I have started about 5 different posts so far but as I go back to read them they all look something like this…

“Boring boring blah blah blah…BORING! I am so mind numbingly boring I can’t believe you are still reading about how boring I am, Holy shit “I’m boring” Boring blah boring blah, blah -d- blah…You get the picture.

In light of the fact that the interesting and wittier portion of my brain is for some reason on hiatus, I shall spare you all the details and move this post directly on to a bullet list…because I care about your personal comfort, and cannot bare the thought of you my reader, writhing in this sea of dry, white, crust less toast that currently has control of my mind.

Item #1 - GO CANES!!!!

Item #2 - 1 week! We rock! We made it one week, I am nicotine free, and have managed to do it without killing anyone. Did you know that nicotine withdrawal can lead to a lack of ability to focus? Well, now you do.

Item #3 - I NEED THIS so bad, you have no idea…

Item #4 - Only 3 months and 1 week until school starts!

Item #5 - I am not even interesting enough to think of an item #5…

So with that said, I will leave you, and don’t forget…

Go Canes!

Well, here we are at day five. Quitting right before the end of school was a great idea on D’s part. We were with the boys so much this weekend I never had a chance to miss my cigarette break.

Last night At-man began complaining that his throat started to hurt again. A quick trip to the doctor found that his strep was back. We just can’t seem to shake this thing. Em stayed with Grand mommy while we went in. I refuse to bring the “not sick” kid with us to the doctor; it’s my feeble attempt to keep it to a one ill child at a time type schedule.

When we returned to pick up Em, At-man played up the sick factor. He knew if he acted as pitiful as possible he could buy himself an afternoon at Grand mommy’s house. I took Em home with me because he is going through a phase in which he is only capable of sleeping in his house, in his own crib. Once down in the crib, the kid will sleep for about 3 hours without much trouble.

My usual routine in this situation would be to wait until Em falls asleep and then run out back with the news paper and light up. Then I go inside, run on the treadmill for about an hour, smoke another one and then take a shower and brush my teeth so as to fool myself into thinking I don’t smell like a big cigarette when I go in to retrieve Em when he wakes up.

Today was the first day I faced being all alone at smoke time. I cannot say I didn’t miss it, but since we tossed all traces of anything even remotely Marlboro-y from the house, I couldn’t have blown it even if I wanted to. I got right on the treadmill and ran my ass off. When I thought I would quit, I just kept running. What the hell? I didn’t have to hurry up and finish so I could smoke. I can run as long as I want to now. I even had enough time to blow dry my hair after my shower. A whole new world has opened up over here. I have always wondered how people have time to accomplish so much but…holy shit! When you don’t have to stand in your backyard smoking every night you can do stuff! Stuff! A lot of it! It’s so cool, this stuff that gets done.

So, it’s gong pretty well. I think as long as we don’t find ourselves in any “bar type” situations for the next couple of years or so it will all be o.k. We are going to a concert next week, our first smokeless social situation. I’m sure it will be fine. The headliners have a particularly large “Goth” following and nothing makes me want a cigarette less than watching a bunch of fat, depressed, makeup wearing kids dressed all in black and chain smoking. I’ll keep you all posted, and I promise to try and write about something else soon.

Day one is almost over. I stayed busy all day so as not to think about what was missing. I also have a new addition to my plan. I am whitening my teeth. This way I will be less likely to smoke, so as to not “F” up my pearly whites.

I purchased white strips on a “mega trip” to Target. What started as “run in” to grab a few end of year teacher gifts turned into a 2 hour trip. What possibly could have taken that long? I tried on swim suits. I could not find a single passable suit. They were all too old, too young, too blingy, too skimpy or some other sort of too. I shall try Old Navy and see how it goes. Since we have a pool that we spend nearly every summer day lying beside, I hate to spend a lot on swim suits. Also, I have a nasty halter tan line going on and almost every suit at Target had the same style top.

O.K., at this point I will admit that I am just typing to keep my hands busy. I will let you off the hook now. Keep sending those vibes, I think they are really helping.

It was my turn to put At-man to bed. This process usually includes the “I can beat you to the potty” contest, followed up by the “I bet I’ll beat you upstairs” and ends with “I bet I can be the first to the bed.” The little bugger is so competitive; as long as you turn the entire process into a competition (and let him win every event) he doesn’t even stop to think of protesting.

