TGIF - and I'm not being sarcastic.

You all know the world would be a better place if more people consulted me before making decisions, right? Well, I agree.

Early this morning, I was making (another) statement to that effect about some decision made by some unnamed person with which I, apparently, did not agree. BigGirl overheard me speaking about their "brilliant decision" and interjected.

"Doesn't sound like they were brilliant to me," she corrected me.

"I know. I was being sarcastic," I explained.

Throughout the day, I became increasingly aware of how much I must use sarcasm...at least on a Friday. (I'm hoping that I just tend to be more sarcastic when I'm tired. Surely that's it, right?) Everytime I said something sarcastic, BigGirl picked up on it. "Was that sarcasm?" "Are you being sarcastic?"

I don't usually describe myself as sarcastic, but from where I'm sitting right now, wow. I need to cut back! I feel like the smoker who finally opened their eyes and realized how many packs they were smoking each day. And, to think, I have wondered from where my darling daughter gets her flippant replies and tart little remarks??

I'm reminded daily how much work I've cut out for myself...just imagine her as a teenager!

On a happy (unsarcastic) note...

Congratulations, Cheryl! You won the free poster from digitalroom.com! I'm sure the picture of your neices will look FABULOUS - and what a great gift idea! :)

TGIF, everyone! May your Saturday be super and your Sunday be simple!

Thumb Wars

Few people, other than parents, know about the extensive, pre-dental demands of the Tooth Fairy. She has managed to maintain her unblemished reputation using just about any means available to her...even blackmail.

Right now, my family is flirting with breach of contract. We're teetering on the brink of disaster. The stress is catching up to us. The pressure is on.

You see, on the night a baby cuts their first tooth, the parents of said baby have a sit down with none other than The Fairy herself. She reviews the terms of her contract (brushing daily, trips to dentist semi-annually, candy, juice, & gummy snacks only in moderation, sugar-free gum, no bottles in bed, etc.), the parental parties lock in on their fixed or variable rate agreement for the price of each baby tooth, and the deal is sealed with signatures in triplicate.

Overall, adhering to this contract has not been too difficult over the years. Until now.

Item 1.203.b of the Fairy-Parent Pre-Dental Agreement states clearly, "Upon the release of the first baby tooth, the bearer will no longer partake in such oral habits such as pacifiers and/or thumb-sucking."

Tick-tock, tick-tock. The deadline is quickly approaching.

A few weeks ago, BigGirl woke up and excitedly declared, "I HAVE A LOOSE TOOTH!" FireDaddy and I quickly inspected and confirmed her discovery - it was her first.

I quickly explained to her the new urgency and importance of curtailing her thumb-sucking. She grimaced as she took it all in. "Because if you suck your thumb as your big teeth are coming in, your teeth will be crooked and you will have to have BRACES! And they HURT! (I know because I had them.)" I tried hard to instill a healthy dose of fear for her own dental future. It was a waste of my breath.

Ms. Nice Mommy has now left the building. All of my sweet, gentle methods of encouraging her to stop sucking her thumb are now a thing of the past. We've used band-aids, nail polish, and Thum in desperation. We continue to try to scare her into compliance, as well, with tales of sore teeth and monthly orthodontist visits for tightenings from my past. Stories of her aunt, who required a dental appliance (a SHARP, POKEY one that HURT her thumb) to stop, do not seem to worry her. Thum worked for a day or two, but now she seems to have found a way to suck it off! We now scold her every time we see the thumb in her mouth, but now she just hides and sucks her thumb.

I am at a loss. I do not know what to do next.

I remember seeing a mother and daughter in a store one day a year or so ago. The daughter was much older than my BigGirl. I remember noticing a brace on her thumb and thought her thumb must be broken. Wrong. A minute later, I heard the mother explaining to someone that they were trying to stop a "bad habit". That is the only idea I have left in my bag of tricks.

I need to hear from you, readers. Have you know anyone who fought this battle? Are YOU a recovering thumb-addict? Do you have experience with Thumb Interventions?

Let me know! What can I do to help my BigGirl beat this addiction before it destroys her dental health and we are sued for breach of contract???

(P.S. FireDaddy keeps threatening to use his pocket knife, and I'd really hope to avoid permanently disfiguring her hand.)

Friendship Plan

As BigGirl and I spilled ourselves and all of our miscellaneous carry-ons into the school parking lot this morning, she was positively in a tizzy.

"Mommy, I really need your help! I just don't know what I'll do about this!"

I, completely confused as to what was her problem - except for the fact that it was taking her a solid 5 minutes to get her skinny little bootie out of the backseat, with or without her backpack - hurriedly asked for clarification. (As my arms motioned like a flight attendant for her to move to the nearest exit - PRONTO.)

"I need a plan! Today is my day to play with Bestest BFF, but Friend B will want to play too...I just don't know what to do!"

Dumbfounded (though I'm not sure why I was surprised), I quickly preached the "more the merrier" schpeal. "You know, that's why a party is more fun than just a playdate. It's more fun with more friends."

"I guess I'll just have to tell her that it's my day to play with Bestest BFF...but, HOW WILL I DO THAT? HOW CAN I DO THAT? I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW I CAN DO THAT!"

At this point, resolved that she was NOT going to go for the merry threesome idea, and feeling my stress level frizz as fast as my hair in the morning air, I gave up. "Here's an idea: SAY IT. Use your words. That's why God GAVE us words!"

As we, at long last, began moving toward the building, BigGirl hauling her worries on her back and I hauling my entire office in a cart behind me with one hand and the all important venti skinny vanilla latte in the other, she laid it on the table.

"Mommy, I just need a Friendship Plan. That's all there is to it."

This is just the latest in a long line of heart-breaking girl tiffs that she has suffered through this year. While BabyGirl is busy planning her white wedding to Don Juan Jr. (scheduled to be held in her preschool classroom sometime this year... and we're all invited), BigGirl is crying in the hallway.

On the morn of her "Friendship Anniversary" with the all important Bestest BFF, she arrived at school all decked out in her finest diamond drop earrings, diamond encrusted arm cuffs, and a diamond (blinky-light) necklace. Apparently, not all first grade girlies are confident enough to pull off this level of adornment and SOMEONE felt the need to point out the fact that she does NOT have pierced ears. (Gasp!!! The horror!) Instead, she was wearing (scandalous, I know) CLIP ON EARRINGS!!!

Girls, girls, girls.

My BigGirl, not the type to brush something off without hurt feelings, nor the type to say to her classmate, "I know. These are clip-on. Not everyone has pierced ears." and let that be the end of it, was crushed. She refused to go to school. She came down with a headache and possibly a fever. She needed FireDaddy to come A.S.A.P. to pick her up.

Unfortunately for her...and my officemate who had to listen to the wailing...AND BigGirl's crying, I threatened an embargo on all television privileges if she did not hightail her hiny out of my office chair and march that bootie downstairs to her class. She went reluctantly (and still in tears). Funny, the Motrin didn't seem to help the headache and "fever"...but, with an apology, she was cured.

