Whoo boy - that was a fast month! I can't believe it's June, especially as I sit here looking out into the rain. Where's my sunshine, goddammit?

You'll have to excuse my rudeness - I'm a little preoccupied this morning. My beautiful little sister is lying in a hospital bed at St. Vincent's in NYC, hooked up to a pitocin drip she really didn't want, waiting to have baby #2. My mom just called to fill me in, but we really ended up talking more about my other beautiful little sister's problems. We are really worried that she's been way too impulsive lately and that she needs to stop plowing forward with these major life decisions, several of which I can't discuss on this blog because someone in my (or her) real life might eventually read this.

Almost-post-partum sister doesn't know what she is having, so I'll no doubt be going on a little infant spending spree in the next day or so. I used to think that this sister was a great mom for a boy, but would have trouble with a girl. Too many hormones in a very small NYC apartment, too much drama. However, she is so much calmer and centered after two years of mommyhood that I think a girl would be fine - or maybe I just want the excuse to run out and buy her some frilly girly clothes.

On a totally different topic, I feel like I am drinking way too much these days. I'm not sure what to do about it, either, since I'm enjoying it so much. I think it has to do with the fact that the kids are finally on some semblance of a normal sleep schedule, meaning I can count on a decent night's sleep more nights than not, meaning the old control of, "I better not - it could be a rough night with the baby," is gone. Plus, it's summer, after a bad winter, and D. is on vacation this week, so we're just cutting loose a little.

...while little D. is pseudo-napping in his crib. He woke up as I carried his limp body up the stairs, but I ignored his gaze, put him down in the crib and told him it was naptime. What do you know - it's been 45 minutes, and although I can hear him babbling every now and then, he's not crying to be let out. He must be dozing, or perhaps is just occupied with plotting his escape from the crib. He figured out how to climb up onto the sofas the other day, so I guess the no-hazard living room is now the all-hazard living room. Good thing bumbles bounce!

I think we are going to see "Troy" tonight, which I am less than thrilled about. However, after I got to pick "Mean Girls" as the movie for last weekend, I'd rather D. chose "Troy" than that Red Sox fan movie for us to see. I hate this time of year, movie-wise - crap movies sprinkled throughout the spring. Actually, I think there probably are some decent movies out there, interesting indie films of the sort that NEVER COME TO CAPE COD. Along with all the things to do on a Sunday night. This is the smallest community we've ever lived in, and there is a definite void when it comes to cult-chah. I'm getting pretty sick of the quickie dinner at TGIFriday's, followed by a movie I don't particularly want to see. At least we haven't lost our high-school propensity for sneaking mini-bottles of wine into the theater...but in high school, it was usually creme de cassis or some other disgusting liqueur someone had filched from their parents liquor cabinet. These days, it's the closest I come to being an outlaw, swigging some vile Sutter Home merlot out of a dixie cup in a darkened theater.

Ah, spring - when the dampness combines with the remains of whatever rodent crawled in and died in our walls a year ago. The house is permeated with a whiff of stinkiness that goes away whenever it stops raining. Given that we've noticed a bunch of spongy clapboards on various parts of the house, I've been having nightmares about the scenarios that could occur when we hire someone to rip them off and replace them. I had a dream that the walls were full of honey, and another one that a raccoon had been living in our attic and bringing back small animals to eat up there, so we found a rabid raccoon AND a pile of rodent bones in the attic. Maybe it's bugs, rotting our house down. Or some other creepy crawly horror, like the turpentine beetles we just sprayed the backyard pines for, to the tune of $220, have actually been working away at the framing of the house for 2 years! Aaaargh!

Or maybe it's just my bad attitude towards this particular house, which was the right choice for us at the time we bought it, financially speaking, but which has proven to be not as well-constructed as one would hope. The creaky floors, the strange lump in the upstairs hallway from where the house has settled so badly around the chimney, the inadequately ventilated attic that we keep meaning to do something about...there are days when I really miss our old house in PA. The day after D. came home and told me he could not continue working with the assholes in his old practice, I walked around that house sobbing my heart out, wailing, "My house, my beautiful house!"

I think people were surprised that my primary reaction was not agony at leaving the hometown I'd grown up in a scant 6 months after settling in to what we thought was a job for life. No, I mourned my house. My parents, my brother, my extended family - well, I'd been living away from them since I left for college at age 18. It had been such an unexpected twist in our lives to even have the opportunity to move somewhere we had family and for D. to join a practice he *thought* was a gem. Moving into a beautiful house three blocks from my parents when I was 7 months pregnant with our first child, after putting off having children until that point in our lives so D. would be finished with residency and would be around to enjoy them, well that was just more icing on the cake. It just seemed like too much, and as it turned out, it was not meant to be after all.

