At Least Someone is Working

Hello from the unemployed front! We are in week two of all being under the same roof all the time. And while H has turned his job search into a full time job and I'm plugging away at all my little unpaid, ahem! someone throw me a bone here!, gigs we are for all intensive purposes a dual no-income household. Kick ass.

Except T.D.

She is apparently working. All the time. Whenever I ask her what she is doing, be it playing with Play-Doh or helping me sort laundry she tells me, "I'm working Mama! I'm working!" I don't have the heart to tell her we can't pay her for her services.

She thinks we are working too. Yesterday morning as I cleaned the shower she came over and inspected my workmanship, hands on hips and intoned, "Mama working. Mama is working..." Funny, I thought when I quit that motel maid job (apparently the place hasn't been cleaned since I worked there.) back in 1995 my days of being paid jack for scrubbing bathrooms was over.

Oh Look! A Mommy Blog!

Because someone actually requested I post these....



TA DA it's T.D. in all her uber-serious first hair cut glory.

BEFORE

Yes, that is a Red Sox cheerleader uniform. Suck it, I won the Spirit stick as a kid at Cheer Camp.

DURING

It is as if she is watching EVERY hair being cut. I think she made the stylist nervous with that steely gaze. Either that or she is barely breathing for fear that what the dog Lex told her about hair salons is actually true. "Kid, you go there, your hairs don't come back. They cut you kid, they cut you..."

AFTER

Aww, Porkchop got her hair 'did.

Now I'm going to clean up the cuteness induced barf off the laptop. This is truly a Mommyblog.

I am a bit concerned...

Nick Nolte mug shot

T.D. mug shot

Should I be worried? What next, she gets her big girl teeth and starts looking like Gary Busey?!

Pffft... Who needs sleep?!

We don't need a new baby to give us sleepless nights. Nope. We have T.D. a.k.a. the Sleep Torturer. Just like her name, the Tiny Dictator, she has blossomed into a czar who makes sleeping four hours in a row seem like bliss.

For example:

I pass out at 7:30 p.m. last night. Lucky me. Sleep when baby sleeps right? Except baby is two and not napping in the afternoon and throwing a Goebbels-sized fit about going to bed. Somehow though the pregnancy hormones make it impossible for me to stay up any longer. I wake up two more times before 9 p.m. and officially turning in.

11:13 p.m.- The dictator arises. She is dissatisfied with her bumble bee blanket. How dare we try to provide extra warmth with such an inferior blanket. Rather than kick if off herself she just wails until we take it off.

I shuffle back to bed.

12 a.m.- Crying again. I open the door to her room and find she is A-OK. It's just a drill apparently. Kick ass.

I shuffle back to bed and trip over a dog bone.

2:32 a.m.- Screams can be heard from across the hall. T.D. is wet and highly pissed. No pun intended.

H stumbles back to bed after changing her.

We slumber for three blissful, uninterrupted hours until....

5:47 a.m.- Terror grips me as it sounds like a wild animal has attacked my child. Actually it is just thirst. She wants milk. At 5:47 a.m. I oblige if it will buy me more sleep.

6:42 a.m.- Awake again. The milk untouched, no diaper change needed the dictator is severely displeased with the book and toy selection in her room. Music is not acceptable either. I want to slam my head into something hard enough to deem me unconscious and therefore unable to deal with any of this. A pounding headache is beginning as is a cold. H snuffles in bed with the dog who both sound like a cold is imminent for them as well.

I lay in bed pleading for silence when at last it occurs until...

7:15



Today is the first of my birthday festivities and while I'm excited I just hope I can stay awake. Especially after having to take a meeting today and then driving everyone around tonight. I'm exhausted just thinking about it all.

What's with the Peeing?

Seriously folks. Lately, I could easily say that today is brought to you by the letter, 'P'.

It is not just me. I know that I'm waking up a bazillion times a night now to use the head but there is also the dog incident.

Now this-

4:36 a.m.- Crying. There is loud wailing come from just behind T.D.'s door. Holy hell! I just got back to sleep and into dream world after my last pee break. Why me?! Why isn't H even moving?! I think he is fake sleeping. Curse him!

I throw off the blankets and head across the hall to investigate.

4:39 a.m.- There T.D. stands head hanging low looking upset and a tad ashamed if that is possible at this ungodly hour. I crouch to her level and ask what is wrong. She is soaked. From tummy to ankle in pee. It's cold too. My super sleuthing skills deduce that she must have peed her bed in her sleep. I know, I'm wicked smot. I feel the sheets. Yup, cold and wet. Kick ass.