After our grueling series of races, At-man requires company in the bed while he falls asleep. He is usually out cold in 10 minutes, which is fine with me. Its 10 minutes I actually get to lie quietly and think, and that’s a pretty rare luxury. Tonight as I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep, I had 2 things on my mind. The first one was hitting the deck for a smoke (obvious). The second, why is there no hybrid of mustard and mayonnaise?

Being from New York I have seen my fair share of delicatessens, and I can tell you many people enjoy both mayo and mustard on the same sandwich. As lazy as Americans are, I cannot believe no one has taken the reins and aided us in eliminating the dreaded step of having to apply 2 separate condiments to our bread. Someone came up with brocco-flower, and that must have been a lot harder than simply mixing a couple of sandwich spreads and putting them in the same jar. I must step up to the plate, I decided. This will be our ticket to easily affording private colleges for our offspring. I will forever be heralded as the woman who saved Americans countless seconds every lunch hour.

My vision continued until I came to the step of naming my creation. Mustard-O? Nah. How about Mus-tard-o? Sounds like a b-rate magician. Mayo-tard? Yuck. Must-O? Ewww. Mustayo? Hmmm. Mustayonaise? Mustarayo? Now I know why no one has yet approached this task! It seems that there is no plausible name for the mustard-mayo hybrid. Not a single moniker that sounds even remotely appetizing. How is this possible?

So as you can imagine, I’ve had to shit-can the whole idea. I’d hate to make my mark in history being the creator of Mustard-O. It’s probably a good thing I only have 10 uninterrupted minutes a day to think. You can only imagine what goes through my mind when I run…

It’s time for a true confession. I am a smoker. I started when I was 15, afraid to be left out when all my “cool” friends left the cafeteria for the smoking area at school. Some of the kids were able to take it or leave it, but not me. I loved to smoke and took right to it.

When I found out I was pregnant with At-man, it was a bit of a surprise. D and I had been married for a couple of years and we knew we wanted children at some point, but we had not planned on starting to try until the following fall. I was at work one day when it occurred to me that I hadn’t had my monthly visitor in quite a spell and during lunch I headed to the drug store for a test. I took it in the company restroom, saw the little blue line, and immediately went outside to smoke my last cigarette.

Knowing that I was affecting someone other than myself, someone who could care less about looking cool, made it fairly easy to stop. I chewed endless sticks of Juicy Fruit and made it through the entire pregnancy. After At-man was born I tried for months to breast feed but he continued to loose weight so it was to formula we went. I had been in a little “baby bubble” for a year, but then something happened. We went out to a bar. The lure of smoking was too much to handle and I justified the entire event by telling myself I was just to be a casual smoker. Since I had to quit breast feeding I was only harming myself at this point. Unfortunately I am about as talented at casual smoking as I am at singing (notice you have never spotted me on Idol). I began stepping outside for a smoke at night after a particularly frustrating day with the baby (everyday), then even nap time became a smoke break.

I quit again with Em, but due to the fact that I can sometimes be a complete idiot, I started yet again. Em ended up in the hospital at one month old for some sort of “mystery virus” and it was too much stress. A glass of wine and a smoke after we put the kids to bed made it all better.

So now we are here. Whenever I am at the office, when the kids nap, when they go to bed…it’s time to smoke, and it’s getting hard. I hate myself for being short with them simply because I need a cigarette. I hate that when they wake up during the night I go to them smelling like the inside of a bar. Since I never smoke in front of, or around the boys it’s been easy to remain in denial. At-man is getting old enough that he will start to notice soon, and if he ever catches me it will break my heart. I don’t ever want him to think I feel that smoking is more important to me than being around to see him and Em grow up. Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I run 5 miles a day, most days. Besides affecting my kids and my health, this habit is impeding my progress in a sport which I love. I hope to finish my first marathon this January. I do not intend to run the entire race while dreaming of the smoke waiting for me at the finish line.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, I have chosen May 25th as my quit day, and by telling you, I am making it official. I would really be showing my ass if I screw up.

