Tuesday night started like any other. The boys had just gotten out of the tub and were enjoying a bit of “commando time” so to speak. D and I were busy trying to micro-manage the remainder of our night, and since Em has had a raging case of diaper rash I knew he needed to spend more than a few minutes free from the confines of a Pull Up. We went through our usual list. Who still had to work out?, Did we need anything from the store? Is there any Elmo-free television worth watching on the DVR? As we sat there planning out our night At-man came in and began his usual routine of tumbling around our bedroom floor, and that is when Em waddled in. He appeared to have something small in his closed hand, and he wanted to show us. He went up to D and opened his chubby little fist allowing a small piece of poop to roll out onto his daddy’s palm.

Now over the past 4 years I have been the unwilling recipient of boogers, spit, spit up, a variety of insects and possibly other things that I have managed to completely block out. Still, as you might imagine, this was quite unexpected. D and I just sat there frozen in our fear of the poop. Our minds raced. Did this just actually happen? Is that really poop? In your hand? EWWWW. Thank god we don’t have a dog, or else there would have been the “who’s poop is it?” issue to deal with. No, it was Em’s and obviously he was very proud. He just couldn’t keep it to himself. I hope he is this stealth with his indiscretions as a teenager. “Did you drink anything at that party last night Em?” “Yes Mom, 6 Bud Lights, and here are the empties. I have already rinsed them for the recycle bin, sorry ….”

After about a solid 30 seconds that felt more like a lifetime, everyone jumped at once. D grabbed both Em and the poop and ran off to the decontamination chamber. Knowing this small pebble of poo represented only about 1/8th of Em’s usual deposit, I ran off to find the rest. At-man took it upon himself to keep repeating the word “poop” and laughing behind us as we went about our work. After a few minutes, much anti-bacterial soap and a bit of Resolve carpet foam the incident was over, but is it?

Being that At-man is 4 and has the memory of an elephant, I feel sorry for poor Em. As a parent certain incidents come up from time to time that you shuffle away in the “good story to tell his future prom date, or newly announced fiancé” folder in your brain. Now, I would never bring up “the great poop hand off” on prom night. I’m not so sure At-man will be as discrete. I guess only time will tell…

Just got back from MNO. Had a great time, much talk about the Duke University Lacrosse Team rape deal. We were some pissed off mommies (our poor waiter). We all agreed that we felt bad, not only for the girls and their families, but for the mothers of the boys who must now wonder what the hell they did wrong for their sons to idly sit by and know a woman was being raped at that party (An un-wed mother working her way through college none the less) I swear if we’d had less wine we would have left the restaurant for one of the on the campus protests. It really puts the stress of raising pre-schoolers in perspective. This is just the beginning of the worries. All we can do is our best, and hope they have the sense to know right from wrong.

The blonde marshmallow

Many people have interesting birth stories to share, me included. One day I will share my amazing birth stories, but for now, my amazing “How I found out we were pregnant story”… This time of year makes me think of early spring of 2004, when we found out little Em was on his way into our lives.

D and I own a small graphic/web design company. Every year business slows down after Thanksgiving until the start of January when everyone realizes all at once, that it’s time to get back on the ball. January of 2004, like many others rendered us knee deep in projects, a happy place to be. This is also when I decided it would be good to start investigating pre-schools for my tiny At-man.

All I can actually remember about this time is feeling a bit on the sleepy side, but no more than anyone in my position would be. It wasn’t until the end of March when it hit me like a freight train. I went to get dressed that morning and had a hard time with my pants button. Hmmm…I haven’t been eating anything out of the ordinary, ran my usual schedule. Must be bloat. But was it the time for bloat? When the hell was my last period anyway? I shuffled the thought to the back of my mind and headed to the office, but by my afternoon coffee run I still couldn’t get it out of my head. I ducked into the pharmacy and grabbed a pregnancy test just to set my mind as ease.

From the pharmacy, I ran to the coffee shop for our office latte fix, but my nerves got the better of me as I rushed into the ladies room. Holy S–T! There was the pink line! When did it happen? I know some people have their doubts even today, but I SWEAR I had no idea. My mind raced but I couldn’t imagine how far along I was. With At-man I knew the next day so it was a pretty major surprise that this one slipped by me.

