Having An Extroverted Son.

Let's see ... where to begin.

Two days ago, in the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly, ONE asked an elderly woman who had the unfortunate luck of parking next to us if she "lives in a shoe."

After I wrangled him into the car I explained the following:

Me: The story of the old woman who lives in a shoe is just a fairy tale.

ONE: What's a fairy tale?

Me: It's pretend. Make-believe. Imaginary.

ONE: Oh. Do you think she has a lot of kids?

Me: Who?

ONE: That lady.

Me.: I don't know, ONE. Let's just talk about something else.

ONE: Okay Mommy. Daddy ate a shrimp yesterday and it looked like a BOOTY.

*sigh*

Yesterday, we got up at 3:30 a.m. and drove back to Alabama. Husband had been home alone for 5 days and I was pretty impressed with the state of things when we arrived. He even made the bed. That hasn't happened since we were dating and he was trying to woo me. However ... there was no food in the house. Literally. So after we got home, unpacked, and played with all our new crap I loaded them BACK into the car to go to the grocery store.

We parked next to a huge, white truck with some sort of apparatus I can only assume is to hang dead deer from. The driver of this vehicle was a big, burly, mustached man who was obviously getting ready to make a trip into the woods. He had on camo and boots and a knife hung from his side.

ONE was mesmerized.

He said hi to the man and stared as he poured ice into something that looked like this:

www.beejaysleather.com

The man was polite enough to acknowledge us, but he was really into what he was doing and he seemed kind of ... gruff. So I was pretty mortified when ONE called out to the man, "EXCUSE ME ... WHY ARE YOU PUTTING ICE IN YOUR PURSE??"

His reply: "WHAT?! Men don't carry purses, boy."

I mean, we are in Alabama. People take gender pretty serious in these parts.

For Sale.

Anyone looking to purchase a townhouse in the Birmingham area?

If so, please contact me: workingmommymadness@gmail.com.

Excellent Find.

As a girl who struggles to find jeans that fit properly, I feel it is my duty to share these with you.

www.gap.com

Gap sells these. 1969 "Curvy" Bootcut Jeans. Worth every penny. They aren't too low, not too high (mom jeans still aren't cool -- sorry), and they cover the belly pooch. AND, they don't gap at the back!!! AND, they stretch!

My parents picked these out for me and gifted them to me for my birthday. ONE keeps calling them my "pajama jeans" ... maybe because I don't want to take them off. And I could sleep in them, if I wanted to.

Tuesday.

Overheard earlier today.

ONE: A Xanax? Why does Mommy need a Xanax?

Me: We were just kidding. Don't repeat that.

Happy 32.

Goodness gracious. Today was interesting.

I just attempted to type out everything that went wrong, but it was such a whiny, stupid list that I deleted it all. Because really, it doesn't matter. Today I turned 32 and for the sake of my developing worry lines, I am going to focus on what went RIGHT.

1. ONE peed in the potty -- standing up. Yes, he totally missed. Yes, he managed to piss all over the place. But still, I'm proud.

2. People I love sang "Happy Birthday" to me. My parents. It was just like old times, before I grew up and got myself a husband.

3. Speaking of that. Husband had to leave at 5 a.m. to catch a train, which was downright depressing, but he woke me up to kiss me and wish me a happy birthday. I love that weird, weird, man. 

4. TWO found his feet today. Maybe it will make him cry less. Or sleep more. 

Today, I took time to reflect on my life. A year ago, I was busting my ass at a corporate job and had just learned I was pregnant with our second child. Today, I am a stay-at-home mom who just noticed that I am graying. Considerably. I am exhausted and I yell a lot, but for the first time in my adult life I feel fulfilled. How's that for irony?

Here I am, eating cake after a very long day of mothering. Haven't looked in a mirror for about 8 hours. You probably could have guessed that. I mistakenly assumed my hair looked cute, like oh, I just tossed it on top of my head. Realized too late (after pictures were taken) what I looked like. Shit, that's what. But it's my birthday, and if I want to look like shit, I can look like shit.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's 7:30 and I want nothing more than to go lie down.

IT'S OFFICIAL.

I just quit my job.

I can't stop sweating.

I am now unemployed. 

I texted my friend Amy, who I've known since I was 14. She is a very reasonable person, and always knows just what to say. This time, she said this:

Quitting a job takes a lot of guts ... this is the next adventure of your life! Adventures are scary, but so worth it.

And she's right, of course. My next adventure is going to be focusing everything I have in me, every shred of gumption and courage and strength, to raise my two boys into the men I know they can be. 