I know this isn’t my usual humorous post, but more are on the way. Sometimes I don’t have time to post because I spend my entire night on the back deck with a cigarette in hand. With all this smokey nonsense out of the way, I will be writing War and Peace length entries on a fairly regular basis. Stay Tuned.

Please don’t think poorly of me. I hate that I smoke enough for everyone. All that I ask is that you, the internet hold me to this promise. Tomorrow is my last day…

Exactly one week ago At-man’s preschool class hosted a mother’s day tea party. The children actually went on a field trip to pick strawberries which they used to make strawberry shortcake for the party. It was all so sweet I got a bit misty.

All of the mothers settled into little groups with their children, most of us hanging out with the parents of the kids our children considered their best friends. In our group of 4, 3 of our kids have been together since the start of school. While the three of us sat chatting, the other mother sat pitifully on the floor, slumped over by the wall. One of the mom’s asked her if everything is o.k. and her response irks me to this day. “Oh, I’ve had a fever of 104 all day, so I’m just trying to rest.” WHAT THE FUCK? What in the h-e-double hockey sticks are you doing here contaminating all of our children? And, if you are in fact that selfish and stupid as to knowingly show up sick, at the very least you should have the common courtesy to lie about it. The three of us sat there in stunned silence. Part of me, as a mom wants to comfort those who are sick, yet the other part was just so repulsed by the blatant display of stupidity that all I could do was nod while I tried to shovel At-man to what I thought was a safe distance.

Forward to Monday. When I picked At-man up from school he had that glassy look in his eyes that every mother knows means trouble. By that night he was running a fever. I kept him home from school Tuesday thinking it was probably a 24 hour deal and he would be back to class the next day, but the following morning was just more of the same. That morning when I dropped off Em, At-man’s teacher tracked me down to let me know that this dumbass, I mean, other mommy came in to tell her that she went to the doctor right from the tea party and discovered that she in fact had strep throat. “JUST LIKE SHE THOUGHT” She actually knew she had strep throat and attended a preschool tea party. You can almost see the brain cells run screaming out of my ears as I try to get my head around the idea that someone this intellectually challenged is actually able to remember to breathe, and operate a car.

Armed with new facts, I returned home to “cake day” and grilled At-man. “Making this cake is fun mommy.” “It sure is sweet pea, how’s your throat?” “Fine” “That’s good…are you sure?” “Yea, I’m sure this cake is fun.” “Not the cake… your throat?” All day he insisted he felt fine, despite his fever. I told him he needed to rest because his eyes were red, to which he replied “Silly Mommy! They are not red, I am sure they are still blue, just like Em’s.”

Thursday morning D and I awoke to At-man screaming. “My throat! My throat! It hurts mommy!” We dragged or asses out of bed and ran for Sprite. Luckily our pediatrician has an hour each morning that they see patients without an appointment for those parents who have spent all night up with sick children. Big surprise, At-man was positive for strep. I was actually glad to find out it was something that could be treated by antibiotics. He is still a bit run down, but was well enough to make it to school this morning for “Super Daddy Day”.

Now, as if having a sick peanut all week wasn’t bad enough, guess who woke up this morning feeling like they chugged a bottle of Tabasco? That’s right, lucky me! The mom who usually spends every day scrambling between school, the office, kid’s classes, running, shopping and cooking hasn’t been able to drag her ass off the couch. The doctor put me on Biaxin, which not only cures strep; it has the added bonus of making everything you eat taste like tin foil.

I really want to mention the name of this environmental hazard of a mother, so as to warn the general public, but I feel more strongly about avoiding the problems this would cause. I will simply revel in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe someone who would have one day disregard common sense and showed up extremely ill in a place full of very young children may read this and think better of it. Now I have to go back to crossing my fingers that Em doesn’t wake up with strep tomorrow.

Teacher Appreciation Cake

Well, after what seems like endless planning, the teacher appreciation luncheon is over. The cake was a big hit (thank god). Being the only female on this boat, I thought I was doomed to a life of decorating pirate ships and fire truck cakes… so a girly cake presented itself as a true challenge. A challenge compounded by the fact that I actually hate Lilly Pulitzer and all the colors she stands for, much unlike almost everyone else attending the lunch. As I stood there analyzing the cake I simply decided to decorate it the way I would least like to see a cake of my own, and voile’…it was perfect.

