tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32859354275671550972011-10-17T15:20:38.059-07:00Yuppie? Hippie? Yippie.nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.comBlogger841100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-28639531114378823272011-01-11T20:32:00.000-08:002011-01-11T20:32:04.137-08:00

I am a full-time mom. With a part-time job. I won't even try to quantify the hours I work as a mom. I take my job very seriously. I work at my job as a mom the same way I would any other job. I'm not going to get into it now, but trust me. Right now, I get the hours between 7:30pm and 4:30am off to do with as I please. And by as I please, I mean sometimes work, sometimes clean up,

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-12912229532923622432011-01-09T20:47:00.000-08:002011-01-09T20:47:26.110-08:00

If you are the kind of person who is repulsed by shameless bragging, turn away now. Guide your mouse up to that x in the top, right-hand corner of your browser and click. Or maybe meander your way on over to You Tube and watch a cat jump out of a paper bag. Or go watch snow fall. But do not stay here. Because this will not be the post for you. I'll start with E, not because I love him more (

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-90722777179357725232010-12-26T20:35:00.000-08:002010-12-26T20:35:44.262-08:00

We talked about visiting Santa. I explained that Santa was a nice guy and that E didn't have to sit in his lap if he didn't want to. He could just stand next to him. He could just stand near him. All he needed to do was politely inform Santa that yes, he had indeed been a good* boy this year and he would like a bread machine for the kid kitchen and some other gifts. That's it and that's all.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-54366722326747342002010-12-23T13:32:00.000-08:002010-12-23T13:32:04.004-08:00

We celebrate Christmas, without a mention of religion or Jesus or church, but with lots of mention of gratitude and compassion and generosity. We have friends from all walks, so I say Happy Holidays to you all! The Christmas buzz is getting louder and louder around here. E helped me wrap presents while BP took a nap. We finished up our shopping this morning and stuffed D's stocking full of

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-42815972053253388632010-12-15T19:54:00.000-08:002010-12-15T19:54:26.175-08:00

...but not you. Can anyone enlighten me as to why it's ok to send a big Fuck You to our Jewish, atheist, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu and other non-Christian neighbors? While I respect the Mile High Baptist Church for not being bigots and hypocrites, I am still in awe of this marquee. Is this really what Christmas is all about? Exclusion? Intolerance? Bigotry? And here I was, thinking the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-25203189708912173092010-12-14T18:43:00.000-08:002010-12-14T18:43:45.068-08:00

Since my first poll was such a huge success - deemed Best. Poll. Ever. by @Jac, April, 2010 - I decided to hold another solicitation for input. And while I didn't even try to pretend that my first poll was "hypothetical," I will make a half-ass attempt at trying to create the illusion that this poll is. Smoke. Mirrors. Convinced? Oh, good. I knew you would be. Ready? Here it goes.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-85485207530632208722010-12-13T20:30:00.000-08:002010-12-14T05:36:23.371-08:00

I don't even know where to start. Should I talk about how my maternal love and devotion cured* E of SPD? Or that his dairy allergy** is finally gone? Did I already tell everyone that BP has (finally) started to walk***? Or that she is (finally) sleeping through the night****? Or about how I applied for a job I kind of wanted and then didn't get it, but then got a job that pays twice as much,

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-78519949039152847712010-11-25T20:34:00.000-08:002010-11-25T20:34:45.221-08:00

There are so many things I am grateful for (I mean really, where would I start?!?) but for now, I'll tell you that I am grateful that this did not end up being our Christmas card. Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-11842731358706580612010-10-21T18:46:00.000-07:002010-10-21T18:46:15.302-07:00

E has a handful of nicknames for BP: gags gooch gagga gooch chunk'o monk'o chunk'o munk'o monks (all derivations of chunky monkey) lil princess (the way he says this one invokes Jerry Lewis..lil PRINcess!) And while these names are so cute because the way they came about is so organic, I am worried about them sticking. I do NOT want tweener BP to be called chunk'o or monk'o or chunk'o