But oh, that house - those walk-in closets, the finished basement with the bar, the gleaming Corian countertops in the kitchen, even the no-thought, no-tweaking heating system that kept us comfortable in every season - well, that I still miss with every materialistic cell of my body. We Libras are like that - enjoy the finer things, don't you know. Sigh.

I read a column in the Boston Globe yesterday in which Tom Perrota's new book, "Little Children," was reviewed. The columnist's point, taken from the slant of how the novel skewers suburban SAHMs/SAHFs and the evangelisism they evince in their focus on the first few years of a child's life, is that child rearing, especially the first few mind-numbing years, is not some glorified "magic" period in a child and mothers life together, but that it is scut work, toiling long and hard for not much pay off, and that is why women are the ones who do it.

And this is how I've felt since I had my daughter. Yes, I know I'm blessed with two healthy kids and a wonderful husband who has a great income so I don't have to work to keep the kids in new shoes. And no, I wasn't particularly thrilled with my old job, and was happy enough to quit it when pregnant with my daughter 4+ years ago. But here's the thing - I don't know what the hell those other mother's do with their kids all day. It drives me nuts to spend day after day cleaning, feeding, laundering, soothing, nagging. How many rainy days of the week can we go walk around the mall, ride the merry-go-round, eat chicken mcnuggets and then go look at the puppy mill dogs in the mall pet store? There is nothing exalted about it.

So that's where I'm at these days, feeling too over-educated and over-cultured to be a SAHM. Maybe I just need a vacation, maybe its the fact that N. woke me up at 4 am crying about a bad dream where I dropped her off the roof (!) and then again at 6:07. when she apparently read her clock backwards, saw the 7 and decided it was time to get up. I'm actually thinking it's time to gear up the website I've been dallying with for the past 8 months and get working on something...ANYTHING.

Just got my girl to bed, after the routine "race ya!" up the stairs. We did our brand new bathroom routine next, teeth, face and ::ta da!:: sit on toilet (this being her first week out of nighttime diapers) and off to read in bed.

Lately, we read whichever story she chooses from the large collection of Scooby Doo books we've amassed over the last 6 months. We do this cuddled up in her bed, with a flashlight, after we rearrange the sleeping buddies to make room for Mommy. The flashlight is a relatively new addition, making its debut appearance a few weeks ago when N. requested we tell "spoooooooky stories!" at bedtime. Spooooky stories are told under the comforter, making it a hot proposition - by the time I'm fumbling around in my tired brain for a not-too-spooky-for-a-4-year-old ending to my spooooky story, I'm usually gasping for fresh air. The oxygen deprivation inevitably leaves my story endings somewhat hurried and flat, with me yanking the covers off to feel the cool air roll across my face as I gasp, "happilyeveraftertheend!"

Now that we are doing flashlight reading, followed by shadow play, we aren't reading as many books, just one longer one. N. still has a sippy cup with a small amount of diluted juice, despite all of the pediatric warnings that by doing so, I am rotting her little teeth out of her head. I'm a baaaaaaaaad mommy, I know, but since I just took her to the dentist for her checkup and her teeth are pristine I'll save myself and N. the trauma of taking away one of her longest standing comfort mechanisms just yet. The other comfort, of course, is her buppie. Her buppie is her security blanket, soft and fleece-like when purchased and covered with pills on one side now. I was smart enough to buy two identical buppies, in case of loss or disaster. These days, one stays at pre-school and one stays home, but both have developed this slight roughening on one side, and that is the side that must lay up so that N. can rub it while sipping her juice, after I've laid it taught across her knees but draping equally down her sides.

There was a time, back in her 2 to 3 year old days, when she was bewitched by Thomas the Tank Engine for months and months and months. When I was pregnant with her brother, and knowing I was likely to give birth prematurely again, and remembering how panicked and unprepared (and unpacked!) I was when my water broke 5 weeks early with her, I started stashing things away to occupy her while I was in the hospital. One of those things was a Thomas flap book, with over 60 flaps scattered over 5 or so pages. I packed this in a little bag along with some other items, and we brought it with us when my water did, in fact, break early and in the middle of the night. And when we were unable to reach the babysitter we had arranged and had to wake her at 4 am and bring her to the hospital with us, we pulled out that flap book and read it several times once Mommy was all hooked up in her hospital bed. And then we read it every night for the next 7 months.