4:41 a.m.- I immediately comfort/strip T.D. of all wet pajamas while trying hard not really get my hands coated in pee. Realize this is impossible and fling urine soaked pajamas out the bedroom door. Since the weather is all an Inconvenient Truth lately and crazy she is cold and trembling. I press her to me for warmth while I grab clean PJ's and wipes.

4:43 a.m.- I briefly contemplate getting her into the tub to clean her properly and then realize that I'm not that good of a mother. The hours of sleep time are diminishing and a bath will only wake us both up further. I wipe her down with baby wipes and hope that she won't hold this against me later.

4:45 a.m.- T.D. yells, "I peed!" incredibly loud and then whispers, "Shhh! Daddy sleeping..." Yes, Daddy sleeping. I resist the urge to cry or growl simultaneously. Instead, I head to the bed to strip it. Soaked to the mattress pad. Le Sigh...

4:46 a.m.- After a quick strip and inspection of all stuffed animals, the pillow, wiping the plastic mattress coating with wipes and the blankets the bed is changed and new. T.D. climbs in and I cover her up. She yells, "Night, night Momma!" and I smile back stroking her hair.

4:48 a.m.- I stumble across the hall, tripping on the pee sheets and collapse into bed. What felt like hours was only mere minutes and my brain is already awake and thinking of the day ahead.

For some reason it is here that I feel most like some ceramic caring mother figure. It is not the hours earlier when we are having dinner and I cut her food into tiny bites so she won't choke. It is in these moments when I see that tiny bit of shame she feels despite that I don't care if her soaked self and I held her against me. I only want her to be warm and safe. This is parenting. This is motherhood more than anything else and I wouldn't trade it. It may seem odd but it is always these moments that do it to me and not the everyday or exciting happy ones.

Overheards

Dinner time, our house, last night...

T.D. swipes a fork from the table at lightening speed and quickly hides it on her person.

Me: This isn't prison, put the fork back on the table!

H tries to keep from spitting food out of his mouth.

Moments later T.D. has swiped another fork and poked herself in the face with it.

Me: And that's why we don't use forks as weapons or anything else other than as eating utensils...

Immediately I'm reminded, as was H, by his snorting laughs of the Arrested Development episodes in which the father teaches his children lessons using the one-armed man.

What is Pink and Squishy and Family-Friendly? BARBAPAPA!

Sure you have your Cabbage Patch Kids, The Golden Books, your Strawberry Shortcake, throw in some Winnie the Pooh or Where the Wild Things Are and you have yourself many childhood favorites. All things many of us look back on with happy nostalgia. However, it was while I was visiting Paris during my pregnancy that I discovered a toy in a French department store that brought back much of my childhood to me. It was Barbapapa! I knew instantly I had to have him. Excited and in utter disbelief (this toy is still popular?!) I had him rung up at the register and brought him home to await the arrival of my daughter, T.D.

As a kid Saturday morning cartoons dawned early in my house. Barbapapa (the cartoon is based on a series of book by Annette Tison and Talus Taylor) started at 6 a.m. on some public television station. It's New England we received a lot of Canadian public television in the 70's and early 80's. It was my favorite cartoon and I couldn't think of anything better than bouncing along to the theme song in the darkened living room. The glow of the screen and the Barabapapa family was all I needed for the next hour or so.

When T.D. began to teethe I handed over this precious new Barabapapa. She gummed his soft squishy pink body and I happily began reading her all the books in the collection. I had saved them through numerous room purges from elementary school, high school and beyond. As I read the books to her now I began to notice just how much this pink blob and his colorful blobby children and wife shaped me. Barbapapas are all about innovative thinking, gentle manners and protecting the earth they live on. They solve problems using the talents each family members possesses, change shapes and have the most vivid and brilliant imaginations. I love reading the whole series of Barbapapa books with T.D. just as much as I loved having my Mom read them to me.

While my collection of Barbapapa books has grown ratty over the years(I've met only one other soul who remembers Barbapapa.) I still cherish them and hold them close to my heart. The bright illustrations of the Barbafamily building a home together, helping sick animals and creating a school for their community always remind me what is truly important in life. That sense of family, community building and celebrating everyones natural talents is what makes me, well, me. I love sharing it with my daughter and hope that despite all the scotch tape on the binding and pages the colors of the characters will still be bright enough to share with her children some day.



