like house that I couldn't buy because it wasn't big enough for a growing family. I want my house to smell like baked goods or flowers or pretty much anything except fecal matter. I want to sleep in on Saturday mornings. For the love of all things holy, I JUST WANT TO PEE IN PEACE!

Anyone want to swap lives for a week or two? Or have any suggestions on how I can rewind life and seriously reconsider my choices?

Just call me Louis

R and I (mostly the *I* in that phrase) have been battling thrush/yeast issues for months, ever since the purple nurple incident. Our last round of treatment was a month or so ago, and it quite obviously didn't work. I'm still experiencing a ton of symptoms (though R seems to be fine). I still have a stash of diflucan for each of us and a prescription cream for me, and I've finally reached the point where I have to use them. My boobs hurt too much for me to go on like this.

Tonight was the night I finally got around to starting the meds, sterilizing every implement that has ever touched my breast milk, triple washing all clothing that has touched my boobs, and - new this time - pasteurizing my pumped milk. Before someone gets all crazy on me, I realize that pasteurizing breast milk is somewhat controversial, and I assure you that I'm not going to be making a habit of it. But pasteurization kills yeast. My milk currently has too much yeast in it. There's not much else you can do to get rid of the yeast in pumped milk. Hence, I pasteurized.

Though not difficult, the process is kind of a pain in the ass. Between that and the sterilization of EVERYTHING, I lost most of my night. I'm hoping it works. I'm also adding acidophilus and nightly sterilizations to my bag of yeast-fighting tricks. If this new routine doesn't kick the thrush's ass, nothing will.

But at least I've only got another five or so months of nursing left to go.

Saturday fun

R woke up this morning uncharacteristically cranky and I caught him tugging at his ears once or twice. Which only means one thing: ear infections. So R and I loaded up and made the drive to the pediatricians' office (God bless Saturday morning walk-in hours). Oh! I even wore my scarf, just to test it out.

Luckily, the office wasn't busy, so we spent far more time driving to and from the office than we did being seen - a hazard of keeping your doctor's office in the city where you work, not the one where you live. The doc confirmed what Mommy already knew: a double ear infection. So we got a prescription for a z-pack and went on our merry way.

Is it wrong of me to hope the ENT R is seeing in a couple of weeks decides to give him tubes before the end of the year? If he's going to end up with them anyway, I might as well get them for just the cost of my co-pay, right?

Scarfing

I bought a scarf tonight.*

I'm sure this isn't groundbreaking news for anyone else, but it's a huge deal for me. You see, I don't accessorize. Like, ever. I used to (and I have a whole jewelry box full of teen-ish necklaces, earrings, rings, etc.), but I stopped at some point (probably because I suck at it). I keep thinking that I need to start it up again, but, I suck at it. Really, really badly.

This all came about because my mom, sister, and I went to a holiday bazaar downtown, and I kept finding really cute accessory-type things. And every time I found one, I would lament my lack of accessorizing ability. My mom finally told me I need to start accessorizing, so I decided to take the plunge.

My chosen accessory was a scarf from Little Hound. It's bright pink, and I kinda love it. Even though I still have no idea what the hell I'm supposed to wear it with. I'm hoping this starts me on a path to wearing accessories and being good at it.

Until I get to that point though, if you see someone wandering the streets with a bright pink scarf that is completely inappropriate for the outfit, stop me and let me know that I look ridiculous.

* Ok, if we want to get technical about it, my mom bought me a scarf tonight for my birthday (which is in a month). But I would have bought it for myself if she hadn't. Really.

I'm a crappy junkie

I read this article at slate.com the other day, and found it very interesting. If you don't want to read it, I'll give you the cliff's notes version: becoming a parent makes you less happy, but people seem to like it anyway and quite often decide to become a parent more than once, leading the author to compare parents to junkies.

If that's actually the case, I'm an awful junkie. I dislike parenthood about 99.99% of the time. I don't crave more of the highs. I'm not even sure there ARE highs. I would never, never, NEVER voluntarily subject myself to this ever again. I would go back three years and not do it, if I could.

I suppose this means I can go out and start using illicit drugs without worrying too much about turning into an addict, right? Either that, or it means that I'm an awful person who is somehow dead inside. Or maybe that I need better/different/more crazy drugs. Take your pick.

Hey look! A baby!