The rituals that accompanied that book would fill an entire week's worth of musings - the pretend pouring of tea and eating of cake from one scene, the picking up of yarn from the "Y" car on the alphabet train and the pretend knitting of sweaters, hats, gloves, and scarves to keep us warm in the train yard, the pretend fright at opening the flap with a ghost face in it, the way Mommy always gets the engines mixed up in their sheds and N. has to correct her...on and on and on. This routine could drag on for 30 minutes, just for ONE book! But, you know, it got her through those tough first months of losing her "only" status, when Mom and Dad were often tired and cranky too - we always had our special Mommy and N. time at the end of the day. And I hope we will for many years to come, as long as I can drag it out before she kicks me out of her bed one day when she'd rather be alone and read books by herself.

I was doing so well when I first began this blog. It has now become apparent that like so many other enthusiasms of mine, it is but one more fascinating, all-consuming, NEW and IMPROVED diversions from real life. Like the crocheting class I took last year. Two little hats later, the needles and yarn are stashed in a bag somewhere in the basement. Ah, remember the days of soapmaking? (Not that I actually made any soap after the first messy afternoon.) The hours spent pondering the offerings of on-line soapmaking suppliers, the dream of a cottage industry that I would successfully run from home while the children napped? The line of ginger-scented maternity body products? What about that mystery novel I started writing back in 1991? I even attended a writers conference and had it critiqued by an actual, honest-to-God editor, who was even moderately encouraging. All 6 of my invention ideas, quickly sketched and described in a special notebook and forgotten about?

Now that I've cataloged a fraction of the enthusiasms that have occupied my adult life, I'm feeling kinda small and insignificant. Since I became a SAHM, I've been pretty happy with my life, except for the nagging feeling that I'm quickly approaching 40, heavier of body and lighter in accomplishments than I had hoped for. I guess that despite the flu, the bugs infiltrating our house, the kids, the housekeeping that I suck at, the friends that I attempt to nurture long distance, the husband who needs attention, the bills to be paid, and all the flotsam of life that everyone has to deal with, least I can do is to try to be better about blogging.

Right?

All favorite words around here this week. Nothing like a 4 year old yelling from the next room, "Mom, are you puking?" while you are hanging over a toilet, followed by hearing a little voice chanting a darling ditty of a song that goes like this: "Puke, puke, puke, puke puke puke, puuuuke!"

We are all better now, but it was really ugly around here. Highlights include the dryer breaking once I had all the soiled bedding in the house piled up and the husband having to go into his office at 1 am to snag some anti-vomiting drug samples they give to chemo patients. Whee!

We actually schlepped to the mall yesterday for an early dinner, and although I knew this horrible stomach bug was going around town, I didn't realize how many people had been affected. We walked down the length of the mall to the food court, where I ponied up our $1.75 to ride the merry-go-round. As I was paying, I noticed a sign posted on the kiosk reading, "If your child is sick, please do not let them ride the merry-go-round!" The guy handed me my change and said, "Three kids threw up on this thing yesterday."

I'm so glad my days spent toiling in the service economy are through.

...a Daphne day! My girl hardly ever wants to be Daphne lately, but today I was asked for pink barrettes, pink sunglasses, and yes, she would like to wear the pink corduroy coat to pre-school, thank you very much. Her brother is still Shaggy. We are currently in discussions about how we can all go as the Scooby Gang/Mystery Inc. for Halloween. Hell, I've already got the geeky glasses and Velma haircut, not to mention the big ungainly shoes. I'll be all set once I find an enormous orange turtleneck and matching knee socks.

Isn't it sad that this is the creative highlight of my day? Planning my not-too-original Halloween costume 7 months in advance? What happened to the woman who used to make jewelry out of sterling silver and meteorites and accident debris? I just hope she's still in here, somewhere underneath all the glue sticks and construction paper.

Broke down and bought a cd chosen and begged for by my girl: "Kidz Bop 5." Ah, the power of advertising on Nickelodeon. Anyway, I admit that I was swayed by the inclusion of "Hey Ya!" on the cd, and I figured I'd buy it and give it a listen, so that I'd know what I was dealing with in the future when asked for such items in terms of appropriateness and language, etc.