This post was brought to you by a PBN Blog Blast and Highlights Magazine (now in its 60th year!). It's all about sharing too! Visit the site (comment here too!) about what favorite things from your childhood you like sharing with your children and you could win a free subscription to Highlights new magazine, 'High Five'.

She's Crafty

THUD!

CRASH!

BANG!

Footsteps can be heard running overhead with the sound of hysterical Joker-esque laughter following it. Yelling quickly ensues.

It sounds like an old Adam West Batman episode is at play in my house.

Aah, nap time!

That crash was her pink plastic pig. The thud? A pile of books she has unceremoniously dropped from her bed.

The bang is new. I'll have to investigate.

Some people remove all furniture from their toddler's room when these things occur. I've seen many a bare toddler room. I wonder where they put all the kids stuff. Her grandparents freak out and fear for her life and I do too a little bit but I feel that even if we removed all T.D.'s furniture she would still find some way to climb, jump and make quite a commotion.

I would have to rip the windowsill off the window and just put a bare mattress on the floor if that were the case. Her room would look like a prison cell and I would feel like the warden.

Books would be banished. Drawers would have to be emptied of all clothes, shoes, socks and diapers.

Removing the furniture would just make her more creative I fear. Her dare devil feats would take on new heights and see no limit.

My mother once described me as wily. My father's nickname was 'The Sneak'. H once popped the tire on a school bus with his head and was completely fine, he just wondered what that hissing sound was. T.D. is doomed.

She was born to be a wild child and I can do nothing but embrace it. I will remove the night stand though. The girl has to have some limits.

Poof! You're Two!

From this



to this



in what seems like 0 to 60 in no time flat.

Look at you, you are two today. Because of that, I suppose I should write some sappy hearts and flowers post about how it is hard to believe that two years ago on this very day, you my sweetie face munchkin dumpling with cheeks so cute your Aunt E wants to bite them, was born.

Right, then. Let’s get started shall we? I think that’s what the midwife said when I asked if it was OK to push.

To T.D., my tiny dictator, who I wouldn’t have any other way. I love everything about you no matter what I may say under clenched teeth and furrowed brow. I love your big brown eyes that mirror my own. I love your tiny teeth and even the fangs. Actually, I am quite proud of those and I must say, a bit envious. You have the most infectious laugh so forgive me if I cannot stop tickling you just to hear it over and over again. It is truly music to my ears.

You make me stop and really examine life on a wide and small scope. Through you, I actually do stop and smell flowers and other things we adults might take for granted in our scheduled lives. I cannot hold you close enough. The scent of your hair after a bath is one of my all-time favorites now. Each day you show me love and my grinchy heart grows bigger. I appreciate more with you around and you teach me so much. I appreciate and love your father more as well.

It is a pleasure being your mother and one that I am grateful for every day. To see your fathers’ wicked smile and his daring sense of self in you is a treat. I admire your courage and knack you have for getting what you want. You will not be ignored even when we want to because you are running around the house yelling, “A-B-D!” for the millionth time in a one minute span like some cracked out junkie needing a fix.


Happy Birthday Tiny Dictator, we are blessed to have you in our lives, coup d'etats and all.

She's Two- does she really need that party?

T.D. turns two on Sunday. It's T.D. the 2.0 version. As the date draws near I have begun to feel real anxiety about my lack of planning for her big day. There will be no party. Only cake. No balloons, no company invading our home for hours with little tykes to hurl cake around. We’ll take pictures as she blows out the candles, if she even does that and we’ll make a fuss, but that is all.

We thought about taking her to lunch but her favorite eatery, except Chick Fil A is closed on Sundays. We thought about a lot of things and came to the decision that we not only wouldn't go nuts on a party but we would not be buying her loads of presents. Christmas was only two months ago.

When I look at what we’ve bought her thus far for presents I feel like I’m looking at birthday gifts from the Depression- underpants, crayons, a book, and a pair of shoes.

Except during the Depression this would have been a cornucopia of presents.

H & I made this decision months ago. It is not so much taking the route of having an “un-birthday” or ignoring the day, but, she's two. We did the whole big birthday thing when she was one and while it was cute it was also a whole lot of planning for the adults. I don’t remember my second birthday except I know I had cake due to a photograph. T.D. won’t remember, I tell myself, so why go through all the fuss? The fuss is for us, the adults at this point, not the kids.

Do we make the fuss for others to show how much we care for our kids? To show how much we have and what we can do? That's not any party I want to go to.

