Thursday, June 25, 2009


Sometimes I see a product and wonder how in the bloody hell it made it onto the market. Someone I follow on twitter discovered this product and (correctly) commented about how dirty it looks.

It's called KUSH.

First, the photographic evidence:What the hell is the point of this thing? I had no idea. As the CEO Cathinka Chandler (seriously) explains it: "Kush offer more natural rest for the breasts for a more comfortable sleep, it helps to prevent the appearance of cleavage lines and wrinkles."

Now, internets. I worry about many, many things. Will we save enough money to retire? Is my job stable? Am I a good mom? And I also worry about trivial things - Do people think our kitchen table looks cheap? Are we going to like the new paint in the babies room? But one thing I have never ever ever worried about is cleavage lines. Like, EVER. Don't get me wrong, I see them on ladies and don't think they are super cute. But I've never sat in Target and lamented about why! oh why, is there not a product that will not only help me with my breast support at night, but also prevent wrinkles in my cleavage??? Because, here's the thing - I could have SWORN there was already a product on the market that supported my boobs.

I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during the meeting with the bank to get that business loan.

Monday, June 15, 2009

To crib or not to crib

I saw this picture on this talented artist's blog the other day and it grabbed me. This picture says freedom to me. Or, more specifically, being free. Free to go outside and throw your head into the wind and smell deeply into the air. With no laundry to do or email to return or bills to pay. I think we all have that dream where you sell all your shit and just leave to wherever that place is that calls to you. Being the responsible (and scared) people that we are, we are firmly anchored to our mortgage and our jobs and have to take our moments of freedom where we get them.

I love my son. I love my life more with him in it. I'm a better person, my husband is a better man and we are a better us with him in our lives. With that said, one of my favorite moments of the day is when I pull Finn's door nearly closed while saying the love you's and see you tomorrow's. We are extremely lucky to have a very good sleeper - although if I'm being honest, I do take some credit for having the determination to stick with sleep training - but I was also blessed with a kid who sleeps for nearly 12 hours at night and another 2-3 during a midday nap. We get him to bed by 8pm and I like to be in bed by 10pm these days. This gives me a scant two hours to do whatever it is that I want/need to do. The only two hours in my entire day when I don't have anyone directly counting on me to do something. I can be responsible - wash the dishes, get my lunch ready for tomorrow, return some work email, put away toys, etc etc etc. OR, I can flop my pregnant ass on the couch and watch So You Think You Can Dance while eating popcorn. The thing is, it's ladies choice, and that's a damn good feeling.

My husband is really pushing for us to move Finn out of his crib. He's only climbed out once (back in January) and although I'm due in October, the new baby will sleep in our room for a few weeks, so we have plenty of time until we would need the crib. But for some reason, Mike is insistent that Finn is ready and he wants to buy him a twin sized mattress and start ASAP. I am typically a very positive person, but for some reason the concept of this scares the holy shit out of me. Because what is at stake here? My 2 hours. I'm totally terrified that this is going to turn into one of those Super Nanny episodes where the kids are running around the house at 11pm begging to watch Elmo, refusing to stay in their rooms. Or, waking up at 4am with my kid 3 inches from my face, staring at me in the dark. I have read every article and post on the message boards on and they all say the same thing - for some kids, it's an easy transition and for some, it's not. Wow, thanks for the incredible insight.

The conversation came to a head today and I agreed that if he felt that strongly about moving Finn into a bed, I would get behind him and get positive and we'll make it happen. (By the way, this is becoming a worrisome trend lately where my husband really gives a shit about things that he never used to give a shit about. It's weird.)

So, deeeeep breaths. I'm diving into the deep end here, potentially losing not just my hours of freedom before I go to bed, but also the naptimes and the hours through the night. Oh damn, there I go being negative again. Okay - um - I mean....YAY BIG BOY BED! I can't wait (ughhhh).

