got snacks?

sometimes I need snack. you know, a little pick-me-up in the afternoon. or after dinner. or before bed. or after breakfast.

this could become a problem.
as in, a crane might be the only thing capable of actually picking me up.

damage

coulda been worse. 

note to self:

trying on swim suits while you've got the blues is not a good idea. ever. 

nor is eating the last of the ben and jerry's in retaliation to the swim suit incident. 

Rx: treadmill  and sunshine

empty buckets

I've been feeling rather snarky lately. Snarky.  Frustrated. Burnt-out. Hurt. Humiliated. Inferior. And just plain ticked off. Ugh. A week of adding insult to injury over and over finally got to me. A real case of the mean reds and I reacted poorly without grace or patience or class. Dreadful. I don't like this feeling at all, but it seems to be stuck and I just can't shake it. It certainly doesn't bring out the best in me and in fact often works up embarrassing behavior. I've said things I wish I hadn't. Raised my voice when I needn't. Thought things I oughtn't. Reacted harshly.  Oh! I am so very wretched. My little boys witnessed a sort of episode of frustration and I can't erase it. My Piglet learned a word that is hardly naughty but sounds a bit shameful coming from the cherubic mouth of a three-year-old. And it's probaly my fault. Ugh. That same Piglet, dramatic and loud (or louder) always, was telling me to calm down. Oh, I am rotten. And what makes it worse: my frustration has been unleashed in parcels. None of the recipients could know of any other catalysts, each building on the other. So, they likely think I'm just uptight. Permanently snarky. That I'm just that way all the time. Ugh. 

Will my children get over it and forget? Will strangers and friends alike just brush it aside? Have I done permanent damage? Can I beg and pray for sufficient forgiveness.  Can I find a way to fill my empty bucket and get my mojo back? Goodness knows it's up to me. My bucket. My job to fill it. And avoid letting it get empty again. I shudder to think.

First things first: a quasi date night on the sofa with John Wayne, Ben & Jerry, and Mr. J. Maybe that will help.  Or maybe I should try Holly Golightly's advice. 

such a dork

so I got this notion in my head that I was going to sew some baby blankies. nice, soft, very cute baby blankies. I don't really know how, but by golly I was going to try, and if it killed me I was going to make something special. Bring it on, bobbins and seam-rippers. 

That, of course, meant visiting the local fancy-shmancy fabric store that just oozes with inspiration and adorable lovely things. I purchased some fanciful fabric, and a vote of confidence from the shopkeeper, and brought it home, my clueless noggin just brimming with delusions of fanciful stitchery.

Lesson learned: it's beneficial to know what I'm talking about prior to spending a pretty penny on what turned out to be only half the amount of fabric I need for my delusional projects.

Instead of the makings of some gosh darn cute baby blankies, I have a stack of lovely fabric. Too little for blanket making, too nice for much else. Sure, it could be pieced together and made into something slightly different from my vision, but that would require skills far beyond my own. Seriously. The 4 straight sides of a basic blanket had me freaking out a little bit.

Who feels like a big fat dork?

Yeah, me. That's who.

Writing Assignment: Be Real

i've "enrolled" in a blog-based writing seminar from Travlin Oma. it's inspiring and, today, challenging.

School of Thought: Be Real

Assignment: Search through the drawer in your heart. Are there memories that shaped your self image? Write about a time when your feelings were hurt. Why do you think you still remember the incident? How does that help you understand yourself better?

This could get ugly. Hurt feelings. High School. The best of times, the worst of times and everything in between. Drama. Folly. I was a conscientious student, mediocre in most regards, had friends in many circles. My best friend, though, was Marie*. We'd known each other since grade school. We had the same classes, shared a locker, went out on weekends together, crushed on boys together. I'd have done anything for her and valued our friendship above all others. I was loyal, if not gorgeous and clever and hip.

The summer before my senior year, I met a boy. He attended another school. He was new. And very cute. We went on a few dates and seemed to like eachother. On the verge of being smitten, I gushed about him to Marie. Probably something like "Todd is soooo cute! He's really nice! He's funny! We both like Erasure!" Ahh, the stuff of meaningful relationships.

It was the eve of the homecoming football game. I hadn't been asked to our dance. Marie was nominated for homecoming queen. I was happy for her--delivered celebratory notes to her in class, swooned over her pepto-bismol pink, lace covered satin dress even though I didn't like it. (It was awful, actually). I knew it would never have been me on the ballot; I hoped she would enjoy the moment. A friend called--the one who introduced me to Todd. She'd just seen him that afternoon and he told her he was going to ask me to the homecoming dance at his own high school. Really? I might just sprout wings and fly! I'd never been asked before. Never had the dress or the rhinestones or the wrist shrubbery. Apparently his plan was to join me at the football game and ask me afterward. Oh the giddiness!

