Soap Operas and Bon Bons - That's Me...

7:00 pm Wednesday night - Email from neighbor (N1) asking if I can pick up her kindergartener (Lila) after school and drop her off at the sitter's as the sitter will be one child heavy for a safe car ride.  No problem except Thursday is yoga day.  If Lila would like to join us for yoga, I can drop her off at the sitter's after that.  Lila likes yoga, all is well.  Simple.

12:50 pm today -  Nurse's office calls stating HRH is complaining of groin pain.  He had complained of this a week ago and Andy explained he had pulled a muscle, relax and it'll pass.  Second occurrence, we worry about a hernia.  Change of plans: No yoga. Pediatrician.

12:55 - En route to pick up Gremlin at preschool. Plan to speak to other neighbor (N2), whose son (Jack) is in Gremlin's preschool class - and also has a kindergartner - to see if she can drop Lila at sitter's.  Jack is out sick today.  N2 not at preschool. 

1:05 pm - Call N2's cell to run plan by her. No answer/leave voicemail.  Call N2s home number.  No answer.  Contemplate calling own husband (Andy) to have him call N2's Husband's (NH2) cell to see if he knows his wife's where-abouts.  Get Andy's voicemail.  Don't leave message.

1:15 pm - Arrive at HRH's school.  HRH bops out of nurse's office a little too energetically for one in so much pain.  Get incredibly rudimentary explanation of hernia from very nice school nurse.  Leave school.  Gremlin has nervous breakdown in playground as we are *not* stopping to play.

1:20 pm - Call pediatrician from car to see if we should drive there immediately.  Nope but do have 3:45 appointment today.  I can pick up Lila at regular time but not sure if day care provider will be home an hour earlier than anticipated.

1:25 pm  - Gremlin jumps oddly on couch connecting his knee with his nose, resulting in nose bleed.

1:30 pm - Kids in front of Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.  Back to work! N1 is a nurse practitioner who works in a maximum security prison and is not allowed a cell phone at work.  Call N1's husband (NH1), who is currently traveling for work in DC.  He has no idea of gyrations going on up here but I have his cell #!  Explain all and instruct him to call sitter to find out if she will be available to receive Lila an hour earlier than expected.  Await call back.

1:35 pm - NH1 reaches sitter.  All is well.  She will expect Lila at regular time.

1:45 pm - N2 returns my voice mail.  She is onboard to pick up Lila along with her own kindergartner and drop off at sitter.

1:50 pm - Text NH1 with school phone number so he can tell school to release Lila to N2.  Also must mention that Lila was originally supposed to attend after-school enrichment yoga with me.

2:01 - UPS arrives with new starter for Daddy's boat.  HRH carries 15 lb package from front door to kitchen table.


I'm sorry, Angela.  It seemed like such a simple thing...

WTF Wednesday II

Big Puddle + Big Boy Bike = Yet More Laundry (and one ecstatic boy)

Life - A Snapshot

Background:

HRH's class has been given a few disposable cameras and an assignment to take pictures of their house, neighborhood, favorite room, family, etc. HRH is the last in the class to take the camera home. There were about seven or eight pictures left.

Scene:

Manic Mommy stepping out of the shower, naked as the day she was born (clearly, you can already see where this is headed).

A knock on the door.

RC enters carrying disposable camera that is part of HRH's homework.

RC: I just want to take one picture.

MM (mirror strategically behind her, of course) simultaneously reaches for a towel and the camera. Screeches: NOOOOO!!! Don't take the picture!!

Options:

1. Run camera over with newly-repaired truck.

2. Develop all pictures to determine if nudie pic of naked mommy was, in fact taken. Also to be taken into consideration: person working the photo desk at Target.

3. Hand the camera back to kindergarten teacher and hope for the best.

Blacklisted by Jordan's Furniture

With no less than the fate of the free world and the ALCS hanging in the balance, I've been a very absentee blogger of late. To extend my lazy streak but keep you coming make up for it, I'm regifting (Indian giving?) a post I gave to Merlot Mom back in August, during her trip to Japan. I promise to return to our regularly scheduled programming possibly as soon as tomorrow.