Why am I rambling about this, you ask? What is it I'm REALLY trying to say?

I am SO not looking forward to the day the hormones start to kick in. Dear God, someone may need to take me out back and put me out of my misery before then.

Scratch that.

I can't leave them alone with FireDaddy.

Dear God, someone is REALLY going to need to get me some stronger pills before then.

Sunday Simplicity

Today has been a simple day for me. A day to declutter and decompress. In keeping with my decluttering mode, I'll attempt to simplify my post today. Which is going to be hard because, well, I like to talk a lot...er, type a lot.

I gave my daughters a gift this morning. I gave them a Stay At Home Day. Big Girl nearly jumped for joy when I gave her permission to wear a mismatched outfit that she, apparently, adores. Baby Girl has been in hog heaven with her baby stroller, jewelry and flavored chapstick...half the time wearing only panties. I think she's a nudist trapped in a three year-old body.

I have been busily laundering and folding, emptying the dishwasher, clicking the mouse, paying bills, talking to the doggies, and generally doing whatever it is I feel like doing. No worries today.

As I walked from my bedroom to the girls' room one time, I noticed Baby Girl lying on the floor pillows in the den with her finger up her nose. "Baby, do you need a tissue?"

"Yes, I need tissue."

As I passed back through the room I handed her a tissue and left her to take care of her business.

A moment later, on my way to the kitchen, I noticed she was chewing on something. "What's in your mouth?"

"A booger. A booger from my nose."

Nice. What a Little Princess.

Back to my simple life.

Super Saturdays

I absolutely love Saturday. It is my favorite day of the week. It is the most optimistic of all the days, the most relaxed, the most free. The world lies before you on a silver platter. For once, I feel like I've captured a little bit of that elusive thing called "time".

I love to crawl out of bed before everyone else and steal a few minutes alone. My early rising companions, Bo and Daisy, often join me on the back porch to enjoy the pleasant morning breeze. Some days I read, or write, or talk on the phone to fellow early birds like Mama Dearest. Other days I may just enjoy breakfast in peace.

I love to lounge around for hours before getting dressed. The morning kids' shows with BigGirl and Littlest Princess, internet surfing and blog reading are all well and good, but mostly - it's just delaying the chore of getting dressed that I enjoy.

I love propping up on my bed after it's been made. My bedroom, gently lit by filtered sunshine, is a cool and relaxing place. It's even better when the house has a slight chill, making my throw blanket necessary for cozying.

And Saturday television is the best. Years ago, when it was just the BigGirl and I if FireDaddy was at the station, we enjoyed the occasional (OK, so maybe it was more "routine" than "occasional") PBS marathon. For years I was too cheap to pay for cable, so PBS was the best choice around for weekend viewing. We knew what time the cooking show marathon began and we'd memorized the lineup like pros. America's Test Kitchen, Fast Food My Way with Jacques Pepin, Everyday Food, Daisy Cooks!, BBQ U, and Julia child: Lessons With Master Chefs. We both stayed glued to the screen (and our seats) for hours. (Yes, I know that was not the best parenting move for my child's developing young mind. But, luckily, she doesn't seem to have been harmed by my negligence.)

Even as the day comes to a close, even if you realize you've completely wasted away the day, you've still got the hope and promise of one more day off. Sweet, sweet, Sunday...but that's another post.

Sadly, I cannot say I spent my day like this today. I did enjoy some early morning quiet outside with my doggies. I did spend a few hours, after returning home from necessary weekend errands, propped on my bed (even if it was behind my computer working on school stuff). I did get in some quality giggle time with my girlies (even if it was flanked by bickering and whining). And, best of all, I am, once again, putting myself to bed banking on the promise of Sweet Sunday. Tomorrow, I hope to never leave the house at all.

Pssst! This weekend, if you get a chance for some relaxing internet surfing and blog reading, be sure to stop by my buddy's blog. Even though she's in Portugal right now (and has posted some GORGEOUS pics of her vacation), she's hosting an anniversary giveaway. Just keep your paws off the coffee cozy. It's mine, babe.

Photo credits: Library of Congress photostream on Flickr

Listening In

I love to ask my girls about their days. Some days, it's like pulling teeth. Others, it's like opening a can of worms. You know, that prank can of worms that explodes all over the place and you can never EVER get them back into the can.

Today, I couldn't wait to hear from Big Girl about her day, for lots of reasons, but mostly to hear what this six year-old took away from President Obama's speech.

"Did you watch the President on TV today?"

"Yeeesss..." she groaned. "I had to watch it in my Tuesday class AND my other class." (Big Girl just started a supplementary enrichment class on Tuesdays.)

"Wow! Well, I didn't get to hear him speak today because I wasn't in my classroom all day. Can you tell me about it?"

"Well, he mostly talked about never letting ourselves down. And whatever you do, even if it makes somebody mad, at least they're FEELING something. It's important that you make them FEEL something. If you can, you should make them proud, but it's mostly important that they FEEL something." (Using her hand in front of her belly to dramatically emphasize the word "feel" everytime she said it.)

"So, how can you not let yourself down? I mean, what can you do to make sure you don't do that?" Like a good teacher, I probed.

"Weeellll....you never want to let yourself, your friends, your mom, dad, teacher, aunt, brother, cousin, or anyone down."

"I see. So, what do you need to do?"

"I don't know exactly. Well, one thing I do know is that in life...there's going to be disappointments."

Impressed at this statement, I inquired, "Wow. What does that mean? What are disappointments? I mean, how would it feel to have a disappointment in life?"

"Not good. Like when Bestest Friend and I don't play together on the playground. I'm working really hard to get over that disappointment. You know, sometimes you hit a bump in the road and you have to work really hard to get back on the road. And, that's what I'm doing right now.

"And, well, one thing I learned from Obama (couldn't believe she actually called him that) is sometimes you have to try something new. Like my first day of dance, I tried something that was brand new to me. And you can't just quit if it's hard or if you make a bad grade or something. That would be letting yourself down."

"Wow, Big Girl. Sounds like you learned a lot today. Would you like to listen to him speak again tonight with me?"

"Sure! That will make it WAY more fun!"

This, I swear, actually came from her mouth. I wrote it as true to my memory as possible.

This, I swear, came from the same mouth that later in the evening also told me about a boy in her Tuesday class that has a broken arm.

"Wow! That's too bad. How did he break it?"

"Well, I don't know. I only heard the part of the story that said it was broken," she explained.

"Oh, OK. I know how it is...sometimes your mind drifts off to somewhere else, doesn't it?"

"Yeah! And sometimes my whole BODY and FACE and EVERYTHING is somewhere else!"

At this, I expected to hear that she had been running an errand for the teacher or in the restroom or something. "Where were you?"

"Eh... me and Dance Girlfriend were still turning and talking. (enthusiastically) We do that in Tuesday class, too!"

