Mixed Nuts

If you ever start to think that you have issues, you can comfort yourself by saying, "At least I'm not as nuts as Lily." What is so nuts about me you ask (or maybe you don't even have to ask...)?

Nuts is calling the pediatrician at 3 am when your child has his third fever in 6 weeks and telling him you think your kid might have cancer.

Nuts is refusing to believe your eyes could possibly have gotten this bad and that the optometrist must have your prescription wrong (I'm firm on this one).

Nuts is constantly planning an escape route for you and your kids (and maybe cats, depending on the day) should an intruder enter your house (I also have a scenario for fire).

Nuts is honestly believing the people I love are the best at everything and everyone else is junky.

Nuts is refusing to buy a mini-van for two kids because it will make me feel too old and ridiculous. I am set on my Honda Civic. So what if we cannot transport anyone else in our car with us.

And finally (though I could go on forever), nuts is years of buying hair products that I believe will do a miraculous transformation of my hair where I can wash it and have it dry stick-straight without frizz. I could pay for plastic surgery with all the money I have spent on this.

So, yes, I might be a little (or a lot) nuts and a slight hypochondriac but at least I can come to grips and embrace it. As for the people around me, they might struggle a bit more with it (:

Sleepless in Central Illinois

Just when I think I am becoming a [relatively] successful mother of two, the wheels fall off and it turns out that it's not going exactly as I'd like. Last week, I was excited that we had seemingly come through the major difficulties of an infant and toddler; things were looking up. Marina was sleeping through the night and Eli was sleeping and napping without the need of a pull-up (we won't mention his daytime behavior...). He had mastered the command of his bladder while sleeping. I vowed to never buy him another diaper or pull-up. It was a great feeling.

Then this week decided to sneak up and whack me in the head. Eli has peed his bed for the past three nights and during one nap. He comes in our room to let us know and apologizes in such a sad little way you feel sorry for him. But then it is loads and loads of laundry and a big mess. The worst part is that we used up all the pull-ups with no plans of replacement and now I have no back-up plan. It would be nice to scoot to the store with kids in tow today, except it is -17 outside. I'm not that mean, even if they both rob me of sleep regularly.

Marina has decided to revert back to her very early days and wake up at 2 and 3 am all week and just cry without any plans of stopping. Poor Mark has to work in the mornings and by that time I have completely lost my mind and have taken to beating Fat Linda who can't seem to leave me alone while I sleep.

So in an effort to regulate my kids and sanity, I'm going to take a week-long vacation to Mexico, where I will eat endless amounts of guacamole and drink pina coladas. When I get back, everything will be perfect and my children will be wonderful sleepers and extremely well-behaved. Let me just get my travel agent on the phone and see if they accept payments of knitted and crocheted goods.

Gas Chamber

If you are in a sparsely populated eye glasses store, you might want to think twice about passing gas, because a toddler that just happens to be nose-level with your butt might suddenly call out, "What's that smell!? I smell something and it smells like poop!"

Wacky Wiping

I've been realizing recently that I may have made a maternal misstep lately. Maybe I mentioned this in the past, but when we were potty training Eli, he would frequently leave little drops of pee everywhere after he was done going. He would drop a little on the rim of the toilet, maybe one on the floor and then one last drop would be absorbed by his underwear. In an effort to sanitize the situation, I taught him to tear off a square of toilet paper and clean up his mess when he was done. Somehow in all of this, he has become a boy that wipes himself. This I know is not a very masculine move and his daddy will have to break him of this little habit soon (not that I mind him cleaning off the toilet though). But today, instead of tearing off a square of toilet paper, he grabbed the entire roll (which is not attached to the wall because we are trash) and wiped himself with it. I was shocked so I scolded this brazen move. I told him that you have to tear off toilet paper, not just wipe with the whole roll and put it back. This forces me to beg the question, just how much has Eli done this when I'm not standing in the bathroom with him? And then probably an hour later, I go and blow my nose on that piece. Sick!

Even Eli's after-BM wiping could use some work. The other day, he tore off a long piece of toilet paper and while he was wiping, the other end of it was dragging through the toilet water. He tried to pull it out of the water when I stopped him and pointed out that slopping pee-pee-toilet-water all over the bathroom is not a great idea.

I'm just going to assume that while I'm not in the bathroom with him, he does everything right. I don't mind living in blissful ignorance. Just as long as what I blow my nose on isn't pre-moistened (yes, I know, maybe we should invest in Kleenex... but we are not classy people like that).

Loser Linda

Dear Fat Linda,

There is something a little touchy I need to talk to you about. It has come to my attention that every day, immediately after you finish your meals, you go after your brother, Lorenzo's, portion. This is not appreciated by any of us.

When we adopted you as a small kitten, you were so adorable. You appealed to our tender hearts. But, it wasn't long after that we realized you might have a problem. You are not vicious, though your nails occasionally do some damage. The issue is that it seems you will do anything for food. You often resort to manipulation and trickery to get us to feed you more than once. You dive between our feet to trip us, even on the stairs. You are only affectionate when it is getting close to feeding time. And I'm sorry to say that all this eating is resulting in a weight problem. Maybe I should rephrase that and be blunt, you have been fat since almost the minute you walked into our house. I have tried everything to remedy this. I switched you to diet food, I have tried to reason with you and suggest a healthy exercise regimen. Since all of this has failed, I am trying the tough love approach and directness.

Linda, you are obese. Licking up the run-off grease from the George Foreman grill is perpetuating the problem. And since you eat Lorenzo's food, the poor cat is getting frail and malnourished. What can I do to help you? Should I enroll you in a feline over-eaters program? Or should I just keep verbally abusing you daily and hope that I get through to you? Whatever the case, having you so chunky reflects poorly on me as an owner. People believe I must be too indulgent with you or that I am a careless parent. So, please for your sake, for my sake, quit being such a fatso and eating every one's food. Try to control yourself and maybe run around every now and then instead of lying on our bed all day. It will do you well.

Most affectionately,

Lily

Woeful Week

My kids... it's funny to say that, it makes me feel old. This week has been an interesting one for my little buddies and me. Here is a little list of some odd things that happened:

1. Early in the week, it was raining and terrible outside so I dragged us to Hobby Lobby in search of more yarn (which was ultimately not there). I was lugging Marina in her car seat and Eli was running just in front of me (but not in the parking lot, you judgers). As we entered the store, Eli took one step on the tile floor and his feet shot out from under him. He violently landed on his head. It made a grotesque thud on the floor. Lucky for his little brain, he was wearing his winter hat, so it cushioned the blow slightly. Poor little guy started crying and needed me to fix his head for him. Oddly enough, an employee was dusting a counter a few feet away and never even looked up... hmm. She must not like kids.

2. Today, back at Hobby Lobby, in search of that elusive yarn, Eli walked in the same door and loudly (practically in a shout) informed me that his wiener itched (and we know that Hobby Lobby is such a conservative store). He had been walking funny for a few paces before the announcement. I told him that he better take care of it. He tried to scratch the outside of his jeans and when that didn't work, he took to slapping the front of his pants. I couldn't stop laughing at this shameless show. Perhaps it would have been a good time to inform him of socially acceptable actions, but I left that lesson for the next time. No one seemed to be offended by him, so we got a free pass on bad etiquette for the day.

3. Eli sometimes has a tendency to misinterpret things through his little "Eli lens". Sometimes he hears a word and thinks it is something else. For example, this week one of us used the word "buster", like "hey buster, what do you think you are doing?" He laughed and told us that his preschool teacher uses that word too. He wouldn't stop laughing about it. Then when he repeated it, I realized why. He believed we are all saying "Bus Turd".