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-20489533051567266282010-10-15T11:07:00.000-07:002010-10-15T11:07:52.158-07:00

Last month we headed out for an adventure. We went to Snowmass, which like all super rich Colorado ski towns, is absolutely gorgeous. The trees were at peak fall color and the hotel we stayed at was slopeside, so it was teeming with things to explore. I don't know what their landscaping budget is, but I can venture to guess that with the money they spend on annuals, you could feed a small

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-45869118669288590862010-10-11T08:32:00.000-07:002010-10-11T08:32:51.785-07:00

When CFB* turned one, we took his picture immediately upon waking. It was hysterical. We've done it every year since. Today was BP's turn. She is celebrating one year on this Earth today. And although you can't see all of BP's beautiful face in this picture, it does capture her essence. Annoyed that the flash is violently exploding in her face, annoyed that she was woken up before she

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-18396395086800171272010-10-01T20:19:00.000-07:002010-10-01T20:19:36.510-07:00

Let's cut Karma some slack, alright folks? I was racing to get somewhere early one Saturday morning and in order to get out of the house as quickly as possible before the Window of Opportunity slammed shut, I raced out without eating breakfast, taking my vitamins (I swear B complex is poor man's lithium), or without a sip of coffee. I know. Suicide. As I was racing to my destination, I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-61133239126356498322010-09-29T19:53:00.000-07:002010-09-29T19:53:47.956-07:00

"Mom, why aren't we moving?" "Oh, sweetheart...we're sitting in traffic." "Can you back up?" "I wish. But there's a huge truck behind me." "And if you backed up into him it would break his truck?" "Yup." "And then he couldn't drive it anymore?" "Yup." "And then he'd probably say oh, shit." Yup.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-69204122195398449532010-09-02T19:16:00.000-07:002010-09-02T19:16:40.868-07:00

...lest ye be judged. I get that. But my question is: When are you allowed to judge? When are you allowed to look at someone else and think, "Holy shit. That is not good." I've said it before and I'll say it again...public parenting is a snapshot in time. It is just a moment, and most likely not a "typical" moment in your life (or the other family's life) and should not be used as a

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-24138389304931661882010-08-19T21:33:00.000-07:002010-08-19T21:33:06.872-07:00

Whew. I'm back. Well, I'm not back. I was stolen and replaced with an exact replica. But this me is back. So what happened while I was gone? Did they ever stop that fucking leak? No, not that leak, this leak. Anyway, who cares about the environment. I know you are dying to hear about what's been going on with me. Well, let me tell ya. It's been a crazy month or so. First of all,

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-75921374986307500162010-07-07T12:10:00.000-07:002010-07-07T12:10:55.818-07:00

I do not wear my exhaustion like a badge of glory. I wear it like a sack of potatoes. A heavy, heavy sack of potatoes. E was a wretched sleeper, but he had a perfectly good excuse. B, on the other hand, gives the appearance of being a perfectly healthy "chunk'o munck'o," as E so roughly affectionately refers to her. Yet she doesn't sleep. My only consolation? That old ladies at the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-19678463459898355462010-06-15T13:08:00.000-07:002010-06-15T13:08:02.540-07:00

I'm keeping a secret. And it is a whopper of a secret. The catch is, it's not my secret. It's someone else's secret and since my world's overlap, what with Facebook and this blog and email and the telephone etc., I'm afraid to say anything that could or could not get traced back to me. And since I am too tired to keep things straight in my head, I've sort of just stopped talking. Mum is the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-21842890266298783162010-05-25T20:10:00.000-07:002010-05-25T20:10:40.527-07:00

Oh, good. I think that'll work. I'm hoping that repeatedly looking at this sequence and cuteness that it oozes will keep me from throwing the gawddamn baby out the window. I'm pretty sure it's teething, but since she has no tells, it's hard to know. And it's amazing what having a reason will do for my patience. If I can attribute aggravating behavior to something, then my tolerance is

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-69883191947186898542010-05-18T22:11:00.000-07:002010-05-18T22:11:23.709-07:00