In the words of my wise friend, All those long hours and dreadful phone calls will be replaced with smiles, laughs, cries, and stuff that really matters. You are doing the right thing.

I know I am. And I'm scared to death.

Would You, Could You, On A Train?

Yesterday, the baby screamed for two hours straight in the middle of the day. My mother pulled me aside and said she didn't understand how I have been doing this. I said I didn't know either. Then she said something about God's help, and she's right -- that is the only answer I can come up with. The Good Lord and a cocktail.

So ... I have decided to put Husband on a train and send him back home on the 26th without us.

It's pretty depressing because my 32nd birthday is the 26th and he will have to leave before the sun comes up in order to catch said train, but I am not ready to leave Louisiana. He is going to miss my birthday celebration. We are going to miss him. But I just can't go home yet.

I start crying every time I try to verbalize how much I need to be around my support system, i.e. my family. Stupid me. I should have come down here right after TWO was born and just camped out. But instead I have been trying to tough it out on my own, and I have made it this far, but I don't know if I can go on. I guess I have no choice, but I just want a tiny break. Just a few days. 

One of my friends asked if my parents are okay with me staying here for an unknown period of time, with my kids, because if she were to do that to her mother with "a baby who screamed all the time," her mom would definitely "send them packing." Which prompted me to ask my mother over coffee this morning if she was going to "send us packing."

She said no. Then she asked how long we'll be staying. I said not to worry. We'll go home eventually.

I think.

Eggnog Pound Cake FAIL.

OMGIHATETECHNOLOGY.

I am at my parent's house, using unfamiliar appliances and I suck at figuring anything out if it's got digital capability.

 
I had an egg nog pound cake in this beast for an HOUR before I realized that the oven was not on. Then I freaked out and called in my husband and he did something, I do not know what, and now an alarm keeps going off and these strange letters are showing on the screen.

All I want is THIS. Because my pants aren't nearly tight enough, and carbohydrates and sugars are exactly the thing to be eating right now.

www.southernliving.com

If this pound cake survives what I have just put it through, I'll let you know. So far it's been "cooking" on and off for almost two hours. It still looks raw.

Wednesday.

It's been a stressful few days. That might be the biggest understatement I've made on this blog.

So last night, I went out with two old friends, just us girls. It was much-needed. That's the second biggest understatement I've made on this blog.

Anyway, I left ONE and TWO with Husband. I was gone for approximately one hour before the following took place:

1. The baby started screaming and continued to scream uncontrollably.

2. The three-year-old locked himself in my parent's bedroom. And pooped. Twice.

3. My husband called his mother to come over and help him.

When I learned of this, my reply was that it sounded like any other Tuesday evening. Well, except that he had the luxury of calling his mother for help. 

Wimp.

Preparation.

We're leaving tomorrow morning for a 10-day trip to see our family (read: fodder for future blog entries), and I am responsible for packing up our stuff. Normally that would be a task I could handle, but I'm running on not-much sleep and I'm just a tiny bit overwhelmed by all of the crap I'm supposed to remember. 

I've made some lists. For example, I had to write down on a piece of paper to remember to pack food for my infant. 

Now ... this is a time when those crazy breastfeeders who burned me at the stake would probably jump to remind me that if I were breastfeeding, I wouldn't have to "remember" to "bring food" for my infant.

I had a point. But alas, I didn't write it down anywhere.

The Morning After.

Ah ... office Christmas parties.

So THIS is what the children were doing while the rest of us ate Chinese food, played dirty Santa, and drank whiskey that we smuggled into the party in our diaper bag.

Going From One To Two.

HOLY CRAP.

If you are a parent of just one child, you may want to stop reading here, lest you be frightened out of having any more.

Read more here!

Somewhere To Go.

I have somewhere to be tonight and my favorite boots won't come up over my calves. These shoes and their maker, Kenneth Cole, mock me.

Narcoleptic.

Taking a nap on Thanksgiving Day.

Does anyone else's husband have a hobby (video games) that keeps him up until all hours of the night, causing him to be a narcoleptic during the day?

Oh, it's just me?

That's what I figured. Well ... I cope by telling myself that it could be worse. He could be a philanderer. Or an out-of-control gambler. Or a drunk. Instead he spends an average of four hours a day sucked into an imaginary world I will NEVER understand. And the result? Narcolepsy.

Yesterday I carried a basket full of clean laundry upstairs and left Husband downstairs with ONE. I was up there maybe ten minutes when ONE came clambering up the stairs, arms full of Christmas ornaments which he had removed from the tree directly next to Husband's head -- which was on the couch. 