4. On Monday, I was at my aunt's house while she was having a TV delivered and she was at work. While I was standing there observing the setup, I heard (and felt) a little business happening in Marina's pants. I thought I would wait to change her until after the delivery man left, but then my hand felt something on her back. She was wearing a really thick sleeper so I couldn't' be sure what exactly was going on. I went to the other room and peeled back the layers of her clothing to find an extreme poop explosion. The sheer force behind the BM had driven it all the way up to her shoulders! It was even under her armpits. This is the kind of diaper change that you just stick your kid in the bath right after. But, unfortunately, there was no possibility of this at the time. Also unfortunate was that I had no wipes with me. I had to use about 50 wet paper towels to clean her up. Then there was the impossible task of pulling her body suit over her head without smearing poop in her hair and on her face. I had to do all of this with lightning speed because the delivery man was finishing up his task and I didn't want to come out with a poop-smeared baby and soiled hands. Luckily I had just been to the store and picked up a new pack of clothes for her or she would have gone home wrapped up in a blanket. I am not always the most prepared mom. But I like to put myself in tough situations to test my ingenuity.

So, it has been a week filled with absurdities, poop and pain, but really, is that anything out of the ordinary in my life? I think not.

Mom's the Bomb

Someone asked me this week what I do all day...

Lately, as the weather has gotten colder and somehow our money seems to be evaporating, we have been confined to the house a lot. Every day I get up and make Eli's breakfast with one hand while holding Marina in the other. I have to lob several threats at Eli in response to his daily protests to the menu. I've found that he will eat just about anything if I add raisins to it (not to mention a boost in his regularity).

I have been getting antsy being in the house all day but if we go out, we will encounter one of two things: money spending, or communicable viruses. I have been wanting to take the kids to the Children's Museum lately, but then I think about all the sick kids running around and snotting on everything, so I change my mind and drag them to the grocery store with me. Poor Eli's exciting adventures are limited to the front of a cart. Even when he sits at the table to color and draw, he pretends he's writing grocery lists for me. He will name all the things we thinks we need and make little marks on the paper that he believes are letters.

On the way to Sam's Club today, I heard the sound of the door handle right behind me and realize that Eli has partially opened the back door from his car seat. I immediately started screaming like a lunatic and locked the door so it won't open the rest of the way. He and I then discussed the dangers of opening the door and how he most certainly would fall out of the car and get run over by a truck. It might be time to engage the child safety lock in the door. But what happens if we get trapped under water and need to open the door from the inside? I'll have to give this some thought.

Twice a week Eli goes to preschool. Each day, we have exactly the same scenario. I have to wake him up. He is tired and crabby about being woken up. He tells me he doesn't want to go to school or eat breakfast. He doesn't want anyone else to go to school either and no one can play with toys. It seems that if he is miserable, everyone else should be too. Then he pulls it together a little bit and eats his breakfast. Finally by the time we need to leave, he's totally on board with school. He tells me he is going to be obedient and listen to his teachers this time. Hours later when I pick him up and he tells me about the snacks he ate and the games they played. I ask him if he got in trouble. No, he tells me. Then a few minutes later will come something like this: "Lily (not me but his friend at school) was crying today." Why, I ask him. "Because I hit her in the head with the doctor's box." Hmmm. Or I hear a story from my sister (who works in the school) about witnessing Eli mowing down another kid with a shopping cart. When I asked him about why he did that, he simply told me that the kid was in the way of his cart. In Eli's defense, I have heard reports that his behavior is vastly improved as of late (probably just as long as people stay out of the way of the shopping cart or doctor's box).

So in answer to the question, my days are filled with kids, groceries, laundry, cats, and constant brain storming on effective ways to wrangle a toddler while being a milk machine and trying to find ways to keep an infant happy. So far today, since my kid didn't actually fall out of the car while I was driving and the baby didn't scream the entire time I was in the store, I give myself a C+ for the day.

Feeling Squirrelly

Last week, on a fateful trip to Eli's school, I ran over a defenseless squirrel. I saw it happening in slow motion and was completely unable to avoid it. I was crossing a small bridge on a two lane country road with a van passing me in the opposite direction when a squirrel, who was using poor judgment, ran in front of the van. When he narrowly escaped death there, he decided to push his luck and continue on in front of me. Like a bad game of Frogger, he got mashed. It was a grotesque thud. A quick glance in my rear view mirror confirmed his fate. As I saw the sickening carnage about to unfold, knowing that my options were to continue on over the squirrel or crash my car and kill the majority of my family, I let out a terrible scream and covered my mouth with my hand. My hand stayed there for the next two miles. From the backseat, came the question, "Mommy, what happened? Mommy, what's wrong?" over and over again.

When I was able to lift myself from the depression sufficiently, I answered him with, "I ran over a squirrel, Eli."

He digested this information for a moment then asked, "Why did you do that?" I explained to him that I had no choice and that the squirrel ran out in front of us and it was was unavoidable. I even had to tell him that the squirrel was dead when he inquired after his well-being.
Had I thought a bit more clearly at that point, I would have seen it was a bit unwise to tell my 3-year-old about killing a cute, furry animal in the road. Since that time, an incessant string of comments and questions regarding the squirrel have been verbalized. "That squirrel was probably going to find his family when you ran him over" or out of no where, "Remember when you ran over that squirrel?" Clearly, this is something he keeps thinking about and since it is on his mind, he keeps bringing it up again so it can be on my mind all the time too. "Maybe that squirrel should have watched where he was going so we wouldn't have to run him over."

Squirrel, we will not soon forget your tragic death or the circumstances that lead up to that moment. You will be mourned for many more days to come and there will no doubt be constant reminders of the life you could have been leading. Rest in peace on the side of the road.

Dusty Drawers

One more Eli story to get the day going...

Last week, Eli had a fever for a few days so we took it pretty easy. Usually when he's sick, I let him stay in his pajamas all day and he gets to watch a lot of TV (yes, judge me all you want). While he was wandering around in his sweats, he kept fiddling with the butt of his pants. I finally asked him what he was doing. He told me his underwear kept getting stuck up his butt. I told him just to pull it out. He said he kept trying but it wasn't working. So I told him to pull his pants all the way down, then work on the underwear (this is a bit unconventional, and not at all the way I remedy my own wedgies). When his pants came down, I discovered he wasn't wearing any underwear at all. His Nana had taken him to the bathroom that morning. [He wears a Pull-Up to bed, just in case he decides to pee everywhere; luckily he has chosen not to do this lately]. She discarded the Pull-Up but left his underwear folded up on the coffee table. She planned to put it on him when they came out to the living room, but forgot. After I discovered he wasn't wearing underwear, I laughed, but wasn't able to replace them because my hands were full. Eli pulled up his pants and went on with his day. Soon I forgot about the underwear too.

Later that night, his other grandma came home and accompanied him to the bathroom. She too was surprised when the pants came down and he was "commando". She asked him where his underwear were. This was his response: "They are using them to dust the tables". My mom laughed and then asked what in the world he was talking about. He repeated his answer. When he saw his underwear folded on the table, he must have assumed that was their purpose.

Just so you know, I'm not in the habit of making my 3-year-old take off his underwear so I can clean the tables with them. But I am happy that he has seen me clean enough times to come up with that conclusion. At least I have done something right, even if I let my son go a whole day without putting on his underwear.

Toy Dreams

I just walked into the living room to find Eli looking very busy. We just got a huge Toys R Us flier in the mail that has 80 pages of toys in it. Every day Eli has been studying it and then saying, "Mommy, would you look at this!" and pointing to a $300 train set or life-size walking T-Rex. Yesterday he asked me if I would buy him a Power Wheels. I had to explain to him that since we don't have a garage, or any money, it would not be a wise purchase. Then he showed me a Barbie or something pink and asks if I would buy it for Marina. Even as I write this, he keeps calling me back into the living room to show me something else.

The sight of him looking at a magazine so intently makes me laugh. One of these days I'm going to walk in there (or hopefully into a room of a new house) and find him reading a book with such intensity.

My little boy is growing up and consequently taking on the commercial view of Christmas - time to bring out the nativity scene. Last year Eli would toss all the figures around and say, "Watch out! Here comes a wise man! Now here comes Baby Jesus!"

Bugging Out

Over the last two years, I have complained about our house many times. I talk about the lack of space, the messy inhabitants, the junky cats, the neighbors, and more. Though I write all of that, please don't think that I am ungrateful for the space we have been given. It isn't falling apart, and we can afford it. That is a nice combination for us.