...but instead I'm blogging. Why? Because I made the mistake of looking at my Google Analytics and apparently, someone in Finland* wants to know about the minutiae of my life. And if there's one thing I hate, it is letting people down. E is just coming out of a disregulation phase. We're starting to catch on to his cycling, and it seems more like a 3 month cycle, instead of the 6 month cycle

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-30336067993742144782010-05-12T21:25:00.001-07:002010-05-12T21:26:54.377-07:00

I cut all my hair off. All of it. I got D's (reluctant) permission first, had dozens of internal arguments weighing the pros and cons of short hair versus long and then finally decided to chop it all off when I remembered that all the hormone-induced hair loss was about to grow back in the form of a baby fro. And if there's one thing that I don't want to rock, it is a baby fro. The snot wiped

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-59895019786725306632010-04-29T06:49:00.000-07:002010-04-29T11:45:54.539-07:00

"Oh yeah, really? Well, the Jerk Store called, and they're running out of you." I'm like George, who doesn't have a comeback till it's too late. Here are a few examples of situations where I should have said something, but I didn't. --------------------------------------------- "What do you mean you don't know how to make a bottle? You have two kids." "Both my kids are breast-fed." "So

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-71199959458851218902010-04-27T19:02:00.000-07:002010-04-27T19:02:27.497-07:00

It seems almost stupid to be proud of this, but I made my first dress. I've made E a few pants, but those don't count because they consist of two seams and a piece of elastic. However, since making the dress I've been inspired to up my game in the boy's pants department (that should never be taken out of context) and came up with a really cute pair or pants that I made out of a pair of

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-64741941260290688392010-04-25T19:57:00.000-07:002010-04-27T18:52:03.781-07:00

I want to eat my baby. My friend, Bangs, has come close to taking a bite out of B, but I figured it's because she's biased, being her kindof aunt and all and because she hangs out with me and is as close to hispanic as you can get (my brother often calls her his little tortilla.) So I thought that wanting to eat babies was a spanish (and spanish wannabe) thing until Bangs's sister came out to

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-19603083251467253982010-04-21T21:04:00.000-07:002010-04-21T21:04:28.902-07:00

We were at the post office yesterday and I couldn't believe our luck. We walked up to the counter. We never walk up to the counter. We usually stand in line for anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes, but not today! Today, we walked right up. I sat B up on the counter and handed over my parcel. The postal employee behind the counter proceeded to take B's shoe off and rub. her. foot. I shit you not

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-20966938117964610232010-04-19T13:41:00.000-07:002010-04-19T13:41:48.484-07:00

Bras. Tampons. Shoes. That should take care of any of the guys who got past the title of today's post. I have been struggling with nursing pads since B was born. I thought I could just reuse the ones that I'd purchased while nursing E, but they were a tiny bit funky and I don't know about you, but I don't want funk near my lady parts. So I bought a box of Lansinoh disposable nursing pads and

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-28386182457758077462010-04-16T07:18:00.000-07:002010-04-16T07:18:22.874-07:00

No, this is not about Tiger Woods or Ben Roethlisberger because, quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing about those two shitsticks. Tiger, not only are you a horrible husband, but you're a terrible father. It will be difficult enough to be the children of Tiger Woods, but now you've dumped this huge pile of man-slut sex crap on top of them. And Ben, you don't have children (thank god) but it

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-80226372164617769892010-04-13T21:01:00.000-07:002010-04-13T21:01:11.084-07:00

E continues to pee in the yard like a dog. And it wouldn't be so bad (I guess) if it was just our yard. But we were recently at a friend's house and when I looked down, E was peeing in the garden the kids had been playing in. He had his pants down around his ankles and looked up to announce that he was "making mud." Right on. ---------------------------------------- B is ferociously trying

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-83678649154165948532010-04-08T11:51:00.000-07:002010-04-08T16:45:17.041-07:00

E has taken to peeing in the yard. He crawls out the doggie door, pulls his pants down, and pisses in wide, wet arcs all over our grass dirt. My question(s) to you: Would you let your child do this and why/why not. How would you feel if he were peeing in the front yard (E often does)? And lest my non-child-bearing readers feel left out, if you don't have kids, how would you feel about

