Cookie Monster

Scene: Making cookies at my parents' house with P running in and out of the kitchen. He didn't seem too interested in what I was doing, but that was a rouse. At one point I looked over and he had his hand in a pile of cookie dough.

Me: P! What are you doing?

P: Yum!

Me: P, we're making cookies for Grandpa.

P: OK.

Look over again, and he has his hands in a lump of cookie dough.

Me: P, what are you going to tell Grandpa when he sees these mis-shapen cookies?

P: I'll tell him, "SURPRISE!!"

Dogs Don't Play Baseball

The Parentville Family spent the weekend with my parents in Tennessee. Really low key weekend. G helped my dad with some work converting an old log cabin into a storage shed, and P had the run of the grounds.

One of P's favorite activities was playing with Dooley Dog. P played "school" with Dooley, and tried to teach him how to play baseball. Here he is trying to explain to Dooley the importance of staying on third base - it didn't work:


And, oh my goodness, the boy was dirty! Probably as dirty has he's ever been! Exhibit A:

That shirt? Yeah, it WAS white!

Turning Three

P had two third birthdays - one with just G and me, the other other with Grandma, Grandpa, and my niece. That meant two cakes.

Cake one: yellow and chocolate marble. Big "3" candle on top.

Cake two: French vanilla with buttercream icing. Bob the Builder theme. Oh yeah, and tool-shaped cookies to complete the ensemble. (Three hours to decorate this sucker - P's reaction when he first saw it? Priceless!)

His reaction, when told he had to share the Bob the Builder cake with the rest of us:

"Here's your piece, Gramma!"

We spent time at the zoo. P loved the zoo this year - the monkeys, zebras, bears, penguins (or "pay-gins"), and of course, elephants. I think we'll get a lot of mileage from the Family Membership we bought for his birthday. It's going to be a good year - happy birthday, baby boy!

Running Home

After two weeks of crying on my lap, P decided to play on his t-ball team this weekend. It only cost me a $2 bribe and promises of having "splash day" at home after the game. Luckily, P can't count coins, so I can't say for sure that he actually got $2, but he LOVED putting the money in his bank.

The best part of the game was whenever he was told to "run home." Instead of running toward his coach and home plate, he'd come running to me. That sound you hear? Yep, that's my melting heart.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

We left for Florida on a gorgeous Sunday morning. Sun shining, birds chirping, perfect day. It's a trip I've been planning for a few months - the Parentville family would vacation in Orlando with one of my bestest friends, V, and her family.

The plan was to drive to V's house and carpool to the airport (basically, to make sure all the luggage, car seats, strollers, and other crap needed when traveling with toddlers would fit into one car so we would know if we could get away with renting one car/van in Florida). Things were going well. Everyone was excited.

No vacation is complete without a vacation hat - and happy feet!

The airport was busy, but manageable. We planned the flight around naptime, with the hope that the kids would sleep on the plane. We had a decent lunch, and a snack, and waited for the flight to board.

Really, he's happy in this photo. He gets to wear his Thomas backpack, or "beckpeck" in P speak.

Important sidenote to the story: G was a frequent flyer for years - he'd fly to different places for work about three times a week. Then he found himself on a really small plane during an IBS attack. No bathroom. No where to go. He was fine, but emotionally scarred. He hadn't flown since. Knowing that he'd experience anxiety and fear and not wanting to scare Pumpkin, G went to the doctor to get a prescription a few days before our trip.

G took the medication as prescribed, 30 minutes before take off. It wasn't enough time. We boarded the plane, and G was freaking out. Like major freak out - if I didn't know him, I would have suspected he was faking this for attention. Rocking back and forth. Sweating profusely. Slapping his hands against his legs.

I tried to block Pumpkin from seeing his daddy going nuts as people continued to board the sold out flight.

A flight attendant named Mike came over to talk to G. He asked what was wrong. He told G that he wanted him to make the trip with his family, that he would be okay once we took off. The flight attendant asked that G tell him he'd be okay before the doors closed on the plane.

G said, "I can't promise anything. I don't know that I'll be alright."

The flight attendant went up front to consult with the other airline personnel. A group of them came back to our seat to ask some questions. They recommended that G leave the plane. G turned to me, "I don't know what to do."

I told him to get off the plane. It wasn't fair to the other passengers to hold up the flight. We were already about 15 minutes late to take off.

G left the plane. Our friends, who were sitting several rows in front of us were confused. They didn't know what was going on and I didn't really have any way of communicating to them right away.

P and I stayed on the flight.

Handy Manny? Check. Sippy water? Check. Wooden airplane model? Check? Daddy? Daddy? Bueller?

I've thought about this a lot. Should I have gotten off the plane with G? Should I have dragged P off the plane with all our carry on baggage? Should we have gotten off the plane as a family? How would I explain what happened to G when Pumpkin asked about his daddy?