Scene: 7:30 am. Approximately 12 hours after Manic Mommy and Daddy have emptied the living room of the following:

• One oversized, incredibly heavy, and entirely abused living room couch
• Its little sister, the soon-to-be-former love seat, same condition
• Under-couch detritus
• Embarrassingly large pile of under-couch detritus
• 3x3 square coffee table; gouged, scraped, stickered, and colored
• Matching end table with the drawer handled removed. In surprisingly good shape, given the fate of the its compatriots

Jordan’s Furniture Delivery Guy arrives at front door to be greeted by Manic Mommy, looking like a million bucks in grey t-shirt and pink pajama bottoms, hair back in a headband. She did put a bra on.

MM (huge smile – she’s getting new furniture!): Hi!

JFDG: Hi. My name is -

HRH (fresh on the scene, addressing JFDG): Do these look like clothes? They’re really ‘jamas.

JFDG: Oh, very nice. They’re SpongeBob. (back to MM) Hi, my name is Ariel and –

HRH: I also have a pair of baseball ‘jamas. And they look like clothes, too.

JFDG (cheerily): Oh, you like baseball? Who’s your favorite tea-

HRH (points to furniture care kit box in JFDG’s hand): What’s that? (runs off before answer)

JFDG comes in. He and MM discuss placement of furniture.

RC (enters living room wearing pajama t-shirt and underwear): I have a ‘mote control car. My Nana bought it for me for doing poops in the potty. Do you want to touch it?

HRH (not to be outdone): He has two remote control cars now. One from Nana and a monster truck one that Mommy bought when he wore big boy underwear for a whole day!

JFDG: Blank stare.

Leaves to get furniture.

JFDG II (having clearly been warned, remains silent, eyes averted) enters and begins removing French door from hinges.

RC: My Daddy has a hammer. And it’s loud too. Bang! BaNG! BANG!

JFDGs begin carrying in furniture/dodging little boys.

MM (attempting normal service-person-type conversation): Gee, it’s really muggy already. I thought it was supposed to rain all day today.

With each piece…

HRH: Once we had thunder and lightning and that tree over there…

…they are subjected…

MM: Guys, please stay out of the men’s way. Get that remote control car off the new table!

…to more…

RC: I have Diego underwear (sits on floor and spreads legs, knees bent). Want to see?

…of the same…

JDFG: Anyquestions?Canyousignhere?Thanksbye!

Manic Mommy gazes lovingly at pristine, matching, un-destroyed new living room…and barely hears him. Yeah, whatever, dude.

The Potty Whisperer - A Fable

You know how our brains forget the pain of childbirth as a way of ensuring the propagation of the species? There are some other things that our brains hide from us because if we remembered the trauma, we'd never willingly go through it again. For me, it's potty training. I suck at it. It's been two weeks and one day and as I look at RC dancing around in yet another pair of Diego big boy underwear, I think it might be okay to talk about without fear of breaking the spell.


Two Thursdays ago, as I was stepping into the shower HRH screeched upstairs at his most ear-splitting decibel that RC had just peed on the living room rug. Same shit, different day or something like that. I stood in the shower trying to calm down, taking deep yogic breaths, and reviewing my options.

I could-. Tried. Failed.

Maybe if-. Tried. Failed.

What about-? Tried. Failed.

Post shower and no more prepared to deal, I went into RC's room and grabbed two pair of 'big boy underwear' from his drawer. I stomped into the living room (avoiding the pee spot) and held up both pair. "Is it going to be Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Speed Racer?" Huh? "Because I'm throwing all your diapers away. We. are. done."

I then proceeded to take every diaper in the house and toss it in the trash. I wasn't enthusiastic, I wasn't encouraging, I didn't begin to address the rug incident. And I would brook no argument. I resigned myself to never entering a bathroom alone until we were done, packed up seven or eight changes of clothes, and left the house. The boy went about six hours without peeing before finally giving in - in the potty.

Initially, I thought my timing was way off. We were leaving the next day for Storyland. But wait! Daddy would be along for this ride. And so it was, like so many other projects in our marriage, I started the ball rolling and my husband, God bless him, carried it through to completion! He nagged, he cajoled, he sat on the lip of the bathtub and read endless books and offered encouragement. And in the end, my boy was trained! He got his bike last Saturday.

My husband, The Potty Whisperer.

