Fry Chef

Everyone seems to be in agreement that I'm going to give Jellybean ample material for future therapy sessions.

The latest? Well, the fact that I call her "burger."

These days, she rarely wakes me up at night to eat. Which is good, right? You'd think that I was getting a few uninterrupted hours of sleep, right? Um, yeeeahhh riiiiight.

See, Jellybean has mastered the art of rolling from her back to her stomach. And whee!!!!!! it is fun!!!!!!!!!!!! and OH NOOOOOOOOOOO AM STUCK!!!!!!!!!! Wah.

So I get up, go in, flip her over, and go back to bed. Wash, rinse, repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

I flip that baby more than a fry chef at BK!

and in the "you can't make this stuff up" column

Funny. I posted a comment in FB that nursing strikes suck...and someone asked if I meant infants or RNs....then today I opened the NYTimes to find an article about nurses attempting to unionize.

Happy birthday to our anniversary!

Today is our anniversary. Yup! Seven years ago today, M and I got married. Best thing we ever did.....that is, until these two rugrats came around:




This morning, when M and I were wishing each other a happy anniversary, Monkey wanted to know what was going on. M explained that an anniversary was like a birthday for our wedding!

This made sense to Monkey. The only problem was then she wanted to go to the party...she's really going to be pissed off tonight when she realizes the party (and balloons!) never materialized....

Organized labor

So in general I'm a flaming liberal. A registered Democrat. A mama for Obama. You get the picture....

But I have to confess, I've never been a fan of unions. Yes, I know they did great things for workers. Triangle Fire. Working wage. Health care. Etc. etc. etc. I get it, I do.

But still. Too often I've seen tenure/union status abused as a cover for mediocrity. Nah, that's being nice - I've seen Unions protects people that should flat out be fired.

And strikes? They suck. ESPECIALLY when the striking worker is your four-month old that refuses to nurse.

That's right folks, we've got a nursing strike on our hands.

I just want to know when the inflatable rat is going to show up.

Rainbows and Unicorns and gratitude

I'll start with the fact that all my girls are OK! Everyone is home and healthy and no one is in the NICU or suffering from anything other than the normal indignities associated with being a kid (stuffy nose, diaper rash, etc.). But it's been a week.

Now, when I say "all" I do mean all - Monkey and Jellybean, Bunny, HP & lil' B, E & M - all are OK. Heck, the boys are ok, too! We're all good.

But it's been one of those weeks where you step back and think, my god, I am so grateful that they are healthy. And realize how you have taken that for granted.

I post funny (or not) stories on this blog about what my girls are up to, what we're up to, and mainly I focus on the lighter side of things. I use this forum as a replacement for the emails to my family and friends that would have "you won't believe this one..." in the re: line. I originally started this blog because I was tired (or lazy, or efficient, you pick) of sending and resending the same updates over email. This was a consolidator - people could check in as they wanted, read or ignore what they wanted, and I had the fun of writing again. I do like to write. And lord only knows, my girls do provide me with some funny material!

But over this past week there have been some things that made me sad. Two people that I know, friends but not close friends, people whom I respect and admire and can tell a few funny stories about, have announced that they are pregnant and carrying baby girls diagnosed with Trisomy 18. This is a condition the doctors refer to as "incompatible with life." It doesn't get much starker than that.

Two people I don't know, but whose blogs I have read, lost their babies. And reading about it just made me cry.

And then my brother and his wife watched their newborn being whisked away from their hospital room, some 10 hours after she was born, because she stopped breathing and turned blue. 'lil B is home, safe and sound, and noisily demanding to be nursed, so they are all good. But still, holding that cell phone in my hand when my panicked brother told me she'd turned blue and they didn't know what was going on, that was terrifying. My heart broke to hear the fear in his voice.

I talked with my BFF "But Why Mommy" earlier this week and told her that I couldn't take any more sadness. That I was full up on tears, thank you. So do you know what she did? She wrote a post to make me smile. That's a really good friend. And it worked - I smiled!

So this post is about gratitude. I am grateful that my loved ones are OK. I am grateful that my friends love me enough to make me smile.

I am just...grateful.

But don't worry, we will soon return to our regularly-scheduled broadcast of insanity.

Excuses, excuses

Well, I have officially now heard it all.

Monkey asked where her toy lamb was this morning (it was two feet away, on her play kitchen). When I pointed it out, she said "I want it" with that tone of....well, let's just say that Kings, Queens and despots could take lessons from her on how to boss around inferior beings.

I said if she wanted it, she knew how to get it. I.e., get your b*tt up and get it yourself, child.

And then, I heard this:

"No, I can't. I have a broken leg."

What's next, the dog ate her homework?

Again???

So the whole cookies for breakfast debacle began with a gesture of kindness. M got up a little earlier than usual and made old fashioned oatmeal for breakfast. Now, I just love oatmeal, but rarely do I have the time (or the patience) to make that in the morning. I'm too busy trying to remember to put my underwear on right to be bothered with a hot meal. Therefore, when M does this I am thrilled. It's such a simple gesture, but it makes my day.

Monkey has enjoyed this oatmeal before, asking for more of either my bowl or M's bowl. So, logically (whoops, our first mistake) assuming Monkey would want her own bowl, M served it up. I added honey and raisins, and Monkey went ballistic.

M attempted to entice her into taking a bite - just a bite - by explaining it was like an oatmeal cookie in her bowl. And that's when it started, the begging, the pleading, the crying and wailing.....because in the cupboard, just a few feet away, were the tasty oatmeal cookies Monkey had made with Nana. Now that daddy had said the "c" word (cookie, people! get your mind out of the gutter!) word, all bets were off.

Despite all the drama, and M’s and my laughter at the theatrics, I decided to include a cookie in her lunch bag. Because after all, who wouldn’t want a homemade cookie for lunch, right?

Of course when we got to school, Monkey continued to insist on eating her cookie RIGHT THEN. At one point in time she was laying on the floor, crying and trying to writhe her way to freedom with the cookie in her hand (to no avail - I can walk faster than she can writhe. But it was a sight to see!). And the cookie went back into her lunch bag.

That evening, when I picked Monkey up from school, one of her teachers told me a story about lunchtime: when Monkey opened up her lunch she immediately pulled the cookie out. Turning, she looked at her teacher and asked “Can I have the cookie now? Or is mommy going to say no AGAIN?

Can't you just see that eye roll?

OMG it is April and SNOWING OUTSIDE

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Top o' the morning to ya

Monkey had a serious case of the grumples on the way to school this morning.

This is the face I got when I explained for the 10000th time that no, she could not have cookies for breakfast.

Her face perfectly telegraphs her disgust at my laughter (because I was, indeed, laughing at her!).....

ah, the joys of motherhood.