I got nothing today. So here's a random picture of my baby sporting a onesie from my alma mater (and a pair of BabyLegs that do NOT match...we can just ignore those). Go Bobcats!

Llama face!

My mom signed W up for Dolly Parton's Imagination Library last year, which is cool because he gets a new book in the mail every month. It's not so cool because the books have, in general, been kinda lame (and OMG if I have to read Raindrop, Plop! one more time, I'm going to hurt someone). This month's selection showed up today, and I was pretty excited to find out that it's Llama Llama Red Pajama. I'd never read it, but I've heard good things.

W and I pulled it out of its wrapper, settled into the rocker, and started reading. By about page three, I was laughing so hard I could barely keep going, and B was sitting across the room with his mouth hanging open. It's like the author came to my house and wrote a story about me and W. (In case you've never read it - spoiler alert - the baby llama, who is wearing red pajamas, goes to bed and has a shitfit when mama llama (which is super fun to say, by the way) doesn't come up to his room as quickly as he would like. Mama llama finally comes up, tells him to chill out, and explains that she loves him and is always near even if she's not right here).

Seeing that W can barely stand to let me out of his sight for more than three seconds at a time, I found this book highly appropriate for him. And I think he likes it. He usually gives me three different books to read before bed, but tonight he had me read LLRP three times in a row. He wanted me to read it again, too, but I put a stop to that. The message might have gotten through to him, too. He also only cried for about 30 seconds after I left his room, which is a huge improvement over most nights.

Well done, Anna Dewdney (also fun to say). Well done.

Weekend update

We had a nice, relaxing weekend around these parts. I had Thursday off for Veterans' Day, and decided to take Friday off because, hey, I have two whole vacation days saved up and I'm not pregnant and needing to hoard my time off, so why not?

Thursday, the boys and I did a whole bunch of nothing. (Though I did get this super-cute shot of R in the jump-a-roo.)

Friday, my mom came up, and we took the boys to the park to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather we've had - it got up almost to 70 on Friday! (Sorry for the cell phone pics. I forgot my camera.)

On Saturday, we packed up the boys and headed to my mom's. She and I went to check out some of the Christmas open houses at local businesses, while B stayed at her place with the (napping) boys and worked on cooking us dinner. I forgot to pack clothes for W (hold on a sec while I accept my Mother of the Year award), and as we were on our way to the Mecca of Evil - which is the only shopping option in town - I received a text from B that simply said, "Look what W did," and included the following picture:

It's been a long, long time since I've laughed that hard.

When we got home, B explained that he had been down in the kitchen working on the lasagna when he heard a clunking noise upstairs. He went to investigate and found W running out of the bathroom and an empty box of kleenex beside the toilet. And I laughed even harder.

Yesterday, B had an extended-family Thanksgiving thing we were supposed to go to, but I felt like crap, so I stayed at my mom's and napped. B took the boys, and it apparently went pretty well. I guess B is now one step closer to taking the boys out in public on his own (in the past six months, he has yet to do that. Amateur). Even though he had multiple aunts and his mom there to assist...so it hardly counts.

Here's a shot of W on the way home yesterday afternoon. It pretty much sums up how we all felt at the end of the weekend.

I hope you had a great weekend, too. Happy Monday!

Drafts from the Past #4: Head case

Written February 23, 2010. There's a reason why I never published this one. Please don't judge me.

* * *

You know there's something very fucked about you when you learn of a friend's miscarriage, and even as your heart is breaking for her, a tiny voice somewhere deep inside your head whispers, "Why couldn't that be me?"

Drafts from the Past #3: Called out

I wrote this post on September 27, 2009. I was something like six or seven weeks pregnant, and B and I were both still really, really not ok with this pregnancy, so we had to get creative about how to hide it from his family.

* * *

B's siblings were in town for the weekend, so we made the trek home to spend a weekend with the in-laws. I knew that my not drinking would attract attention, so I brought up the possibility of telling his family this weekend. B's just as embarrassed as I am by the whole situation, and he wasn't having it (when I asked when he wanted to tell, his response was, "When are you due?"). So we decided not to tell.

When we sat down to dinner on Friday, one of his sisters immediately asked why I wasn't having any wine. I pulled out my pre-rehearsed excuse of having a sinus infection last week, and still being on an antibiotic. That seemed to placate everyone. For the moment.