Vacation Moments

HRH: His Royal Halibut...we couldn't keep him out of the water. RC in his Hawaiian Elmo "bagging suit"

My mom and I went out one night and Andy got the boys out of bed to catch a rainbow. I hope you can see it.I can't recommend the Pirate Adventure highly enough for ages 3 to about 7 or 8. Arrr.
Yes, I was wearing a blue golf shirt and khaki shorts also. No, we didn't do this every day. They boys and Andy were a coincidence, then I saw it and decided to geek out and join in. Andy called us the Griswolds.

Bless him, Andy got up every morning around 6:30 with the boys to go fishing. By Wednesday, they had yet to catch anything. He thinks it had less to do with his skills as a fisherman and more to do with the large number of rocks being thrown into the water beside the fishing lines.

At this point, it was time to find a boat. Let me give a shout out to another local, Cap't Danny and Clamneck Charters, who have a very kid-centric 1 1/2 hour catch-and-release fishing trip staying inside Lewis Bay. Each kid must have caught at least a school of porgies.We had a fantatic deck off our bedroom where we were able to set up a telescope and show the boys the moon close up.

I don't think they made it to bed at the correct time the entire week. Vacations are about saying 'yes' more than you normally can.

Maybe they'll be astronauts or astronomers.

Or maybe they'll just remember another family vacation on the Cape.

Zoo Field Trip - A Pictorial

This is the Zoo:This is the school bus carrying HRH and his classmates to the zoo. MM is driving the SUV directly behind the aforementioned schoolbus as everyone knows the schoolbus is the route root of all evil.This is RC sobbing into his blanket because he is not registed at HRH's preschool until fall and therefore cannot ride the bus.These are some suicidal flamingos "preening" in stagnant, smelly, brackish water that the Zoo wants you to believe is their preference. This is the train for which RC found the start button as other kids were boarding.

Untitled. Understood.

Don't Stop the (Birth Story) Carnival

Sarcastic Mom sponsored a Birth Story Carnival, asking everyone to post their stories of how she became a mother. The carnival was scheduled for March 24th but...

Sunday, November 17th, one month and one day before my due date, Andy, my BIL, and I were watching the Patriots play the Raiders on Sunday Night Football while I consumed my weight in guacamole and chips, feeling HRH doing aerobics in my abdomen. I went to bed somewhere around the 3rd quarter and the Braxton-Hicks continued.

Around 1:00 am, I went to the bathroom and upon returning to our room, commented to my unconscious husband that something was up (where "up" = mucus plug) and climbed back into bed. Maybe another half hour passed and the contractions continued and got stronger. I leaned over to Andy and, touching him lightly on the shoulder, whispered, "Honey, I think I'm in labor."

In no less than three seconds, Andy is out of the bed, lights on, and has gone from boxers and a t-shirt to jeans and a sweatshirt. And he's accusing me questioning me about what's going on while I am thumbing through the 'false labor' section of What to Expect When You're Expecting and learning nothing. I call my OB's office and get a call back from the on-call physician, who asks me in his German accent what my previous labors had been like (Dude? Previous labors? Didn't you read the first sentence? This is how I became a mother.)

When the contractions were around 3 minutes apart, we decide that we'd rather go to the hospital and have professionals laugh at us for crying wolf. But not before Andy packs a bag for me - containing six face cloths(?) and two pairs of his socks (I did end up using the socks). Thanks, babe.

On the surreal, 20-minute ride to the hospital, it occurs to us that we may indeed become parents that night and perhaps we needed to decide on a name (we knew it was a boy). Between contractions, we arrived at HRH.

We arrived at the hospital around 3:00 am and parked in the fire lane (I still have the parking ticket as a souvenir). We arrive in the ER and find a nurse to check us in. She explains we need to go to Labor and Delivery and of course, we know where that is. Uh, no. The tour part of our prenatal class was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Did I mention I was a month early? So we get directions and head down to a locked door and press the intercom. A woman answers and I (feeling like Dorothy at the door to the Emerald City) say "Um, my name is Christine Manic and I think I'm having a baby?"

Thank God, we were now in the hands of more competent and knowledgeable people. I was ushered into a very nice room, given the once over and it was determined that I was indeed in labor. Cause these things were really starting to hurt.

0.25 seconds later, I asked for drugs.