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-17389859513391908202010-04-05T20:32:00.000-07:002010-04-05T20:32:51.793-07:00

Usually people go online to complain about shit. But not me! At least, not this time. My friend Bangs recently sent me an invitation to shop The Clymb and I gratefully accepted. I love outdoor gear. I love sales. I love outdoor gear on sale. And while we buy lots of stuff off of SteepandCheap, I like The Clymb's format - putting up a ton of stuff from one brand at a time. I get an email

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-51753063783343463672010-03-31T14:20:00.000-07:002010-03-31T14:20:13.376-07:00

Some things just need doing. The groceries. The laundry. The dishes. Crap like that. I expect E to help since I am pretty confident that that is the best way to raise a child who pitches in around the house and doesn't demand payment for measly chores. And whenever I've been tempted to do it myself (easier, faster, cleaner) I stop, look at him and think, "No, you're part of this family and

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-18110814598929928362010-03-20T21:18:00.000-07:002010-03-20T21:22:12.214-07:00

E has "milk protein induced enteropathy." It doesn't really mean anything other than we have to keep him 100% dairy-free for at least another year and then challenge him to see if he's outgrown it. It is a condition that children usually outgrow by the age of four* and while it has caused some problems (vitamin deficiencies and maybe some liver stuff) it's really not that bad. He was

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-13573295201321766182010-03-15T21:04:00.000-07:002010-03-16T20:42:36.405-07:00

There's a bunch of miscellaneous stuff that I want to talk about, so I'll compile it here. For those of you who love following links, go nuts. For those of you who don't...sorry Charlie. I got links to share. I've been meaning to talk about Nurture Shock. It was so good. A book that is easy to read because each chapter is independent of the others - perfect for nursing mothers or those who

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-83674815581564173112010-03-10T20:31:00.000-08:002010-03-10T20:31:12.728-08:00

I've successfully potty-trained one child and we all know what that means. I am now a potty-training expert. Bestow your wealth of excremental knowledge upon us oh maven of all things urine and feces, you all scream. And I, of course, will oblige you. So here you have it. The all-inclusive, fail-proof and easy-to-follow guide on how to potty-train your any my child using the $500,000

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-2925487277701166842010-02-26T08:20:00.000-08:002010-02-26T08:20:11.999-08:00

Many of you don't know this, but I've been married twice. To the same man. A man so nice, I married him twice. D was not-so-happy about getting married in Miami but had patiently, albeit a bit detachedly, let me plan our snowballing-out-of-control wedding extravaganza. And our friend, Hallisomething, had offered to get ordained through the intrawebs and preside over our ceremony, which

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-73840371693626005172010-02-18T12:19:00.000-08:002010-02-18T12:19:39.406-08:00

...with E for giving me the gift of the first nap of the year. He hasn't napped since 2009. Till today. Because he woke up before 6am. And was a mess. An angry, messy mess. But when he's sleeping, he's an angel. ...with Tide Stain Release.* I put six of E's stained shirts into the wash with a scoop of TSR and our usual save the earth hippie laundry soap and five of them came out

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-46274619989197356552010-02-15T20:42:00.000-08:002010-02-15T20:42:30.414-08:00

SMASH! CRASH! KABOOM! The potty seat flew about three feet up in the air before it cartwheeled down a flight of stairs and clattered onto the tiles of the entry way. I slowly peeked around the corner and there was E, standing at the top of the stairs in nothing but a shirt and socks. He'd peed in the potty four times and gotten four jelly beans as reward. But pooping - pooping gets you two

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-75284180139640281272010-02-07T20:43:00.000-08:002010-02-07T20:43:01.041-08:00

D leaned over me and asked in a whisper, "What time do you want me to wake you up?" "Um, I'm awake right now..." "Oh, ok. I just didn't want you to be late." I got to the yoga studio 20 minutes before class starts to make sure I got a good spot. And by good spot, I mean 1) not in the front row next to Pretzel Girl and Iron Man and 2) with a view of the mirror so that I can check my form