Now that I made some positive remarks about it, I can continue on with a bit of the negative. Periodically we experience different insect infestations. It is usually all one kind for a while, then we have peace, then another kind take up residence.

We live across the street from a few corn fields (yes, this is Central Illinois, who doesn't live by corn fields?). Every year during harvest, the combines run and displace all of these nasty little lady bugs. A single lady bug can be cute when you see it climbing on a leaf outside, but a swarm of them crawling on your ceilings and flying into your lights is just plain disgusting. Since our sliding glass door is improperly sealed, bugs just walk into our kitchen in neat little lines. Last week, we weren't home for a few days. When we got back, I walked into the kitchen to find a mat of dead lady bugs covering the floor by the door (why most of them were dead, I don't know... maybe no living plants to eat in the house - we must have poor oxygen levels). I don't understand how so many bugs can find a tiny little hole where the door is not sealed and somehow alert their friends. I'm not sorry they died. They should have been smart enough to go back out of that hole.

We also have a spider situation. They also enter the house through the screen door. That door acts as the proverbial Ellis Island for insects. We are the land of opportunity. Come on in and hide in dark corners and occasionally get hunted by cats. The spiders that visit are a particular breed (is that right for spiders?): giant, hairy legs and ugly (this could also describe me right now). Since I am not as quick as I like to think, one specific spider has eluded me for days (I want to believe it is one spider and not a whole family I keep seeing). Now, every day before I put my shoes on, I shake them out to make sure I'm not about to have a close toe encounter with an angry spider (or lady bug for that matter).

What can be done to solve this problem? The better question is what is a free solution? As of right now, I can find nothing that works, so I try to cuss them to death. I'll keep you updated on the success of this strategy.

Note: these are not pictures from bugs inside my house, but merely an illustration of what I am talking about

Bragging Rights

All the time, I get myself in trouble with Mark when I brag to other people about how well he does in sports. I am stuck in a constant "my boyfriend can beat up your boyfriend" complex. I tell them he can out drive them in golf or even work them over on the ping pong table. Then I go home and tell Mark what I've done and he expresses his displeasure. He doesn't think he is as great as I do. Then he has to go out and compete against someone who his wife has trash talked.

I do this for several reasons. Number one: I love him and am proud of his accomplishments. Number two: I have no natural physical ability of my own (unless it is really strong hands) so I take the "two become one" concept very literally and feel like he is doing well on behalf of both of us. Now you can see why it is no wonder I have not been blessed with a competitive advantage. I would be insupportable.

All this said, I tell you I have not yet learned my lesson. Look at what my husband can do to you on the basketball court (: Now who wants to come over to our house and take us on in a game they are sure to lose (when I say "us", I mean I will be standing back observing). Now I'm going to get in trouble for this blog.

Stinkin' Sheets!

There are certain memories in life that may be meaningless but find a way to plague you for many unnecessary years. Some of these include times where I've been caught talking badly about someone, where I was dressed amazingly inappropriate for a function, or that time when I fell backwards off a bike rack and hit my head, while managing to still have my feet wedged in the gaps (maybe I'm a bit on the clumsy side).

A situation which I have looked back on many times and grimaced at the thought of happened years ago when we lived in Utah. Mark and I had been married a couple of years and Eli was only a few months old. We had several friends come to stay with us. One of them got to sleep on a nice bed in the guest room while the other had to sleep on an air mattress on the floor in Eli's room (Eli slept with us. We were not so mean as to make our friends sleep in the room with a baby). His visit was last minute so I quickly inflated the bed and threw sheets on it. He stayed for a few days then left. When I went to clean up his bed, I noticed a particularly rank smell. I was confused. Was it that this guest had bad personal hygiene? Then I was able to place the smell (ah ha!). It was the same smell that comes from the rotten rags that you leave by the side of your sink; the smell that gets on your hands after you touch it and pisses you off all day, even though you repeatedly wash your hands. The sheet I gave him to lie on every night and cover up with was putrid with stink (or stank, if you will).

Before you start shaking your head at our disgustingness, let me offer up an excuse (though it is a bad one). When we first got married, we were both irresponsible and just getting our footing in the whole world of house chores. Sometimes I would put a load of laundry in and leave it there for days before I would remember it again. Most of the times I would just run the wash again and no problem, but every now and then, a load slipped past. Then you would be sitting at work and would smell something strange and realize it was your pants (just as a note, we no longer have the rotten laundry problem, we are officially adults now). Well, on that day, the sheets had managed to make their way out of the rotten load and onto his bed without my notice. As I rolled them into a ball, I cringed at the thought of what he must have been thinking of us. I wanted to call him and explain, but we really didn't have that kind of relationship.

So now, years later, I still can't let it go. Maybe I should send him a card and mention it at the bottom like, "haha, remember when..." Good thing we live in such a small house now, that no one can stay with us and be suffocated in stinky sheets, while being attacked by two quarrelsome, annoying cats, and have their sleep interrupted by a shrieking baby in the middle of the night and an amazingly loud toddler at dawn (except those gluttons for punishment who are related to us).

Maybe we should open a bed and breakfast...

Grace will lead me home

Life is such a mixed bag of joys and sorrows. In my life, the joys outnumber the sorrows.

One year ago today, my beloved grandma died. She had struggled against brain cancer for 6 months before she went. She lived a full and powerful life that was defined in the end by her love for God rather than an aggressive brain tumor. While I watched her health decline, I saw her spirit surge.

On a reflective day like this one, everything seems to have special significance. This morning, I took Eli and Marina (named in honor of her great-grandma) to her grave and we said a little prayer. It was really a perfect crisp fall day where the sun is shining and everything smells wonderful. Eli picked up a few leaves and a small purple flower (probably a weed) growing in the middle of miles of grass. Marina slept. I dressed her this morning in a little yellow sweater that my grandma expertly knit for Eli and he wore the first time she saw him.

I was reminded today that many years ago, my grandma lost one of her children. I've always known that fact, but today I understood the life-long pain she must have felt to have buried a two-year-old child. I watched Eli, a rambunctious 3-year-old, and just wanted to grab him. I looked down into Marina's eyes and felt a protective surge. What a gift I have been given! And how unworthy I am... What will my grandkids think of me? Will my life be something to be proud of?

As we drove away from the cemetery, Amazing Grace was playing in my car. This line is my favorite, and was especially poignant as I thought of my grandma, who has forever impacted my life for the better and who's mark and faith is on my family.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares I have already come. 'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home."

Grocery Bomb

Today something so ridiculous happened to me at Cub Foods (this has been the scene of many unfortunate things in the past, come to think of it). I ventured out to the grocery store with my two kids in cold and windy weather. Eli was surprisingly cooperative after I bribed him with the promise of free samples. Marina slept in her car seat in back of the cart and took up all the room for groceries. We got through our shopping in good time, after eating up a large portion of free brownies from the bakery that ended up on our faces, teeth and on Eli's khaki pants.

After dominating the self check-out, we braced ourselves for the gale outside. That's when Marina started to shriek that incessant wail that only small babies can produce. We got to the car and I started to throw groceries in the trunk. Since there was no room in the cart, it was a struggle to get the wedged bags out (yes, I am aware that it might have been much wiser to take the car seat out first then load the groceries, but someone once made me very paranoid about how people watch in grocery store parking lots then run in and steal your kids or car when you put your cart away). I tugged at a bag with one hand and lifted the seat with the other and suddenly the bag gave way (as did the plastic) and all my purchased goods went smashing onto the asphalt. A loud expletive was shouted (I don't know by whom and luckily it was not repeated by the toddler in the cart). A plastic bottle of teriyaki sauce dropped on it's lid which splintered off and a thick, fragrant puddle attacked the rest of the groceries. A container of yogurt joined in with the sauce and expelled it's contents on my naked toes (yes, Mark, I'm aware that these things are always happening to me because I wear flip-flops every day). I had to pluck the unbroken items from the sticky mess and put them in the other bags.