He arrived at the game with his friends and sat behind me. Halftime. Announcement of the homecoming queen...Marie! As i stood to cheer for her, I heard the conversation between the boys. I froze. Did my best to pretend I hadn't heard. There were high fives and congratulations to him for taking our homecoming queen to his own homecoming dance. I choked out a goodbye and hurried out of the stands, eyes stinging. He would ask her. She would say yes. I knew before it even happened. Deflated, I left the game with my dad, crying all the way home, knowing that he felt utterly useless. I do remember his words: "You are better of with out her as a friend, she never seemed like a good friend to you in my opinion." He was trying to tell me that I had value. That I mattered, even if someone else didn't think I was cute or cool or homecoming-worthy. I know that now, though at the time the ordeal sealed the fate of doom over my self esteem.

I ran to my room for a good cry. My mother offered me ice cream. Ice cream? Honestly? I was hurt. Betrayed. Humiliated. Crushed. And Marie, well, she offered no excuse, no apology, no remorse. She didn't speak to me the remainder of the year. No graduation party together. No packing up for college together. No more sharing a dorm. No more BFF. No more Todd, either, that was for sure. Who needs fickle fellows?

Ultimately, I moved on, built a bridge, got over it. I was better off. I learned what real friends, true friends, are about and filled my life with them. I didn't need to let cancerous friendships weaken me. I didn't want to peak in high school, or let it be the culminating experience of my life story. I wouldn't let a teensy sliver of broken heartedness break me for good. I didn't have to be unkind in return. I could simply square my shoulders, take the high road, and be the good friend. I hope I've succeeded.

I fall for it every time

I'm a sucker for the gymbucks.

anybody else?

long distance

It was time. Couldn't be put off any longer. Nanuk's permanent move from bassinet at my bedside to crib all the way down the hall. I don't like him being so far away from me. As it is, I don't like Piglet being so far away from me at night either and he's nearly 3. A distance of a whopping 20 steps. Anxiety.

When I was pregnant with Piglet, someone gave me the following advice: "Never let the baby sleep in your room. You'll never get any sleep." I had not yet become a mother officially, but I knew instantly her advice was not for me. I wanted that baby in arm's reach constantly. I wanted to hear every little breath and coo, grunt, stretch and wimper. All reassurances of life in him. I wanted to reach into the bassinet just inches away each time he needed me. Each time I needed him. Sitting up in bed half asleep to stroke his forehead was also much easier than trudging down the hall at every wakeful peep. Or at every moment of motherly paranoia I may have encountered in my sleep. You know the kind. hearing and knowing were more important than sleeping, in my book.

All too soon, though, that first baby was mobile. Reaching one arm over the side of the bassinet as leverage to peer over the top. Grabbing the sides with each hand and trying to pull himself to sitting. Yikes! It was time to graduate to the big lonely crib. Oh sadness. My first night of reliance on the baby monitor had me all worked up, but eventually I got used to it. And here's a confession: that first baby is now nearly 3 years old old and I still keep a monitor in his room. Pathetic? Perhaps, but I want to know that if he has a bad dream or upset tummy or earache that I can hear his little voice instantly. It rarely happens, but you know, just in case. A little peace of mind.

So, now our baby Nanuk has outgrown his accommodations next to Mommy's bed. The one over which he peers each morning to greet me, beaming. His fluffy noggin touches one end, his little toes touch the other. Barely room for him to roll over (his favorite trick). It's time. But I'm not yet ready to leave Piglet monitor-less at night. Hence another confession: I bought another monitor. One for baby-the-first on my dresser. One for baby-the-second on Mr. J's dresser. Judge if you must.

Enough

End of my rope. Nothing left. Patience run dry. Enthusiasm fizzled out. Confidence shot. Mental and emotional energy kaput. Credibility zero. Only place to unload is right here. It is my own blog after all and won't be inclined to give me useless feedback.

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so there.

everybody cries, nobody sleeps.

The past 4 months (has it really been that long?) have been a whirlwind roller-coaster of adjusting and changing. Not always pretty. In fact, often downright ugly. Until just a few weeks ago, it came down to these four words:

everybody cries. nobody sleeps.