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-35173086147729043172010-01-29T08:45:00.000-08:002010-01-29T08:45:15.888-08:00

I feel a little better now. I still have that rising up in my chest feeling, but D and I laid in bed last night and talked about everything and he reminded me to only freak out about one thing at a time, and to do it sequentially. So instead of picturing E in a little hospital gown laying unconscious on a cold metal table while doctors violate him rectally, I'm going to freak out about having

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-64414131938220728332010-01-28T20:57:00.000-08:002010-01-28T20:57:49.170-08:00

I want to puke. D keeps telling me to stop thinking about it, but I can't. I try, but like I told him, I don't go to work (outside the home.) I don't have other distractions. I live and breath our children. So while I might try not to think about it, I can't help it. Every diaper change is a reminder. Every glance at E's face elicits a visceral response in me. Last week we went to

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-87671796048244154452010-01-18T12:51:00.000-08:002010-01-18T12:51:24.124-08:00

Tried on my skinny jeans today. They're expensive by some standards, but now that I'm a grown woman, I buy jeans that fit well and will last and anyway, they make me look put-together...or at least, I think they do, and perception is everything. All my other clothes fit and have for months, thanks to a VI-OH-LENT! stomach virus that I got the week I came home from the hospital after B was born.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-27081023836404549842010-01-13T08:12:00.000-08:002010-01-13T19:34:14.598-08:00

  This is what we were doing exactly one year ago today.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-61392733346163785312010-01-12T07:29:00.000-08:002010-01-12T07:29:29.336-08:00

  That's my new tension releaser - GRRR!!! Lately, I've been very conscientious about how I model handling frustrations in front of E and whenever I can't dialogue my mental processes, I say GRRRR!!! Whenever I get upset and I am calm enough to discuss it, I say something like, "Aw, man. I forgot my phone. Now I have to turn the car around. That's really frustrating. I don't like when I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-55646172037908864252010-01-11T19:46:00.000-08:002010-01-11T19:46:31.538-08:00

Thanks to everyone for the massive influx of emails and phone calls. I've been posting on blogs and boards about E's issues for so long that I completely forgot that I'd never really talked about it on here. In a nutshell, E's got digestive issues. We don't know the root cause, but we've finally stopped listening to our pediatrician's* reassurance that it's nothing and he'll eventually outgrow

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-29260773515049984872010-01-11T08:00:00.000-08:002010-01-11T08:00:05.953-08:00

This salad dressing is: gluten-free, casein-free, yeast-free, sugar-free, vinegar-free and surprise! Delicious. Will remain in my post-dietfromhell recipe book. Miso Happy Salad Dressing* 1/3 c lemon juice 2T sweet white miso (we used South River organic, available at our local Whole Foods) 2 cloves garlic 2t agave syrup + more to taste 4T water 1c sesame oil Throw all ingredients except oil

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-14501261889174124342010-01-10T14:13:00.000-08:002010-01-10T14:13:48.325-08:00

This diet sucks. Five times a day I feel like the dad from A Christmas Story when the Bumpus dogs come tearing through the house and destroy the turkey. Or when Ralphie says, "Ooohhh fuuuudge," except he doesn't really say "oh fudge" he says THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word! Or when...I could quote that movie all day, except I can't because I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-85256312190568759612010-01-06T20:44:00.000-08:002010-01-06T20:44:47.126-08:00

- Do not kick guide the cat out of the kitchen with your foot and then get upset when the two-and-a-half year old does the same thing. - Some things just can not be done one-handed. Taking out contacts and buttering toast are two of those things. - Some people are nice, some people are not. - Shaving your legs with a dull razor is only marginally better than not shaving at all. - Taking a shower

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-15880015249241036292009-12-29T13:40:00.000-08:002009-12-29T13:40:38.125-08:00