Stay tuned for the next installment to find out if/when G made it to Florida...

Where We've Been

More to come on our adventures in sunny (and hot) Orlando, P's first plane trip, and how G almost didn't make our family trip. Stay tuned...

Hobo Toast: A Recipe

Edited to add: recipe should be for cinnamon SUGAR. Don't forget the SUGAR. Ugh.

A few weeks ago, P was in an extraordinarily playful mood. It was nice.

When I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he replied, "Toast."

"No problem," I said, and I took out two slices of whole grain bread and put them in the toaster.

"Wait!" P cried. "I want toast! Hobo toast!"

I stopped. "What?" I asked. "Did you just say 'hobo' toast?"

P giggled and said, "Yes. I want hobo toast."

"Fine. Hobo toast it is," I said and I frantically searched for some magical ingredients that could turn ordinary toasted bread into hobo toast. (Side note: Where the hell did he hear the word 'hobo'? And what does he think it means?)

P doesn't like peanut butter, and he's not really fond of jelly/jam/preserves. I wanted it to be somewhat healthy. What the heck could I use to make hobo toast?!

Finally, I found the perfect ingredient to transform his toast into hobo toast - cinnamon.

Behold the recipe for hobo toast, a new Chez Parentville specialty:

2 slices whole grain bread
dollop of butter/margarine
liberal sprinkle of cinnamon

Toast bread in a toaster. Spread butter/margarine. Sprinkle cinnamon. Serve warm.

Toolin' Around on a Sunday Morning

We get the Sunday paper delivered to our house. We never read the actual paper-paper (hello, recycling bin); we get the paper for the sales ads.

G takes the "boy papers" - Best Buy, Circuit City, Lowes. I take everything else. I even have a system - coupons first, followed by the stores I'll never go to (Kmart, office supply stores, furniture stores), saving the best for last (Kohl's and Target).

We sit at the kitchen table, scouring the ads for things we "need" or want. Sometimes we're just browsing, looking to see what's new and who has the best price on Diet Coke or New Balance tennis shoes.

We drink coffee and fresh juice. We eat toast and sometimes eggs and bacon. It's relaxing, and it's our little weekend thing. I actually look forward to Sundays because of this quiet time.

Now, Pumpkin has taken an interest in the Sunday paper. As soon as G brings in the paper, P starts asking for "my tool book." Pumpkin is obsessed with the Sunday Sears ad.

He removes the "extra" pages - gone are the clothes, housewares, and appliances. P is only interested in tractors, tools, and garage stuff. He skims these pages like some sort of treasure map, talking to himself under his breath, taking it all in.

Finally, he crawls into my lap and asks me to read the pages to him. Like a bedtime story, I start, "Save 100 dollars! Now only 399 dollars, Craftsman seven drawer tool chest with ball bearing drawers! On sale! Ten piece screwdriver set with free carrying case! Fourteen ninety-nine! Your choice: tape measure or tool carry-all for under seven dollars!"

When P's had enough of my reading of his tool pages, he jumps off my lap, takes his advertisement, and sits at his little table in the corner of the kitchen. He'll spend minutes (feels like hours, but I'll take the 20 minute relief where/when I can) with the ad and a pencil, making tiny marks on the images, almost like he's taking notes.

We have to save his "tool book" for the entire week. P comes back to it almost every night, pondering the images, "reading" it to himself. When the next Sunday's ad arrives, the old one is discarded. And the cycle continues...

We're going on our first family vacation later this year (first trip that doesn't involve visiting family, friends, or our alma mater), and my parents recently sent a package for P to be opened on the plane when he gets antsy. It's a 200-page Craftsman tool catalogue. P will LOVE it!

I'm Home!

After being away for five whole days on a business trip, I'm finally home!

Why being home rocks:

• G was so patient with Pumpkin and potty training. I guess I needed some time away to regroup my thoughts on the subject, but we only had two accidents all weekend!


• Sleeping in my own bed, with my own pillows and my own blankets. Heaven!


• Being back on central time - pacific time was nice, but dude, it totally wiped me out.


• Getting to drive my own car. The rental place hooked me up with a massive SUV (they were "out" of sedans), which I couldn't park, didn't know where the blind spots were, and didn't feel comfortable in. It did come in handy, though, for escorting clients to dinner on Tuesday night (thanks, third row seats).


• Having P wake me up by saying, "It's o'clock, mommy! Time to get up! It's o'clock!"


• Catching up on TiVo'd shows. There wasn't any time for TV watching while away, and while I don't watch too many shows, I did miss those I do watch every week.


• Wet kisses and warm hugs by this little guy:

Now it's time to pack up for vacation - will I ever be able to put the suitcases away??

We Interrupt This Program...