When I discussed this point of view with others I got a lot of mixed reviews. Some people thought this was a wise idea because the more we do now as parents for these parties sets us up for our kids expecting and then demanding overblown, ridiculously expensive parties as they get older. Mtv's Sweet Sixteen anyone? Others disagreed and stated that we need to create these memories for later and they love hosting these events because they are fun. My inner anal planner loves this idea in theory until people start actually arriving at my door and I have to play hostess for a few hours. "You can't just ignore your kids birthday", people say. Still others felt that having something small with family is fine as long as we invite a few friends of T.D.'s over. Yeah, we're not going that route either.

Well what if we just have waffles for breakfast (a T.D. favorite), cake with dinner and invite no one but those of us who live in the house? Why is this a bad decision? Am I less of a parent because while I can afford to throw her some big party I choose not to? Am I depriving my child in this way? My thoughts are this, when she is old enough to understand what her birthday is then we'll go back to having parties (next year is my guess) but for now I think the Elmo underpants, cake with sprinkles and waffles for breakfast is how we are going to play it. At least I'm not the only one who thinks this way.

Riddle me this, aside from photos you might have seen of yourself, can you honestly say you remember your second birthday? I was apparently burned with scalding hot coffee on my arms right after I blew out the candles and I don't even recall that traumatizing event.

The Next Evil Knievel?

I walk into her room. She is sitting sweetly, quietly in her rocking chair holding a pink bear. A pink bear that used to be on the shelf above her chair. Way, way above that chair. I ask her how she got the pink bear and she states, all sugar and sweetness, "I reached it Momma." Her first sentence!

No. Not really but reached?

She reached it?

It is not possible. Unless...

Unless she climbed the armrest up to the back of the chair and then she would be the correct height to reach the pink bear and only if she first moved the rocking chair up against the wall. Eesh! The kid is not even two yet!

ONE DAY LATER

I hear a loud thud coming from her room. She is supposed to be napping. Clearly no cute toddler dreams are taking place. I crack open the door just enough to peek in to find a truly horrifying site.

The thud?

A pink plastic pig she has thrown off her nightstand. It was clearly in the way of her standing on her nightstand. She has pushed her CD player aside to make more room for her tiny size 5 feet.

The water container of her humidifier has been removed so that the resevoir is exposed and full of water. She jumps into it feet first.

Aye!

I thought having a daughter would be easier. Last night she tried to slide down the banister into our living room. I don't even want to know what 11 or 17 is going to be like.

I'm temporarily blocking this all out. I can't think about what else she might do today. This kid doesn't care about getting into cabinets or jamming stuff into electronics. She just wants to climb, jump, and dive bomb stuff. I see a career in horse-diving or something similiar in her future.

UPDATE: All I have heard for the last thirty minutes from T.D. is, "I shot Dee-Dee." Dee-Dee would be her blanket. Great. Now she is toting a gun.



Totally off subject but equally hilarious (especially the Jet dance) and it is better than the paltry piece the Today Show offered. Enjoy!

Tarzhay Drapes = Freedom

T.D. has been at Nana's since Tuesday. It's always weird when she is gone. The days fly by. H & I don't know what to do with ourselves and the house feels too quiet. At the same time though I've had concentrated times to work and download useless songs on my Ipod (I went a little Depeche Mode crazy yesterday). We miss her but there is something to be said for all this-

Wandering through Target with only my purse. I spent twenty minutes just looking at drapes. I wandered through every department actually looking at things and processing information. The light I want for our bathroom? I STILL remember the price and I didn't even have to write it down! What's more? I didn't buy a thing! I walked out of Tarzhay with nada. That is a feat or a miracle unto itself!

Ulta. Found some fun things for giveaways. Actually took the time to browse and find items that weren't junk. Kick ass!

Tweezed eyebrows. Removed nail polish. Applied face mask (it's work I'm reviewing it!) and listened to a book on tape all at once. It's like a fantasy is taking place in my house.

The ability to make unlimited and banal calls to make appointments without a screaming child in the background.

Picking up and just leaving to work somewhere other than the dining room table, floor, couch or bedroom.

Where was I at 6:35 on a Wednesday night? The movies. Seeing Juno. Bliss!

OK. I'll stop. I miss my girl. I miss her funny little dances and her propensity for running in circles and barking orders at the dog. Yet, I need this time. I am working like mad and it feels great!




I'm in a generous mood today so I'm giving away a Nankeen Ying bag. Head on over to Mummy's Product Reviews to find out the details on how you can get this incredibly cool and enviable bag with a computer sleeve.

Weekend Update- Slip ups, Gross outs and More!