E: "I see Target! I want to buy a car." Me: "Sorry, sweetheart. Dad buys you cars. Next time you come to Target with dad, maybe he'll buy you one, but we're not getting one today." E: "Turn around. Let's go way back there. Go far away." Me: "Oh, we can't leave yet. We have to stop and get Miss S a birthday present. Remember? We're going to her birthday party tomorrow at the jumpy castle

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-71549896509969217012009-12-18T14:59:00.000-08:002010-01-11T20:15:45.127-08:00

  It was brought to my attention that the first picture I put up of B was the one with Santa where she looks like a guido. Now, before all the guidos who read my blog go unsubscribing from my feed, let me respectfully kiss your ass by saying this: You guys are a handsome bunch of men. I love what you do with your hair, and oh, when you unbotton those top shirt buttons...I swoon. But little

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-23758440587410577552009-12-17T20:18:00.000-08:002009-12-17T20:18:23.997-08:00

Um, so yeah. I guess we're potty training learning. About a week ago, E asked his dad to take a bath with him and D told him, "No, you pee in the tub and no one likes to bathe in piss water," or something like that. E tried to convince his father that the pee was only over there and not over here and as long as he stayed on this side of the tub, no piss water would sully him. D wasn't

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-67231068201710056882009-12-15T18:48:00.000-08:002009-12-15T18:48:17.854-08:00

Prompted by "Raising Intuition," an article in this month's Mothering Magazine, I asked E if he remembered what it was like before he was born - when he was in my belly. He said he did. But then again, he hates not having an answer and always, always answers "yes," even if he has no idea what the hell I'm talking about. "Hey, E. Do you remember what it was like when you were in my belly?" "

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-57968548471995026882009-12-15T01:02:00.000-08:002009-12-15T01:02:37.802-08:00

You slept all day. Why? Nine weeks - you should know better Now I'm hungry. F*ck.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-257518767133554532009-12-14T13:40:00.000-08:002009-12-14T13:40:03.525-08:00

  Now, before you all go judging me...let me tell you up front, with crystal clear self-awareness, that I took the kids to go see Santa, not for them, but for me and D. B has been on this planet a little over 2 months. She doesn't even realize yet that she's got hands. And E was only excited because like the idiots we are, we got him all fired up to go see Santa, thinking that it would make

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-63953926200343345282009-12-11T12:26:00.000-08:002009-12-11T12:29:02.150-08:00

Busyness seems to be all around us these days. The dentist was "busy" (that's what E grabbed onto in his attempt to understand my bizarre behavior, and that's what I let him think), Target was busy, the breakfast food playground at the mall was busy when the line - 90+ minutes! - to see Santa was too busy. The child who till now has had free reign whenever we are out in public, with the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-14708042092508869632009-12-10T08:19:00.000-08:002009-12-10T08:19:03.860-08:00

Language development in toddlers has to be one of my most favorite things about this age. That, and the fact that taking their clothes off instantly turns them into roaring rockets and automatically causes them to run around the house, pedaling their skinny little legs at a whirlwind pace. Back to the language...some recent highlights: "I can't like the light on." You mean, you don't like

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-721695566514183772009-12-06T15:59:00.000-08:002009-12-06T15:59:23.454-08:00

So I have a confession to make that is going to make me sound like an elitist snob, which I'm not. I made a dentist appointment for E at the children's dental place right up the road from us and we were there 30 minutes before I grabbed him and walked out. This is the part I'm ashamed of...ready? We walked out because the place was not "nice." There were tons of children and I talked to about

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-67356997950750772402009-12-01T13:11:00.000-08:002009-12-01T13:11:12.459-08:00

We started putting up the Christmas tree. It's perched on E's train table and it fills up the picture window quite beautifully. The only thing is, it's a fake tree. We bought it two years ago (or is it three?) because we were tired of the dried out and remarkably expensive trees that we'd been getting. Also, a friend and co-worker of D's had convinced him it was the way to go, and so I bought

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-71666770365640011362009-11-23T20:32:00.000-08:002009-11-23T20:32:10.035-08:00