I am no one to judge. She comes by it honestly.

Author's Note: I still have not been able to listen to the President speak. I can't wait to see how her version stacks up.

Flashback Freeway

"Sometimes, a writer finds buried treasures in places they remember. As you think about the geography of a place from your past, memories will surface as you think about the place where they occurred..."

This was the gist of a lesson I recently taught my students. Then, I drove off to my old stomping grounds for a long weekend, and I felt that lesson come alive in my mind.

Sometimes, you don't even have to visit a building or any specific location for this to happen. I learned this weekend that, in some cases, just driving down the road will be enough to stir the pot. As I drove alone on a few brief errands this weekend, I was overcome with memories.

I remembered driving down the road with one of my BFFs in a red Mustang, singing along with Celine & Meatloaf at the top of our lungs as the wind ripped through the car. (Don't laugh. That song was at the top of the charts then.)

I remembered driving on the interstate for the first time with Boyfriend K. I was terrified that the car in the lane next to me was moving in on my space. He laughed at me and my paranoia, and I laughed back. Terrified, still.

I remembered riding, stunned, with Boyfriend S after the "Meet the Parents Date". I was stunned because his mother had whipped out flossers after dinner and flossed her teeth RIGHT THERE AT THE TABLE. (I'm not sure if this redeems her at all, but she was polite enough to offer me a flosser, too...."Gee...thanks...I think I'm good, though.")

I remembered wondering what road we were on as I rode home in the back of someone's parent's station wagon from the Nelson concert, my ears still ringing. (Ahem, they were cool too, thank you very much.)

I remembered getting a ride home after school from Really Nice Guy Friend everyday, only later to discover he liked me all the while and I was too stupid and too wrapped up in my Loves Gone Bad to realize it. Hind sight is 20-20.

I remembered the day I spent with Short-Term Romance Boy as he got a tattoo on his ankle, somewhere on the other side of town. I have no idea when or where this was, but it was a sight that scared me out of a tattoo...for life!

I remembered riding in Boyfriend D's brand new Jeep one cool Florida night, feeling too grown up for my years.

I remembered cruisin' in a convertible the summer I retook Chemistry (yeah...Chemistry and I went together like oil and water...) with my Wannabe Model Friend. She looked in the rearview mirror more than she looked at the road. (Checkin' out her pouty look.) Then, we'd drive through Taco Bell for bean burritos and Dr. Pepper.

I remembered walking, after a movie, down the main drag in town while it was closed for construction. Laughing my head off at Guy Friend B's jokes. Who knew Raffi's "Baby Beluga" could be so funny?

I remembered the odd ritual of touching a screw in a girl friend's "bucket" of a car and hollering out "SCREW!!!" everytime we crossed a railroad track, as though her car would fall apart without our help.

I remembered "pushing" my "For Real" Model Friend's car - from the inside - everytime we went up a hill. "Go, go, go!" We were never sure if it could make it to the top.

I remembered walking with a Middle School Friend to the 7-11 outside her neighborhood and spending a few dollars on that crazy powder candy you dip a candy stick into and then lick off the stick. Afterwards, we dried fresh flowers in the microwave and rolled each other's hair.

I remember walking home in the rain after school. I remember cutting through the field, taking the short cut to Freshman BFF's house and having Dr. Pepper and bologna sandwiches. And laughing.

I remember the little sink hole on a corner around a few corners from my house. It totally freaked me out, so I walked a wide circle around it.

I remember standing outside my house after a great first date, with butterflies in my stomach. My face hurt from smiling so much. I don't remember where we went or what we did, but it was great.

I remember walking home from a friend's house when the street lamps came on, after a really silly afternoon of prank calling everyone we knew...and didn't know.

I remember riding downtown to a summer theater camp with a girl I barely knew, singing Richard Marx in the car. (Yes, he was cool then, too.)

I remember being so impressed when One Or Two Dates Boy had a CELL PHONE. (oooooh......) Sure, it was his mom's...but WOW! I also remember being stupid enough to believe his nonsense blabber about how it "worked on a grid system...blah blah blah...and if you move when you're on the phone it will lose the signal..." What??? No wonder boys got me in trouble so much.

Those moments truly are miles away from my present. Today, I find myself cruisin' the streets on the way to and from school and the dance studio, jamming to Hannah Montana with my NEW BFFs...Little Princess and Big Girl. My latest boy, FireDaddy, has a seat indefinitely reserved in my cool, white Pacifica. Sometimes, I still kiss the clock and make a wish when I glance down from the road at exactly 11:11. I still love to car dance on Target and Publix runs. And, everyday, when I look back in my rearview mirror, I smile at what I remember AND at what I see smiling back at me.

Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dotsi/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

One of My Newest Faves

I remember being a child and going with my grandmother to this really eclectic little store in town where you could get things like white restaurant dishes and papazan chairs and cheap glassware and floor pillows and neat little oriental boxes. You may have heard of the store, I think it was called "Pier 1".

Yeppers...the cheap Pier 1 of my childhood is now extinct. R.I.P., baby. Don't get me wrong, Pier 1 still has great stuff to drool over; over the years, they've expanded their merchandise to include upholstered pieces and extremely overpriced...well, everything. I love to window shop there - but rarely ever make a purchase anymore.

However, this summer I've fallen in love with, what I consider to be, today's version of yesterday's Pier One -- WORLD MARKET. That's not to say that they don't have some hijacked prices from time to time, but they still have an awful lot of sweet deals that I just LOVE to snatch up!

For instance, I just love my new pot holders. (Oh my goodness, I've resorted to blogging about pot holders...what does this say about me?) They're cute and, as I described them to Big Girl, happy.

I also have become addicted to my pumice sponge. It's just like the ones the girls at the nail salon use when I get a pedicure! Now I can give myself a not-nearly-as-relaxing-or-graceful shower pedicure!

World Market also sells one of my favorite wines. This is the only place I've seen this label...but that doesn't really mean THAT much, considering I don't shop for wine in very many places. (If it isn't on my beaten path, chances are I won't get there.) The first bottle of this wine I bought was a very thoughtful decision, like all that I make. I liked the bottle. It was purty. And it comes

in a variety of different designs! Fortunately, the wine inside has lived up to the bottle's reputation.

I also adore the refreshing lemon and sage kitchen soap and lotion set I scored. (Really, Jenny? This post might be an all-time low -- adoring soap?) Its light, fresh scent is a perfect match for the clean, soft feel it leaves on my hands after I wash my hands 500 times (a little compulsively, I admit) throughout the course of preparing a meal for my family. I've also, at times, found myself walking past the sink in the guest bathroom to wash my hands in the kitchen because I prefer this soap! (Which really is not as unsanitary as it seems, folks. I leave the door open when there's no company at home, don't you?)

And, I have to be honest, I'm not the only one who loves World Market in this house. Big Girl has developed a passion for this shopping wonderland, also. Her favorite item? Fruit Stripe gum. Which I find especially amusing since this was one of my childhood favorites, too.