It was a busy weekend (with less hacking up of the lungs) here at Mummy's place. We traveled to far lands, OK so it was just to Maryland, but for a baby shower? That is a trek.



I supported Kristen from a distance as she swagged it up at the Golden Globes. Billy Bush's crazy hair and awkward moments aside was anyone else lovin' the way the Globes went down? An hour? It was fab! Sure I missed the dresses and such but I just liked the zinging through of the awards with little commitment.

I remained steadfast in my New Year's resolution despite H's slip up. Three times. Ahem!

Waited in the 'burbs for some hot Italian (twice). I confess it was just Carrabas (I'm more of an Adrien Brody/Christian Bale type of girl) but I got to hear my friend use this eloquent sentence while we sat car-side to go, "I want my freakin' f*ckin' food!" Plus spending time with her sans kiddies was a blast. I was forgetting what that was like.

The sheer fact that this aforementioned baby shower did not consist of my imbibing strained carrots, gazing at "poopy" diapers or having to use safety pins or toilet paper on the mother-to-be deems it a success in my eyes. BTW, the mom-to-be scored some serious loot (hello! Kate Spade diaper bag!) and looks fantastic!

Wrote some reviews, tips and trends. Fascinating stuff people. I'm giving away a Ying this week so get excited and watch Mummy's Product Reviews for more information.

H got disgusted at the grocery store. Per usual in our house. There is a reason I normally go each week. The story will follow.

DC finally decided to get a little down and dirty. Well, not really. Just pantless.

Finally, T.D. has decided to create a new way to eat fries. Yes, I gave my daughter french fries. She's fine. She made it through the night. There was no break-out and we've been checking her BP and cholesterol every hour and it is in the clear.


The fry stands alone.


We've got milk.


The art of dunking.


A taste sensation has been created.

What can I say? She clearly has a refined palate.

To the Woman with the Fang Toothed Foul Mouthed Dog Behind Me

Hey Lady,

What's your problem? Are you always so grumpy and mean in the morning? Does the smell of parvo vaccines and Alpo make you antagonistic at that time of day? I really tried to be nice as I stood in line in front of you yesterday at the vets office. Were you mad because I got there first? I'm sorry that two months ago I scheduled an appointment before you. I really wanted to like you too because you seemed like such a sweet little old woman. Even when your under bite ridden fang toothed lap dog started growling and sneering what was surely a string of doggy obscenities at me and I tried not to laugh at his Jennifer Beale's Flashdance styled complete with the rolled up sleeves sweatshirt. Really, I tried.

Except for this. This one thing. When I politely moved away to the farthest wall with my dog and child to wait for my bill (Talk about upsetting, I think I just gave some vet's child a very nice Christmas!) to be processed and you said, "I can't wait for you and your kid to leave." I had a hard time cracking a smile. Especially when my child was quiet as a mouse and standing behind me, her back to you and fang-boy, and looking out a window. You pressed on with, "It's not your dog my sweetie is growling at, but your kid. It's almost embarrassing." ALMOST? Lady, it is embarrassing.

Still, I chuckled. Ever the polite, well-mannered Mummy I tried to laugh it off with, "Oh well, children are unpredictable with their sudden moves and excitement. I can understand that." You didn't budge you kept on making comments. You told each vet tech and passerby in the ten minute span that my kid was making Snappy Face-McUgly Dog over there on your lap just soooo upset. I'm sorry for your lack of grace and manners. I'm sorry that I then labeled you a dried up old crone in my head. I'm sorry I snickered in an unmannerly fashion when you inquired about allergy testing and special foods for that yippy thing you call a pet.

It's almost embarrassing, but I have a hard time with rude people. Now if you'll excuse me, my sweet dog that the vet techs are fawning over with my even sweeter child have to quietly leave now. I will now smile politely to you and wish you and your shivering growling mess of an animal a good day and a happy holiday season. That's just the type of lady that I am.

A Musical Genius

T.D. is a musical genius! Today while driving in the car and listening to the radio the radio station asked this trivia question-

Ike Turner could not attend his induction into the Music Hall of Fame. Why? Where was he?

T.D. yelled out from the backseat- JAIL!

What can I say the kid is good.

Tiny Dictator Institutes New Regime

What fresh hell is this? I must have asked myself this question more than once last night. We are dealing with something new here and I don't know what it is, but it scares me.

After a Sunday filled with a whiny, non-napping toddler who seemed on the verge of a complete meltdown/revolt. Her totalitarian regime was going full-tilt in her mind as she marched about the house screaming orders to her less than cooperative minions. OK her one "minion", the dog. The dog who looked just as freaked as us by this evil twist of events. Sure. Sometimes the kid doesn't nap. Sometimes. And it's not fun but screaming in terror at night? That's new. I felt like we were back at the six months mark or something and we can't find the dog. I fear the worst.