So, we have been listening to it one song at a time in the car, because I figure one or two spins of the disk aren't going to do any permanent harm to my precious children if I decide I don't think the lyric changes are appropriate enough, etc. (or if I just can't stomach most of the pop garbage that is usually on these things).

We are driving home from preschool a few days ago, and one of the songs is playing ("Headstrong" by Trapt, I think,) and N. says, "This song is kind of rock and roll-ey." Which I thought was pretty funny, but I really cracked up when the version of Brittney Spears "Me Against the Music" came on, and from the backseat I hear, "Hey! This is just like a disco!"

Yup, disco mini-van, cruisin' down the road. I'm *really* tempted to get a mini-disco ball to hang from my rear-view mirror now.

I'm so happy this afternoon, just really content to putter around the house. Why? Because I'm ALONE for a change, at home. D. has taken to kids up to Boston for the afternoon to see the St. Patrick's Day parade and hang with the in-laws. I am doing laundry, paying bills, organizing taxes, fucking around on-line, and generally enjoying the quiet. The thought of slopping through puddles to watch drunk firemen hang from their firetrucks did very little for me this year, so I begged off.

Little D. has reached the dreaded toddler stage of courting imminent death. My girl never went through this phase. She is such a different personality, and by the time she was moving confidently, she was also paying attention to "No!" and talking quite well. The combination in my boy of amazing mobility, total stupidity and fearlessness about his world and an apparently insatiable curiosity is astonishing to me. In the past week, I've saved his life no less than 8 times, leaving me to wonder if I'm some sort of Mommy superhero or (waaaaay more likely) the worst mother in the world for letting him live in an environment where he can actually get into so much trouble.

The problem is that he just keeps going - we dispose of one safety hazard, and suddenly he's figured out something else dangerous to do. And it's not like I'm off ignoring him - he's almost always in my view, except when he's safely penned in the living room where we've removed any hazards to his life so I can go to the bathroom or throw in a load of laundry. And I can't even blame his big sister too much, when it's his dad who lays down on the floor to play with him, then blithely walks away leaving a trail of small change for the kid to gnaw on.

In the past month, I've swooped down to yank him off a stack of books he has created as he tries to climb the bookcase. I've pried his jaws open several times to retrieve toys much larger than the supposedly safe diameter of a toilet-paper roll. I've heimliched the kid, for crying out loud, because he somehow managed to find the single colorform sticker I failed to throw away and get it lodged in his mouth, gagging so hard he began throwing up.

He has crawled under the kitchen chairs and gotten his head stuck. He's almost yanked to computer monitor off the desk by tugging on the power supply strip, which is of course, safely ensconced in a power supply strip safety cover. We've gated off the living room, plus installed a gate that basically runs across the entire bookshelves/fireplace wall. I've ordered another gate to keep him off the dining room fireplace surround, since he's managed to climb up the 3+ foot high stack of rubbermaid bins we've piled in front of the danger zone to keep him out.

I've replaced all the knobs on the dining room furniture with huge, ugly, unfinished wood knobs that he can't unscrew. I've plugged all the outlets, put a doorknob cover on the basement door, installed cabinet latches on all cabinets, and keep the stove knob covers latched. I even keep the rest of the family in fear for their own lives by hectoring them about keeping the bathroom door closed with an extra hook and eye latch.

This is all compounded by the fact that the weather has been so crappy we haven't been able to get out and do much. I think once we hit some warmth and dry weather and I can run him around outside, he'll do a little better. Then again, I'm probably kidding myself. He'll probably just keep driving me insane by chowing on the wood chips at the playground and poking himself in the face with sticks and climbing up things way too high for safety.

I am finally feeling so much better physically, and the irony is that I am now consumed with anxiety over all the things I haven't accomplished over the last few months of recovering from the whooping cough. I guess when I was really and truly sick, I knew I was at my limit and just let go of anything that wasn't a day-to-day essential. Now that I feel better, I'm being much harder on myself, and feeling quite overwhelmed, like I've lost ground in the race that is my life.
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I just deleted a long list of the things I have not done or finished, because reading them made me realize how overly dramatic and prone to navel-gazing I am capable of being. Yes, I tend to be a little compulsive, although you'd never know it by looking at my house. Sometimes I feel so normal and optimistic and happy and then sometimes I stay up until 2 am researching ADD because I think I probably have it and that would explain why I am up at 2 am researching things on the internet. And yes, sometimes I am *really* that much of a head case that I lay awake at night remembering that I :::GULP::: DIDN'T MAKE THE APPOINTMENT TO GET THE :::GULP::: OIL CHANGED!!!!
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Scooby Doo Update:

With the birthday money her grandparents gave her, my girl chose to purchase - what else - Barbies made to look like the Scooby Gang! She was happy as a clam when we stumbled upon them in the toy store, and even more thrilled to see they'd been marked down to $7.99 apiece. She had $10 from her Uncle Michael and I let her have $20 from the stash her various grandparents gave her, so she was able to buy Velma, Fred & Shaggy. She already has Daphne, so it worked out perfectly. We brought them home, where she promptly undressed them all and stuffed them, naked and contorted, into the Scooby Doo lunch box shaped like the Mystery Machine that Aunt Sally sent her. She thinks "Shaggy and Fred's privates are funny!"
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My favorite conversation of the week:

N: "Our house is a building, Mom."
Me: "Yes, that's right."
N: "Why is it called a 'building?'"
Me: "Because someone built it. It's not like a tree or a rock or a lake, something that is a part of nature. People had to bring tools and things to build the house out of...wood and nails and everything that makes up our house. See, 'BUILD-ing,' because it was built by people."

...silence from the backseat...

N: "OK, but why is it called 'DING?'"

...silence from frontseat as I try to format an answer on English grammar that will make sense to a 4 year old...

N: "OOOOHH! I know! It's because buildings have doorbells! Build. Ding. Build. Ding. Build. DING!"

Me: (brain fried) "Yup, that sounds about right to me, honey."
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Date Night tonight, but nothing but crap out in the theaters and very little of interest going on tonight on good old Cape Cod. It may be "Starsky & Hutch" and some mini-bottles of wine snuck into the theater. Ooooh, romance.

Today my girl is 4 years old. I spent almost two of my precious kid-free hours yesterday afternoon assembling her new bike, and frankly, I'm a teeny bit jealous. I could do without the "My Little Pony" logos scattered all over, but the banana seat and high handlebars ROCK! Last week, out of the blue, she announced that when she was big enough for a bike, she wanted one with a basket on the handlebars, and I was only too happy to oblige. Plus, it came with streamers on the handlebars - quite the little girl fantasy bike. She was most pleased. The only bummer is that February in New England is not the best time to be gifted a new bike - it's 32 degrees out today, and windy, so the bike is sitting in the living room and she is busy checking out the 5 day weather forecast on the TV. There are going to be "suns and clouds," apparently.

We've gone to her gymnastics class, done a few errands, and met up with her friend Jack from pre-school and his mom and baby brother at Friendly's for lunch, and with the exception of the bike and a Barbie Pixter, she is (of course) having a Scooby Doo kind of birthday. She is now downstairs, watching her new Scooby Doo DVD (from her brother) while drinking water out of her new Scooby Doo canteen (from Jack). She received a Scooby Doo card in the mail today, and we have read the new Scooby Doo book 3 times already. I can hardly wait to see what the weekend brings, when we will go celebrate with the in-laws.

The big excitement for the day, I wrongly assumed, came as we were getting ready to head out this morning and I noticed Little D. had something he was trying to cram into his mouth. I scooted over and grabbed it from him - not one, but TWO screws. No idea where they came from, but a big "PHEW!" moment...until this afternoon at lunch, when the two kids were under the table at Friendly's as the moms chatted. Jack's mom asked him to please pick up a big piece of chicken that had fallen on the floor, and after he handed it up, N. said to me, "Here, Mom - I found a seed." No, not a seed, a prescription drug pill that had fallen to the floor! Whee! But wait, there were more! In the span of a few seconds, the kids began handing up "seeds" as we Moms freaked and made them get back up into their seats. The identifiable pills were gastric reflux medications, but god knows what the other one was. Thank God they are old enough now that everything doesn't automatically go into their mouths.

So, turns out THAT was the big PHEW!!! of the day.
(Please, let that be all that happens today....)

This was supposed to be our big vacation weekend up in Boston, doing family activities and meeting up with old friends. Instead, we are all moping around the house wallowing in our various stages of the creeping crud. My girl never even got it (*cough* immunesystemofacockroach *cough* *cough* thankyoudaycare), I'm at the end stages of this 8 week odyssey of respiratory illness, and the boys are pretty darn miserable.