I could go on to tell you lots of other reasons for my newest love affair - like the great tote bag I got for FREE (no purchase necessary) to celebrate the start of "Discovery Days", or the FREE Fandango movie ticket I got with my purchase this week...but I think I've said enough.

This is getting embarrassing.

A New Project

So, my sister-in-law, Tammy, texted me today after she read about Big Girl's near miss with the law. 

I want to know:  What kind of keys was she planning on putting on that "hot" keychain?  Or is a "hot" mustang next on the list??  

Let's not plant any seeds, OK?

With that, she promptly got me going on my next project.  Just the rebound I need.  I have a good history with rebounds.  I married my last one, you know...but that's another post entirely.

As I recover from the slap in the face my parenting journey just dealt me this weekend, I suspect this sentimental look at motherhood is a fix I sorely need today.  I also expect it will be accompanied by its own fair share of tears on my part, as its timing is right on the heels of the sad culmination of a book I'd been reading.  Needless to say, any tears shed at this late hour, won't be the first of the day.

According to Her Bad Mother, I'm supposed to share with you five trinkets of motherhood I would love to tuck away in the safety of the box my grandmother gave me years ago, alongside a two dollar bill and locks of baby hair.  Then, as the ritual goes, I'm supposed to tag five more mothers who blog - so they can continue this virtual journey around the world in "80 clicks".  

Alright, buckle up, folks.  This boat is setting sail.

1.  I love to watch them sleep, cuddled together like kittens.  Their long, thick lashes lay softly in perfectly neat little semi-circles against their smooth, milky skin.  Their little lips - pink painted on with the tiniest, delicate brush.  Their breathing smooth until they flail and rustle in their sleep.  Arms flopping all over one another.  Their slumber too deep to be disturbed.

2.  I love the glee in riding with the windows rolled down.  As tiny babies, the wind made them catch their breath.  Now, as they grow, the more refreshing and invigorating the wind is to them.  We drive shamelessly through town, singing at the top of our lungs, dancing like mad women, uninhibited by onlookers in the next lane.  I am transported back in time to my high school days - driving around town in a red mustang with my best friend - behaving the same.  

3.  I love playing on the floor with them.  We don't just do puzzles or play Barbies.  We rollick and roll -- we do cartwheels and jump on the mini-trampoline and sing and dance and play "break-break" and airplane and they squeal and scream as I hold them upside down above me while they cling to my legs.  We hide eggs in the house in June and even November.  We paint on the glass door.  We squirt each other with the hose.  We sing songs.  We laugh until we cry and sometimes wet our pants.  

4.  I love to talk to them.  I love to hear their thoughts.  Their tales.  Their perspective on the world around them.  I want to crawl inside their heads and see what goes on in there.  I want to watch the movie of their day from where they stood.  Then, I'd slide down into their chests and study their hearts.  And before I climb back out again, I'd hold it. I'd hug it.  I'd cradle it and cry over it.  There is nothing so precious to me in this world.  My baby's heart.  My heart.  

5.  I love seeing them everyday.  I love their companionship.  I love their smiles.  Their hugs.  Their kisses.  Their grumps.  Their fusses and whines.  I love their presence in my home and in my life.  I love hearing them in the backseat.  I love seeing them in my rearview mirror.  I love that my television is perpetually on Disney, pillows never stay where they're put, books are never reshelved, blankies are on my kitchen floor, sticker charts hang on the bathroom door, small furniture is in every room of my house, and my refrigerator, my desk, my bedside table, my car, my walls, and my heart is decoupaged with their smiles.

I love being a mom.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Your turn.  Go.  Wallow in it.

Be sure to come back and share your link.  

And so it begins...

As the mother of two daughters, a mother who was (admittedly) guilty of putting her parents through a lot of stress (to put it in such a way that preserves a little of my integrity) between the ages of 12 and 20, I am not looking forward to my own daughters' entrance into their teenage years.  Heck.  I'm not even looking forward to their entrance into their tweens.  Or even 3rd grade.    

This weekend, an innocent trip to shop for Easter basket stuffings (in stealth mode, since Fire Daddy was working and it was just me and the girls) was corrupted.  My darling Big Girl made her first attempt at...shoplifting.  

It pains me to even say that.  I am still in shock and depressed over the entire event.

It all went down like this.  

We had just enjoyed a lovely hour at the park amidst groves of Easter shoppers and families leisuring in the beautiful sunshiny, breezy spring air.  The green grass made an excellent stage on which my little ballerinas danced as smooth music seeped from Bose speakers concealed in the landscaping.  Childhood innocence oozed from their pores.  

A mama duck kindly allowed us to gaze adoringly at her nine little babies swimming in the man-made brook.  Dozens of koi swam lazily as parents reminded their little ones not to get too close to the edge.  Turtles basked on their nature-made Adirondacks.  They took turns enjoying the time-honored front position on the jaguar statue before sweetly hugging and kissing it good-bye.

Once the time came to begin our journey back to the car, I decided to make one last side trip into Claire's to check out the glittery, girly odds-n-ends.  The Easter bunny is trying to diet this year; he tried to avoid the candy aisles.  My girls were in heaven!  Every little trinket, necklace, zippered-pack of lip gloss, piece of fake hair, and pair of sunglasses was inspected carefully.  While they were engrossed in their own exploration of the store, Mommy forged an alliance with the sales girl and set up Operation Stuff the Bunny Basket.  

As I meandered with my girls, oooohing and aaaahing at all their gorgeous findings, carefully prying the makeup and breakables from the Littlest Princess's eager fingers, I occasionally stashed a few basket-worthy items in the designated holding place near the register, where it would await covert payment at a later time.  

There was a moment when a particular cutsie key chain seemed to take Big Girl's fancy.  I paid it the appropriate amount of attention and gently reminded her that we were only looking, no buying.  She seemed disappointed, but dutifully returned it to the display.

Or so I thought.

After settling the tab with my accomplice at the register, I crammed the tell-tale Claire's bag into my Bath & Body Works shopping bag as low as possible, I began to round up my little darlings for our departure.  Little did I know that separating the twin poodles in their purple carrying purse from Little Girl would NOT be the hard part.  

We were headed towards the exit.  As I glanced over my shoulder to be sure Big Girl was with me, I noticed how curiously she was holding her hand in her shorts pocket.  I also could not miss the guilty look on her face.  

"What's in your pocket?"  

She froze.  Eyes quickly averted all contact with mine; aimed, instead, for the floor.  I could see her tiny fingers clinch inside her khaki pocket.  

Crap.  Now what?

Holding Little Girl and my own bag of goods that, ironically, I too was sneaking - though COMPLETELY LEGALLY, I knelt to talk to my girl.  

"Baby, what do you have in your pocket.  I need to know.  I won't get mad, just show me."

I can actually interject here and tell you I kept my word and I never got mad.  Even today, I'm not mad.  I do, however, completely understand the meaning of "disappointment".