Apparently the minute I left the room he fell into a slumber so deep he didn't hear the rustling of the tree or the clanging of the ornaments ... much like a narcoleptic would do. It took pretty much everything in me not to snap. I think I yelled something like "what the HELL?!" and then I let him deal with the mess.

Ah ... husbands. Some hunt deer, some pretend to live in a world where warlocks and witches kill each other. Truthfully, I'd be pissed if he tried to hang a deer head on the wall. So again, it could be worse ...?

As you can probably imagine, I have LOTS more to say on the matter, but I'll just stop here. If anyone who reads this has helpful advice on how to deal with a gamer spouse, then bring it.

Ugh.

So here's the person I've become.

Messy, ill-fitting workout clothes, no makeup, unwashed hair, bloodshot eyes, and a FREAKING MOP. 

I am officially a cliche.

Santa Saturday.

We had breakfast with Santa Claus this morning.

Seriously, seven hours later I have forgotten all about how stressful it was to keep ONE from yanking on the tablecloth and how irritated I was that he spilled his milk all over the floor because they didn't have straws there for kids to drink out of, and how TWO cried for what seemed like an eternity.

When I look at this picture all I think about is how much fun we had. 

And also how happy I am that it's over.

But mostly about how much fun we had.

Dear Carters: I Love You.

Remember when my stroller broke? Well, this week my JJ Cole diaper bag also bit it. It had a hard life for three years, and I guess it was time for it to pass on. My dear friend Lila gifted it to me when I was pregnant with ONE and we absolutely wore it to pieces.

I went on a search this week for a new bag and let me tell you, it wasn't pretty. When did Buy Buy Baby decide it was okay to charge upwards of $150 for a pleather diaper bag? I mean ... come on. I was actually one of those customers muttering aloud to herself "This piece of crap is $169? PUL-LEAZE," in the aisle.

I'm no cheap skate, but I just wasn't willing to pay that much money for a big piece of plastic. Another issue I was running into was SIZE. None of them were big enough, or they were ridiculously enormous and carrying it would just piss me off because I would know I was carrying diapers and not clothes for a weekend getaway ...

So finally I went to Babies R Us and I found the perfect bag, made by Carter's, for $50. IAMSOHAPPY. We're best friends. Not forever. But at least for a year or two.

I have a lot of stuff.

I got everything in there with room to spare!

Bad Time To Diet.

I am never going to lose weight if my husband keeps bringing home whole milk and Lucky Charms. In addition, working out makes me HUNGRY. This seems counterproductive.

I realize it's unfortunate that I am dealing with postpartum weight issues during the holiday season. It's hard to keep perspective when you're surrounded by egg nog.

Mmmmmm. Egg nog.

Changes are coming.

Verdict: Still Colicky.

My three-month-old son has colic. STILL. It got better, and then it got bad again. But it's still not nearly like it was a month or two ago. That was so horrible I think I've stricken it from memory.

People who have not parented a baby with colic do not understand what it's like, and it's hard to explain to them without breaking down crying yourself. I'm not sure if I should be thankful that ONE had it, so at least I knew how to handle it, or if I should feel cursed that I have birthed two children who both screamed bloody murder for the first few months of life.

I think I'll choose to be thankful.

We're switching back to soy formula today, a different brand than before so hopefully it will agree with him. I look forward with much excitement to the day that he smiles his little dimply smile all the time instead of just half the time. If I survive this. Which I guess I will. But most days, I want to run screaming to my mother who lives 6 hours away, or at the very least send Husband to get a vasectomy.

That's just the sleep deprivation talking. We'll probably have more kids. 

If I survive.

How can one little guy wreak so much havoc?

 

Today ...

Today I found an old diaper wedged in the cargo rack of our truck. I wager it's been there for about one week. And thanks to the freeze last night, it crunched when I tried to pull it out.

Today I came to the realization that I have not mastered the art of taking photos in a mirror. How do people do that without looking like idiots? Oh ... wait. It's always kind of idiotic. But clearly I won't be judging anyone.

Here we are, me and TWO in our jammies. He cried a lot today.

Has anyone else experienced the phenomenon of a three-month-old trying to climb out of their carrier? Mine constantly digs his bony little feet and/or knees into my stomach in what appears to be an attempt to get out. 

He doesn't cry in it, though. So I'll deal with the feet and knee digs. After all, my stomach is so squishy, it's not like I can blame him for digging deeper into the pillowy softness.

Help Wanted.

My mother isn't answering her phone. And I need assistance.