My girl is turning 4 this week. I'm a tad freaked, since that doesn't seem possible. Four years is not a lot of time, and yet I feel like she's been a part of my life forever. I've been thinking a lot lately about how blessed we are with kids who are a good "fit" for us, personality-wise. I know several other families who are not particularly in sync, or worse for them, several little kids who seem out of sync with their families. The only thing I would have changed about N. is her lack of need for sleep - the no-napping thing has been a killer. Since she was 18 months old, she has slept 9-10 hours a night, no nap. I'm so ridiculously grateful that her little brother is a better sleeper - when he started sleeping through the night at 7 weeks, I thought my heart would break with joy. But I digress. Back to my girl. My almost-4-year-old, who made the valentine above, who is smart and funny and yes, still obsessed with Scooby Doo.

Since her brother has discovered the whole "I'm testing Mommy to see what happens" toddler thing - throwing toys, hitting, attempting to stand on or climb on toys and furniture - I've been so delighted to just spend time with N. all be herself. She is just a joy. When she told me about getting into "trouble" for not sitting quietly at preschool while the class was trying to watch a movie, she was simultaneously full of drama and also had this slightly wry, almost gallic "what are you gonna do?" attitude.

"Well, I was in trouble and Miss Kelly made me sit in a chair and read a book by myself because I didn't want to sitted still and be quiet."

"Were you being disruptive? Making noise and not being quiet so the other kids could watch the movie?"

"Weeeeeeeeeeell, I just didn't want to watch the movie."

"You wanted to read a book instead?"

"Yes, but Miss Kelly was MAAAAAAAAD." Giggle.

"If Miss Kelly was mad, why was she hugging you when I walked in?"

"Well, she wasn't really mad." Hysterical laughter from the backseat.
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So, basically, she got what she wanted, she didn't have to sit still and watch the movie, she's not sorry BUT she knows she's supposed to follow the rules and so she's telling me all about her illicit rebel activity with this half-sorry/half-delighted air.
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My last thought for the evening:

We got her a bike for her birthday, and it wasn't until I was paying for the thing that I realized that the one I'd picked out was scarily reminiscent of my own circa 1970 bike, right down the the banana seat and streamers hanging from the high handlebars. If only they'd had one with a FLOWERED banana seat - that would have been TOTALLY BITCHIN'!@!!

I used to feel this way about school and work deadlines, but these days, the pressure is all in my head. Literally. I'm on antibiotics again for another sinus infection, and I'm beginning to be scarily at ease with all these strange aches and pains. Raging toothache? Oh, that's just an infection in my right sinus cavity - had the same thing last month on my left side, so the fact that my mouth hurts too much to eat pasta isn't freaking me out at all. Shakiness and weakness in my arms? Well, it could be the sinus headache medication, or my body adjusting to not being on steroids (last dose yesterday!), or a reaction to the hypertension medication I've started. I've decided to NOT freak out and decide I have MS or Parkinson's until I'm actually over this latest cold/infection and off all tangential medications, give myself a little healing time and THEN decide I'm a goner.

I can hardly wait until spring arrives - it's just too cold with my damaged lungs to sit outside still, and the one day this weekend it was in the 40's I was finally able to run the kiddies around the backyard. Wonderful, but also a reminder of how much trouble a 15-month old can get into in 2 seconds flat. If he wasn't losing his balance and carooming down the slight grade of the yard into the chain link fence, he was making a bee-line for those very attractive red berries on the choke cherry bush.

I am a lot more relaxed with my boy than I was with my girl, but that is partially because he's my second and partially because he's so much more physically adept than his sister was at this age. When I think about it, I hope it's not also JUST because he's a boy, because that would be sexist of me. But, unlike my girl, my boy doesn't fall down very much, and when he does, he just shakes it off.

Spent 2 hours on the phone with my sister yesterday afternoon hashing out the implosion of her marriage. They are now officially separated, she is relieved, and sad, and not as worried as she thought she'd be. He is uncommunicative as usual. He is coming over and staying with the kids 3 nights a week for now, and she is staying on our other sister's couch in the city, and actually feeling a little freedom. I can't believe a 10 year marriage can just bite the dust so fast and so hard, but as D. and I spent a long time discussing last night, you just never know what goes on between two people.

Our dinner out was good, except that D. got a little loud at the restaurant as we were discussing the impending divorce. His retro Irish-Catholicism-Boy Scout streak was out in full force, especially after most of a bottle of wine, and the woman at the table next to us kept turning her head around as he would get a little heated. Basically, he was defending my brother-in-law, feeling like he had to pick sides, and I was pointing out that he really didn't because its not about US. It's okay to feel bad for our brother-in-law and angry at my sister, since she's the one who instigated this, as long as he realizes that those feelings are more about him and us than about them.