By this time, not only was Marina still screaming but Eli became quite upset with the whole ordeal and started screaming and crying. He kept yelling, "The sauce! The sauce! Get the sauce!" over and over. He didn't know why it was broken and why we were leaving it on the ground. He insisted the wind must have blown it there (he recently developed an irrational fear of the wind). I had to explain that it wasn't the wind, only a clumsy mommy and that he didn't need to cry about it. This didn't help and a frazzled mother had to put her crying babies in the car, drop the sticky groceries in the trunk and take the cart back while hoping no one was stealing her kids out of the car in the meantime. I wiped the yogurt from my toes with an old soiled kleenex in my car before I drove home and wondered why these things seem to happen to me every day. Maybe because I like to tell people of my misfortunes so God is giving me a few more to tell about...

Entertaining Business

In our house, we like to be entertained. I'm constantly having to do something with my hands when I sit down, or I feel like I'm wasting time. If you look at our bathroom, you will find that there are a plethora of things to do while you are doing your "business". There are stacks of ESPN magazines and Reader's Digests, and the biggest time wasters of all: hand-held video games. If you are sitting on our uncomfortable toilet, you can have your choice of Tetris or poker. These will keep you in there long after you need to be. We have often had a guest come over and visit the bathroom long enough to make it an awkward absence, only to have them come out and curse about a lost Tetris game.

Eli has recently joined in the footsteps of his parents. I captured this moment before we left for preschool this morning. He prefers Tetris over poker. I'm awfully impressed by his balance and how he manages to keep his little butt out of the toilet. Notice his nice looking clothes - it was picture day!

Clumsy Poop

I must say, it is a very good thing God is looking out for me and protecting me all of the time because with my clumsy butt, I couldn't have made it this far any other way (it seems as though this protection has been extended to my very clumsy child[ren]).

I will give you a recent example which is both ridiculous and terrifying. Yesterday morning, while Eli was eating breakfast and I was sitting at the table with him holding Marina, nasty Lorenzo laid a nasty turd in the litter box in the bathroom directly behind me. As he has lost his manners and gained some laziness, he decided not to bury it (again!). The stench was nauseating so I decided to scoop some litter over it myself. We have very comfortable 1970's chairs in our kitchen that have wheels on the bottom, padded seats and backs, and that recline. So we can usually lean back and relax in the kitchen while we eat and wheel around to the fridge without ever really having to get up. I used this advantage to lean back in my chair and reach my right arm out to the litter box to do some scooping while my left arm securely cradled my daughter. Then suddenly, it seemed I had leaned back too far, because the chair tipped backward (the downfall of our comfortable chairs) and we went with it. Unbelievably, my grip on Marina never faltered and she remained securely pressed to me while I found myself lying head-first in front of the litter box (sick!), wondering what the heck just happened. A startled Marina cried for 5 seconds and then went right back to sleep while I pulled myself off the ground and righted the chair. I stood there dumbly for a moment trying to decide if I had been injured in any way. No bones broken. I had to dust cat litter out of my skinned elbow but that's all (maybe a little whip lash - but I can't decide if that is imagined). Eli surveyed the situation and asked me what I was doing, as if I was throwing myself on the floor for fun.

Later, as I told my sister of my adventure, she pointed out how lucky I was that nothing serious happened. I was alone in the house. I could have hit my head on the wood floor, or broken my arm, or even worse, dropped the baby. I am very thankful that not one of those things happened and our clumsy butts are safe to stumble again another day.

Thanks God, I will try not to make such stupid decisions in the future (I know, I've said this before...).

Can Your Impulses!

My son Eli is a constant source of entertainment and more recently mortification. I try to understand what makes him do the things he does every day. When I ask him why he suddenly throws something across the room, I'm consistently met with the answer "I don't know." Hmm...

Today I wanted to do something special that was just for him (giving him back some of the attention he lost to the baby) so we went to the Children's Museum. He did pretty well while we were there and even shared his toys with strangers, which is unusual for him (although he kept loudly calling them 'that kid'). But then on our way back to the parking lot, we had to walk through a large area that was under construction. It was lunch time and there were construction men sitting around eating lunch everywhere. Eli saw a can of Pepsi sitting on a curb (just opened, and presumably belonging to a thirsty worker) and decided to kick it. Pop went everywhere and the cold can went down into some nearby dirt. I gasped and quickly reprimanded my child. Then I looked around to see if someone was going to react but no one seemed to notice. So we walked on. I can imagine that later someone looking to quench their thirst was awfully irritated at the sight of their can lying sideways in the dirt (but really, was leaving your can on the curb a very good idea?).

Is it that toddlers have not yet mastered impulse control? At what age can we expect to greet this welcome change? Have I mastered impulse control yet? One wouldn't think so to observe me around any kind of baked goods. Maybe next time I walk by someone's can sitting on the ground, I'll kick it over, just to see how it feels. I'm with you Eli!

Lovely Labor

Warning! This blog is almost too long to read!

I just remembered that about a month ago, I promised I would share the exciting story of my labor (ok, maybe exciting is a bit much). I think now, I have enough distance that I can share the story, without too many boring details or annoying complaining.

Everyone always tells you that no two pregnancies and labors are the same. That might be true of my pregnancies - I got way fatter with Eli and had permanent cankles for 4 months, but the labors were very similar. In fact, I went into labor with Marina on the exact same day of pregnancy that I did with Eli - 37 weeks and 6 days. Just like before, my water broke with no other signs of labor. I didn't have that dramatic water breaking in middle of the grocery store moment, but rather sitting here at my desk at work, I thought I might have peed my pants a little. Since the same thing had happened with Eli, I pretty much knew what was going on, but was in a moment of denial. I was also alone in the office with 30 minutes left in my shift. I was pacing around the floor, having a struggle with responsibility versus instinct. I struck a compromise with myself and left 10 minutes early.


After running around the house for a few minutes like chickens with our heads cut off, Mark and I finally were able to get Eli to my mom's house and put him to bed before we went to the hospital. It's never like the movies with me. I'm never screaming in the back of a car or pacing around the house breathing through contractions. Instead I resented the wheel chair they made me ride in to get up to labor and delivery because I could walk just fine.

It was around 9 pm when I got changed and stationed in the hospital bed where I sat for endless hours waiting for a baby. They put me on pitocin and we waited for the contractions, which finally started to come around 1 am (they decided to show up in my back and front). Because I have an issue with my pride, I didn't want to ask for my epidural when I was only dilated to 2 but finally I said forget it, I'm not dealing with this pain for no reason. The anesthesiologist took his sweet time to get to my room and then put a huge needle in my back. My relief was pretty much immediate and I was much happier. Then I had sat in bed, waiting through the rest of the night. Mark and my mom were able to catch a few hours of uncomfortable sleep while I blindly watched Pride and Prejudice. Then at 5 am, the nurse came in to see if I needed anything. I told her I thought my epidural might be wearing off because I was feeling some pain down the left side of my body. She wasn't planning on checking me again for an hour since the last time at 4 am I was only 3 cm (I am a slow mover!) but then as an after thought she decided to check me again. Turns out in that hour I had dilated to 10 cm and we were ready to have a baby. She had someone else come in to double check since it was so unexpected.

The doctor got there a few minutes later and every one gathered around to watch. At this point I had no shame, I didn't even care if they told me to go running around naked through the hallways singing songs from Annie, I just wanted to get this show on the road! They instructed me not to move too much because this baby was about to fall out (just like with Eli). Then 1-1/2 pushes later, Marina shot out like a cannon and I was no longer pregnant. When I looked down and saw her, my first comment was something like "Holy crap, she's tiny!" Then they put her on my chest and I said "This is weird." I am not one for dramatic quotes in the heat of the moment.

She was born at 5:28 am but we had to stay in the delivery room until about 8 pm that night because there were no other rooms ready yet. My epidural wore off of my left side quickly but for some reason my right side took much longer. At one point, I thought I was fine to walk (again with the pride!), even though the nurses insist on helping, and I basically fell off the toilet in the bathroom, and had to be caught by the nurse - again, no room for shame or modesty during the birthing process. It was funny, I was a "Call, don't fall victim". I'm too young to be having falling accidents in the bathroom!