How likely is it for a 3-month-old to develop an allergy to his HYPOALLERGENIC formula?! Because something is wrong with my kid. I have checked for teeth. He isn't sick. No fever. 

But the screaming ... the screaming. It's killing me, people. There has to be a reason for it. His colic was so much better, and now - BAM - it's back. I think. I'm unsure of what is causing the crying, all I know is that when he gets tired he gets really super mad and swaddling only pisses him off. He doesn't want his paci, he doesn't want me to cuddle him, he hates his swing, laying him down to let him work his issues out on his own does NOT work, he's scratching the ever-loving meat off his scalp with his itty bitty fingernails and I just don't know what to do.

Whew. 

We have tried gas drops. I am very tired of carrying my 13-pound infant around all day in my Ergo. I know that sounds bad, but I'm TIRED. Tired of hearing screaming, tired of carrying, tired of wondering when it's going to end. I realize it may not end anytime soon. Just because he's three months does not mean the crying will magically cease.

I just really hoped that it would.

Very White.

Just because I have boys doesn't mean I can't have fun dressing them.

His shirt says "FEED ME." He looks gangsta. 

Okay ... maybe not. 

We really are a very, very white family.

Geriatric Glory.

Today I attended my first class at the YMCA. BodyFlow. One hour of yoga, pilates, and tai chi fusion ... followed by QUITE an experience in the ladies locker room. 

As it turned out, my class let out at exactly the same time as the "Low Intensity Water Workout" class. One moment I was alone, the next, a crowd of elderly women came pouring in. Apparently they left their inhibitions in the swimming pool.

Let me just state here: I really could care less who I see naked or sees me naked. I don't care about the makeshift shower curtains or the fact that all my stuff got wet because there's no good place to put any of it. I was just happy to take a shower in peace, without worrying that ONE was smothering TWO with a blanket.

I had two blissful hours to myself. It was pretty fantastic. And I may have made a few geriatric friends along the way. An obvious win-win.

 

Possibly Scarred For Life.

The ladies locker room at the YMCA is not for the faint at heart.

Consider yourselves warned.

Is Something Wrong With Me?

I keep finding bruises in strange places. This one is on the inside of my knee.

Is it from little feet stepping on me? Did I run into something in the middle of the night? Do I have some kind of dread disease? 

Feel free to diagnose.

Life With Boys.

YMCA

OMG, I am so excited right now I can't even stand myself.

I joined the local Y today and I plan to go there EVERY day I possibly can. Childwatch is even available on Saturday, which is awesome because Husband always works on Saturdays and some of them are painfully long. There is an indoor pool, a sauna and a hot tub that I can use right this minute. There is an outdoor pool we can use every day this summer.

I may have given my tour guide crazy eyes. Also, I have a vague recollection of screeching "IT'S LIKE CHRISTMAS!!!" when she showed me the sauna.

Although weight loss was not my primary concern ... my sanity was ... I don't see how it would be possible for me to NOT reach my weight loss goals between working out regularly and caring for my exhausting family. I also wanted to put off this extra monthly expense as long as possible, but I had a little bit of a meltdown this week that forced me to face that fact that if I don't do this for myself IMMEDIATELY, I may stop getting out of bed in the morning to take care of anyone. 

I have allowed myself to get burned out. It snuck up on me all of the sudden-like. Like one day I was just overwhelmed and then a little later I was absolutely exhausted and then suddenly I started to despise my family. Sudden-like.

So here we go.

Spinning. Tomorrow. And then ... a shower. Oh yes.

My Christmas List.

I haven't given much thought to what I'd like for Christmas this year, probably because Husband hasn't asked me yet. Hmph. So this morning as I was applying concealer to my dark undereye circles I started thinking ... what would I like for Christmas?

Here is my grown-up Christmas list:

1. A breast lift. I thought I wanted to wait until after I was done having kids, but after the week I've had ... I think I'm done.

2. A gift certificate to a bariatric weight loss clinic. No, I'm not above that. In fact, I'd embrace it.

3. Someone to buy our house for the amount we owe on it.

4. To be near my mother and mother-in-law so I could get a break now and then.

5. A break now and then.

6. That vein-zapping treatment for the backs of my legs, which I discovered last night are a virtual road map of blue lines.

7. Cute workout clothes. Because as soon as I finish typing out this list, I'm loading up the kids and making a trip to the YMCA to join. I planned to go yesterday, but we went and got a Christmas tree instead.

Yes ... all of the items pretty much have to do with vanity. Even numbers 4 and 5, because if I had a "break now and then," I would likely use it to shave my legs. I'll leave the virtuous wishes (world peace) to someone else.

 

Happy December 1st!