D sensed something was up right away. I didn’t even know where to start but he was about as happy as he could be, even through the shock. When I called the doctor to set up the first prenatal check I explained the situation so they got me an ultrasound right away. At-man, D and I showed up for the appointment with a mix of excitement and at least on my part, fear. Had I drank too many glasses of wine? Did I remember to take my vitamins? When did this happen anyway? With At-man I had an early ultrasound so I was surprised when she went right for my tummy. “How will you see it that way?” I asked? “We start this way and if we can’t get anything we will re-group.” She laid the wand on my greased up stomach and there he was on the screen. A perfect little baby, according to the monitor, nearly 16 weeks along.

If you ever have the chance to be in total and complete denial of a pregnancy, I highly recommend it. With At-man the entire first trimester turned me into a basket case. With Em, I was oblivious until the deal was set in stone. Thank god he was the second and also a boy, the lag in preparation wasn’t too bad since we already had everything we needed. The crib was still set up! Everything I was oblivious to for the past 4 months well, it all simply fell into place.

I like to look back to pictures of our little family of soon to be four, pictures of when Em was there but we didn’t yet know it. I think about how he was actually with us that Christmas, that day at the playground. The best I can figure, he was the result of the only big Christmas party we had time to attend that year. Thank god we went! In retorspect, I can’t imagine life without him. My soft, little blond marshmallow.

At-man and Em on Spring Break

The term “Spring Break” has a whole new meaning in my mind. No longer will images of sorority girls explaining their appearance in “Girls Gone Wild” to their parents over Christmas holiday be the first vision that comes to mind. No, from this day forward whenever I think of spring break my mind will race to visions of pre-school teachers sipping frozen girly drinks in sensible swim wear, laughing at the idea of frazzled mommies’ knee deep in laundry and dirty dishes.

On the upside, it is nice for At-man and Em to spend a bit more play time together. At-man is in 5 day a week, 9-1pm 3 year old class and Em attends Mom’s Morning Out Monday and Wednesday till noon. Once we pick At-man up after lunch, Em passes out until around 4 leaving little time for them to enjoy each other before dinner. We actually got to attend play group all together today and they seemed to have fun, but more over, they had a blast with each other the rest of the day. It’s nice to see how much they are starting to get along. I was an only child who always wished for a sibling and although I realize they will be both in love, and ready to kill each other every 15 minutes for the next 15 years, I really am happy we had them relatively close together (even though I had to run my ass off to, well, to run my ass off after the two pregnancies).

I know this post has a totally different tone than your average pre-school spring break post, but it is only Monday after all. Check back in on Thursday for my “Nervous Breakdown” post…

For the first time this year our office has a pool for the NCAA tournament. I hate to think about how many nights I have gone to sleep way past my bedtime feeling the need to will my chosen team on to victory. The tournament has been way more interesting knowing there is a bit of a contest involved.

Friday night D and I went out on a real date. We had dinner at our favorite place right up the street and afterward we went next door to the bar to watch the games. It was a great night for me as far as the brackets are concerned, but what we ended up noticing even more was a particular commercial. A tall glass was filled with vanilla ice cream and topped off with some very yummy looking coke. D and I immediately decided that we needed to introduce At-man to “the float”.

The next day involved a trip to the Super Target for all the ingredients. The new Chicken Little movie was ready, and At-man had his first “floaty”. I have to say, it was pretty, pretty good. He even managed to finish without any spillage, which is a first for any beverage consumed on the couch.

The floaty has opened up a whole new door in At-man’s mind. Now that he knows you can mix beverages/ice cream he wants to mix up everything. He wasn’t happy at breakfast until D let him pour his milk and O.J. together. All night he imagined every possible soda he could mix in his next floaty. Should he try Sprite or Orange? Luckily we were out of Sprite and the only orange soda we had was caffeinated, and thus, out of the question. There is a fine line between allowing your child the freedom to experiment and allowing your child to make themselves throw up.

Ummmmm, FLOATYS!

Why is it that I still have to refer to the manual for my cell phone on a regular basis, yet whenever I hand it to Em in an attempt to keep him quiet in the check out line he is able to switch my ring tone to silent within 30 seconds?

People with children love to tell anyone without how much life changes as soon as you enter the world of parenthood. They speak of how time flies, and the love you will feel, but it really never registers until you have children of your own. Much like dropping acid, or going through labor, there is no amount of explanation that will ultimately prepare a person for the actual experience.