Since we weren't getting any sleep in the hospital and I thought our room looked like a dorm room from 1975 (the shower spout came up to my shoulders so I had to bend backwards to wash my hair), I got permission to leave early. So home we went to start our new lives the very next afternoon.

There you have it! Luckily my labors have been relatively easy, or I wouldn't have been crazy enough to go back for round two!

Craptastic Days

There are some days where I think I can handle being the mother of more than one child. Then there are other days like today, where I think this must be some kind of joke on me.

Marina slept extremely well last night. That was a welcome plus. But then at 6 am, I awoke to the sounds of Eli screaming "NOOO!" repeatedly in his room. I comforted him and told him he was just having a bad dream and then tried to trick him into thinking it was still night so he would go back to sleep. I got back into bed and closed my eyes only to hear him whining 30 seconds later. Finally, after several more failed attempts, I gave up and let him come into our bed and watch cartoons while I slipped in and out of consciousness and Marina kept sleeping in her bassinet nearby.

We eventually got up and started our day. Later, as I was urging Eli to get moving so we could go to the grocery store, he inexplicably hurled himself toward me. His giant head made violent contact with my upper lip (and the tooth behind it). For a moment I thought I had lost my tooth and my mind raced furiously, envisioning scenarios of gap-toothedness. But upon inspection in the mirror, I found my tooth to be sound, though my lip looked battered and swollen. Eli apologized to me throughout the day, which was very cute and sad. He would say, "Mommy, I didn't mean to hit you in the face earlier. It was an accident." Of course I told him I forgave him and that I looked much prettier with thick lips.

Then came the afternoon. Eli took a rare nap but decided at the end of it to poop in his Pull-Up diaper (I don't trust him in underwear for naps - and this is why). Lately, he has been in the habit of taking off his own diaper after sleeping and putting it in the bathroom garbage can (then I take it out later) then coming to find me. I heard some noise upstairs after his nap, but I was feeding Marina so I could only ask Eli what he was doing. He didn't answer me. Then a few minutes later he called down and told me he couldn't get this mess cleaned up. I asked him what mess, while passionately hoping he meant a mess of toys in his room. He told me that the mess was too big for him to clean up with the towel. This set the alarms in my head off. I asked him if it was a mess in the bathroom. Yes, he answered. I ran up the stairs, baby in arms, to assess the situation. He stood in the bathroom with no pants on. I asked him where the mess was. He told me it was underneath the high-quality bath towel that lay on the floor. I picked it up to reveal the discarded Pull-Up with a large ball of poop next to it and several smash marks on the ground next to the bath mat (I assume the towel failed at the clean up here). This was very displeasing to me. I had to be at work in 15 minutes and was waiting for Mark to get home to make our daily quick child exchange. I considered carefully what I should do. The thought occurred to me that I could stand there long enough for Mark to arrive and he could handle this situation but then I realized that was a pretty "crappy" thing to do to him. So, I put the baby in her bassinet and started the clean up. I used toilet paper to put the poop chunk in the toilet (Eli immediately insisted I should let him do the flushing, but I denied him this privilege as I thought he should not be rewarded). The floor had to go through an extreme scrub-down. I had to wipe and sanitize Eli since he had track marks everywhere. Then I saw a butt crack shaped stain on the carpet at the top of the stairs where I bet Eli sat down to contemplate his big problem before communicating it to his mother.

By the time Mark came in, there was a screaming baby in one room, a half-naked guilty-looking toddler standing in front of the bathroom, unsure of what he should be doing and a frazzled, crazy woman surrounded by poop-smelling plastic bags filled with trash scrubbing at the carpet in the hallway. When I heard the door open, I called down to him and asked him to come up because we "have a bit of a problem".

Eli was ushered into the bath while a comforted Marina sat in her bouncy seat, observing the proceedings. After repeatedly washing my hands, I ran out of the house, looking extremely unkempt, already late for work. No time for make up or hair brushes today! There would be no way to explain the last twenty minutes of my life in an effort to make an excuse for myself.

So, yes, there are some days (like today) where being a mom stinks (literally), but then I will get home and get a snuggle from my kids and think I can handle this for another day. Hopefully tomorrow all the poop will be in the toilet and I won't get peed on our punched.

Sleep Stories

Two funny things that I saw today...

My daughter trying to subtly tell me not to wake her up...

And a 3-year-old that insists he no longer needs naps suddenly goes quiet when playing in his room. As I walk up the stairs to check on him, I see some feet hanging over the first step.

Veggie Tales!

If you have a child who has a talent for memorizing songs and singing them back to you in an extremely loud and shrill voice, you should exploit him by taking video of his performances and send it on to Star Search. This is so long and repetitive that only family members will make it to the end. You may also want to play and replay the video if you need to punish someone...

It's Snot Fair

I am not someone that gets spa treatments all the time. I wish I had enough money to be one of those people, but unfortunately it is frowned upon for Mommy to go for a massage or manicure with the grocery money. So, needless to say, the times I get to treat myself are rare and much anticipated.

Last Christmas, my sister bought me a gift certificate for a massage. Days later, I found out I was pregnant, so I saved the gift for a later date. For nine months, I looked at the gift certificate and considered when I should use it, but every time I thought I would save it until I was really uncomfortable. Then at the end of the nine months, when I was feeling too fat and cumbersome, so I decided I would save the treat until after I had the baby; then I could lie on my stomach and get the full effect. This last Saturday, the day finally arrived and I was able to use the gift certificate. Luckily, at the last minute, I remembered to shave my legs!

Let me preface the rest of this story with an aside. My track record with massages is a bit humorous. There is always some sort of impediment to relaxation. The last one I had was about 2 years ago, but I have a strong memory of it. It turns out I had a serious amount of gas that day and allowing my body to fully relax was not a great idea. The girl told me several times that I was tense, but I thought it better not to release the muscles around my butt. Because of this, the full benefit of the hour long massage was never realized.

Back to current day. I felt that I was mentally prepared for a nice, relaxing time. Then, as I stood and undressed in the fragrant, soothing room, it occurred to me that it might be a good time to blow my nose (I had a snot reservoir left from a recent cold). I searched around for a box of Kleenex but there was not one to be found. I couldn't look for too long, because my masseuse would soon be back in and I would be caught standing naked instead of comfortably installed under the sheet. The instant I stuck my face in the toweled face-rest (shaped like a bagel), I knew we would have a problem and there would be no relaxing today. The snot faucet turned on and the downward pull of gravity did it's damage. I had to breathe only out of my mouth and needed desperately to wipe, but I didn't want to move my arm. I kept trying to think of how I could be sneaky about it, but there was no way. In misery, I kept lying perfectly still as the drops hung off my nostril holes. At one point, I tried lifting my head slightly and wiping the flow on the face towel, but should have considered that move more carefully. All the action did was wipe a huge line of snot across my cheek before I put my face back in the hole. I had a bit more relief when I rolled onto my back but not much. I didn't want to be noisily sniffing so I kept breathing only from my mouth. Dang, why was I too wimpy to ask for a Kleenex in the middle of a massage? Too deep of a question to fully consider or answer...

Once again, my efforts to relax had been foiled. I would have to go back home and breathe deeply while Eli pegged me in the head with a bouncy ball and Marina sprayed poop on my hands while I changed her. Oh well, I think I work better when I'm tense. At least I'm always on high-alert to handle life's daily challenges - like snot attacks.

Mom Times Two

Below is an excerpt from How to Be a Highly Effective Mother of Two, Volume One

- Manual by proven expert Lily Clinton

The following strategies seem to be extremely useful when raising two children. Since I am extraordinarily wise and resourceful, I am able to write a manual to share this knowledge after being a mother of multiple children for five long days.

- Be sure to nurse your newborn in front of your mouthy toddler so he can use phrases like "eating boobie" and add the insult "nipple face" to the list of names he calls people.

- Lock your cats out of your bedroom for the first time in their lives so they can stand at the door all night and scream and try to rip out the carpet with their claws.

- Come home from the hospital and immediately try on all of your old jeans and then sink into a profound body-related depression

- Allow your toddler to have over 20 stuffed animals on his bed so when you want him to nap, he will sit in the semi-darkness and play with all his "friends" and never sleep

- Consider taking a shower a luxury that will no longer be accessible to you

- Put your light-weight newborn in a swing that your toddler cannot seem to resist aggressively pushing in order to "help". That way, you feel comfortable every time you have to walk out of the room for any reason.