Remember the guac from earlier? Yeah, so did I. Proud, bonding moments passed between myself and my husband (who had heretofore never even seen me pee) and the toilet as I adjusted to labor. Eventually, I was in bed and given a Nubain IV, which allowed me to sleep between contractions (mmm....sleep....contraction! owwwwww!....sleep...) and then my boyfriend the anesthesiologist arrived to place a red hot poker needle into my spine with that great, "move-and-you're-paralyzed" warning. I was. not. impressed. with the Epidural.

More time (weeks, maybe months) elapsed and I opened my eyes to find my team and my husband watching The Today Show. I spun my head 360 degrees and demanded to know why Katie Couric was on TV. They switched off the television and got down to business; it was TIME TO PUSH.

Of course being a month early, my doctor was away so the on-call OB, Dr. Mengele arrived. I suck at pushing. I told him the epidural wasn't working. He did not care. And told me more meds would slow progress. I think he studied medicine straight out of the bad parts of the Bible where women must endure the pain of childbirth to atone for Eve's sins. To this day, I hate him.

After about two hours of "he's just around the bend" (Bend? What freakin' bend? What do you mean my body is shaped like a J?), my nurse finally turned on the tough love and demanded that I get at least two to three good pushes out of each contraction. Andy hears this and decides to try this approach with me as well - once.

He then wisely returned to holding my hand and shoveling ice chips into my waiting mouth. Finally, the baby was crowning. Using that same drill sergeant voice that had worked so well on me, the nurse instructed Andy to take a look. He left my side and peered down, returning seconds later, white as a sheet. He later told me his only thought was "that's one big vagina." He stayed up by my head throughout the rest.

At 10:26 am, after nearly four hours of pushing, I finally PUSHED just the right way and was rewarded with my beautiful 5 pound (head) and 9 ounce (body) baby boy.

It wasn't until they went to push the pitocin through my IV that they realized that the IV had come out and I wasn't getting the drugs. Andy fessed up that he'd been inadvertently stepping on the IV tubing throughout the night. My own OB also later told me that I'd reacted poorly to the epidural and he'd watch for that next time.

What I remember most of the next hours and days was the first time I was alone with HRH. I looked at him and knew him; he looked familiar - not in a 'he looks like his dad' kind of way but more of an 'I know you.'

And I was a mom.

You Can Call Me Al

Dear Mr. Gore,

Please excuse Christine from environmental global good citizenship today as she was cleaning the bathroom.

During this exercise (in futility), she utilized no green cleaning products. Resulting, in the senseless deaths of untold good bacteria and weakening the immune systems of not only her household but also everyone they will ever come in contact with. Furthermore, we believe the mustard gas created by the mingling of these chemicals has caused an actual hole in the Ozone Layer, the size of a juice box . Said hole is currently positioned directly above our house, as viewed by Google Earth.

Additionally, Christine used no less than 3/4 of a roll of 0% post-consumer recycled, white, paper towels, placing them into a plastic trashbag for pick up by a carbon monoxide-emitting waste transport vehicle (garbage truck). These, and numerous other potentially recyclable materials will then be shipped to an unknown landfill, where they will begin the slow process of decomposition, which will last well into the 22nd century.

Lastly, she ran water in both the tub and sink (sometimes simultaneously) and flushed the toilet approximately 40 times.

Sincerely,

Christine's Remaining Brain Cells (not wiped out above-mentioned mustard gas incident)


ps She also uses plastic applicator tampons.

Technique

Actual conversation at our house:

Andy: Hey, did you know that RC knows how to lock the bathroom door?

MM: No...when did he figure that out?

Andy: He was twisting the lock with the door open while we were in there tonight.

MM: You know it's just a matter of time.

Andy: I want you to remember, when it's time to break down the door, the stairs are right behind you.

MM: Uh-huh...

Andy: So make sure you don't try to kick it down (demonstrates Kirk kick move). You'll end up at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, use your shoulder (demonstrates COPS move).

MM: Thanks for the tip.

It really is only a matter of time...

Apparently, He's Not a Fan of Daylight Saving Time

Here's a Riddle for you:

Question: What time is it when your clock looks like this?

Answer: Time for a new clock.

Knock Knock.

Who's There?

It's RC ripping the hands off my clock.


Editor's Note: This is my 100th post. I've been thinking about it and trying to come up with something memorable/special. Actually, I think this one reflects so much more.