One thing I have really been noticing lately is the pecking order of motherhood. It’s nothing bad or good necessarily. It’s just the way it is more or less. If anyone had explained this to me before I had kids I never would have understood, but those of you reading with a brood of your own will get it. I am in a playgroup that I was lucky enough to become involved with when At-man was a mere 6 months old. It was comprised of about 10 or so babies and at the beginning we were all first time moms. As time went on many of us added to our families, as a matter of fact, everyone now has 2 small children, with one brave enough to leap ahead and add a third. One day at play group a friend and I were talking and she mentioned that she thought it was pretty neat that we all had 2 kids, reasonably close together. What she had forgotten was that there were several members of the playgroup at the start, who had drifted away, all of them with just one child.

When I drop At-man off at school in the morning I can look around his class and see the mom’s divided by number of children in the home. Our class has a large number of only children whose mom’s flock together in the morning chatting mostly about nothing to do with their kids, but their conversations reveal their family choices. A couple are back in school, some in the middle of a divorce, one likes to tell everyone who will listen that she got a late start and feels like she shouldn’t even bother trying. I have always felt like the size of your family is a pretty personal issue, and whatever makes you happy should be what you work for. But if she feels the need to share on that level, that’s cool too. As an only child myself, I think nothing is cooler than a mom who tells anyone rude enough to ask, she has one because that is right for her and her family. Nuff Said!

When you get to the 2 kid moms, things breakdown into sub-categories. Here we have the mom’s with their older kids in 3 year old class, and younger sibs tagging along (like me). Then we have the mom’s with older kids in elementary school and their 3 is the youngest. I can’t help but liking most of these moms because they are where I will be one day. They love to give you the low down on what happens as soon as the baby can fight back, and at what age the kids are big enough to pour their own bowl of cereal Saturday mornings, watching cartoons until mom and dad wake up. The first day this happens in our house, there will be a party so big you will be able to see it from space. Astronauts in the space station will turn to each other and say “Looks like At-man and Em finally let their parents sleep in!” “Yee Haw!”

D and I are in the middle of kicking around the idea of adding a third. Mom’s of 3 hold a special place in my order of regard. The simple fact that they make it out of the house before 9am impresses the shit out of me. Playing one on one defense no longer works once you add a third. Your only hope is to convince the oldest to play for your team. This will probably render them a hopeless tattle tale in elementary school, but hey, whatever works.

I guess what I’m saying is that I find it a bit surprising how we as parents limit ourselves to our little “comfort groups” without even realizing it. Now, I’m not saying this is always the case; no one is ever brave enough to cross over to a different “clique”. But I also know I cannot be the only one noticing this separation. I feel like I have learned so much from all of the other mothers I have been lucky enough to be friends with, I always hate it whenever I catch myself falling in with my pre-determined crowd. It feels like as my kids grow, my world is ever changing. I’d hate to think I’d be missing out by not keeping my mind as open as possible. Its harder meeting other mom’s with common interests than I ever thought. It doesn’t matter how many kids they have, if they are willing to put up with my neurotic ass, I’ll take em’.

No pictures please.

Hipster D and I were a mere 22 when we met and fell in love. I had no idea at the time my dating career would end so early, but in retrospect I thank god for getting me out of the hell hole of single life as early as he did. I don’t feel like I missed out on anything since I still managed to get into my fair amount of trouble (fun), I just had a partner in crime by my side throughout.

My love meter held pretty steady until the boys were born, which more than made up for all the crushes I missed out on in my 20’s, but one does have to ask themselves “Is this it?”. Well, I am happy to report there is a new love in my life, a new man my entire family is happier for my meeting. His name is D50, Nikon D50 to you.

O.K., so maybe his feet are a little cold in the morning, but “little D” (as I will now call him) makes me so very happy. I checked into his big bro, the D70 but decided that the newer technology in the D50 along with a more reasonable price made him the perfect man for me. It feels so good to be in love with my camera again. You can actually depress the shutter and take a picture without having time to paint your nails in between. My old camera was a presence to be reconed with, and quite honestly I missed the feeling that I could swing through any security check point fronting as a member of the press due to the massive size of my “gear” (my inner man talking there). Once you get used to covering every minor family event with the care you would use in shooting your cousin “Slappy’s” wedding, well, it makes a point and shoot just sort of sad.

Not that I’m above point and shoots, the Sony will still see much play. It’s just hard being an SLR girl in a point and shoot world. Some people like fast cars, I need shutter speed baby. Until now digital just wasn’t giving it to me. I know little D isn’t the fastest in the land, but he’s fast enough to get shots of the boys I have felt like I have been missing ever since film became a dirty word. I also missed being able to take a picture without a harsh “mug shot” like shadow trailing my every subject. Now the baby blues are big and the lighting is soft in every shot. Above all, I piss At-man off less now since I don’t have to follow him and Em around for an hour with a camera flashing in their face just to get one decent shot.