And most importantly, grossly over-estimate your abilities as a mother so you will be foolish enough to attempt to keep things under control every day instead of hiring a nanny with your grocery money.

Here comes Marina!

Here's a video Mark made of our newest addition, Marina Esther Clinton. He is kind of genius with this sort of thing, I would be sitting here staring at the computer for hours if I tried to put this together.

I'll post the birth/labor story when my mind starts working again.

Stats: Marina Esther Clinton, born August 27, 2009 at 5:28 am. Weighing 5 lb 3 oz and 18.5 inches long

Feline Frenzy

Last night, a nasty noise interrupted my viewing of Manana es para Siempre, my Spanish soap opera. I looked up from my comfortable couch position to see Lorenzo, our crappy (and seemingly bulimic) cat gagging over the carpet. I jumped up (after pausing my show, of course) and ran at him, instructing him to get to the kitchen before expelling the contents of his stomach. Apparently he did not agree with me that vomiting on wood floor instead of carpet was more appealing, so he took off up the stairs toward the bedrooms, pausing to leave a little deposit at the top, like a trap. I lunged at him (I'm a little slower than I'd like) and once again he took off. This time, he jumped onto my bed and threw up on my white sheets. Now, this may come as a bit of surprise to some, but I occasionally have a bit of a swearing problem when put in highly annoying situations, such as this one. My shouts had to be slightly muted since Eli was asleep in the next room, but I let Mark know that this bastard cat (I know, he can't help the fact that he is a bastard, it is the lot of many stray cats) had puked all over the place and that I was extremely displeased. Mark very generously cleaned up the puke piles and we decided that it might not be a bad time to change the old sheets. There's nothing like changing your sheets at 11:00 at night.

It is my belief (though maybe it is false) that I have been largely immune to the hormonal curses that many pregnant women experience. I don't cry when something displeases me and I am not sending my husband on late night ice cream runs. I do, however, seem to have a heightened sense of irritation toward the two loafing felines that reside in our house. There are few days when I am not cursing their names for some reason or other. I feel bad about it, but only until one of them sits near my head and starts licking him/herself. At that point, all guilty feelings go out the window and I snap. I complain because Linda is so fat and won't stop trying to eat everyone's food. Then Lorenzo is hyper-needy and bullies Linda. In the middle of the night, they can be heard wrestling and breaking things in the house. After they finish their match, they both find it necessary to position themselves as near as possible to my body. Lorenzo is by my head and Linda by my feet or trying to stick her face in my crack. I don't know why they don't try to sleep near Mark, probably because I am like a giant down pillow for them, squishy and warm. He doesn't appreciate when I launch one of the cats at him in the night and they land claws first on his face.

I should be more guarded in my displeasure with the two cats. Eli has taken to emotionally abusing them (i.e. Linda you are a fatso!) and often tries to hit them with towels or kick them. This is not the lesson I want to pass on to him. It is especially unusual since the kid won't even let me step on an ant that wanders into our house.

This is not my first blog about these stinking animals. You might ask yourself why we still own them. But in reality, I could never get rid of them. I actually love them, but don't like them. I'm hoping this annoyance will go down as my hormones stabilize (what else can I blame it on??). If not, there might be a blog in the future looking for a home for a short, fat cat and a skinny cat with a vomiting problem. Stay tuned.

"Holesome" Talk

There are some days when I think Eli is really well behaved.  He says please and thank you and can shake hands and say "Nice to meet you" in both English and Spanish.  I like all these things. Then there are days like these when I think there is no way this kid is going to be allowed in preschool next month.  He is going to get kicked out the minute he opens his mouth.  Tonight I had some evidence for this line of thinking.  As we sat down to dinner at my mom's house, Mark made some affectionate comment to Eli like, "Eli, did you know that you are my favorite boy ever?"  The correct response would be something like "Thank you, Daddy" or "Yes I am aware".  But instead what came out of Eli's mouth, totally without warning, was, "Daddy, you are a butthole."  Everyone stood in the kitchen in a moment of shock.  I turned away and tried to stifle a giggle.  I couldn't believe he just said that.  He knows that word as a part of his anatomy, not as an insult.  Where that came from, who stinking knows.  After I recovered from shock and a giggle attack, I quickly reprimanded Eli for his words.  I let him know that word is only to be used in reference to bathroom activity and not for people.  

It will be a sad day when I pick up my kid from school with a note saying that Eli called the teacher a butthole and will not be able to come back until his language improves.  

Nature vs. the Clintons

Once upon a time, on a warm, sunny Thursday, a small family, who ran out of money, was forced to research free activities in town. Internet research yielded the following result: walking outdoors. The family thought this sounded like a reasonable activity and decided to give it a try. I am a member of this family. You may know this about the Clintons: we have every desire to be outdoorsy and adventurous but somehow we can't quite be compared to those people who carry Camelback drinking packs and wear hiking socks. I'm not a fan of bugs or being in uncomfortable temperatures. Both of these factors are generally present when walking through a forest in late July. The picture below is a nice look at one of the paths we took.


In an effort to avoid an insect attack, we used the bug repellent wipes to their fullest ability. I was hoping they would keep the ticks off of us (this is my number one fear when outside in a wooded area).


Mark quickly set the pace while investigating the right path for us. We ambitiously decided that the 3 mile trek might just be the challenge we needed (though we verbally reserved the right to turn around at any time and head back).


Eli followed at his own 3-year-old pace, while eating a rice cake. We wanted to keep the day "natural".


The boys took a moment to enjoy the view. This is my favorite picture. Luckily you can't hear Mommy nagging Daddy to make sure he holds on tightly to Eli, lest he plunge into the murky water straight ahead.


Notice in this picture Mark has acquired a hiking aid. The stick was not weight-bearing, but rather a defense against the hundreds of spider webs that stretched across the path and jumped out to envelope our faces. When one of us would walk through one, you would think we had just walked through electric fencing...


Eli and his mommy stopped for a posed picture. Yes, we are both wearing University of Utah shirts. We were trying to convince the Illinois nature that we were from out west and experienced enough not to be intimidated by it's piddly spider webs and swooping beetles.


Moments later, Eli got tripped up by a mean Illinois tree root. He did not want to continue with such a dirty leg until I assured him I would clean it the minute we got back to the car. You never can be too clean when hiking. Before you blame my influence on the lack of outdoorsiness displayed by my son, let me share with you what happened minutes before. We came upon a muddy area at the bottom of the hill. Mark paused and looked at it while we considered turning back or going through it. I suggested he carry Eli through it. He corrected me by saying it wasn't Eli he was worried about, it was getting his [somewhat] new shoes dirty with mud.


Eli pointed out to his rotund mother the paths on the map. He literally was saying this, "Here's the pink path we are on." "Here's the lake." "Here's where we couldn't find any sand." (we stopped by the lake before finding the trail in search for a beach) "Here's where I fell down." and "Here's where I got mud on my leg." He seems to be better at reading a map than his illiterate mom. Thanks Dora the Explorer for the help.


Eli was telling us he was too tired to walk and he just wanted to go back to the car. He didn't like the bugs in his face and he wanted to trick his mom into carrying him for the remaining mile back to the car. He also found it necessary to stop and step on every berry visible on the path. We made excellent time on our hike.


So, while there were certainly spider webs and dive-bombing bugs, the Clintons enjoyed nature today. We are decidedly going back to conquer the hiking paths again. Next time I will wear a hat so I don't have to be paranoid about ticks dropping in my hair the entire time. Mark will wear his alternate pair of shoes and Eli will bring his outdoor adventure attitude.