...for the following announcement:

I fucking hate potty training.

That's all.

P's Catch Phrase

Scene: Family sitting around kitchen table, eating breakfast.

G: I think I'm going to mulch the flower beds today.

Me: (in my best mocking voice - since I've been asking him to do this for WEEKS, hands pumping in the air, just like P does when he's super excited) Oh boy, oh boy!

Pumpkin: Mommy, that's my line. Only I say that.

G: You were schooled.

Put in my place by a two year old. Nice.

Scenes from a Saturday: Princes and Pimps

Scene: I'm getting dressed in my bedroom; G is dressing Pumpkin in the nursery. Suddenly, Pumpkin comes running down the hall, wearing a diaper and a blanket wrapped around his mid section.

P: Mommy, I'm a princess.

(I can hear G groan.)

Me: Pumpkin, little boys are princes... I mean, more than one prince...I mean, you are a prince.

P: (confused)

Me: Mommies and little girls are princesses. Boys and daddies are prince-es, well, you're a prince. Let's turn that blankie into a prince cape.

P: (running back to G) I'm a prince! I have a cape!

Me to G: Ever realize that the plural of prince sounds like princess?
______________________________________________________
Scene 2: Watching the movie, Cars. Pumpkin points to something on the screen during one of the racing scenes.

P: Mommy, what's that?

Me: That's a blimp. It flies in the sky like an airplane, usually around sporting events.

P (turning to G who just walked into the room): Daddy, it's a pimp! A pimp! Pimps like sports.

Spring has Sprung

Spring and fall. My two favorite times of the year. Not too hot, not too cold, just right. You can be comfortable anything - from capri pants and short sleeves to long sleeves and jeans, wear a jacket or don't wear one, it doesn't matter.

I think I enjoy the seasons even more now that P is old enough to enjoy them, too. It's awesome to be able to come home after work/school and spend time outside. Voila this evening in photos:

P poses by the Japanese peach tree in the backyard. One photo and the photo opp was over.

P found the ONE patch of dirt in the yard and insisted on creating holes with sticks. Oh yeah, and Scoop needed to help. The house went on the market yesterday; I'm sure the extra drainage holes will add value.

"Seriously, lady, can you put down the camera and wipe my snotty nose. Geez!"

He Can Barely Say "Emergency," Let Alone Comprehend One

We don't allow P to watch a lot of TV. He gets to watch a show or two after dinner, before bath time, and we're very particular about what shows he's allowed to watch. "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" and "Handy Manny" are fine, for example.

I'm a huge fan of Disney. Heck, I was raised on it. My favorite movies are still Disney animated classics. I love that P loves Playhouse Disney. Playhouse Disney is wholesome, family-oriented, and fun - or so I thought.

Almost every night, P will beg for "just 10 more mim-ets" and we'll usually compromise with five minutes. Sometimes we fill that void, if he's been particularly good, with a TiVo'd episode of "Lou and Lou Safety Patrol," a Playhouse Disney short cartoon.

Last night may have been the last time we watch "Lou and Lou." The episode was called "Get Ready! Get Set! Emergency!" and I assumed it was like all the other "Lou and Lou" shows, focusing on teaching kids to do the right thing.

This episode was different. There were no "safety violations" but instead explicit instructions for preparing for a disaster. Mom is filling water bottles and storing them in a plastic tote. Lou and Lou ask her if she's thirsty. She replies the water is, "just in case" and part of the family emergency supply kit.

A flashlight, radio, batteries, first aid kit, and non perishable food items (in case "we can't use the stove") are gathered. Lou and Lou gather their own necessities for their backpacks in case they need to leave home in a hurry. Even the dog collects his bone in has bag. Lou and Lou even encourage kids to "talk to your parents about what you need for your emergency kit."

At the end of the episode, P crawled into my lap and said, "Why they need water and food, mommy? They go camping?"

P is not even three years old. He gets scared whenever "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" features the giant. He's innocent - and I want to keep him that way.

I know today's world is different than the one in which I grew up. But preparing for an emergency - terrorism or natural disaster - is not something my child, my baby, needs to worry about.

I would like to give the creators and writes of "Lou and Lou" a safety violation of my own for that episode. It's one thing to teach a lesson, but it's another thing to call out things a child doesn't need to know about or understand. There will be plenty of time for P to worry about things like emergency preparedness - but not until later, much later.

Shame on you, Lou and Lou. Shame on you, Disney.

How I Became a Toddler Wrangler and Other Good Excuses for Being Late to Work

G had a very important meeting this morning. So important, in fact, that he failed to mention it until he was halfway out the door an hour early. This meant I was responsible for P this morning - the changing of the diaper, the dressing in the clothes, the feeding of the breakfast, and the getting to school.