  E has an imaginary friend. Actually, she's not quite imaginary. She is one of Linny's trusty side-kicks on the Wonder Pets. For those of you who don't know, TWP are three classroom pets that receive a cry for help via a can on a string, jump in their frisbee "fly boat" and answer the baby animal's call of distress. And while they're no real American heros, they are cute and funny and

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-75462071767441230562009-11-19T07:56:00.000-08:002009-11-19T07:56:11.920-08:00

Here's a list of all the places I've nursed one kid or the other and let me tell you, there's a real theme here... Walking down the frozen-food aisle at Target On the mats at Rock'n and Jam'n In the neighbor's backyard On Bear Creek Trail near the golf course The lodge at A Basin At a cocktail table at Gordon Biersch At a breakfast table at Table Mountain Inn The front seat of the car (not

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-76570238192180510822009-11-18T19:52:00.000-08:002009-11-18T19:52:30.097-08:00

Thanks to Cloud's blog, I had an AHA! moment and realized that part of B's problem, and quite possibly all of B's problems - are because of my overactive letdown. We've been working on it for a bit over a week and things have improved remarkably. She's a lot less gassy and not nearly as frustrated at the boob. So I'm posting about it just in case it helps one other mom identify and rectify a

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-9374155257510324882009-11-14T19:27:00.000-08:002009-11-14T19:27:11.252-08:00

"Oh, Gawd. I hope we don't have a girl." It was maybe March and the fact that we were pregnant for the 2nd, and probably the last, time was sinking in. E and D were convinced it was a girl. I was terrified that they were right. "Oh, man. I hope it's not a stupid girl." I was more than a little bit serious. But not for the reason you think. Sure, I'd roll my eyes and talk about how girls are

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-37133769672851890352009-10-22T13:18:00.000-07:002009-10-22T13:18:50.029-07:00

Some of my girl-friends and I like to play "The One-Up Game". When we were Master's students at CU (the only school that feeds it's mascot to it's students - Go Buffs!) I invented this game because it seemed like whenever we got together at happy hour, everyone wanted to vent about something but was too polite to do it. The rules are simple - everyone vents with the intention of having the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-33584609910757029452009-10-17T12:31:00.000-07:002009-10-17T12:31:27.276-07:00

I know. I know. You want answers. You want to know how it went and if the rumors are true. And I'm working on it. But until then, I'll give you this: I was touched by many self-less acts of love, like my mom and sister both so naively and earnestly offering to donate blood for my transfusion right there on the spot, as if the nurses could just run a line from their veins to mine, like

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-35785877741598121992009-10-09T09:19:00.000-07:002009-10-09T09:19:48.495-07:00

Dear Mr. Roof Shingle Installer Man, I am writing to inform you that at 7 am this morning, when you spent upwards of 15 minutes trying to start your jalopy truck, I was trying to sleep. I am very pregnant and very tired and very restless and all-around very useless. My uselessness is compounded by the lack of sleep I have suffered in the last few days. I only have a few more days to go, and

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-52059490375031610572009-10-07T21:17:00.000-07:002009-10-07T21:17:37.908-07:00

I am not your stereotypical woman. I don't get manis and pedis. I don't subscribe to People or Us Weekly or any other gossip magazine, although I will peruse one in the doctor's office should it beckon to me from the coffee table as I wait for my name to be called, even though I always feel guilty for indulging. I don't care about whatsherface who married that one guy from that movie and what

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-91562531531216355362009-10-07T12:39:00.000-07:002009-10-07T12:39:35.839-07:00

I'm 38 and 1/2 weeks pregnant. I haven't slept in two nights. But tonight...tonight I'm going to sleep. I drank my TeePee Dreams. I took two Calms Forte. I swallowed three dropperfuls of Sleepytime drops. I am tinctured, tabbed and tea-ed to the hilt. And it works. Until the pain hits. Oh god. I can't believe this is happening. There's no way. Could this? Nooooo. But...At first I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-11765892118999172282009-09-28T13:02:00.000-07:002009-09-28T13:02:07.657-07:00