At-man’s crazy cake

While I was baking the monstrosity, I threw all the extra batter into a couple of tiny pans and let my poor, sick At-man ring out his own creative juices. While he did break down and ask for assistance in getting the main layer of frosting even, the rest is all him. I think the Pez were a nice touch, don’t you agree?

Mother’s Day 2006

I have also decided that from this year hence, every mother’s and father’s day should be marked by an attempt to photograph the parent of honor with both children, no matter how uncooperative they may be. I had intended on getting this picture from the very start of the day but it never seemed to be the right time so in a last minute effort, D snapped this pic of me and the boys right before bed time. I would like to assure you that the boys do in fact have a life outside of their pajamas, since for some reason jammy pictures seem to be prominent.

Now back to the luncheon. I would like to take this time to reaffirm my love for At-man’s teachers. I got to sit with both of them at the lunch, as well as Em’s teacher (who is also great), At-man’s teacher from last year, and the woman I hope will mold his little mind next year. For some reason we got on the topic of uninvited childrearing advice from random strangers. I had mentioned that I get comments from time to time about both At-man’s long hair, as well as both At-man and Em’s unusual names (no they aren’t really At-man and Em…but they are close). It was while remembering a complete stranger’s remark regarding the early piercing of her daughter’s ears that it happened. Ms. G dropped the “F” bomb right there at the Baptist teacher’s lunch thus proving, she’s my kind of people! The word sort of hung there for a few seconds while we all studied our grilled salmon and then wafted off into the next conversation, “must sees at Disney World”. There we all were in our pretty summer party dresses, without a drop of alcohol and yet we could not escape ourselves, much to my happiness.

Anyway, I promise to be on top of things a bit more now that the “big cake ordeal” is out of the way. Now, I have to go and watch The Office before it erases itself from my DVR and I never know what happened between Jim and Pam.

Sorry for the utter lack of bloggy attention. I had intended to post this morning but poor At-man wasn’t feeling so well. It’s Em’s regular morning at home so I’ve got a full house of peanuts that need me. I have to do the teacher luncheon cake tonight so it’s just busy, busy, busy around here. I will try to throw up a picture of the cake if I have time.

My first introduction to the “mommy crush” was years back. D and I were at the height of the “Ab-Fab” years and a client invited us over for an afternoon at his home, complete with children and a pool. Although I was less than excited to meet a couple of “real life children” the pool idea was pretty enticing. We grabbed another hipster couple and headed out to suburban paradise.

Our client’s wife was about as sweet as you could ever imagine. She talked about her kids endlessly as me and my hipster bud nodded in politeness. She told us of PTA drama and the inner conflict of letting your kids pick out their own outfits, none of which registered in our hung over brains. The one story that did stick was that of her “mommy crush”. Apparently she had it pretty hard and heavy for our local weather man. A guy who I had always determined to be about as big of a dork as humanly possible, yet I could see where she was coming from. A girl has to have her dreams, and the weatherman is so accessible. There he was in her living room every night with promises of sunshine.

I got to thinking about this after the mention of Dan Zanes last week. I think I have a little “mommy crush” on ol’ Dan. Maybe it’s the wild hair. Whenever the kids are in the midst of their mid-afternoon melt downs, in steps Dan in CD form, and suddenly everything is all happy like. Em will almost immediately stop crying and begin to dance around the house. Plus, he looks like someone I would have dated in high school, that is, if I dated 40 year old men in high school (which I did only once) (just kidding).

I have other “mommy type” boyfriends. Men who help me get the kids back into a happy state of mind whenever D isn’t around. Jack White is one. I can’t even begin to say how much love I have for him and just about everything he has ever done musically, not to mention, he has the best mug shot I have even seen ( waaaay better than that guy from Creed). The White Stripes are one of the only bands around that make it worth hitting the “buy the CD” button on i-Tunes. Every song sounds completely different from the one before and best of all, At-man LOVES them. And have you heard any tracks off the Raconteurs CD yet? It kicks much ass. Plus, he’s all pale and mysterious. I think he needs a mommy to look after him. “Jack, did you remember to eat your muffin and wash up like a good boy? I’m so proud of you and your little music thing, GOOD JOB!” Plus, he’s a dad, which I happen to think is pretty hot.