After she regained control of her limbs (apparently she experienced a mild, yet temporary, case of paralysis), her hand revealed a slightly used pencil-top eraser.  

"Well, baby, that's just an eraser from home.  That's nothing to hide."

Uh-oh.  She's still not looking at me.  There's more.

"What else is in your pocket?  Show me."

At this time, she reluctantly produced that oh-so cutsie key chain that she had pointed out earlier.

So...you're wondering what I did?  

I still don't know if it was right or wrong, but I calmly and patiently told her it was wrong, we cannot do that, returned the item to its place in the store and left.  

Once we arrived at the car, THE TALK commenced.  

As I left it with her, this was her ONCE IN A LIFETIME FREEBIE.  We discussed it.  She knows it was wrong.  I tried to scare her with the police stuff.  It's over.  I'm expecting that she will NEVER EVER try it again, right?

...Oh, and I immediately texted Fire Daddy.  Who, in turn, immediately phoned me back - frantic I think that someone was arrested.  (His first words were, "Who caught her?  Them or you?")

Fire Daddy talked to her more today about The Incident....without me around.  TO HIM she admitted to knowing it was wrong before doing it.  TO HIM she admitted to wanting it really badly.  TO HIM she admitted that "Mommy said we weren't going to get it." 

And, so, the ending changes.  Now, there's a new angle to this crime.  Now, there are different consequences.

So, we're in the midst of our first RESTRICTION.  (She said something about being "grounded" if there was ever a next time.  When we explained that being grounded, for someone her age, meant NOTHING because, "You don't go anywhere."  She replied, "Yes, I do!  I go to school!"  HA!  I'm not fallin' for THAT one, Little Missy!)

As my mother said, I'm sure she won't become a hardened criminal anytime soon...or even in the distant future.  However, right now, this is a very hard thing for me to swallow.  

Now, I'm REALLY not looking forward to their teenage years...and my own payback.  

Welcome to parenthood, Jenny.  Ain't life grand?

Feeling Full of It

Ever seen Oklahoma?  Not the state -- the musical (or movie).

"Oh, what a beautiful morning!  Oh, what a beautiful day!  I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way."  

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day.  Perfect temperature, lovely breeze, not a cloud (that I noticed in a bad way, at least) in the sky -- sunshiny, gorgeous, perfect weather. 

To make the day even better -- it was Good Friday.  (a.k.a. - No school.  Mommy and girls are OFF!)

My babies woke up on the RIGHT side of the bed - with sweet little happy smiles on their faces.  We had an exciting day planned.  The Hannah Montana movie opened today.  We were meeting some friends for an early showing, then lunch, then park, then dance class.  Whew.  I knew it was risky, but I felt good when everyone slept well last night and greeted me with perky little hellos this morning.  

To make a long story short, I was not entirely so lucky.  There were tears, there were time-outs, there was lots of fighting and fussing (me vs. Littlest Princess, mostly).  The movie (what I saw of it) was very cute.  Lunch -- grilled chicken and fruit salad at Chick-Fil-A (with children on playground) -- was delicious.  Dance class started off rather badly, unfortunately.  We were late and I had to deal with one teary-eyed, obstinant Big Girl.  However, their spirits seemed to recover after class and we enjoyed a fabulous trip to the park (ran out of time before dance).  To top it all off -- we came home too late for me to cook dinner (sniff, sniff) and BOTH babes fell asleep in the car on the way home.  Woo-hoo!  

This very full and long day has left me feeling a bit full of it.  Not in a funny way -- just a full way.  Do you ever have that feeling?  The feeling that your gut has risen into your chest?  The feeling that you have something to say -- something to EXPEL -- that you may or may not be able to accurately express?  It's nights like this that I am apt to have a drink(s) of wine...but I'm currently on a litenany of meds for a variety of reasons, so my better judgment is urging me to stay away from the adult beverages.  

It's funny, too, how the "full" feeling seems to morph into a numbness.  

Perhaps this is fatigue -- on caffeine...and pain meds...and steroids...and Prozac.

Getting Back Into the Swing

Unfortunately, that's not the swing to which I'm referring. This is more like the swing I'm climbing back into...

My glorious spring break has come to an end, as all good things must do. This week, I've had to get back into the swing of things - which, fortunately, includes this blog! (You know how it is, you are more willing to get started on the things you look forward to first.)

So, with that, there's a few things that have been burning on my mind that I feel the need to share with you.

Item: I have found a miracle pill - and it isn't Prozac. Recently, after hearing about the benefits of B vitamins, I strolled down the vitamin aisle in Target. I intended to casually read the labels and generally scope out the B Market, when a little bottle called my name.

Stress B-Complex? Um, Hello??? I GOT stress, baby!

Needless to say, it didn't take much thought before that bottle hopped into my red cart and I popped one before I even hit the sack that night.

Wow. I felt it immediately. I have been more energized and "peppy" everyday that I've taken them. They may possibly be my little miracle pill.

Side effect not noted on the bottle: neon yellow-green pee. But it's worth it! (And nobody has to know...except everyone who reads my blog.)

Item: I'm thirty-two (almost) and can still (more like finally) do a cartwheel. My darling eldest daughter has this problem with stress and being really hard on herself...I have no idea where she gets it from. She's currently struggling with learning to do a cartwheel in her jazz/acro class. So, being the loving, supportive mommy that I am, I realized the best thing I could do is "tutor" her in tumbling at home. She just needs a little more practice and confidence and I'm sure she'll get the hang of it.

We tried practicing indoors and giving verbal feedback. We tried using our hands to support and guide her legs and body so she could feel the right form. (A method which failed miserably, by the way. Apparently, at the mere touch of our hand, she expects to be carried through the motions and turns every muscle to mush.) So, to what did this crafty teacher resort? Well, every good teacher knows you need to model first. And away I went!

I discovered a number of things...

1. Cartwheels are 90% psychological. It's freaking scary when you've never done it before (or haven't in a really long time) to throw your hind end over your head, relying on the strength of two feeble girly (soft and squishy) arms to prevent you from crashing to the ground and breaking something important.

2. Landing gracefully is much harder than it looks.

3. I look really bad in yoga pants with a t-shirt tucked in. (I had to protect my modesty in front of my father and any of my parents' neighbors that may have glanced out their windows!)

Long story short, I wowed myself and my daughter improved slightly (after she beat herself up after watching video of her own cartwheels). We've got many more tutoring sessions ahead of us, but I'm sure she'll get it.

Item: I'm no good at waiting in lines. All it takes is a few lovely days at theme parks to discover this personal truth.

However, the icing on the cake came as I waited in line at the Kodak machine in Target to print 9 measly photos for Big Girl's school project behind two insanely rude and inconsiderate women for 40 minutes as they scanned and printed copies of an ENTIRE photo album! They kicked my personal torture into high gear with a particularly vicious below-the-belt assault to my afternoon schedule as they turned away from the machine and chatted with an old friend who was, apparently, so close and important to them that he was completely unaware that she had divorced her husband FIVE FREAKING YEARS AGO and is now dating a new guy who is "a big boy" whatever that was supposed to mean.