7:30 p.m.- Bedtime. She goes down seemingly easy. Ah! Sleep. Ten seconds after the door is shut to her room we hear the whines and cries. We let her Ferberize herself. The nerve of us! Ten minutes later there is blissful quiet. The desire to smoke ten cigarettes and consume a jug o wine abides. Slowly.

The evening passes uneventfully enough. H and I sleep peacefully in our beds until...

11:13 p.m.- Crying from across the hall rouses me awake. I am plucked from my dream about driving a red Trans Am on a conveyor belt (hills are a bitch by the way) and I sit up to listen. Yup. That's crying. OK now that's screaming. What the? I go across the hall and talk T.D. down. I cover her up and soothe her. Her little eyelids flutter and she closes her eyes. Slowly, with eyes half-closed, I step ever closer to the door. Just as I place my hand on the door knob she begins to whimper then wail again. My shoulders sag in defeat and I soothe her again. Finally, I leave the room only to have her begin crying in earnest all over again as I climb back into bed.

I mutter aloud that I have "no freakin' idea what has possessed her!" and H and I wait. She'll go back to sleep right? heeheeehee [Nervous laughter erupts from both of us] Clearly we aren't conditioned to these nocturnal wakings anymore.

11:34 p.m.- H gets up and goes to the dictators room. Moments later he's back in and declaring he'll just be sleeping on her floor for a while. Awesome. It's like that huh? She's won. Easily too.

12:52 a.m.- Do I hear crying again? I wake from a dream where I'm back to being a freshman in college. My concrete dorm room has six beds in it and a leaky shower. There is mildew on the mint green walls. Well, that sucks.

Huh. I realize that H is not in our bed. He's still on the floor of T.D.'s room. Wrapped in a spare blanket and using two receiving blankets as a make-shift pillow he cat naps on and off in between attempting to leave the room. Each time he quietly rises and slinks towards the door he is met with wails and whimpers. What fresh hell is this?

2:27 a.m.- I wake again. Tossing and turning with the extra blankets and bed space I am awakened by a jingling sound. Has Christmas come early? Are reindeer on the roof? Confused I sit up and realize the dog's tags are stuck in her crate floor. Again. I get up. Dislodge her tags, shove her back into her crate and tuck her in. I am so tired. I am not awake. I am tired. Did I mention I'm tired?

5:00 a.m.- Is that an alarm? I'm so confused. H is still not in our bed. Wait, there he is creeping into our room. It's quiet too. Aaah. Sleep. Though we both know we have mere moments until we wake up again.

6:58 a.m.- Crap! We overslept! Quietly I get dressed and head downstairs to make about 8 gallons of coffee to hook up to my IV that I will cart around today.


And we're thinking of having another?

Mother Announces that Snowy Errands with Toddler Do Not Rock

Since I have a case of W.B. I decided to forgo the whole writing thing for a day and instead focus on the beautiful snow falling outside. I wanted to bake and finish a long overdue library book. But before I could do any baking or relaxing I had to head to the store and get some supplies.

First up was a trip to Kmart. After a long arduous search for the gold tinsel that we must have for our tree, I was told Kmart was the place for all things Christmas. The drive across town was quick but, then I missed the entrance to the store and narrowly missed getting on 95. Already a parking lot because hey! It’s DC and we have had two snowflakes fall in the last four hours. Heavens to Mercatroid! Snow! We must all drive like idiots because two flakes have fallen! Still it was to Kmart we must go. H needs his gold tinsel on the tree. I swear he hurls it on the tree with the same effect that a cat does when it coughs up a hairball, but he loves it and I love him, so I had to find some gold, not silver, tinsel.

Ah, Kmart, a place I never go. It's a sad little run down store. The sales people though were abundant and willing to help me find my gold tinsel. Once they stopped being smarty-pants about things at least. I think that fact that I was walking around mouth open, eyes glazed at all the decorations (you can have an entirely purple Martha Stewart Christmas thank you very much! Or pink!) might have helped me out. I had to steer the smirking sales guy away from garland hanging behind my head. Then the gold beads in strands. NO! Tinsel! The strands of shiny metallic, well I don’t know, plastic? Some non-enviro-friendly product I’m sure. Do you have it? I NEED it! Indeed they did and I bought the whole supply. Just in case you know an apocalypse occurs and we need to repopulate the world with gold tinsel and such.