Saturday night, at my nephew's birthday party, B's younger sister plopped herself down next to me, looked in my cup, and said, "Just punch, huh? You're not pregnant, are you?" I said no, I'm on antibiotics. She didn't buy it. All she said was, "Ok, but if you pop out a baby in about seven and a half months, we'll know." Blah.

I think the reason B is so hesitant to tell his family is because his older sister and her husband having unsuccessfully been trying for number two for almost a year. And while they so desperately want another, here we are with a pregnancy we don't even want totally weren't expecting.

I guess it doesn't matter when we tell, anyway. His younger sister is convinced that I'm pregnant, which I'm sure she's shared with the older one. They know, whether we admit to it or not. Hopefully B caves and decides he wants to tell them soon.

Drafts from the Past #2: Alarm clocks can be so cruel

This one was written August 21, 2008. It's pretty self-explanatory.

* * *

I haven't gotten a lot of the good side effects of pregnancy. No gorgeous hair, no glowing complexion, no increased sex drive. And, most annoyingly, no awesome sex dreams. I have friends who raved about the amazing sex dreams they had while they were pregnant. I've longed for a couple of those knee-weakening dreams. And I finally got one.

I don't remember the specifics (I'll wait while you thank your deity of choice for that), but I remember that it was gooooooooooooooood. Things were going well and I was just about, ahem, finished, and...

...B's alarm goes off.

The stupid alarm clock ruined the only good thing I've had going for me lately. Bastard.

A nothing kind of day

I had the day off work because of Veterans' Day, and decided to keep the boys home with me (mostly just because I didn't have enough "important" stuff to do around the house to justify paying for daycare on a day off). I had grand plans for the day, but none of us really felt like getting out and about. So we didn't. We stayed in our PJs all day, and played around the house. This afternoon, I took the boys outside to play, and W was still in his jammies. The neighbor gave me a funny look when we went down to their house to play, but oh well.

The things I didn't do today? Balance the checkbook, pay the bills, put the dishes away, run the dishwasher, finish the laundry, put the clothes away, or clean the bathroom. And I truly don't care.

I'm looking forward to another day of it tomorrow.

Drafts from the Past #1: My wish for me

This post was originally written on August 2, 2008. Before you start reading, prepare yourself to laugh your ass off at the first paragraph. I know I did. I'm not sure why this one never got published, but I found it lurking at the end of my drafts list, so here it is. Enjoy!

* * *

Before I really start this post, I would like to note that this will be the last whiny, self-pitying blog entry from me. I've decided that I need to be happy and accepting of this pregnancy and baby, no matter what it takes. So, I'm going to force myself to be happy. Part of that campaign is no longer thinking or writing negative things about this experience. Starting today, I will force myself to be happy about this baby, even if it kills me (and it very well might). (When you take bets about how long my "positive thinking" phase will last, try to give me at least a little benefit of the doubt...)

Ever since the Week 8 breakdown that set me off on a downward spiral into depression and baby hating, I have wanted nothing more for myself than to be one of those blissfully happy and nauseatingly excited expectant mothers. That’s how I always pictured this whole pregnancy thing playing out, and it’s been tough for me to cope with the fact that my fantasy and reality haven’t quite matched up.

What’s even worse for me is knowing that nothing I’ve done has worked to change my perception of reality. I’m a very take-charge kind of person, and I like to fix my own problems when I can. In this case, though, my tried and true methods have failed, as have the newer things I’ve tried out of desperation. The list of potential fixes keeps growing, but I still feel the same. I’ve prayed, I’ve cried, I’ve talked to anyone who will listen, I’ve blogged, I’ve thought and thought and thought (some might say “ruminated”), I’ve done nice things in an attempt to up my good karma points, I’ve even gone all new-age-y and “put it out there” for the universe to take care of…nothing has done a damn thing for me. The only thing I haven’t tried is the bottle of Zoloft pills sitting on my dresser. I can’t do it. As much as I know I probably should, I just can’t.