Friday, June 12, 2009


Wow, 20 weeks. How is it going so fast and so slow all at the same time? Here is my growing bump:

(Here I am at 16 weeks for comparison)

I'm feeling pretty good most of the time now, but still yarfing in the morning. Oh well, way better than the 24 hour nausea!

I was sick Sunday - Tuesday of this week with a gross nasty cold that laughed at me while I stared longingly at the bottle of DayQuil (Tylenol Cold and Sinus, you are worthless). I was a disgusting snotty coughing sniveling mess, and thankfully the schedule worked out so that my husband was able to pick up much of my whining slack.

As I've mentioned in the past, my dad is flying from Nashville the weekend after 4th of July to help us with a honey-do list that would be pretty overwhelming for my husband to tackle alone with his crazy full-time work/school schedule. We made a list of things we wanted to get done before my dad got here - not that most of the things need to get done this early, but my procrastinating hubbie and I are best under tight deadlines and neither of us much liked the surprise of early labor last time. When my water broke 3 weeks early, I stared into the mess that was my future child's bedroom as fluid dripped down my leg and held back tears that everything wasn't "perfect". By God, that's not going to happen this time around.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Manipulation, Frustration and Stop Lights

How does a child know the fine art of manipulation so aptly at a mere 2 years old? Theo has started this weird game that makes me want to drive blunt forks into my eyeballs. He wants something, but he won't tell me what it is and when I correctly guess, he pretends he doesn't want it. And I try to give it to him and he turns away and so I walk away and he screams for what I just I try to give it to him again and he turns away again. This is very frustrating for a number of reasons, and I'm sure the moms of toddlers totally get it, but it seriously awakens some weird rage in me that makes me happy that I have such great anger management skills. Because I KNOW what he wants. And HERE IT IS! Look!? I've got it! Right here! And you want it! So freakin take it, will you??? This has only been going on for about 3 days now, and I think I have figured out my strategy, it's just a matter of putting it into action. This morning made me see the light.

I try to give Theo choices, so he feels like he is involved in what happens to him. I ask him if he wants chicken nuggets or a quesadilla for lunch. Does he want to wear the jeans or the shorts? His crocs or his sandals? This book or that one? This morning, he didn't want to put on a shirt. I think this was because I was walking around in my bra because all my clean shirts were downstairs hanging in the laundry room (have I ever mentioned that when my mother in law watches him on Wednesday, she does ALL OF OUR LAUNDRY? It's the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me). Anyway, so I opened his closet to choose a shirt and he did that weird thing he's started doing where he kinda screws his face up and refuses to speak. I started to put on this terrible Mickey Mouse shirt that actually sings the Mickey Mouse Club song when you hit a button on the bottom hem (I obviously hate it, he obviously love it) and he refuses to put his arms through the holes and just starts wailing. So, hey, I'm flexible, I take it off and tell him we'll just get a shirt downstairs in the laundry room. All the way down the stairs he's crying and pointing with all his might (you know what I'm talking about here, right? When they put their WHOLE SOUL into pointing?). I take him into the laundry room and see a sure bet - his Spiderman shirt. Nope, he doesn't want that either. He is fighting me hard, kicking his legs (did I mention we are running late? Of course we are). So I threaten him with time out...he keeps being insane, so I put him in the spot for 2 minutes. I use the time to run around and get everything together for work and breakfast and daycare and lunch and the myriad of other shit I somehow need for a mere 10 hours away from the house. Once the 2 minutes are over, I kneel down and explain to him why I put him in time out (I resist gritting my teeth and telling him it's because "we don't act like assholes") and I try to put his shirt on again. He again starts pointing up the stairs with a huge bottom lip out and his eyes brimming with tears. Okay, you soulless mommy, go get his damn mickey mouse shirt. So I run upstairs to grab it and once he sees that shirt, the shit storm continues, because HOW DARE I GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS??? At this point, the running late has become running later and the low patience level has become a dire running on fumes - so I just pick him up screaming and bring him out to the car and somehow get his shirt on despite his flailing limbs and buckle him into his car seat. I keep my face calm (even though my evil eyes SO want to glare him down) and don't say a word (even though I SO want to scream louder than him) and shut the door behind me. I take a deep breath. I pull out of the driveway and into the neighborhood while Theo sniffles and avoids eye contact with me. As I merge into traffic outside my subdivision, I find myself behind someone who is ACTUALLY paying attention to the 25 MPH speed limit in the construction zone (the nerve!) and manages to go SO SLOW that we both get stopped at the stoplight that is on a timer which makes it so you are stuck for a minimum of 4 minutes even if there is not one other car for miles in any direction. My blood pressure is rising and my stress level is through the roof. Finally, once we get moving again and I manage to get through several green lights in a row, I start to breath normally and reach back and tickle Theo's legs...he lets the corners of his mouths turn up slightly. A couple of minutes later, he sees a tractor and breaks into a full smile and then all is right with the world. By the time we get to daycare, it's all good - I get the same smiles, hugs and kisses that I always get when I drop him off. My insensitive shirt wrangling is a thing of the past.