Of course, P didn't want to to wear a new diaper, get dressed, eat, or go to school. And it was raining - a lot. So, we were running late.

When we arrived at school (at the time I should have been getting to my parking garage), I noticed towels stuck under the back door of daycare. Not unusual considering the amount of precipitation we've had (and the fact that we've had to pump water out of our crawlspace). What was strange was that the door to his classroom - and the room across the hall - was propped open.

Kids were still consolidated in the Ferret room, but as soon as we entered P's Peacock room to remove his coat, his classmates started coming into the room via the Jack-and-Jill bathroom connecting Ferrets to Peacocks (who, I dare ask, names these rooms?)

P's classmates entered the room and noticed the door propped open - enter chaos. Maya took off out the door. Zach yelled, "Escape!" Soon, 12 toddlers were on the loose (but not P. He stayed in the room. Good boy!)

Head Teacher stayed to keep P in the room. Afternoon teacher (why was she there in the morning? I don't know, but I'm still mad at her) took off down the main hall, and I ran down the smaller hallway. The kids were giggly - and fast - and didn't want to go back to the classroom. I cornered Conner, but he had a runny nose (and I didn't want to touch him - I don't do other people's snot). He got away, only to be captured by another teacher. I caught JM, who was laughing hysterically, and handed him to the Director (who came out of her office to see what the commotion was about). I chased Donovan, who was yelling, "no, no, no!", picked him up, and took him down to the Peacock room. I didn't notice any other kids in my hallway.

After a quick headcount, I left.

Of course, no one noticed I was late to work, and given the torrential downpour I doubt anyone cared, but I was really looking forward to explaining my new found talent of "toddler wrangling" - unless said toddlers have runny noses, then they're on their own.

Because a Trained Monkey Would be Better than Afternoon Teacher

P attends a very reputable daycare. It's a chain, but a very top-tier, well-respected one. He's doing well since we made the transition more than a year ago. His development - verbally, socially, mentally, physically, etc - is terrific. But, I'm starting to have a problem with the care side of things.

The head teacher in the Playful Peacock room is exceptional. The afternoon teacher, however, leaves a lot to be desired. While the head teacher engages the kids, asks questions, and seems like she genuinely enjoys her job, the afternoon teacher is quiet. Really quiet. G doesn't like afternoon teacher.at.all.

I really didn't have a problem until recently. My complaints (all of which have happened after head teacher leaves for the day and afternoon teacher is in charge):

• P's security blanket disappeared. I might be a rookie mom, but I'm no fool. I had a spare, identical "blankie" at home, but with the primary one gone, we're done to just the one. No one knows where it went.
• P came home covered in red permanent ink - on picture day. Sent him to school dressed in "picture clothes" (really, a polo shirt and khakis I bought the day before for our upcoming vacation). Picked him up and he was covered from the collar of his shirt to the soles of his socks (seriously, the bottoms of his socks) in red ink. I've washed the outfit six times now. The ink is permanent. Who gives 2.5 year olds PERMANENT ink? On picture day? When the kids are dressed up? Oh, I know - afternoon teacher.
• P has had Pull-up wedgies for weeks. The afternoon teacher refuses to pull up the Pull-ups. She opens the sides, puts them on, and tries to reseal the sides. In all of P's activity, the sides split, causing the back half of the Pull-up to get wedged in his little tush. Not only does this look uncomfortable, but it causes accidents. Major accidents.
• Accidents like the one yesterday. I picked P up and found him wearing his paint shirt (yes, he has one of my old t-shirts for painting - yet another reason I was ticked about the ink thing). G dropped off a change of clothes on Monday, but instead, afternoon teacher choose to put P in a men's medium t-shirt because of a blow-out. I couldn't find P's change of clothes in his cubby, and when I asked P if he had a change of clothes he responded that afternoon teacher "threw them in the garbage."

I'm willing to let a lot go - hell, I couldn't handle a classroom of a dozen 2.5 year olds. But, I'm reaching a boiling point with all the stuff that's happened over the last month or so. I talked to head teacher this morning, who appeared very concerned about the ink problem, wedgies, and paint shirt situations. Turns out, head teacher didn't realize any of that happened (she knew about the blankie). She promised to talk to afternoon teacher.

I can only hope afternoon teacher gets better - or leaves - or P gets potty trained so he can move up to the Happy Hummingbird class. With the state of potty training, I'll be lucky if one of the first two scenarios happens.

Note: Hey, if you received an e-invitation to a grand opening event from me and I recalled it, but you read it anyway, I'm mort.i.fied that I had a typo in the invitation. I fixed it as soon as I discovered it and resent the email. Don't hold that one typo against me - I really want you to come - you'll have fun, I promise!