Cherry Bombs

This week, I came upon a great produce sale at the local Meijer. I got pounds of cherries for cheap, rock hard nectarines (the only way my family likes to eat them), and sweet corn (which it turns out I didn't pick very well because it wasn't that sweet). I love a good sale. Unfortunately in our house, anything perishable quickly gets forgotten and turns into jellied mush in the bottom of my refrigerator drawer in no time. In an effort to prevent this unnecessary waste, I have been pushing fruit on everyone for the last two days. Eli is happily consuming all the bitter fruit I can give him. For two days in a row, he has eaten cherries aplenty (which he says he has never had before, can this be true?). I am going to include pictures of his post-cherry indulgence below. He liked playing with the stems. He first pretended they were arrows (like in his Robin Hood movie) and kept shooting them across the table. Then he kept telling me they looked like bones (where he is seeing femur shaped bones, I don't know). And finally he ended up rubbing two stems together and humming, pretending he was playing a violin. Why do I ever bother buying toys for this kid when discarded pieces of trash will be just as pleasing?

But here is the hitch in this happy tale. It is a well known fact that cherries contain some kind of cursed ingredient that will upset the tracts and lead to toilet overuse. In Eli's two day cherry feast, I neglected to account for this. So tonight, while in the care of his father, the poor boy complained of stomach pain and then descended into a state of perpetual flatulence. All because Mommy can't resist a good sale... I guess I should be glad they weren't having a sale on Milk of Magnesia.

This is Eli's attempt at a posed smile

Violin

Bones

Arrows

A Buggy Situation

It's an interesting thing to be a mother and to analyze the things that were passed down to you from your mother and the things that you, in turn, give to your children. It's no secret to anyone who has spent some time with me that I have what you could call "an issue" with bugs. I am not someone who jumps on a chair and screams if there is a spider nearby, but instead, at the suggestion that there could be a bug crawling on me or in my hair, I get all itchy and paranoid. I fear ticks and head lice and worst of all, any bugs crawling on my food. Perhaps this is why I have a mental problem with eating food fresh out of someone's garden. It feels cleaner (though less fresh) from the grocery store. Yes, roll your eyes and judge me now, but this is just a factual statement about my irrational feelings. Since my sister has some similar feelings about bugs, I have decided to put the blame on our mother (isn't that what my generation is supposed to do? blame our parents). I have strong memories of paper bags of corn coming to our kitchen from a local garden or farm, still in the husks. She assigned us to the de-husking and de-silking detail. Pulling back the husks would inevitably reveal giant caterpillars or worms on the corn, which would disgust me. My mom would tell us to get tough and brush the insects off, which was unthinkable. She also would take us to a farm owned by a friend of our family. There we would buy fresh eggs and chicken. When I say fresh, I mean it would still be walking around when we got there. She would have us stand back and observe as the chicken would be beheaded and of course when it's body would run for cover after. She wanted us to be hands-on, so when the chicken body was recovered, we had to help with the feather removal. I can still remember the look of that nasty skin after the feathers were pulled.

What she had was a desire for her children to "get tough" and have new experiences. But somehow I still turned out to be a wimp. I want to go camping and do outdoor things but I struggle when I'm there. I would rather hold my pee for 40 hours straight than crouch in the woods and urinate. Today, I was given a number of ears of corn from an obliging community garden (Thanks Dave) and as I stood over my sink pulling off the husks, I had this terrible anxiety about the bugs that could be residing inside. I had the same feeling you get when you try to open those biscuits in a can; you just peel and wait for the pop. Luckily, the bugs were wise enough to escape my notice. There were, however, several caterpillars in the bag which was transporting the rest of the corn. I gave the bag to my mom (payback).

So the question I ask myself is, what am I teaching my son with my wimpy ways? We didn't want him to be one of those kids that had an over-interest in bugs and would stick them in his mouth. But isn't there a nice medium? Mark suggested that I have gone the wrong way with Eli after I told him the following story. Yesterday, I discovered a new ant population in our house that seemed to be climbing into our kitchen from a hidden hole around the sliding doors. I loudly (though mildly) cursed their existence after I found them. Eli ran over to see what the problem was. I went to step on them but he quickly stopped me, warning me that these were friendly ants and they were just trying to find their families. So, in order to oblige his reasoning, I found a piece of paper and tried to relocate these nasty little things back outside (though when he wasn't looking I performed a mass murdering of all the poor little soldiers). I have a rule about bugs. Outside, I will not disturb you bugs, but if you dare to come inside my house, you will be executed (unless a toddler grants you asylum). I've tried to explain the rule to Eli but he is all or nothing. Either kill all bugs, outside and inside, or save them. I preferred the saving option after he went through a brief violent stage where he tried to smash every living thing he saw.

Will Eli look back on his childhood and blame me for his view of insects? Will he tell stories of saving earthworms from wet parking lots and ants from kitchens? Or will he somehow learn to be one of those fearless men who stand up and kill spiders and remove mice? If only I had valuable skills to pass on to him other than the proper use of "well" instead of "good", he might be in better shape. Thank God Mark is around to pick up my slack.

The Price of Cheap

As someone who dreams of being frugal, but makes poor choices on what to spend on and what to skimp on, let me share with you a small list of things I have learned not to go cheap on.

Toilet Paper - rough stuff or single ply make an uncomfortable mess
Diapers - sheets, clothes, and car seats can be ruined by this decision
Garbage bags- dropping bits of litter on the way to the bin is frowned upon
Tampons - this needs little explanation
Birth Control - ...
Hair Dye - Meet purple head
Cat Food - Cheap food makes cheap, fat cats with urinary tract infections who have the desire to pee on my clothing

Here are some things that I take joy in skimping on:
Wine - I love me some cheap wine!
My entire wardrobe - although my appearance may directly contradict the wisdom of this choice
Pets - I like the mangy rescues
Clothing for a second child - sorry, we just had more money the first time around

There have also been dozens of things I have spent hundreds of dollars on throughout the years that have turned out to be complete money and time wasters. My particular weakness is for things that are advertised on TV. If it promises to calm wild hair, I have bought it. Examples: Revo Styler, Split Ender, Giant round brushes, Metal flat irons, Hi-Tech shampoos and conditioners, not to mention the get-you-skinny-in-5-minutes workouts...

Yes, there have been lessons learned. I am still learning where it is appropriate to save money, and to spend it. This unlucky list will likely be building for the rest of my days.

Holiday Heredity

When you think of possible dangers for your child during the weekend of the 4th of July, typically your mind will go to wayward sparklers or kids burning their eyebrows off in the driveway. Personally, we faced none of those this weekend.

Instead, in the course of the few days of celebration, Eli managed to skin his knees on the sidewalk hundreds of times. During the cooler days, so much falling was not really an issue because pants would protect his tender skin, but now, in the days of shorts, his knees tell the story of carnage. I'm starting to think I might be errant in my belief in his superior coordination because clearly the boy has some challenges when it comes to running and staying on his feet. I see him begin to lose control and I start to cringe. Maybe it is because he is moving faster than his feet can keep up with, because he is a superior athlete after all. (:

Yesterday, on Independence Day, came the worst of the weekend. We went to my dad's for a cookout and as usual, as soon as we walked through the door, Eli and Sofia were tireless in their running and extremely loud voices. Every time we go over there, without fail, Eli gets injured in some way. We really don't have this problem at home, but there's something about that house. Conditions might have improved had Eli decided to take a nap in the afternoon but true to form, on a big day, he always prefers to sit in his bed and sing loud songs and make his mom crazy with his lack of cooperation. And with a lack of sleep comes a lack of control and an increase in clumsiness. All was going relatively well until the kids found a Darth Vader mask to play with. They took turns putting it on and screaming and calling each other monster. Then Eli decided a wise move would be to put the mask on without matching his eyes to the holes and to run full speed ahead. His progress was immediately halted by the corner of a wall striking his forehead. He ran into the kitchen where I was standing, looking for comfort for his already swelling bruise. We iced his head and told him to take it easy but he already was insisting on the return of the mask, which was not granted.

Also in the course of the night, Eli fell down their stairs (I think this was pre-wall contact) but tucked his body in and managed to barrel roll down and had no injuries to report after. I was once again impressed with his abilities and started seeing a place for him in the Navy Seals.