This was all too frequent:

frequent, though usually brief:

But, things are improving day by day; the heavens have seen to it that these 2 boys have a sane mommy. At least to some degree. Piglet likes Mommy again. Nanuk sleeps through the night and Piglet's meltdowns. The two wee ones are crazy about each other. Mommy is in the swing of life with two. Her two boys. And she's crazy about both of them.

Mommy confessions

Don't call the mommy-police but I permit the Piglet to watch cartoons in the morning. Mickey Mouse and Little Einsteins, they are air back to back on the same channel. I do so because it occupies him for 50 minutes while I tend to Nanuk or the dishes or my hair. Also Because he likes to solve problems with the Mouseketools and he's learned terms like adagio and forte and recognizes Beethoven's 5th by ear.  Secretly I also permit it because I love the 5 minute short cartoon that airs in between his 2 shows. Maybe my geek gene is manifesting itself but every episode makes me laugh. Those naughty sheep!

I never imagined

warning: graphic content below. tame stuff if you have toddlers. not so tame otherwise. 

A sentence I never imagined uttering, and certainly never imagined uttering without so much as blinking an eye:

"B, could you pick up that nugget of poop by the door while I scrub over here?"

The circumstances behind this sentence (I'll spare you) prompted B to support my desire to potty train M, which led to doing something I never (never ever) imagined doing:

Sitting outside a bathroom door with B, listening for the sounds of, er, success from within where M sat on his throne because he said he needed to, well, you know. There he sat, and there we sat with bated breath, for 15 minutes, hoping against hope to hear a tell-tale ker-plop. 

And hear it we did. B knocked on the door (M demands privacy in this matter) to which M answered: "Cleaning!"   Wrong answer, kiddo. 

What did we discover upon opening the door? M had wrangled one leg inside the toilet bowl  and was "cleaning" said toilet with his foot. Proudly. Luckily, in this instance, there had not been any kind of, um, success prior to the foot entering the toilet. I suppose I should be proud that he's seen me clean toilets enough (with a scrubber, NOT my feet) to imagine doing it with his tootsies? 

I am not ashamed

Yesterday, being Valentine's Day and all, I indulged in a few of these (and really I made them myself!). A little something to celebrate the day of romance, and if not romance then certainly the the day of chocolate or of the flavonoids in chocolate that trigger endorphins that simulate the happy feelings of romance, right? Apparently I need a LOT of romance or something. Had a few of the cookies, had a couple more. After dinner we made Chocolate Molten Cakes for dessert. Confession: I ran out of steam and opted for a boxed mix (pretty good). I licked the spatula after preparing the batter. I licked the "molten" filling off another spatula. I scraped the spilled "molten" off the counter after inverting the individual cakes. No, not the mini-cakes, the jumbo-cupcake-tin-sized cakes. I greedily scraped the muffin tin of cake and goo remnants. I then devoured said cake in all it's gooey chocolate glory. My husband watched in awe--or maybe disgust. This morning, after very little sleep (M has a fever and was awake, miserable all night), and after finally settling M into desperate slumber, and with hubby away at work, I devoured yet another cake. Standing up. In my pajamas. I'm sure that if there were a legal limit of chocolate or cocoa butter or flavinoids imposed, I would have exceeded it 2 cakes and several cookies ago. Shamelessly. Oy, mama needs romance. And a glass of milk to wash down my next cookie...

for greener pastures

use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without

For some time now "environment" has been on my mind, as in, I know I should be doing something for it but what? Some things are non-negotiable for me: disposable diapers for one. I know cloth are more eco-friendly, but well, just no. Same with my SUV. It gets me around in the winter and played a significant role in saving my life recently. I will not part with it. Our other car is a compact, fuel efficient, totally un-hip econo-monster. Doesn't that count for something? Moving on...

Today, I flipped on the TV and found, ta da! Oprah doing an entire show on Going Green. Confession: I turned the TV on just as the audience erupted over some great thing Oprah had just given them and I simply had to know what the fuss was about, which is why I bothered to stay tuned.

1. Re-use. For those frequent "I'm out of cilantro and teddy grahams!" emergency trips to the grocery store (that magically require the purchase of ice cream), a canvas bag is ideal. Found some delightful bags on this site.
2. Unplug. Unused electronics and appliances, that is. Even if it's turned off, it's still using energy until it's unplugged. Stereos, hair-dryers, a/c adapters, etc.
3. Napkins. Finally a reason to use my pretty cloth napkins. Using them in place of paper napkins more frequently can have a huge impact.