In the Rain, Something Sunny to Think About

From GORGEOUS weekend to cold, grey, rainy days. Spring sucks. To keep spirits up in these icky spring days, here's how we spent the lovely weekend:

When Pumpkin first saw his new soccer nets, he thought they made a perfect house. Actually, he called his new dwelling a "cage" but that just sounds wrong.

Then we taught him how to USE the net. You could totally see the wheels turning in his head, "Seriously, I can KICK the ball, and no one will get upset? Love it!"

Unfortunately, after every scored goal, Pumpkin would run around the back yard, yelling, "Go Cardinals! Homerun!" Don't hold a scholarship for him yet, Pumas!
Next, we moved onto baseball and tractors. Seriously, who would've thought they could have been incorporated into a game that would keep Pumpkin busy for an hour... Love it!

A boy and his hoe. Finally, it was off to fix a fence. Pumpkin noticed that the neighbor's fence has loose screws. When the garden tool didn't work, he found some masking tape and taped up each screw.

How to Make an Impression in a Client Meeting

Scene: Client meeting in Dallas. Room full of old, grey-haired, white men. Main client setting up an ice breaker game - it's one of those "interview the person next to you so you can introduce that person to the rest of the group" kind of things. Our main interview question: If you could have dinner with anyone in the world, who would it be and why.

My partner and I were toward the end of the room, so we sat through about 30 other "introductions." Everyone had really "smart" answers like Martin Luther King Jr., Nelson Mandela, Jesus...

My answer: Britney Spears. Reason: I want to knock some sense into her.

Unfortunately, I don't think my old, grey-haired, white man knew who Brit-Brit is. As he introduced me to the group, revealing my dinner guest, he left it with, "Jilt would like to eat dinner with Britney Spears..."

The end. That was it. So, I stood up and said, "Well, you have to tell them why..."

Unfortunately, time was up, so in a room full of pseudo-intellectual dream dinner guests, I was left hanging in the wind with my Britney response. Great way to make a first impression.

God, I hate icebreakers!

Filling in for Daddy this Morning...

I stood in the dining room, gathering my keys, Blackberry, laptop bag, and purse (am I a pack mule?). "Bye, Pumpkin," I called into the kitchen where he sat eating "hobo toast" (aka cinnamon toast).

"Bye bye, Mommy! I wuv woo!" he called back.

"Bye, G!" I called in to the kitchen. "Love you!"

Silence.

"See you, G!" I called again.

"Bye, Honey Bunny!" Pumpkin called in a deep voice (well, "deep" for a toddler), using G's nickname for me.

Since G stepped into the garage, I guess Pumpkin thought he'd fill in for his daddy.

Home Improvement

Things around here have been a little busy. Work travels continue, and we're preparing to put the house on the market - again. But before we do, there were a couple of things we wanted to improve - like the floors on the main level.

What I thought would be a weekend project has turned out to be a four week mess. G has really done a great job on the bamboo floors - I've always said he's handy for a lawyer!

Hey, construction is fun - I finally have a use for my plastic tools!

You might think this photo is blurry, but I'm just moving really FAST!

Hey look! A nail! Can I keep it?

We're getting close to finished. "Yep, that's my big boy potty in the middle of the floor. Gotta problem with that?"

Disappointed and Sad

My cousin Michelle (not her real name) was born when I was in high school, and while we didn't live nearby and I was too cool to hang out with a baby, she and I grew very close.

Her parents would often point to me and tell her to keep her grades up so she could grow up, go to college, and be successful, like me.

When I introduced G to the family at my college graduation, she immediately developed a crush on him. She would introduce us to her friends as "This is my cousin, Jilt, and this is...this is...this is my G." She would sit as close as possible to him during family meals and get-togethers. She would eagerly get him a beer when he asked for it. She was almost attached to his side for years.

On a long car trip when she as about 10 years old, G taught Michelle about gravity by demonstrating how her Beanie Babies fell when dropped. She called us six months later when her class was learning about gravity and she felt superior because she already knew all about it from "her" G.

I found a birthday card that said something like "send this card back to me on my birthday." For 10 years, we'd send that card back and forth, resigning it and rewriting birthday wishes. We'd find new ways to package it so the other wouldn't know it was "the" card. I don't know what happened it or why it stopped.

Then, her parents divorced. My uncle got custody of Michelle after a long, hard fight with his ex-wife. It was the best thing for her. Michelle went on to become a straight A student and a cheerleader. She actually changed my perspective of cheerleaders - she was friends with everyone, very empathetic, really truly a nice person, and wicked smart.

Last Christmas at a family get together at my parents' house, Michelle got into a big fight with her boyfriend (a 22 year old part-time tattoo "artist with a major marijuana habit), resulting in hours of screaming, crying phone conversations in the middle of the night. At one point, I went outside to ask her to keep it down. I took the phone away from her, told boyfriend (whom I've never met) that she'd call him tomorrow, and escorted her to her room. I held her as she cried about the silly thing they were fighting over (kid stuff, really). She thanked me the next day for listening to her.