On top of feeling like a failure for being unable to fix myself and for “failing” at being pregnant, I can’t seem to find anyone who really gets what’s going on with me. No one really understands. *Insert angst-y teenager voice here* I haven’t bothered trying to explain any of this to my friends who have never been pregnant. I just keep on pretending everything’s fine, and keep hoping my lack of enthusiasm regarding talk of the baby will lead them to different subjects. My mom friends try to empathize, but they still seem confused about my reaction to my situation. I appreciate so much everything they’ve done to convince me that things will be fine and some of the stuff I’m feeling is normal (I don’t really believe them, but I try to), but I still think they secretly think I’m some kind of freak. I can’t talk my own mom; she’s too happy about this baby for me to ruin it for her. I can’t even really talk to B. I’ve told him bits and pieces, but I'm pretty sure that he's unable or unwilling to comprehend just how deep my feelings of despair and unhappiness are. He's picked up on the fact that I "don't like being pregnant", but I don't think he knows that I also don't like the baby, myself, or my life right now. Plus, he worries about me and the baby a lot as it is. I don’t want him to worry even more. And he's soooooo excited about the baby. I can't take that away from him. So, I just keep on keeping on, pretending everything’s fine (or at least not as bad as it really is), and hoping that everyone is right, and it’ll all work out in the end. I just have so much trouble really believing that’s true.

So, my one big wish for me is to be happy about my pregnancy, to be a “normal” mom. I hasn't happened in the first six months, so I don't know why the last three months will be any different, but I'm hoping they are. Hopefully someone reading this (God, the universe, a friend, some random stranger) is able to send me the answer that I need.

Whoops

W wasn't in the mood to go to sleep tonight (just like every other damn night for the past month), and I had a whole bunch of stuff to do, so I let him lay down in our bed with me. This was at 8:30 tonight. Next thing I know, it's 11:49, there's a toddler sleeping length-wise across my bed with his head in my ribs (flashbacks much?), and no husband in sight. Whoops.

After a good 20 minutes trying to move W to his own bed and get him to fall back asleep, I came downstairs to tell B he could reclaim his half of the bed, then took my medicine that requires me to remain upright for awhile after taking it, and hit the blog.

The things I didn't manage to accomplish tonight because of my little nap? Laundry, packing my lunch, washing bottles and pump parts, baking something for my coworker's birthday tomorrow, packing all the stuff for the boys tomorrow, searching for an orthopedist, and going over some paperwork for W's appointment tomorrow morning with B. Whoops.

NaBloPoMo goal

I was looking back through my posts the other night and realized that I have a bunch of mostly-finished draft posts that never made it on here for one reason or another. Since I'm feeling pretty uninspired and need some blog fodder, I decided that I'm going to finish and publish those posts. I'm hoping to have all of them done before the end of the month. Look for the first one sometime this week.

A day in the life

I know you’re all just dying to know what a typical day in my life is like. So I went ahead and chronicled one for you. I’ll apologize in advance because it turns out that I picked a kinda crappy day for this. You’ll see what I mean.

* * *

Midnight-ish: Fall into bed and pass out from exhaustion.

2:37 AM: Baby’s crying. Silently give thanks that this is his first wake up of the night. Get baby, return to bed. Nurse baby.

4:16 AM: Wake up to baby passed out beside me, boob hanging out, arm completely asleep. Cover self. Flip baby to other side. Nurse.

5:29 AM: Wake up to baby passed out beside me, boob hanging out, arm completely asleep. Cover self. Scoop up baby and return him to crib. Baby’s crying. Rock and cuddle until baby goes back to sleep. Return baby to crib. Baby’s crying. Offer pacifier. Baby cries harder. Rock and cuddle some more. Try to avoid eye contact. Look down to see if he’s asleep and get a ginormous toothless grin complete with giggles. Shit. Baby’s up for the day.

5:43 AM: Begin day (47 minutes before alarm is supposed to go off). Play with baby for a bit while staying out of husband’s way so he can get ready. He got up late and is in a rush.

6:01 AM: Husband’s leaving. Silently curse at him for his compulsive need to be at least 30 minutes early for EVERYTHING. Silently curse at him for not doing anything to help with the morning necessaries. Silently curse at him for having to be at work before daycare opens and never having to deal with getting the boys ready and out the door in the morning. Tell him, aloud, that I love him and to have a good day. Kiss husband.

6:05 AM: Pack lunch, iron pants by throwing them in the dryer, double check daycare bag, put perishables in daycare bag, pack breast pump, pour antibiotic for baby, pour antibiotic for toddler, pack bag of candy so daycare can bribe positively reinforce toddler into getting his eye drops.

6:22 AM: Start to head for shower. Realize there’s a giant poop stain on baby’s back. Groan. Gather diaper changing supplies. Go upstairs to get more wipes – three isn’t going to cut it. Clean off baby. Change diaper. Clean off baby again. Figure out where second round of poop came from. Clean off changing pad. Dress baby. Dispose of diaper and small case of wipes used to clean up blow-out.