I never thought I’s feel like this again. Thanks little D.

Learn to potty with mommy

Tonight we introduced Em to his new best friend, The Potty. Now, that being said, I understand he is only 18 months old. I have been down this road before, and I’m still shaking off the crazy from the first go around. It’s not that I’ve lost my senses, it just seems like he really needed a potty. If nothing else, it is now available for him to use in his constant game of “I am just as big as At-man”.

Em is already in Pull-Ups, simply because his chubby, dough-like thighs get all red when strapped into a conventional diaper. They are just too squishy to achieve the proper fit. Until he got into his Pull-Ups, I never noticed how much attention he must have been paying to the potty habits of those around him. You see, he is a bit of a toilet goblin. Some sort of radar goes off in his mind as soon as one of us accidentally leaves the bathroom door open. Hooray! It’s splash in the commode time! I have always heard about second children being easier to potty train simply because they see everyone else in the family using the potty; they have more desire to try it themselves. Em on the other hand, has been shut out completely so as to keep his hands out of the toilet. My worries have been calmed though. Ever since the Pull-Up introduction, whenever he actually does get near a potty he waddles up and tries to “whip it out” over the toilet seat. It was time for him to meet a potty of a more manageable size.

I know after round 1 that this may take 6 more months, or 2 years. I don’t care. Tonight I was just full of love seeing his dough-boy naked little body as he climbed in and out of the potty, a pile of discarded board books in his wake. He is so soft, when you look at his skin it’s all you can think about. Soft, baby shampoo scented love. I know people always tend to think that the second child gets the shaft, that the first had all the attention in the world, but there is something to be said for the second time around. When Em doesn’t talk much, I know he will. When I get frustrated one way or another with his potty training, I will know when he is ready it will all work out. With At-man it just seemed endless. I had visions of packing up case loads of Depends when we sent him off to college. He had to live through all the stress, paving the smooth road Em has today. I will keep you posted incase a miracle happens, but don’t hold your breath. I fear the next potty post will be far from now, unless you want to keep hearing about how he thinks his butt goes on the very back and his feet go in the pot (which At-man thinks is funnier than belching at the dinner table}.

Last spring around this time At-man and a small group of friends joined a basketball class through our local parks department. The “cute factor” was off the charts, but really it was more of a social thing if you could call any meeting of fifteen 3 year olds truly social. At-man has the attention span of a tsetse fly, and basketball held his interest for about a nano-second of the 30 minute class. The rest of the time was spent with him wandering aimlessly around the court making announcements like “Man, that’s a BIG fan!”

When his fourth birthday came around we decided it was time for another shot at sports, alas, Kung Fu. The instructors keep him involved, there are constant rewards, no team effort is required…it seems so perfect. At-man is doing well with his classes, although he does complain about having to leave his Lego’s for so long in the afternoon. I decided that things were going well and signed him up for the minimum class commitment, 1 year.

Flash forward to this morning, walking into preschool. At-man turns to me with his giant “Carolina” blue eyes and says “What about basketball mom?” “What about basketball peanut?” “When can I play it again? I miss it.” “What?! That was a year ago. A year in which no mention of basketball was ever made on your part.” “I think I should play basketball.”

Well, I think he should play basketball too. D and I both love to play and watch basketball. As a matter of fact, when I found out I was pregnant with At-man I was about to leave work to play some ball. Rather than announce my news right away, I waited until after the game because I was afraid none of the guys would want to play with me anymore once they knew I had a “bun in the oven”. Ever since we found out we were having a boy I have looked forward to shooting hoops in the driveway. The fact that we don’t even have a driveway is neither here nor there.

Now I am left to wonder what to do. Are 5 days of preschool, 2 karate and 1 basketball too much for such a little dude? What if we get into all of this and he decides he wants to play drums? I mean, I did expect this, but not quite so soon. It’s already hard enough for me to pack up the entire “dog and pony show” just to hit karate. I get to spend each lesson peering through a window while wrestling Em, who desperately wants to run amok through the studio while shouting a baby talk version of HI-YAAA! Em is in the middle of the baby “ball obsession” stage, so having to watch his big bro play any game involving an orb where he is unwelcome just might send him over the edge.

If there is anyone out there (anyone at all) who has been through the over scheduling of today’s child, I would love some advice…