I found out this weekend that Michelle, now a senior in high school, is pregnant. With the tattoo artist's child. She's about three months along and has totally abandoned plans to go to college.

I don't know what to do, what to say. I'm so disappointed in her. I'm so sad for her. I'm worried about what her future holds now that she's going to be a mom. And, I know that she's not ready for the responsibility of motherhood.

Really? 10 a.m. on a Tuesday...

I work "outside the home." I'm unapologetic about having a career and a family. But it's things like this that really tick me off.

Today in my inbox, I received an email from Pottery Barn Kids - a store in which I've spent more than a reasonable amount of money over the last three years. Seems good ol' Pottery Barn Kids has launched a Book Club. Nice enough, right? Well, the club meets Tuesday mornings. Tuesdays. As in, during the work week. At a time when I'm ... well, working.

It's not like we would (probably) attend weekly reading events at an overpriced retailer, but it really annoys me that companies blatantly disregard working moms.

Steps off soap box.

Where Bon Bons Play on the Sunny Beach of Peppermint Bay

(I'm all about song lyrics as titles this week.)

Pumpkin had a valentine's party at school yesterday. I sent him off with 17 tractor-themed valentines and a package of string cheese, our contribution to the party spread.

I was not prepared for the glut of sugary goodness that Pumpkin brought home.

I love me some chocolate. I might even be an addict. I'm okay with that. I'm not okay with stuffing my 2.5 year old with HoHos, a pound of kisses, Reese's cups, Tootsie Rolls, Hersey bars, seven bags of M&Ms, and more. The loot filled an entire mixing bowl. Seriously, are parents feeding their kids this crap?

I don't deprive Pumpkin of tasty, bad-for-you treats like French fries or cookies or candies. But, I dole them out in small doses. As treats. Even on V-Day, I didn't think to buy this stuff for Pumpkin.

So, this morning for breakfast, Pumpkin told me he wanted "candy." I explained we don't eat candy for breakfast and he cried. (He gave up when he realized that he wasn't going to get chocolate for breakfast.) Now I have to figure out what to do with all this stuff before I eat it all.

Have you ever been annoyed/overwhelmed/dismayed by what other parents think is acceptable? Am I depriving Pumpkin by being really selective about when/how much candy he eats? Most importantly, how do I get rid of the candy without resorting to eating it all?

Valentine's Wishes Come True

Last week, G asked what I wanted for Valentine's Day. My response: "Figure out what the F we're going to do with the first floor flooring - hardwood, laminate, pergo, don't care, but figure it out for V-Day."

This morning, G announced that we're doing the lower level of the house in bamboo flooring, which makes me happy. So, good Valentine's Day.

With that, I leave you with my favorite Valentine image EVER - Behold, Pumpkin on his first Valentine's Day:

"Mom, what the hell are you doing to me? This totally ruins my image!"

Cruisin' Down the Highway in this Big Ol' Cadillac and It's So Hard..."

Originally written late Monday night, but stupid Blogger wouldn't allow me to upload...

So, I'm on my way to KC for meetings tomorrow. What can go wrong? Let me count the ways:

1) Elevators broken. Must treck down 20 flights of stairs. Carrying luggage. And my laptop bag. While wearing a wool coat, wool sweater, and cute lil' heels. (UPDATED: two days later, can barely walk.)

2) Ice storm turn a four hour drive into an eight hour one.

3) Rental car (a big, ol' red Caddy 'cause I'm apparently 80 years old, or a "Baptist preacher's wife," according to my colleague and travel companion) comes without window washer fluid. Buy some. Go through an entire gallon on the drive.

4) Massive windshield on said red Caddy will. not. stay. defrosted. Try everything. Only effective thing is to have the heat on 80 degrees and the windows opened.

5) Solution to the windshield icing problem results in a smiley faced crack across the front windshield. Nice.

Thank goodness this is the last trip for a few weeks. Travel resumes in March!

50 bonus points to the person who can name the movie on which the title of this post is based.

Family Update

Thanks to everyone who has asked about my family.

My mom is healing well from her knee replacement. After learning about my dad's condition, her doctor approved in-home physical therapy for my mom. She has her last session on Friday. An amazing recovery. She really is super human. I think she pushed herself because she thought she needed to take care of my dad. She's selfless like that. My mom is awesome.

My dad is also doing well. He's still confined to a wheel chair and under very strict orders to not put any weight on his broken ankle. But he's healing. He's bored to death, sitting at home, not able to go anywhere, do anything.

My sister came out to help my parents twice during the last month. For Julie, that's a minor miracle.

My cousin and her baby? The autopsy results are not in yet, but my cousin has checked herself into rehab.