At this point, I refrained from my vain attempts to silence my tired daughter's whines. Let her whine. Go ahead, baby. Tell them how tired you are.

"What was that, Honey? This is taking FOREVER? You're hungry? I know, Sweetie. Let me see, I think I found a stale fruit loop in the bottom of my purse. Suck on this until we finally get a turn to use this machine. I just hope it is before the preschool closes. It would be awful if the school called the Department of Children and Families because I never made it to pick up your baby sister. Poor baby girl, she's probably going to be the last one there tonight. I hope she knows that we'll come EVENTUALLY for her. Surely her teacher will take her home eventually, right? They won't call a foster home yet, will they?"

It took me a good...24 hours?...for my blood to stop boiling. Actually, I'm not sure it ever really stopped. I hate waiting in lines.

Happy Birthday to Me

OK. It's not really my birthday.

You know how, when you're a kid, you track how close you are to your next birthday in fractions? I'm 5 AND A HALF. I'm 6 AND THREE QUARTERS. I'm ALMOST 10 (in two months).

Recently, I referred to my two darling daughters as 5 1/2 and 2 1/2. My husband corrected me, saying they were basically 6 and 3.

This did not make me happy. For numerous reasons.

1.) They are, if we must be accurate, 2 and 9.5 months and 5 and 9 months. They are NOT 6 and 3. I do not like to think of them aging any faster than necessary, thank you very much. As Big Girl knows all too well, they will be my babies forever -- even when they are grown women.

2. If their birthdays are coming up, then so is his......and mine. This isn't a big deal. Really. I'm quite comfortable with being thirty-one. Thirty-two, on the other hand, is not sounding nearly as comfie.

I remember my mother telling me of an age that really bothered her mentally. I think it was 25 or something completely ANCIENT like that. I thought I was past this after I nearly choked on 29. I'll never forget sitting in a booth at the Cheesecake Factory with my parents and Fire Daddy as Big Girl crawled all over my huge pregnant belly. I'll never forget thinking, "I'm going to be 29 and married with two kids. What happened to my life? Where has my youth gone???"

But, as Mother Dearest has always said, "What doesn't kill us, makes us stronger." I emerged on the other side of 29 a stronger, more confident woman. In fact, I rather like being thirty-one. I like being a "thirty-something". I've safely established myself as an adult -- out of the "pretend adult" years of your twenties. Yet, I'm still youthful and able to keep up relatively with the Spring Chicks. Except for weeknights. And I need a lot of notice so I can check the calendar and arrange for a babysitter. And I don't really like bars. I'd much prefer a restaurant, thanks.

Now, as soon as I find myself wearing my age proudly, my darling husband tells me it's time to move on? Um, that really doesn't work for me. Sorry. I'm not ready.

Thirty-one and I have so much more to do together. We need more time. I need to savor this while it lasts. I love it when people say, "You have two kids???" or "You've been teaching for 10 years? You look like you're right out of college!" OK. I know they're lying, or at least exaggerating...but I don't mind at all! I'm not Annie Lennox. (Crap. Did I just age myself?)

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing really WRONG with 32...except that it's not 31.

I just don't know if I'm ready for such a drastic change. It's all moving so fast. I mean, shouldn't we start with coffee? Maybe a lunch date? Perhaps if we just slow things down, get to know each other a little bit better first?

I guess I do still have four months and ten days to get ready for the big day.

"You look kinda moley."

I can't believe I haven't shared this with you yet.



Recently, I bit the bullet.



As a teenager, I was blessed in that I never really suffered from serious acne. As an adult, I've had "bouts" of acne, much like any other person. You know - hot date, the week of your wedding, someone else's wedding, the night of that holiday party, etc. Anytime when you really wanted to look good for some reason.


Then, there were the hormone-induced acne breakouts. One example that really stands out in my memory is when I was first pregnant with the Littlest Princess. I recall complaining to family, friends, coworkers, the girl at Subway (anyone who would listen) about how my face did not look or feel like my own. By the time I discovered my new "physical condition", I had already drug my sorry bootie into Dillard's to seek help from the great, wise Clinique Lady. (Needless to say, my renewed faithfulness in skin care excellence did not last the duration of the pregnancy.)



Now, as I've, apparently, reached another stage of life, my face is changing yet again. (You see, according to my ob/gyn, your estrogen starts to drop once you reach my "advancing age".) Once again, I began to feel like my face was not my own. One day, my sleepy eyes were greeted by FOUR (count'em - FOUR!) brand new blemishes. What on Earth was going on?



After consulting numerous friends (and, of course, the great, wise Clinique Lady) and experimenting with a variety of new moisturizers, cleansers, foundations, and more, I broke down...and scheduled...an appointment...with a DERMATOLOGIST.

This was, you see, a multi-layered issue.

1. I felt a bit, shall I say, shallow. I mean, acne is PURELY cosmetic, right? Am I really that shallow that I need to see A DOCTOR -- A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL -- so that my face won't have four pimples? Apparently, yes.

2. Visions of my mother danced in my head. "How long has this mole been there? Are you sure it has always been there? You should see what your doctor says about it. You know, we all should go to get a skin check every year." Have I really reached this point in my life? The DOCTOR stage? The stage where you start scheduling your annual physicals, routine tests, bloodwork, mammograms, and skin checks?

Whatever. My vanity overcame my fear and avoidance of responsibility, I guess.

On the fateful day of said appointment, knowing I needed to take Big Girl with me, I was sure to pack her DS into the car as we left for school. (Insurance for good waiting room and examining room behavior. Thank goodness, it worked! She was completely entertained.) I also had planned ahead and printed all the new patient paperwork from the website and completed it in advance, in hopes of avoiding the usual 15-20 minute delay on your first visit to a new doctor. Additionally, this will surely shock you, they called me back right away! (I know! I nearly fainted!)

I can recall thinking, "They're going to laugh me out of this office. Isn't it just the way of acne? When you don't want it -- it's there. When you DO want it -- it goes away?" You see, of course, my recently renewed efforts towards excellence in skin care had, for a day or two, been working like a charm. I was, temporarily, looking like myself again.

So, as I followed the nurse into the examining room and she handed me a paper gown, I felt the need to explain.

"OK. Here's your gown. You can get changed and the doctor will be just a moment," she directed.
"OH, um, I'm here for an acne visit. Do I really need to do this?"
"Hmmm, I show you as a skin check. Well, um...." she quickly scanned the little bit of exposed skin around my collar bone (it was a cold day in hell Florida that day) and replied, "you look pretty moley. She's gonna want to check you out."

WHAT?!? I look pretty "MOLEY"? I'll have you know that those are FRECKLES, lady! Whatever...what do YOU know about skin and moles, Little Miss Know-it-all...