Finally, no mommy crush post would be complete without props to Elmo. He’s not quite as pretty as Jack White, but without him nothing in my house would ever be accomplished. Sure he’s short…and has the mentality of a 5 year old, but he knows how to step up to the plate and entertain when ever I need to get dinner on the table. What a man!

D though I could never get Dan Zanes, Jack White and Elmo in the same sentence, but…I just did! I love them all. I know mother’s day is right around the corner, but this year I think we as moms should all take a minute and say a special thanks to the men who help us make it through the day without the benefit of a beer. Thanks guys!

As I have mentioned, At-man is still a co-sleeper (creeps into our bed around midnight and spreads out between D and I for the duration of the night). He has slept with us since he was about 6 months old so I figure we are due to get our bed back sometime around spring 2010. This has never bothered either of us, but it does cause problems from time to time, just not the type you might expect.

Exhibit A

Not long after the arrival of Em, At-man awoke one morning particularly refreshed. He began bouncing to and fro and in my sleep induced haze I picked up my head to watch. Apparently this was a big mistake, as his little head met mine fast and hard, right under my brow bone. I saw more stars than the church of Scientology. About an hour later it was clear that I had a pretty major shiner. A black eye is the perfect gift for every woman who has a newborn and is running on less than 4 hours of consecutive sleep per session. On the upside, I had a brilliant line of black and blue above my eye to distract from the bags underneath. On the down, I worried that everyone would think “there is no way a 2 year old could do this to her”.

Knowing now what we didn’t know then, Em is a great little sleeper. You lay him down happily in his crib and he falls asleep in a matter of minutes, any crying is rare. He actually seems to have no desire at all to sleep in bed with mommy and daddy. I thought I was safe. Oh, how I was wrong.

Tuesday, after dinner was over, I got down to the business of making the next days lunches. Even after children, I am about as far from a morning person as you will ever know, so making lunch the night before isn’t so much a “well organized” thing, it’s a “the only way it’s going to get done” sort of thing. The boys were in and out of the kitchen demanding dessert so D decided to take them upstairs to play. I went up to get in on the fun as soon as I was through and found them up in the boy’s bedroom, trashing the place…I mean, pulling toys out of the toy box. At-man has a pair of megaphones that came with these Pottery Barn fireman and engineer dress up sets (Grand Mommy couldn’t decide which he would rather be, hence we have both). I sat down on the floor while the boys yelled into the wrong end of end of the megaphones and the very next thing I knew; there I was back with the Scientologists. Em had decided that, for reasons clear only to a 19 month old, it would be fun to smack mommy in the eye with his megaphone. Now, I usually try to play down any sort of pain, so as not to scare the peanuts, but there were tears forming in my eyes that just could not be hidden. At-man jumped into action, grabbing his toy doctor kit and attempting to take my blood pressure, declaring it was 8, so I must be o.k. Em actually seemed to understand what he had just done and was pretty upset. D took him down to the freezer to fetch the Spiderman ice-pack which he pitifully handed to me. I lay on the couch with Spidey on my eye while At-man finished up the exam, apparently my temperature, as he reported, was also 8.

Exhibit B

When all had finally settled down and D was upstairs putting the boys to bed, I went to the bathroom to get a look. Well…it was SWOLE I tell you! Not yet black or blue but it would come. The funny thing is, all swollen; it actually looks a bit like I have had a Botox injection in just that one eye. Maybe I can offer up 15 minutes of Elmo to get him to hit me on the other side and make it even. How can a 19 month old possibly inflict this type of injury? Em is one strong little dude and his aim is amazing. Also, on more than one occasion, a complete strange has laughingly pointed out that my baby is almost as big as I am…so there you have it. He is a super strong, giant baby. He could have easily starred in his own 1960’s film, “Attack of the Giant Super-Strong Baby”. It would be just like King Kong, with the main character all sensitive and loving on the inside, yet he doesn’t know his own strength. The poor little guy was pretty upset.

As fate would have it, D and I actually had plans the very next night, me and my big ass eye. All the friends I saw will think I could only swing Botox for one side of my face, but what can you do? At least we got to go out. I still missed my little peanuts, even though I am now just a little afraid of them both (just kidding).