We talked about how it makes us feel shaky and unsure, because we always assumed that they had the same sort of relationship that we did, and now it turns out that they just didn't, and as close as my sister and I are, how could we not have known that? D. was trumpeting on about how S. didn't cheat on her, didn't hit her, didn't do anything to "deserve" this, and I think he just needed to get out his own anxiety in his own way. I'm glad I'm at a point right now where I feel stable and emotionally healthy and am able to be objective in discussions like this one, and where I found myself listening to D. rant a bit and was thinking what a good man he is, how underneath his "guyness" there is so much depth of character, and how glad I am that he can let off steam with me because he has to exert so much restraint on the job.

The rest of the evening I was just feeling so content and grateful, laughing and talking, and holding hands and going to shoot darts and listen to bad karaoke after, and feeling lucky that we are still such good friends after 18 years.

Wednesdays are now "Mommy/N" days around here, where we drop off the boy at daycare and then proceed through the day with just the two of us. I reverse on Fridays, when it is "Mommy/Baby D" day. I made the decision to try it because I was getting so frazzled chasing The Master of Disaster all over while trying to actually accomplish anything useful on Wednesdays, and by 3 pm every Wednesday I was ready to bolt myself into the bathroom and let them fend for themselves. I don't know how other stay-at-home moms do it, honestly. Without going into all the details, I just know that if I'm honest with myself, I'm much happier (and a better mom) with some kid-free time scheduled into my week, and thank God my husband is cool with that.

Back to my girl - she's so in love with her gymnastics class that Tuesday evenings are a breeze to get her to bed - the mere mention that if she doesn't get enough rest she'll be too tired for gymnastics class is enough to pinch eyes shut and smile a fakey-sweet little grin while waving me out the door with a "I love you" hand signal.

Highlights of her day: gymnastics class, #1 of course; getting to wear sparkly black glitter leotard to gym class; meeting friend Maddie at the mall for a glamourous and exotic Happy Meal and merry go round ride; visit to the craft store because mommy is a sucker for craft projects that will occupy her for at least 20 minutes; visit to the post office where she was given *2* stickers instead of just one; playing a new "Scooby Doo and the Cyberchase" game she invented involving she and her brother running back and forth across the living room and shrieking wildly; jumping on Daddy after dinner; chocolate ice cream.

Low points of her day: having to take off sparkly black leotard after gym class because mommy is sick of house and person being covered in sparkles; only ONE ride on merry-go-round; having to leave Maddie at mall before we had a chance to go see the puppies at the queasy-making mall pet store; no more running around living room shrieking wildly after knocking over 15-month old brother one too many times; having to leave the tub after a very short but efficient bath; no more chocolate ice cream; not being allowed to wear new necklace mommy made her to bed.

Highlight of my day: going to bed now, before 11 pm.

Still in a happy mood from this weekend, still riding a little steroid hyperness too. Sunny day in the 40's here, which helps my mood A LOT. Kids are at daycare/preschool today, also a good mood enhancer.

I've got a lot going on today: grocery shopping already done; some on-line bill paying finished; phone calls returned; Valentine's Day preparations under control; partially finished clearing out and cleaning of the mini-van; getting plans underway for our Boston vacation trip next week, including the ice show tickets and a hotel booking.

I still have to fix and mail a necklace to a friend's client as a favor to my friend, but at least I've managed to find all the parts and tools I need to accomplish this task. They are sitting on the dining room table, along with all sorts of beads ready to tempt me away from housework with their sparkle in the sunlight...

Also need to wash and deliver an old bouncy seat to an acquaintance I ran into last Friday, seeing as how I am now sliding back into the "favors offered but unfinished" category of personality I inhabit all too well these days. Besides trying to lose weight and think before I speak, I need to work on following through on my better impulses. And thank you notes, the bane of my existence. And those friends whose Christmas cards never went out because they fell into the "I want to write them a personal note inside the card" category.

And on that note:

You are Sanguine. Warm, outgoing, and friendly,
you are the life of the party. Your carefree
nature can make you unpredictable and restless,
however, and you tend to be disorganized,
easily distracted, and even undependable.
Passionate and hot-tempered, you have a lust
for life in all its forms. Your creativity
makes you a good starter but a poor finisher.
Sanguines should look at careers in sales,
acting, public speaking, and the medical
profession.