6:38 AM: Sit baby in front of TV (yay for flashing lights and colors!) with an array of toys so I can shower. Take shower. Linger under hot spray a bit longer than necessary and prudent wishing that I could just go back to bed.

6:48 AM: Get out of shower, dress, apply make-up, do hair. Baby’s screaming. Ignore baby until make-up and hair are done.

7:05 AM: Grab baby, carry him around while hunting down shoes. Put baby down with explanation that I need to go get his brother up and dressed. Baby is unimpressed. Baby’s crying.

7:08 AM: Wake toddler. Attempt to wrangle toddler for a diaper change. Realize there are no diapers upstairs. Head downstairs. Turn around halfway down to grab toddler and carry him down. Get diaper changing supplies. Wrangle toddler for diaper change. Remove pajamas. Change diaper. Attempt to put pants on toddler. Offer second choice of pants. Attempt to put pants on toddler. Tell toddler he has two minutes to decide which pair of pants he wants to wear. Put shirt on toddler. Attempt to calm full-on screaming fit that ensues. Remove shirt from toddler. Ask toddler to make his clothing choice. Take recently removed pajamas from toddler. Put pajamas on toddler. Attempt to put shoes on toddler. Give up in frustration, shout “Fine!,” find bag for toddler’s real clothes and shoes.

7:17 AM: Retrieve toddler’s eye drops. See baby’s antibiotic. Remind self to give baby his medicine before we leave.

7:18 AM: Attempt to give toddler eye drops. Sit on toddler. Attempt to give toddler eye drops. Wonder if it’s too early in the day to bribe positively reinforce toddler with Halloween candy. Attempt to give toddler eye drops. Decide that I’m not in the mood to deal with sucker residue, swear under breath, and decide that I don’t have enough time to mess with it. Throw eye drops in daycare bag.

7:21 AM: Start car, load up bags. Realize that it will be a miracle if you make it out of the driveway by 7:30. Baby’s screaming.

7:23 AM: Give toddler antibiotic. Put on toddler’s jacket. Grab toddler and load him in car.

7:25 AM: Grab screaming baby, calm him. Load him in car seat, try to tune out the screaming. Put baby in car. Remind self to grab radio off of kitchen counter.

7:28 AM: Return to house to turn off lights, turn off TV, put on belt, grab cell phone. Return to car.

7:30 AM: Pull out of driveway. Pat self on back for making it out by the goal time.

7:31 AM: Realize I forgot to grab the radio. Silently swear at the prospect of a silent morning commute.*

7:35-7:50 AM: Hit every red light en route to daycare. Get stuck behind a-hole driving five miles under the speed limit (no need – the roads were fine today!) who refuses to get in the slow lane.

7:47 AM: Realize I forgot to give baby his antibiotic. Hit steering wheel, swear under breath, declare that “I quit this day!” (courtesy of Blair).

7:52 AM: Arrive at daycare. Feel stabby toward baby when I see that he fell back asleep on the drive. Remove baby, toddler, and child paraphernalia from car. See good friend I haven’t talked to in awhile pull in behind me. Silently wish I had some time to chat with him. Silently hate him for having a spouse who is there in the mornings to help get the kids and all their crap ready and out the door. Snap at toddler for not going into the house.

7:54 AM: Get the circus in the house, start talking to daycare owner about food, medicine, feeding schedules, etc. of the children. Snap at toddler for whining and trying to grab the half gallon of milk out of the diaper bag. Guide toddler to appropriate room. Ignore ensuing meltdown. Put away toddler’s milk, baby’s milk, toddler’s diapers, toddler’s diaper rash cream, toddler’s medicine, and toddler’s bag o’ bribes positive reinforcements. Ignore whining toddler. Write down baby’s last feeding, times toddler needs medicine. Remove baby from car seat. Put baby in jumperoo. Kiss and say bye to baby. Baby’s happy. Try to lure toddler into appropriate area. Give up. Put toddler in highchair he’s trying to scale. Assure him daycare owner will get him a glass of milk. Herd several other toddlers back to appropriate area after they escaped through the gate I left open. Kiss toddler, ignore crying.

8:05 AM: Back in car, off to work.