No, I did not say that. I just went along with it, like a good little girl. I sucked it up and stripped.

Little Princess, in her most nonchalant voice, trying to comfort her visibly frustrated mother, announced at this time, "Don't worry, Mommy. I won't laugh at you. Because girls can see girls naked, right?" Gee. Thanks, darling. What support. What a comfort to know you WON'T LAUGH.

After dawning the plush and oh-so sassy paper gown and climbing to the perch atop the examining table, The Doctor arrived. Her bedside manner was so-so. Hello? I'm naked here? Can you try a little harder to make me comfortable? Crack a joke or something?

After initial introductions were over (7.8 seconds), I started into my modest explanation and apology for scheduling an acne appointment with such, obviously, minor troubles. I carefully explained that, while I had not anticipated this, the nurse had instructed me to disrobe and prepare for a skin check. Surely she would take pity on me and instruct me to re-robe while she stepped out....this was, after all, completely unnecessary.

"Well, let's just take a look."

Rats! Foiled again!

I stand, baring my backside to my (not laughing) daughter, as she carefully inspected my body -- arms, hands, feet (top and bottom), legs, scalp, neck, back, chest (including INSIDE my bra), and basically everything in between. While she did not use a fine-toothed comb, she did feel the need to go retrieve her dramatascope. (Ok. Since that day...er, right now when I Googled it to find out how to spell it...I learned that it is actually called a "dermatoscope" - which makes sense. However, I could have sworn she said "DRAMAtascope" - which is much more DRAMAtic.)

OK, ready for another shocker? She used the dermatascope to inspect my three very dark freckles (I am NOT moley!) on my lower back....the same three that my mother inisted I have "checked out". After a little hemming and hawing, taking some measurements, and creating some drawings (which were nothing like Leonardo DiCaprio's art in Titanic), she announced they were probably nothing, but she'd like to check them again in six months to be sure.

NOW. Onto the problem at hand -- those unsightly blemishes! Well, remember how I made a point to apologize to her?

"I know this is really not bad, it's just that it's bad FOR ME." I went on to explain the biography of my face, what interventions I had already tried, and my rationale for finally resorting to a medical option. Her reaction?

"Oh, you DEFINITELY have some pretty inflammatory stuff going on."

Thank you very much, ma'am, for kicking my ego down a notch...again. I really needed that.

A Slice of Neurosis

Call me crazy, but recently I became paranoid that my blog was starting to sound a little too...sane. I must rectify this, pronto. I thought the most efficient way to do this would be to just open up my head and let you crawl inside for a glimpse. Since that is not feasible, I guess I'll just spill some thoughts I had today. Here goes nothing.



I recently went out on a limb and decided to try Oil of Olay cold cream for the first time after it was recommended to me by more than one person. I'm sorry...what the heck, people? It's a bit like rubbing butter or Crisco on your face! Ugh! Water actually beads up on my hands - and there is a disgusting film in my sink! Not to mention what it seems to do to my washcloths...just gross. And, I tried and tried to put my grandmother's skin out of my mind...but I am Mema when I put it on my face. I just can't do it.



Girls' nights rock. I mean...don't you totally love putting on your favorite pjs, crawling under the warm covers and watching Barbie movies together with a couple of your best girlfriends? What? That's not what a girls night is? Oh. Well, don't tell the Princesses. ...I had a margarita first, does that count?


A little known fact about Florida women and winter...Florida Toe. I cannot claim credit for its title (I just whimpered about my sore toe until Melanie shared the name with me), but I am definitely suffering from it. My right thumb-toe (hate to call it a big toe, because it isn't big at all...however, it is quite "handy") has been sore for days from having to wear REAL SHOES. Ugh! The torment of cold temperatures! I miss my flip-flops and sandals!!

I found out today that our sheriff has a little star pin that he wears on his clothes when he is not in uniform. That's awesome. I want to call him Wyatt now. Or, even better, Mr. Earp.


I seem to be developing a serious immunity to caffeine. This could be fatal. Immediately after finishing my venti latte yesterday, I found myself yawning and sleepy. Today I had an extra shot of espresso and didn't feel it. Whatever shall I do? Must find a runner to make Starbucks runs midday for me while I'm at school.



I called in an 8 year-old to help me problem solve a carpool logistic situation today. Wonder why she gave me that blank stare and bee-bopped away so happily when I dismissed her? (Sans solution, of course.)



We ate dinner at a cruddy restaurant tonight. The service stank, the girls didn't eat their meals, my dinner wasn't good, and it took FOREVER...Drinks and bread were good...think you could go there and just get the rolls with your drinks? May need to peruse the menu for an extended period of time...


Someone needs to work on creating Breathe-Right strips with a special adhesive (and shape) engineered to stick to dog noses. I'm sure mine isn't the only snoring canine.


Watching five year-old little girls do the wheelbarrow walk, holding each other upside-down by the feet, is really funny. Thank goodness for those mats, though. One face-plant after another, smiling all the while. It's especially funny that the one holding the feet looks at themselves in the mirror the entire time...the mirror that is OVER THEIR SHOULDER.



I played Password with Big Girl in the car tonight. Somewhere, Happy Hour needs to include classic game shows. I'm thinking live versions of Password, Family Feud (or Friendly Feud), Press Your Luck! (Come on! Big bucks, big bucks, no whammies, NO WHAMMIES!), Let's Make A Deal, the Newlywed Game, the Gong Show. Perhaps it's just me. I think I would be REALLY GOOD on some of those shows.



I want to know who is playing a practical joke on me. This week I've received an onslaught of coupons, literature and samples from infant formula companies. It is extremely disappointing and disturbing to receive a key to the package box in your mailbox -- only to find that your package is a box of Similac. Especially when you are not -- and have NO intention of becoming -- pregnant. (But, that's another post entirely.)

By the way, hope you enjoyed my hidden treat in this post....for those of you, more curious, readers. Sorry, it wasn't so classy. I warned you about my sense of humor.

Buried Treasure

I was "thumbing" through my posts and back-tagging posts tonight, when I stumbled upon this unpublished piece. I assumed it was incomplete and began rereading it. I decided it was a story worth sharing, so here it is. This post was originally titled "My Little Neurotic". Hope you enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

I feel a little bit guilty for the title, but it's true.

My Big Girl appears to be following in Neurotic Mommy's footsteps. Tonight we had a mini-princess-meltdown about a costume parade that has yet to happen. Mind you, the Little Princess has NO exposure to this event in the past, but she seems to have sense of what is to come.

This story starts last year when she was in Pre-K. On the 100th day of school, they had an (I'm sure) adorable little, miniature parade that included only the 30 students in the four year-old program. Apparently, she had a not-so-mini-meltdown on this day. It was too loud (???) and there were too many people (???). She refused to walk and, thank God, one of her loving, wonderful teachers stayed with her and held her hand, lovingly reassuring her as they trailed behind her 29 peers and their teachers.