Which of the Humours are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Mommy Free Weekend. What a concept - it started out as "We should get together, get a hotel room, bring our hobbies, go to dinner, stay up all night talking, catch up, get away from the kids and husbands." It ended up as, "Hey, wanna do dinner at the Burlington Mall?" with one friend and "Hey, can I take you out to lunch?" with another, and it was fab-bu-luuuuuus. I left the house on Saturday morning and didn't return until Sunday afternoon, and what do you know? The house didn't burn down, the husband didn't break the kids, no one ended up at the ER, everyone got fed and slept, and best of all, I got to have over 24 hours of NOT taking care of anyone but ME.

I got to catch up with two of my very best friends in the world, I got to commiserate about the late-30's "How did I get here???" experience, and I even ended up canceling a facial appointment because the thought of rushing away from a relaxing lunch just so I could make it to the appointment in time was stressing me out. I realized that I just needed more time with my old friends to make me remember who I am underneath all the day-to-day clutter.

And my cough is finally, slowly, getting better. I still *sound* like I'm coughing up a lung, but at least I have a little energy back. Even after only five hours of sleep last night, I feel so much better than I did a few days ago. For the first time in a month, I'm not actually dreading the start of another week.

...and that is the realization that the Scooby Mania that has gripped my daughter for the last month may be winding down a bit. She hasn't watched a Scooby video in 2 whole days, and when I asked her tonight (pleaded, really, just to get her off my back for a while) if she wanted to watch "Scooby Doo and the Cyberchase," she replied with a nonchalant, "No thanks."

Unfortunately, I *am* noticing a rising interest in the Powerpuff Girls....

I should really know better by now. I should REALLY know by by now. I SHOULD KNOW FUCKING BETTER BY NOW!!!

Wednesday, I find that my cough is getting worse. I've been sick since the week after Christmas, have been back and forth to the doctor, have been diagnosed with Whooping Cough, have slowly been feeling better after 2 weeks of antibiotics and an inhaler and so on and so on. By Wednesday afternoon, I feel like there is a weight on my chest, I can't stop coughing, and I can't get through to the doctor's office. I try 3 times at various points during the day, with an average wait time of 20 minutes on the phone getting lost in the voicemail system or hung up on. I finally leave a pissy voicemail*, and then finally get through and schedule an office visit for Thursday morning.

Cough cough cough. Thursday dawns way too early. Little D. is up during the night 3 times with the tail end of this cold and teething that has left his gums looking like raw hamburger. When I'm not awake with him, I'm hacking away, despite the narcotic cough syrup AND Nyquil I've taken. Get up, pack bags, get everyone dressed and fed. Drop off kiddies at daycare/preschool and head to my office visit. Leave there after being told that I really need to lose wieght, my blood pressure is now officially way too high, the inhalers aren't working, and there is so much swelling in my neck I should probably go have a neck ultrasound to take a peek at the works. I leave with hypertension drug samples, prescriptions for oral steroids (to calm my inflamed lungs) and an ultrasound.

Back to daycare to pick up little D., who has a follow-up appointment to check out his brand-spankin'-new ear tubes. Chase him around the waiting room for an hour, 2 minutes with the doctor**, back to daycare. Luckily he falls asleep in the car and I'm able to transfer him right inside into napland. Back to the drugstore to get my oral steroid prescription filled. Drop that off, head to the ultrasound place right next door - only handy thing about the day. Wait for ultrasound, get ultrasound. Laying on table with warm gel on my neck in the darkend room, I think, "This is almost like a spa visit."

Pick up drugs, back home, lunch, 45 minute nap, back to daycare/preschool to pick up kids. On my own for the night as D. has a lecture to give for other docs and interested parties at a VERY nice restaurant. He gets home at 9:45, after I've just put little D. to bed and am trying to cajole N. upstairs.
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*Which I hate to do because this is a small community and this doctor extends us professional courtsey and doesn't charge us the co-pay for office visits and I don't want to reflect badly on D. but MAN I was ripped.

**Which again I try so hard not to get too worked up about because this guy was nice enough to squeeze us into his schedule last December when he was scheduling new patients until March because he and D. have patients in common and know each other.
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AND that was yesterday. Today sucked, too, but tomorrow I am finally out of here for a night away from my family. It's been months in the planning, and I'm feeling too sick to go, but I'm going!!! Facial, dinner with old friend, hotel room all to myself, good books, art galleries to check out, sleeping in, and home on Sunday. WHEEEEEE!