8:15 AM: Arrive at convenience store near work that sells large cups of the nectar of the gods Diet Coke for $.63. See annoyingly chipper and chatty morning manager (whose name is, incidentally, something annoying and chipper like Skip or Buddy) in front of store. Silently promise to cut him if he talks to me.

8:17 AM: Procure Diet Coke, return to car. Silently rejoice that I didn’t have to cut the manager.

8:23 AM: Arrive at work, find parking spot, haul crap inside. Resist urge cut security guy who mumbles “Jesus!” under his breath as I gather my (three) bags (including my lunch, my pump, and my purse) from the x-ray machine.

8:25 AM: Arrive at office. Fumble in purse for keys. Get stuck making small talk with another woman in the suite who is also looking for keys. Silently curse my black hole of a purse for eating my keys. Again.

8:26 AM: Enter office, turn on electronics. Return phone calls and e-mails that accumulated during my two-day pink eye-related absence.

8:59 AM: Go to main office to check in. Realize I have no one to play nice with because some people are out for the day. Relax a bit. Chat with coworker-friend, catch up on stuff that happened while I was gone. Hit vending machine for a candy bar on my way back to my office because I didn’t get breakfast, we have no food in our house, and I’m starving.

9:13 AM: Return to office. Enjoy Snickers.

9:14 AM: Check e-mail, reader, election results. Immediately start diligently working on the decision that is supposed to be done today, but will not be because of the aforementioned two-day absence.

9:36 AM: Start Continue diligently working on ODD (overdue decision).

10:12 AM: Get print out of e-mail from someone else in office suite. Realize e-mail should have been sent to me, know that culprit knows it should have been sent to me, think I know why it wasn’t, get pissed at culprit.

10:15 AM: Back to work.

10:34 AM: Potty break.

10:38 AM: Start morning pumping session. Work on cataloging my day while pumping. Do some work on ODD.

10:55 AM: Finish morning pumping session. Notice output is low. Silently curse at my slacker-ass boobs. Wander to drinking fountain to fill two one-liter bottles with water. Chug first liter.

11:01 AM: Realize plastic water bottle I’ve been refilling for…uh…far longer than I should…is starting to get a little nasty. Throw out empty bottle. Remind self to bring metal water bottle to work tomorrow. Decide to take bets on whether I’ll remember water bottle. Decide to bet against myself.

11:03 AM: Work, work, work.

11:38 AM: Realize I need another potty break. Decide to hold out until lunch so I don’t have to put my shoes back on. Work on second liter of water. Decide to trash this plastic bottle, too.

12:01 PM: LUNCHTIME! Gather lunch things and waddle to the bathroom as fast as humanly possible.

12:02 PM: Remind self that waiting almost half an hour after you decide you need to go before actually taking a bathroom break, after you drank 1.5 liters of water in about 45 minutes, is a bad, bad idea.

12:05 PM: Make it to lunch room. Open lunch bag, prepare to heat up lunch, realize I didn’t bring a bowl to put my ravioli in. Say “dammit!” much more loudly than I intended. Get curious looks from others in lunch room. Go to vending machine for Diet Coke. There is none. Sulk my way back to my chair. Eat four mini cupcakes and call it lunch.

12:36 PM: Resist urge to roll eyes at coworker who is complaining about the stupid storylines on the soap opera, yet continues to watch the show religiously.

1:04 PM: Back to the office. Check the e-mail/reader again. And right back to work.

1:11 PM: Realize it’s a new month, so my Pandora hours have reset! Load up Pandora. Get annoyed with the current station by song two. Switch stations. Station two isn’t doing it. Switch stations again. Settle on station three…for now.

1:22 PM: Get interrupted by e-mail from the boss. Review his draft decision on an appropriations case. Send him my thoughts, including some creativity points for the attorney who made the (utterly ridiculous and completely hopeless grammatically-based) argument.

1:36 PM: Take a break to schedule some appointments. Remember how thankful I am that I don’t have billable hours.

2:00 PM: Hit the bathroom again (damn water!). Take a couple of bills upstairs to stick in the mail pile. Take elevator instead of stairs because I’m lazy tired. Completely forget to take the file and paperwork I need to get to the main office. Get sucked into conversation with coworker about the boys’ health – for the fifth time today (same conversation, different coworker).

2:24 PM: Keep working on the decision from hades.

2:40 PM: Reply to an e-mail from my mom.

2:50 PM: Same decision, different hour.

3:07 PM: One of my happy songs comes on Pandora. I smile. And maybe sing a little bit.