Now she has joined my school, which goes, admittedly, a bit over the top when it comes to celebrations and...well, just about everything. She has no idea what she's in for. Regardless, tonight, she hysterically sobbed, "They think I'm going to be in the parade, BUT I'M NOT!!!" With great contempt she declared her intentions -- she would just stand in the hallway. (The reality is, she probably won't even want to do that tomorrow.)

Not ten minutes after this episode, which came a mere 5 minutes after her daily after-school snack meltdown, Big Girl emphatically told her sister, Little Girl, "I just can't take it. I cannot take your crying. You cry about everything! You cry when you want something, you cry for food, you cry for your pacie, you cry for your drink. I cannot take this crying all the time!"

OK. Am I hearing things? Did she really just say that? Who does she think she is???

I tried. I tried really hard to be as sweet as I could be, but I just HAD to point out to her how much she sounded like she was talking about HERSELF.

"Baby, do you know anyone else who cries a lot? What you just said sounded a lot like you..." I began to explain. Of course, she denied any parallels.

I KID YOU NOT -- It was not 1 minute later when she decided she was thirsty. Yep. You guessed it! MELTDOWN, BABY!

Do you ever feel like you're the only sane one? For me, that's a little sad...

I need to teach this girl to vacuum.

______________________________________________________________________
Author's Note: Wondering how it all worked out with the parade? She made liars out of us -- completely. Fire Daddy, faculty friends, other parents and I were all braced for the worst...and Big Girl paraded proudly as Sleeping Beauty with the rest of the approximately 400 Kindergarteners and first graders -- sans tears. I thought I was going to faint out of shock! Who knew?

Love-Hate Relationships

I have learned that my life is filled with love-hate relationships. Dang it! There is nothing more frustrating!

For instance, I HATE to go to the gym. Yet, I love it. When I haven't been in a while, I dread it like a trip to the OB/GYN. However, when I'm in a groove, it can be invigorating and uplifting. WHY THE HEE-HAW CAN'T I GET THROUGH THESE SLUMPS, THEN??? Am I really that short-sighted? Do I have memory issues that prevent me from remembering the high of endorphins flooding my bloodstream?

Perhaps that memory condition is the same memory condition that makes me consider, one day, having a third child. As I watch friends and relatives blossom with child, planning for their own blessed events that will soon change their lives forever, I reflect on my own pregnancies and start to daydream about another baby. WHAT AM I THINKING??? I guess my memory must be failing me again. Don't I remember how my body felt as it buckled under the pressure of my little miracle? Have I forgotten my own post-partum insanity so quickly?

On that note, I recall my shopping trip to Target yesterday. OH. MY. GOD. Have you ever wanted to be Elizabeth Montgomery and wiggle your nose to make something, or someone (perhaps yourself) disappear? I love my children. They are, I promise, the light of my life...and all that stuff. Yesterday, though? I was ready to be rid of (at least) one of them!

I was in a completely LAZY mood. (I attribute this to my recent avoidance of exercise. Currently, I'm completely submerged in "fat and lazy" mode.) I didn't even want to get dressed. However, my darling Baby had run out of diapers. Poop! (Pun intended.)

After approximately 30 minutes of necessary preparations required for any dash away from home on a cold day (sweaters, jackets, sippy cups, emergency snacks, blankies, pacie and books), we were finally off. We made it to Target and the trip went downhill from the moment we were in the door.

Any normal folk can just saunter into a store, grab a cart or basket and they're off. Not us. My girlies have to have a "train". (This is their pet name for the Big-Mama-Daddy-People-Pusher/shopping cart. You know, the one with the enormous red plastic two-seater platform attached behind the cart? The one that is next to impossible to push when its empty, much less loaded down with kids and goods?) Fine. We'll get a train, I reluctantly agreed, hoping this would buy me some peace and quiet.

Uh-oh. No trains on side number one. "No problem. Mommy has to return something, so we'll check at the other door." After making my returns, I was disappointed (yet, not surprised) to find that there were no "trains" at this entrance, either.

Fortunately, my eldest was perfectly content to ride in a regular cart. She's really getting too big for this, so she rides in the bottom of the basket. I am aware this is not the safest option, but, as the oldest, she is generally a very obedient child and not at risk of bailing out unexpectedly. My youngest, however, is a completely different story.

"No! I no want to ride! I want free ride!"

"Free ride" is an old family term for being carried by Mommy or Daddy. No slings or carriers will do, either. It is ONLY the real deal.

"Baby, you're too heavy! Mommy can't carry you! You can walk or ride." My attempts to persuade her to conform were in vain. She's freakin' stubborn. So, I tried to be sly. I carried her in front of me, resting her bottom on the top of the basket. This did not go unnoticed. She would scream, tightening her death grip around my neck and straightening her body so she slid off the cart.

I, calmly and lovingly, would explain to her (again) that this was not safe. She is too heavy to be carried throughout the store. I'd present the options over and over again, wasting my breath.

Now, fast forward to about...oh...6 minutes later. I'm breaking down and beginning to resort to threats. I've learned that time out may work at home, but in public it is nearly impossible to enforce. However, Daddy had some luck (relatively speaking) with spanking lately...dare I threaten this? What the heck! It can't get any worse, right?

So, I put it on the table and she -- why was I surprised? -- CHOSE THE SPANKING!!! She called my bluff!!! I quickly realize that there is NO WAY I am going to haul off and pop her a good one right in the middle of Target. Not wanting to back down (yet), I start to make my way to the family restroom. I could get her in there and issue the punishment.

I chickened out. I circled around and decided to go home. Through the checkout I would go and this nightmare would be over.

Enter Princess Number One. I had promised her a treat for being so good. (She really was being remarkably good. Not only was she minding me, but she was attempting to help persuade her sister to mind, too!) Crap. On to the cereal aisle for a little snack-sized bowl of Fruit Loops. On the way, I decided to crack open a can of teacher talk.

"Thank you SO MUCH for being such a good little girl today. Mommy is SO proud of you. I LOVE the way you're SITTING ON YOUR BOTTOM and riding so nicely! You deserve a special treat for your behavior!!! What would you like, honey? Some Fruit Loops?" Of course, IMMEDIATELY, Little Sister pipes up.

"Mommy? I want Fuit Woops. I want wide in de caht."

I felt low. I felt like a sucker and a doof...but I took what I could get. Into the cart she went and I zipped around the store, quickly gathering the items on my list.

Crisis averted, right? WRONG.

The tasty diversion worked for a while, until Baby decided she was finished. Fortunately, she remained content to ride...but she was now charged with sugar. Lord, have mercy. There were Fruit Loops flying all over that store! Squeals and screams, of joy, mind you, filled the store! I spent my shopping time scooping cereal from the floor each time she accidentally tipped the bowl. Sorry, Target, for the ones crushed under the wheels of the Cart O'Giggles. I left my broom and dustpan at home.

I love my daughters dearly, especially my Baby. But, I HATE shopping with them, especially my Baby.