The lesson? I need to remember I'm in charge. I want to give him choices, but when he gives me the baby version of the finger, I need to stay on task and make the decision for him. It'll piss him off, obviously - but learning from the trends of the last couple of days, that's going to happen anyway, so I might as well get out of the house on time without road rage and know that it'll all be forgotten in a matter of moments. And next time? Maybe he'll tell me what he wants.

Does it ever get easier?

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The important bits

So today was the day - the BIG day. We had our ultrasound this morning to make sure all was well with our little growing baby and also to find out the sex. For some reason, I was all nerves leading up to the appointment. We already have a son, and this was our last chance for whatever it was going to be - we are rock solid on only having two kids, so if I was going to have a girl, this was the only shot and if I was going to have 2 of the same sex, this was it too. I went back and forth with what I wanted. I think that a girl would be amazing for Jake and I, but I also love the idea of little brothers running around together. I also had anxiety about having a girl because I was nervous about the future mom/daughter dynamic. (And it doesn't help that I'm reading "The Tenth Circle" by Jodi Picoult which is about a teenage girl getting raped - shudddder). If it was a boy, it means no paying for extravagant weddings. But if it was a boy...that means we have to think of boy names. NOT the easiest process the first time around.

Our little one was bouncing around my belly all during the ultrasound, making the tech's job a little on the difficult side to get all the views that she needed. After what seemed like a million measurements of bones and organs and the brain and the heart, she finally said "Okay, let's see if this baby will show us the important bits." She pushed the wand across my belly, and got a view of the bottom, with the legs tightly closed. "Baby is being shy," she said. At that moment, our little son opened his legs wide to reveal his bits. Looks like we've got a flasher on our hands. We couldn't be more excited.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Rabbit, rabbit

In one of my high school classes (I believe it was Botany, in which I learned absolutely nothing) the teacher told us some myth about that at the beginning of each month, you should wake up and look up at the ceiling and have the first words out of your mouth be "rabbit, rabbit". And that this will guarantee you splendid good luck the rest of the month. Despite hearing this some 11 years ago, I still think about it almost every month. Usually mid morning on the 1st of the month or first thing on the 2nd. But I've never managed to actually do it.

This morning, however....I woke up, looked at the ceiling, and (despite feeling a tad bit silly) said "rabbit, rabbit" and I went back to sleep. I'm thinking good things are coming my way. And, on that note - I find out the gender of our growing little kiddo tomorrow morning.

On Mothers Day this year, I planted flowers with my boys. I also did two little strawberry plants. Don't let me fool you - I don't know anything about gardening. I buy enough flowers every year to go in my fake terra cotta pots and happily throw them all away in September. But I gotta tell you, these little guys make me happy.

Grow, baby grow....