3:52 PM: Feel like I’m reaching a resolution of the ODD. The end might be near. A little optimism creeps in.

4:06 PM: Get a call from the prosecutor panicking about an entry filed in an old criminal case. Spend the rest of the day talking him through it, downloading filings, and e-mailing.

4:16 PM: Realize I never did my afternoon pumping. Shit. Don’t have enough time to do it before going home. Leave boobs engorged and the baby short on milk for tomorrow.

4:30 PM: Quitting time. Turn everything off, pack up, and head out. But not before making a stop by the bathroom.

4:55 PM: Get to daycare, gather boys and their crap, head home.

5:23 PM: Arrive home. Haul kids ‘n’ crap from the car to the house.

6:15 PM: Try to figure out what to feed the toddler for dinner. Option one isn’t eaten. Option two isn’t eaten. Settle on frozen waffles and applesauce (again). Hope upcoming speech/occupational therapy appointments actually get him to eat bigger variety of foods.

7:19 PM: Bath time. Bathe toddler. Remove toddler from tub, diaper and dress him. Bathe baby. Try to keep toddler from climbing into infant tub with baby. Finish bathing baby, try to dump infant tub before toddler can climb in it.

7:44 PM: Play with the boys for awhile before bedtime.

8:30 PM: Give baby some toys and take toddler upstairs to start the evening scream-fest bedtime routine. Read two stories to toddler, lay down in his toddler bed with him for a bit. Hear baby crying downstairs. Kiss toddler, tell him it’s time for mommy to leave, walk out and shut door. Toddler screams. Toddler pounds on door. Toddler runs around bedroom. More screaming and crying

8:51 PM: Toddler goes quiet. He fell asleep quickly tonight. Awesome.

8:55 PM: Get baby changed and ready for bed. Nurse baby. Rock baby until he passes out. Put baby in crib.

9:22 PM: Head downstairs to fold some of the ridiculous amounts of clean laundry that have accumulated in my living room.

9:35 PM: Husband arrives home from class. We chat for a bit and catch each other up on our days. Discuss the kids and how they were that night. Boring stuff. Spend a few minutes trying to check my e-mail, read blogs, etc.

10:26 PM: Husband heads for bed. Start picking out clothes for the boys the next day, packing my lunch, prepping bottles. Say “screw it” when it comes time to wash pump parts, decide to make husband do it in the morning.

11:17 PM: Bedtime. Finally. Super excited that I’m getting to bed before midnight. Head to bed and pass out. Get ready to do it all again tomorrow.

* The speakers in my car are only working intermittently right now, so I’ve been taking a portable, battery-operated radio with me to provide some music while I’m driving. It’s easier than getting the car looked at.

Drugs and dreams

The strangest dream I've ever had in my life happened in college. In it, I was being a surrogate for a friend of mine (who was actually having fertility issues at the time), but I was pregnant with kittens. Which gave me extra nipples - I had two rows of nipples that ran down my torso, like a cat or dog's belly. But then I miscarried at least some of the kittens. We could tell because some of my nipples disappeared. I think I woke up before I gave birth, though I do remember being in the hospital. I also remember a play shopping cart full of sperm that was going to be used to inseminate me, and I think my friend was pushing it around the mall. It was weird. So weird that I still vividly remember it some eight or nine years later.

The kitten dream was brought to me (and now you!) courtesy of the muscle relaxer flexeril. I'd forgotten how cracked out that stuff makes my dreams until I took a dose last night. I woke up this morning right after finding out that I had won America's Next Top Model. Apparently flexeril not only gives me super-strange dreams, but also gives me the perfect smize.

I'm on this stuff for at least a week, so I'll probably have at least a few more drug dreams to share. Should be fun!

Housekeeping help

It's no secret around these parts that I'm not much of a housekeeper. I like my surroundings to be clean and neat, and before I started breeding, mine used to be. Now, however, my house is generally a sty. Most of the time, it's sort of clean, but messy. I'm working on that, but I need some help. So I'm asking anyone who still reads to give me suggestions on the following:

1. Do you have a cleaning schedule? What is it?

2. What is your best tip for cleaning an old, pitted porcelain tub? Anything that gets rid of the gross ring stained into my tub would be awesome.

3. How do you get diaper pails/plastic garbage cans that have ever contained poopy diapers to stop smelling like decaying fecal matter?

