Delimmas.

Today I am facing three delimmas. Perhaps one of you can help me.

1. My Toddler is afraid to poop. I have done everything I can think of to help him. Prune juice (daily,) fiber supplements, anything with fiber in it ... tons of fresh fruit, olive oil, etc. Finally I called the pediatrician's office and the nurse told me the next step is suppositories. Hopefully that will help him poop with ease and therefore get over his fear.

2. I have a fear of administering said suppositories.

3. My acne cream (Clearasil) bleaches stuff. I never worried about it because I used to have white sheets on our bed, but I just bought 500-thread count chocolate brown sheets. They are AWESOME. I cannot ruin them. What can I use on my pimples that won't bleach my pillowcases?!

That is all.

Good day.

Tuesday.

"How is the Toddler taking to his new bed," you ask?

Allow me to answer you, in photo.

Note the blurry picture quality. This is because I'm simply too tired to care.

Changes.

This weekend, my little boy tried to escape his crib. We have moved the mattress down to the lowest level and we were hoping it would last at least 6 more months. But, alas. He figured out that if he stood on his pillow, it made him just tall enough to put one foot over the rail. Luckily, I caught him just before he heaved himself out.

We were faced with a decision: should we buy one of those crib tents to trap him in, or just bite the bullet and convert his crib to a toddler bed?

Knowing the type of child we have, we opted to just go with the toddler bed. I would rather deal with him getting up in the night than worrying about him strangling himself or -- more likely -- somehow figuring out how to get out of the tent and falling out of bed anyway.

I never thought I would be the type of mother who didn't want to let go, but I am. I was sad when he stopped using his paci, and now I'm sad that the crib is gone. It's all so sudden ... it's strange. And next, we will start potty training and soon this tiny boy will be running around in Underoos.

Finally ...

... I can wash clothes.

Verdict.

My husband came home and declared that our new washer is, in fact, broken. I feel validated. It wasn't that I was too dumb to operate it, apparently buying a floor model wasn't worth the headache that it caused.

Our attempt to save money was a failure. I just want to wash my clothes. Seriously.

Nemesis.

We got a new washer and dryer.

The washing machine and I are not getting along. In fact, we hate each other. It sits there looking mockingly at me with its one big eye.

I don't understand it. I'm a modern woman. I'm intelligent. I've been doing laundry half of my life -- since I was 15 years old! But for some reason, this washing machine has bested me every time I try to wash clothes in it.

Is it the fact that it was a floor model and my husband and a friend installed it and possibly shook something loose? Or just that I am so challenged that the multiple options and buttons are too much to handle?

DID SOMEONE PUT A LAUNDRY HEX ON ME?

Slow Week.

How is it only Wednesday?!?

I miss my husband. He's out of town on his first business trip for his first professional-level, requires-a-bachelor's-degree, job. I couldn't be more proud of him.

At first I enjoyed the quiet. I don't think it makes me a bad wife to admit that. It had been a LONG time since I had the house to myself. It's nice to leave the house in a clean state and come back to it 9 hours later, to find it exactly as I left it.

However, I'm lonely. The days are dragging. Last night I put the Toddler to bed at 7:15 and I put myself to bed right afterwards. In three short days I have become even more old lady-like than I was to begin with. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I realized that without my husband home, I have no one to look decent for. I had globs of Clearasill on my face. My hair was a wreck.

I had on a crazy ensemble that I shall henceforth call "Bag Lady Comfort." It involved purple, fluffy socks that have lost their elasticity and settle around my ankles. Paired with slippers. Slippers that have sheep on them.

Contagious Joyfulness.

I seem to be going through a rough patch. Life isn't always easy, as we all know. I don't want to dwell on it, but let's just say that I'm ready for things to get better.

When life gets hard, and I feel like I am seriously losing it ... that is when my little boy seems to shine. Maybe it's because God knows how much I can handle and dealing with a screaming toddler on top of everything else would simply send me over the edge. I don't ask why -- I just accept.

This week has been particularly difficult and Toddler has been an absolute ANGEL. He holds my hand while we walk through the house. He beams up at me with cheery glee. He hugs me for no reason. He follows instructions. For the past two days he has been nothing but pure joy and it has done wonders for my spirit and my outlook on life.