As I write this, I am reminded of the thousands of stories I have been told (or experienced recently) of me falling down. My favorite involves me jumping out of a moving golf cart to rescue my ball but getting caught in the process and violently getting splayed out in the rough. It seems that besides his stubborn and sometimes bratty tendencies, Eli might have inherited his mother's idiotic clumsiness. Sorry Mark, even though he looks like a miniature version of you and you brought some nice athletic possibilities to the table, it seems the recessive scrapper might win out. Let's just hope his hair doesn't turn into a giant mushroom like his mother's.


Here is a picture of Eli showing you his bruise. In the bright light of the kitchen, the darkness is washed out, so it seems rather insignificant.

Liquid Learning

This blog is for educational purposes.

A valuable lesson I learned this evening: if a little boy is going to pee in the big boy toilet, it is important to make sure he gets the second toilet seat up before he starts peeing. If he catches you off guard and starts to pee with the seat down, he will not be tall enough to get the pee over the seat and into the hole. Instead, the "hose" will rest on the seat, creating a liquid pressure crisis and spraying forward, straight sideways and backward all at once. Once this is taking place, it is impossible to stop the flow or lift the seat. One can only lift the little boy off the ground in an effort to stop the damage, but at this point, it is too late. After the pee explosion, it will be necessary to generously clean the wall, cabinets, toilet and floor to sanitize and restore it to it's previous state.

Perfect Mess

For the first time in a number of weeks, the weather was perfect today. I had big plans for my day with Eli. This was going to be the day I was to become super-mom. Eli was extremely well behaved when he woke up and had a dry diaper all night, which is cause for celebration in our house. Also, I would also be eating copious amounts of healthy foods on this perfect day, because I, of course, am a perfect eater. As you can see, things were shaping up well for the Clintons.

Eli very helpfully carried the bag full of recycling to my car on our way out. He was reluctant to leave it in the trunk though, as he believed it should ride next to him in the seat. He has also been maddeningly slow about getting into his car seat when we need to go. I felt the perfection bubble start to cloud. About 45 seconds after we finally started driving, I felt my stomach growl. It occurred to me, I forgot to eat my balanced breakfast to start my perfect day of eating. Maybe some decaf iced coffee would alleviate some of my pains. But as usual, the call of the doughnut hooked me and forced me to order one to accompany my somewhat healthy coffee (I blame Eli though, he started asking for doughnut holes as soon as we got to the Dunkin' drive-thru). If I was going to go for a doughnut, then I would have to get the one with added calories packed on the inside - the infamous Boston Creme! (It is also very humbling to order doughnuts from a man that knows your name and order. It doesn't speak well of my diet.)

I found it was necessary to eat the fat-bomb in the car while I drove, lest the chocolate smear off in the bag. In times like these, I usually become aware of what I must look like to an outside observer. Here I was driving, and eating huge bites of a chocolate covered doughnut, looking like an animal. Personally, I would point at laugh at such a person. As I pulled up to the stoplight, I felt a cold goo hit my arm. The custard had oozed out of the doughnut and was plopped on my skin. What to do? I could take a napkin and clean up the sticky mess, or I could eat it off (again, the thought of being observed blinked in my head). I chose the higher calorie option. I gross myself out.

After distributing our recycling, Eli and I went to the park for some energy (and calorie) spending. I was glad to see there was no one else there, so I wouldn't be forced to dislike anyone else's kids. One thing I immediately noticed was that Eli would not be enjoying his play time today. Every other step he took, he complained about getting wood chips in his sandals and begged me to take off his shoes to clear them, then replace the shoes. I complied with his request a few times before I lost my patience. I told him to toughen up and quit whining about having wood chip feet. Neither of us enjoyed our time very much. I had to let him pee on a tree again (is this illegal for kids, or just bad parenting?) and then it was time to go back home - per Eli's wood chipped request.

The rest of the day was off track a little, so I figured the healthy eating super-mom would have to make an appearance tomorrow.

So, a day of perfection? Not exactly. But a day that fits in perfectly with all the rest of ours? Yes it was. Eli and Lily make a good team of wimps that prefer to be eating doughnuts.

Stress Bomb

I will admit that I tend to be a person that tends to run a little on the nuts side. There are certain situations that never fail to stress me out and turn me into a crazy hag, annoying everyone around me, particularly my husband. Two examples of situations that will never fail to send me through the roof: 1. any time we are transporting a mattress on the outside of a vehicle, like in the bed of a truck or strapped to the top of a car. I cannot stop looking back at it and feeling like at any moment it is about to blow off of the car. It makes me sweat. It makes me crazy! and 2. Navigating an airport (especially security) with a small child. I freak out and yell at everyone and also start sweating. Last week I discovered a third situation to add to my list. When my child is physically ill and I am out of my element, I turn into crazy mom. Let me tell you a little bit about it.

Last week, we had a family vacation to Minnesota with Mark's family. We drove 8 hours from Illinois and Eli did remarkably well. All that changed when we got to our meeting point, Mark's grandparent's house. Eli got clingy and lethargic and then unexpectedly started to throw up outside on the patio (where everyone would be enjoying their dinner). I switched from low-key to crazy in about 30 seconds after that. I wanted to cure him instantly and I needed everything to go off without a hitch. Of course, things don't work like that, so I had tension leaking out of my ears. We covered Eli with a towel once we got back in the car and I held a bucket in front of him while we drove the 20+ miles to the cabin we would be staying in. He made good use of it on the drive as we took a few wrong turns. I was sweating (not surprisingly) in my seat. We finally got to the cabin and in the dark, in my tense mood, things went from bad to worse (it is never a good idea to pass judgment on a place when it is nighttime and you are carrying a toddler covered in vomit around). We needed to give Eli a bath to get some of the stink off of him but the water that came out of the faucet into the tub looked worse than he did. It was yellow and smelled like iron. I had to wash his hair and skin in it (later in the week, Eli would continue to ask us who peed in his bath water). We put Eli to bed on his futon to sleep that night but at least one of us was standing watch at all times, should he start to puke in his sleep. Mark and I ended up sleeping on either side of him, waking up periodically to the sound of gagging and rushing to grab the bucket. As Eli has really never been sick like this, both of us were in full panic mode. Should we take him to the doctor? Was there a doctor anywhere near our remote cabin? We felt rather helpless and desperate. Mercifully at 3:45 am, he fell into a deeper sleep and the puke showers were over. The next day was marginally better with an absence of vomit but a high fever kept us concerned. Day three started off with Eli throwing up into the little cup of Motrin he was about to drink, followed by several more rounds. We both went back into panic mode, grabbed the bucket, and headed for the hospital that we found out was only 8 miles away. There, poor Eli got his first IV while I had to basically lay on top of him so he wouldn't move. I was sweating again. Turns out the poor kid had a nasty strain of the flu that had no real treatment other than some anti-nausea medicine.

Days went on with different symptoms and our poor boy didn't have a full health day until Wednesday (5 days into the trip). But every day, sick or not, I was watching his every move. Every cough or expression caused me to jump up and ask if he was about to throw up. My body was so tense from the stress of the situation and from the partial nights of sleep on the futon. I must have made everyone super annoyed with me. There is nothing worse than knowing you can't do anything to make your child feel better when they are looking at you with pleading eyes. I was a wreck. I might mention here too that the cabin turned out to be better in the light of day. Yes, it was slightly rustic and had rusty stink water, no cable or Internet and had a large population of spiders living in it, but it grew on us. We replaced the TV with family time and played games by night. There were endless hours of fishing to be had. Not a bad way to spend the week, well, minus the flu-ridden boy. All in all, we had 2 full days of health before we turned around and drove our 8 hours back home - through a menacing looking thunderstorm, of course. It took days to fully wash off the metallic smell from our skin. The cabin was exactly what we needed to really appreciate the craphole we live in.

As an aside, I did my first fishing ever with Eli's toddler sized fishing pole. I caught a few fish and was even convinced that hooking them in their lip was not so bad, until I hooked one right in the eye and immediately ended my fishing career.

So, if you should ever find me in one of the three stressful situations I mentioned above, don't even talk to me, because I will annoy you so much that you will want to punch me right in my sweaty face.

Here's a picture of Eli on our way home during the 20 minutes he decided to nap.