4. How do you clean your blinds?

5. Any other helpful hints for me?

OMG SLEEP!

Do you know the last time I got a full night of uninterrupted sleep? No, really, I'm asking. Because I don't remember. I'm pretty sure it was sometime in the first quarter of 2008, though. That's almost THREE YEARS AGO.

I just want to go on record as saying that there is a special place in hell for whoever decided that I needed two - count them, TWO - children who seem to think that sleeping is completely unnecessary, particularly for Mommy. If one of them sleeps all the way through the night, the other is up and torturing me. On really awesome nights, they BOTH stay up for hours, and Mommy is the only one who is capable of getting them to shut the hell up and go back to sleep. So one screams while I tend to the other, then they switch roles for awhile. It's great.

The best I can hope for most nights is two or three hours, a wake up of 30 minutes or less, and another two or three - maybe four on a really good night - hours before the alarm goes off.

I love my life. Really.

That is all. I need to go grab an hour or two before one of the urchins decides it's wake up o'clock again.

And people wonder why I don't want any more kids...

The poop never ends

You know what you get when you have two young children in diapers who are both on antibiotics at the same time? You get poop. Lots and lots of poop. Today was day two home from daycare with pink eye, so I spent my day up to my elbows in poop. I changed four poopy diapers before breakfast. R had two (or was it three?) blow-outs. I have used more Butt Paste than a normal family would in a week.

These are the kinds of days when I fantasize about getting my children potty trained and try to develop some innovative method that will get them out of diapers by, like, tomorrow. Unfortunately, I haven't found it yet.

Now I'm off to finish up the laundry so I have an extra three or four outfits to send to daycare with R tomorrow. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure the kid's going to come home in nothing but a diaper. Which he will surely blow-out in the car seat on the way home.

It's never "just a check-up" 'round these parts

The boys had their six month/two year well checks scheduled for yesterday morning. And everything was great! Other than the pink eye (W). And the double ear infection (R). And the ENT referral (R). And the yeasty diaper rash (W). Oh, and let's not forget the speech/occupational therapy referrals (W).

You know, you think you're doing an ok job of keeping your kids alive, and one trip to the doctor proves you wrong. The boys are growing pretty well - R's percentiles are all in the 60s, W's range from the low 70s to the low 90s - but there are apparently some developmental-type issues.

R got the ENT referral because he's on his third set of ear infections in his short little life, and the doc was concerned that constantly having fluid in there will affect (effect? Man, I hate that particular grammar point) his hearing/speech. We also have to get him in for his eye exam through InfantSee. Given that W was pretty much condemned to glasses at his six-month eye exam, I'm not hopeful for R.

As far as W goes, I laughed in the doctor's face when she asked me if I wanted to do the autism screening survey for my running-in-circles, climbing-on-everything, incessantly-chattering, flirting-with-nurses two-year-old. I think she agreed with that choice. Though I do have the paperwork in my purse, and I'll probably fill it out and send it back just so W's medical file doesn't make me look like a bad mom. As the doc and I were chatting about W's eating habits, she decided that sending W to a speech therapist to work on him with some of the texture issues we think he has might be a good idea. I mean, a growing kid can only survive on pancakes, waffles, oatmeal, milk, cereal, applesauce, and the occasional serving of corn or peas for so long, right? She also thought a language screening would be a good idea, as he's not super good at communicating verbally. He definitely gets his point across using some words, pointing, grunts, etc., and babbles constantly, but I feel like he's probably behind as far as using real words goes. We also got to talking about some potential sensory issues he might have, hence the OT referral. Gah.

At least we've got free health care the rest of the year.*

I also learned today that yeast infection cream and athlete's foot cream are the same thing. And athlete's foot cream is cheaper. So that's what W got for his diaper rash. I figured it was the appropriate choice, since you can also use it for jock itch, and jock itch is way more manly than a yeast infection. I figured B would appreciate my reasoning for going with the athlete's foot cream, but he was unimpressed.

*Thanks to the miracle of birthing a child. Yay for hitting all of our out-of-pocket maxes for the year!

NaBloPoMo (again)

Once again, it's November. And once again, my blogging needs a good swift kick in the ass. So I'm going to do NaBloPoMo again this year. Join me as I cringe every time I see the word "NaBloPoMo" and thrill you with tales of things such as W's birthday party, our fourth anniversary, Thanksgiving plans, some work stuff, R's milestones, and much, much more!