Children are such a blessing. I often wonder what I did before he was born. I feel like I must have been extremely self-absorbed. All of the worries of the day suddenly become unimportant when I arrive at the daycare and see him running toward me with arms stretched in the air.

Rooster vs. Owl

I'm a morning person. Nothing makes me happier than waking up before everyone else, making coffee, cleaning the house or doing laundry without anyone bothering me. I think more clearly in the morning -- I do my best work before 2 p.m.

My husband is the exact opposite. He does his best work after 10 p.m. He is a night owl and although I don't mind it, it can be inconvenient at times. Like now. 

There he is. Covered in pillows.

The Toddler must take after me, because usually he pops out of bed around 7:00 ready to go. Currently it is 9:15 on Sunday morning and we (Toddler and I) have breakfasted, cleaned, laundered and played. My husband is still asleep despite numerous attempts by us to drag him out of bed.

What is it like to be married to someone who is like you? I wish sometimes that he was also a morning person, but then I wonder what that would really be like. I bet it would be obnoxious. I bet we would become the weird neighbors who mow the lawn at six in the morning, and go for runs as a family before dawn whilst carrying mugs of coffee. Believe me, if my husband was like me I'm sure I would become even MORE type A than I already am. I can picture it, and I find it a little frightening.

So snooze away, night owl. I'll send our son up to drool on your face if you aren't awake by 10:00.

The Case For Crying.

I wish I was more of a crier. I think my husband would understand me more if I just bawled my eyes out every time I felt overwhelmed.

Instead, I  am an internalizer.

Internalizers hold in their stress. I don't know why I do this ... I'm normally a good communicator. I don't have a problem talking about my feelings. But STRESS is different. I bottle it up and it manifests itself in other ways, like making me act like a complete and total bitch. Sometimes, I get these weird canker sores on my tonsils. When I was little, I would get stomach aches.

WHY can't I cry more?

I imagine that if I went home this afternoon from this horribly stressful day at work, collapsed on the couch and boo-hooed like a total wimp, my husband would probably cook me dinner and clean the entire house so I wouldn't have to worry about it. He would express concern. He would be ... worried.

In reality, I'll go home and be cranky and he won't want to do ANYTHING helpful, because who wants to be nice to a bitch? Not me!

Does anyone have suggestions on how to become a total cry baby?!?

Madness.

This week is TRUE madness. Working mommy madness.

My toddler is weaning himself off of his pacifier, my husband is a stay-at-home dad this week (he starts his new job on Monday!), and I have an important interview tomorrow. I'm really my own worst enemy when it comes to stressful life situations. I put a LOT of pressure on myself to do well. Usually I do fine, but I'm pretty sure I'm graying prematurely.

In 24 hours, I will be sitting in front of a videoconference camera selling my skills to two men that I have never met. I may or may not hyperventilate because I bought a size 8 skirt and I won't be able to breathe well. In the dressing room it seemed okay but I just realized I never sat down in it.

Perhaps it's for the best that my interview is via videoconference. I can unzip my skirt and they will never be the wiser.

Take THAT, Corporate America.

It's Column Time Again!

I'm embracing my freakishly large ass. Intrigued? You can read all about it here.

Interview.

I landed myself an interview for a job that I really want.

I am freaked out.

When I am faced with a task that is causing me great anxiety (like a panel interview that will be videotaped), I calm myself by thinking of all of the difficult things I've survived.

1. Childbirth.
2.

Comfort.

I love my grandparent's house. It's certainly not fancy; it's a large brick house on a large, grassy lot in the middle of a neighborhood. When they bought it in the 1960's I bet it was considered fancy ... not too many middle class Americans had 5 bedrooms back then, with a two-car garage and a double oven.

Herb and Miriam Graves (Grandma and Grandpa to me) both passed away recently and my parents are temporarily living in their house. Red and white "For Sale" signs are staked into both sides of the property. Normally I embrace change, but the thought of this house being inhabited by strangers freaks me out.

This house has been my solace all my life. I've colored on the walls, played for countless hours in the yard and napped in every bed. My Grandma would listen to me chatter about my life while she cooked my favorite things. 

The dining room wallpaper is awful but it's been the same since I was born, so I kind of love it despite it's ugliness.

I mean ... really. There's not even anything I can say about this wallpaper.

When I climb into bed and pull up the layers of covers they smell like Downy, just like they always have. Nothing is more comforting than sleeping on sheets that are older than you are.