I then aimlessly wandered around the store for a bit picking up forgotten items for the house until I realized something. T.D. was missing a shoe. Or rather a very expensive Umi boot that I’m reviewing. These shoes are fantastic! They are also expensive. This was now a dire situation. We had been all over the entire store! Now we had to backtrack and look under racks? I began to sweat and tried to curb the cursing as T.D. said over and over , “Oh no! Shoe!!!” Yeah, kid, Oh no. Shoe. I enlisted the help of a salesperson but couldn’t find the shoe. I began to give up hope as I retraced our steps and went down aisle after aisle again. Back through the holiday decorations, back through Martha Stewart land, and back through the toys. Finally, after giving up all hope completely I spied a little lime green circle (the trademark to the Umi sole) under a rack of men’s flannel shoes. Exactly the spot we were in when we noticed the shoe was gone. How did I miss it?! Relieved we checked out quickly and left the store. T.D. was beginning to twitch and growl in the cart.

Outside, the snow was coming down harder now. I struggled to wrangle her into her car seat without doing a parking lot flip out. I was so close to losing it all together after the fourth attempt to get her wiggly yet boneless body back into the car seat. Mommy says, this is NOT a game pumpkin, I said through gritted teeth. No fear though, no child was harmed in this process. Despite my wanting at one point to just go white trash nuts on her in the snowy parking lot. Snow muffles screams right?

Ever a glutton for punishment I plied her with snacks and pressed onward! We fought some more at the bank drive up window and then again as I wrestled her into the stroller to head to another store. Why did I think this was a good idea? Done with the errands we headed home. I sighed a sigh of relief and with renewed optimism we pulled into our driveway. I let T.D. out of the car seat and tried to get her to climb out of the car. She became like fruitcake in December. Positively unmovable. The snow was mesmerizing her. I tried to play along but after ten minutes of standing in the snow, with snow blowing into the car and a bit of a frozen behind, I had had enough. I dragged her out of the car and onto the sidewalk. She just stood there. I placed her at the front door and tried to nudge her inside. Nothing doing. I shut the front door on her then and said, “Fine. Don’t come inside. Just watch the snow from the steps. Fine. The rest of us will be warm inside.” Twenty seconds later I opened the door and she was still standing there mesmerized. I scooped her up and brought her inside.

11 a.m. and I felt done. I called it a day. When is nap-time again?

UPDATE- As I type this the reams of gold tinsel sit on the table mocking me. They are not on the tree? No. They. Are. Not. Am I bitter because I braved the elements (or as H put it, subjected our child to abuse by taking her out in such treacherous weather/a.k.a two flakes on the ground while our neighbors sit safely in their bomb shelters eating 10 year old canned corn)and a rather cantankerous toddler to get this gold tinsel? Maybe just a little.

Hi! I'm Eva Longoria, it's nice to meet you!

And this, this is my husband, Tony Parker. Thanks for stopping by!

Yesterday, as I was sitting down to a nice bowlful of soup (I am sick, augh) with T.D. (who is for now, not sick, yeah!) I was found myself reading Parade magazine. I know. I hate it too. It's horribly vapid and doesn't help me in any way but I needed something look at instead of thinking about eating soup and breathing through my mouth at the same time. I haven't gotten around to teaching T.D. how to save someone from 'soup in the lung syndrome' yet either.

While viewing the article about Eva Longoria T.D. kept pointing to a picture of Eva and Tony Parker while adamantly shouting, "Momma! Dada!", over and over again. I kept correcting her but she was quite sure that I am in fact Eva Longoria and Daddy is Tony Parker. It doesn't matter that I'm a blond.

This is a new thing in our house. Every blond on TV or in a magazine suddenly becomes Momma. Flattering? Yes. In one day I have not just been Eva but also Katherin Heigl and some chick on Without a Trace. H has only been Tony Parker and a random policeman on the news. I keep correcting T.D. but she won't listen. It's delusional but isn't it nice to be told you look like this




even when you are still in sweaty workout gear and suffering from a head cold? I'm not going to correct that anymore. She'll figure it out and when she hits 14 and wishes to look nothing like her Momma and all I'll have are these memories.

In the meantime I think I'm going to go through my days thinking that I am indeed some hot surgeon on a hit TV show or a crime fighter for the FBI. I walk the red carpets just as easily as I glide through our local Bloom store I must say and I do love sitting court side watching H play basketball. It's lovely being delusional. Only thing? I can't seem to locate my personal assistant, nanny and larger bank account.