It's been a hell of an '08 already. Damn.

No "P" in P's Alphabet

Alternative title: How many times can I say "potty" in this entry?

So Pumpkin is potty training. School's trying to get him to use the potty, and we're trying to get him to use the potty at home.

A year ago, Pumpkin was totally into the potty. In fact, we bought him one, two, three potties since it was so interesting to him. Then it happened.

Pumpkin was sitting on his blue potty before bathtime, and WHIZ! He started peeing. Since he hates the boy cup on the potty, he shot clear across the room.

"I leak! I leak!" he said.

Suddenly, Pumpkin was not interested in the potty.

Fast forward a year. Pumpkin refuses to pee in the potty - "it's icky," he says. But #2, yeah we got that covered. He's 2'd in the potty all week. His teachers can't believe that he's jumping to "Advanced Potty-ing" without any interest in the remedial class (a.k.a. "Just pee already").

What to do?

Who do you know?

Need some help here, my dear e-friends:

Do you live in any of the following cities or general area - or know a blogger (preferably someone with kids) who does?

• Cincinnati
• Portland/Seattle/Pacific Northwest
• Dallas
• Kansas City
• Grand Rapids/Flint/Saginaw/Detroit
• Sandusky
• Williamsburg

Thanks!

Gone With the (Pumpkin) Wind

It's a bit windy here in St. Louis.

Case in point:

As Pumpkin and G were leaving school this evening, hubby had to manually shut the daycare door as a gust of wind nearly took it off the hinges. At the same time, Pumpkin kept getting further and further away from him . . . closer and closer to the parking lot.

"Pumpkin, stop! Come back here," G called. "Seriously, Pumpkin, stop and come here. Stop!"

"I can't stop, daddy! Save me!" Pumpkin called as he nearly blew across the parking lot.

On the Road Again...

Another week, another business trip. This time I'm in Ohio visiting two different properties owned/operated by a h0tel client. Only four more weeks of this!

You know, I'm pretty satisfied, sitting here, on a comfy king-sized bed with SIX pillows (which I'll have all to myself tonight - hello, sleeping at an angle!), fire crackling in the fireplace (it's electric, but I'll take it), and next to a HUGE two person Jaccuzi tub.

Pros of business trips:

- I don't have to cut up someone's food, fill a glass of milk, clean up spilled ketchup, or listen to someone saying "I don't wike it!" and pushing the plate away. Oh yeah, I also get to eat a hot meal because I'm not handling any of the above.

- I can consume adult beverages without concern over who will drive Pumpkin to the hospital if there's an emergency. Seriously, the reason I rarely drink anymore is because I'm concerned that something will happen and I won't be able to get my child to the emergency room.

- It's two hours past Pumpkin's bedtime and he's.still.awake. Totally refusing to go to sleep.

- I can fucking curse without worrying about who the hell will hear me. Dammit!

- ESPN is not on this TV. No sports. No problem!

Cons of business trips:

- Who else can I convince to wear matching outfits? Case in point:

Our holiday photo. G swears we'll never wear the sweaters at the same time again. Whatever!

Tell me, am I the only one who (sometimes, somewhat) enjoys a little time away?

My Favorite Thing in the World

There is nothing better than that feeling I get when Pumpkin sees me for the first time after I've been away for a few days. Nothing.

Poor little guy has no idea that I'll be gone all next week in Ohio, but damn! I'm already looking forward to seeing his smiling face when I get home!

Probably the Worst Location for a Business Trip

I'm in the process of visiting all the properties owned by a new client. Last week was Dallas; tomorrow I leave for the Poconos; next week Cleveland and Mason, Ohio. Travel goes on through early March.

Tonight I told Pumpkin where I was going and asked him to repeat it. "Pick-a-nose," he answered proudly.

Yep, lucky me, tomorrow I go to Pick-a-nose, Pennsylvania. Jealous?

Potpourri Part II: My Sister

Part I here.

(This is where my diatribe starts. If you’re not in the mood to “hear” me rant, stop reading now.)

My younger sister, Julie, is a selfish, immature, self-centered bitch.

Over the last two years, she tricked my parents into paying for her divorce, ruined the house my parents bought for her and her daughter (carpet had to be replaced, the walls patched and repainted, and three months worth of rotting garbage had to be removed from her back porch), and defaulted on two loans my parents co-signed for. She also stole a month’s worth of pain medication that my dad needed – and couldn’t get refilled for 30 days because the meds were narcotics. She refused to come home for the family Thanksgiving or Christmas.

My sister is incapable of lasting friendships. She’ll have a close group of friends for about two years, then they’ll start to catch on to her lies and the friendship ends. It’s strange how fast my sister moves on – she’ll dump everything about the friends and move onto another group. For example, when she moved near my parents, met a group of nice church-going women and Julie became very religious. After about 18 months, the churchy women began to question some of the stories she told them about her life and her past. Instead of coming clean on her lies, she suddenly stopped going to church, quit her job (she worked for one of the church ladies), and moved.