He's Got Your Back

Yesterday was our second actual warm-ish, sunny day in months, when the kids were able to play outside after school. It's hard to say no after this interminable winter. So RC is happily digging up rocks in the sand and HRH is engaged in The Pushing Game with his classmate, Timmy, in the school playground.

The Pushing Game (for those of you who are female and/or only have daughters) involves running full bore across the grass and slamming into your friend with sufficient force to knock him down. Apparently, it's a blast. So after seven or eight times of Timmy's mother and me admonishing them to slow down and be careful, we simply gave up. Boys truly will be boys and besides, the grass is like a sponge from all the melting snow and rain.

While we're chatting, we take note a particularly brutal (but clean) hit that lands HRH on the ground with his elbow under him in an unnatural way. We head over to survey the damage. HRH is stoic and doesn't cry but RC witnesses this interchange from his vantage point in the sand. He runs over and with a rock (a stone actually, about half the size of a brick) and launches it, connecting with Timmy's shoulder. "Don't you knock over my big brother," he yells!

Thankfully, both HRH and Timmy were fine and Timmy's mom understands the nature of little boys. No harm, no foul.

Not surprisingly, Andy regaled his entire office with this tale, with all of the men and most of the women congratulating RC on his loyalty and protective insticts. Tonight's dinnertime discussion centered around clean hits and no weaponry.

A hard concept for an an almost three year old. And for a mommy.

You Really Want to Stick with that Story?

Mess-Free, meet RC.

Reason Number 573...

...to hold off opening all Christmas presents at Christmas. The boys are off the couch today and already getting restless. My godmother gave us a giant bag 'o presents that I've had off in a corner waiting. And today was the day! This is HRH's really cool bumper car/maze. It even has two separate play surfaces and two bumper cars so when the boys start bumping each other, we just take down the little bridge connecting the two.

On the cough medicine front, I'm giving up on the Delsym. I didn't find the results to be overwhelming or at least worthwhile enough to justify the side-effects. Both boys had nightmares two nights in a row, which is a little too close for coincidence. I already have to contend with the bug keeping them awake, they don't need to have what rest they get interrupted by bad dreams.

I'm going with the tried and true; fluids, rest, time, and some very judiciously allocated medication (see Tylenol and Benadryl).

Let's Get Physical

At the exact moment when I'd just about had it with him, RC walks into the room with a large elastic rubber band wrapped around his forehead cro-magnon style, and absolutely cracked me up. Way to reinforce unwanted behavior, MM.

What was worse is that I immediately thought of this:

Then of this:


My little caveman:

*With apologies for the quality. Photo taken with my camera phone as the shutter on my five-month-old camera is broken. Wonder how that happened?

You Kiss your Mother with that Mouth?

Yesterday afternoon:

MM to RC: Bubba, will you give me a kiss?

RC: Sure, Mommy. I have lots of kisses in my mouth for you.

All together now: Awwww.

***************************************
Fast forward to this morning:

Sitting in his carseat, RC crosses his right foot over his left, picks something off the bottom of his sneaker, puts it in his mouth and swallows it. All the while I'm yelling "Spit it out! Spit it out!" and grabbing his cheeks. What was it? Your guess is as good as mine.

I don't know if I want those kisses now...

WWJD - What Would Jesus Drive?

* Alternate post title: What would Diego Do?

Things I Never Thought I'd Say - Part III

Scene: This morning, five minutes late dropping HRH off at Pre-K

MM to HRH's teacher: Mrs. Stoffel, RC stuck his finger up HRH's nose this morning and it bled a little. I think it's all set now but I wanted you to know just in case.

Mrs. Stoffel: It must be so much fun to have two boys.

MM shakes head and chases RC down hallway.

And You Thought I Was Exaggerating

When you do this:

I switch to this:

We've Had a Good Run

Two years, eight months, and sixteen days. Really. Anyone would agree that with a kid as active and agile as RC, two years, eight months, and sixteen days really was more than you could hope for. I mean to have two years, eight months, and sixteen days of putting him in his crib and having him stay there until one of us retrieved him was a pretty good run.

Two minutes ago, I put RC back upstairs - on the second floor - for a nap, for the fourth time. And for the fourth time, RC is now joining me at the computer. Downstairs. In the basement. It's not a fluke. Or a one time occurrence. Things have just gotten exponentially more interesting at our house. I. am. so. screwed.