Image from People magazine.

Sorry Toys, You are Under Arrest

I'm dreaming of a lead-free Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know. Where the kids aren't eating Aqua Dots.... Come on sing along everybody! It's real catchy! Maybe if we make up a little ditty about all the recalled products we can easily remember them right? Wait. That would be about a 56 hour song at this point.

This blog blast topic could not have come along at a better time. Already our house is mired in catalogs selling various holiday wares to my kid and I. At the same time I can't get through an episode of 'Without a Trace' without a few stories about MORE toy recalls flashing at the bottom of the television screen. It is besides the point to say this makes me angry. Toxic glue? Lead paint? Toys coated in the same junk that goes into a date-rape drug? What is happening here? Why is this happening? I have no answers or toy alternatives because the solutions I keep thinking up keep getting recalled.

What I do know is that I'm frustrated. This is T.D.'s second Christmas, one she'll actually be excited about, and yet I am having the hardest time trusting myself into buying anything for her. It makes me mad, sad and just all around Scrooge like. This isn't like me either. I'm not one to freak out over every news story or run around like Chicken Little. I almost bought that Fisher Price kitchen two days ago and now it's being recalled. I don't think I'll be doing any catalog shopping either because I can't read the labels. It's too bad too because not only do I loathe going out into the holiday fray but I trust the big box stores even less than the catalogs and online companies.

After talking with my mother yesterday we are going the only route we know. We will be looking up items here at the Consumer Union Safe Shopper Guide. They have a complete list of not just toy recalls but all the 2007 recalls and a friendly section on where to go for some nice safe alternatives. Those beaded necklaces made in my home state (Shame Lil'Rhody!) won't be making their way into my house. The cute plastic dish sets made in China? Sorry, not on my watch. It is as if I have to put T.D.'s toys under house arrest. I'm now the warden for not just the ones that have managed to snake their way in already, but for all the ones that might arrive this holiday season. Like we parents don't have enough to worry about.

It is not all negative though. The one positive about this whole recall ordeal is that it is stopping me from blind consumerism. I find myself having to really think about what I'm purchasing. That is a good thing. A lot of needless stuff that might as well end up with the wrapping paper debris won't be purchased. Instead I'm favoring old classics like coloring books, non-toxic paints and crayons for T.D. this year. We're purchasing an easel and chalkboard and books. At least I don't have to worry about the Barenstain Bears trying to slip my kid something harmful or her choking. It's pretty hard to choke on the spine of a book.

So before you head out to do your holiday shopping be it in the stores or online be sure to do your whole family the favor of reading the recall list and the safer shopping guide from the people who bring you Consumer Reports. They won't steer you wrong.

A Mother's Worst Fear

The realness and rawness of my dream last night was beyond belief. I had to be woken up by H. My sobbing woke him. I couldn't stop even after I was awake and I had to go check on T.D.

Being a mother is a lot of things but it is those dreams that we have that seem so horrific and real that really let you see the bigger picture. The depth of the love you have for your child that we sometimes get separated from in the every day mires of our lives. After of changing countless diapers, potty training, cleaning cheerio bits out of the car, finding crayon on windows, and telling your kid a rice cake is a cookie just to get them to eat it, you forget about the deep rawness that is the love you have for your child.

I think my subconscious was reeling me back in last night. I dreamt that T.D. was taken from our home in the middle of the night. Abducted. We were asleep and had no idea until it was too late. When she was found across town only a mere three hours later she was dead. Strangled by a stranger who had crept into our home and destroyed the life we knew. It was truly beyond description. The intensity of the emotions. The realness. I could smell the night air. The shock and disbelief, the guilt that I should have heard someone just across the hall, and the grief. The wailing and oh the incredible pain. I'm glad H woke me because I couldn't take much more. I felt I wanted to die myself. My face still feels swollen from the crying.

After I calmed down I quietly snuck into T.D.'s room breathing in the scent of her as I entered. There she was in her toddler bed still in the position of a baby. Her little butt in the air , arms and legs all tucked in. I covered her with her green blanket and she startled awake. She turned to me and smiled and I smiled back with great relief. I patted her back to sleep and wished someone could pat me back to sleep. My mind was racing still and my emotions still bubbling up. I finally drifted off a little later but today I feel exhausted. Emotionally spent and done.

Being a mother is way more than wiping bottoms and showing your child how to eat with a spoon or tie a shoe. The emotional investments creep up on you and slam you over the head sometimes leaving you stunned and reeling. This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.