My sister has created her own reality, her own world. She’ll tell stories about her/our childhood which simply aren’t true. She’ll confuse things I did as a kid but swear it was really her. She’s told people that my parents were abusive and that she was denied basic necessities as a child. She’s made up stories about being bulimic (she’s not). She’s told these lies so many times that I think she honestly believes them. She seems to get a thrill out of the sympathy these stories garner from others who don’t know our family or my sister.

My sister has a daughter who’s almost 13 years old. The stories she’s heard about me and my dad have affected the relationship we have with the girl. My niece has asked me about the abuse my sister suffered as a child. It hurts to hear her think that my parents were abusive, when in fact, my sister and I had a beautiful and very privileged childhood.

When Pumpkin was born, I told G that I didn’t trust my sister to be left alone with him. I told him that my sister lived in a warped reality, that she’s probably in need of counseling, and she’s confused about what’s real and what’s not. He didn’t believe me, until he spent several hours with her right after she moved near my parents. One night, and he agreed that Pumpkin shouldn’t be around her. Honestly, I truly feel she would hurt him.

At this point, my relationship with my sister is effectively over. I called tonight to ask if she could help my parents this week since I’m traveling for work (not to mention that I live three states away from them and she’s a mere 10 minutes from the hospital that my mom’s in) and she doesn’t work Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. Her response: “What do you mean by help? I’m busy.”

UPDATE: This post was originally written on Wednesday, when I learned about my dad’s ankle. Since then, Julie did pick my mom up at the hospital. Mom’s staying at Julie’s apartment tonight, and tomorrow my dad will be discharged from the hospital. Julie’s too busy to take them home or makes sure they have everything they need tomorrow, so G, Pumpkin and I will be getting up super early tomorrow to drive the five hours to my parents’ house.

Alex, I'll take Potpourri for $400, please

Part one:

Blog topics have been running through my head for weeks, no, months. At first, I was protesting blog month by NOT posting. I read all my regular blogs (and loved that they had the commitment to post every. single. day.), but I knew I couldn’t compete with the daily postings, so I didn’t even try. Then the holidays and multiple family get togethers, work commitments, blah, blah, blah.

I’d craft witty blog entries in my head while driving home from work, grocery shopping, getting a hair cut, and Christmas shopping. Trust me, those entries were good – award winning even.

Like the one about Ethan telling Elmo to “bite me.”

Or how he wouldn’t open his gifts on Christmas morning until I opened the gift he made for me in school.

Or how for the first time EVER, I got along with the in-laws. (And scored decent Christmas presents – gone are the days of used toothbrushes and candles without wicks. Seriously.)

Fun times.

But this week? Man, it’s only Tuesday and I can’t wait for this week to end. I’m on a plane now and close to tears.

(OK, actually when this posts, I’ll be in Dallas, alone, in my hotel – for work. Please, dear God, do not let my client want to meet for drinks or Dairy Queen ice cream or a briefing meeting or any other nonsense. I just want to check into the hotel and crawl into bed. Hell, my meetings tomorrow start at 7 a.m.)

On Sunday, I learned that my cousin’s three week old baby died – of mysterious causes which are being investigated. An autopsy was performed today, and the little baby girl will be buried on Thursday. I want to be there for my family, but I fear I couldn’t handle the funeral of a tiny, innocent baby. Especially with the cloud of suspicion hanging over the baby daddy. It’s sad to pray for there to have been an undiagnosed birth defect (quite possible consider the parents were using drugs before, during, and immediately following conception). However, given the circumstances, I fear the worst, and that makes me really sad.

Today, my mom had her left knee replaced. She had the right one done last summer, and the recovery is brutal. She was particularly close to the baby's family and had the pleasure of “meeting” the baby two week ago. It’s tearing her up that she can’t be there for her family, but she’ll be in the hospital all week then rehab several times a week for months.

Then, I learned that my dad broke his ankle – a clean break effectively separating his foot from his leg. Since his second stroke a few years ago, he’s had difficulty maintaining his blood pressure when he stands, causing him to black out and pass out. That’s what happened last night. He’ll need surgery to pin his bones into place while it heals. Of course, he discharged himself from the hospital and rejected any pain meds until he drove home to take care of his dogs (since my mom’s in the hospital and there’s no one around to take care of them – they live in the boonies). He’s on his way back to the hospital now, where he’ll be admitted and a decision about surgery will be made tomorrow.

My sister, who lives in the city where my parents will both be in hospitals this week, is “too busy” to help. Julie is a selfish, immature, self-centered bitch. To find out why I feel so strongly about Julie, tune in later...