As you all know, I think that E's sense of humor is compelling. Unique. Brilliant. Beyond his years. But I might be a bit biased...after all, he is my son. And I'm guessing that a lot of what he finds funny, he finds that way because of me. I mean, he spends a good part of his life at my mercy, and some of it is bound to rub off, right? E's ability to imagine and pretend has grown

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-61368764277573924742009-09-22T20:12:00.000-07:002009-09-22T20:24:16.461-07:00

I just came across something I wrote for a newspaper when E was just a wee little one. Since things have been so crazy around here, and since I keep getting requests/complaints for my lack of posts, I figured I'd post it here. Yes, it's kind of cheating since I wrote it almost two yrs ago (can you believe it?!?) but if you need something sappy, then here it is. And it was bittersweet to read

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-18830147597682142192009-09-17T13:30:00.000-07:002009-09-17T14:05:10.623-07:00

Sometimes the universe still surprises me. A few months ago when we had that terrible hailstorm that damaged 75% of the roofs in our neighborhood and left my garden looking like it'd been shot down by kamikaze veggie haters, I was heartbroken. D had built me a raised garden bed for Mother's Day and E and I had spent a lot of time back there planting, weeding and mulching. As my tomatoes,

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-35934625851642108732009-09-08T14:11:00.000-07:002009-09-08T14:11:08.351-07:00

It drives D crazy. Just when he's finally gotten used to how things are, the lay of the land, what goes where, inevitably I change it. I reorganize the pantry. I have a new system for maintaining the linen closet in order. I switch up the cloth diapers and introduce a whole new kind of cover when he just got comfortable using the old covers. He swears I do this to make him crazy. But I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-52775794271953934082009-09-04T19:42:00.000-07:002009-09-04T22:22:00.986-07:00

As we're hiking up St. Mary's Glacier, I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing. I'm eight and a half months pregnant, I have a backpack that is overflowing with snacks, shoes, fleeces, water, a mini first-aid kit, and a camera, and chances are I'm going to have to carry E at some point because this is a really rocky hike. Not to mention that the three of us are all fighting a cold and do I have

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-9449379818486609112009-08-25T13:46:00.000-07:002009-08-25T20:36:21.832-07:00

A few months ago, E was running around our front yard naked. Well, almost naked. He had shoes and a shirt on, so technically, he would have been served at any of the fine establishments that need to explicitly state their clothing requirements. He had the beginnings of a diaper rash and in an attempt to be proactive, I was letting his, you know, balls breathe. The shirt he was wearing was big

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-4778023165017705672009-08-18T19:36:00.000-07:002009-08-18T19:47:36.264-07:00

Someone commented the other day that I was so lucky to have married such a hands-on dad and I almost choked on my own spit. I'm sorry. I didn't just find him in a bar and marry him. No, no, no. This hands-on-edness was a long and arduous process. I hate to say it, but I made him a hands-on dad. I didn't find him that way. Wish I had. But I didn't. And in his defense, the foundation

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-59985391619880501152009-08-16T09:00:00.000-07:002009-08-16T09:47:26.680-07:00

What am I looking forward to most about having a second baby?Big boobs. I'm not kidding. For a few months out of my entire life I get to have big, glorious, bountiful boobs and while it's a shame that no one gets to play with them, they're a joy to look at. No one even notices that my belly is all bulgy or that there are stains on the back of my shirt. Nope. Everyone, including me, is

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-30574613206530246742009-08-14T13:40:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:31:29.699-07:00

My little sister is telling me about this guy she met and he sounds wonderful. Nice, respectable Italian boy who is apparently smokin' hot (her kind of hot, not mine.) She's telling me all about him - I get to meet him next week! - and I'm nodding along appropriately, making all the big sister noises that I make, the uh-huhs and the oh yeahs and the wows and then all of a sudden she says

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-45191917108563817902009-08-12T12:58:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:46:53.526-07:00

Today is the day where I'm a bad, bad mom. Today is the day where the nice lady at the rec center told me that while E did a great job playing with most of the kids, he picked out one little girl and pushed her. Relentlessly. Would not stop. And announced that he was pushing her to all who weren't watching and then told her she was sad. "I push kid. She's sad!" And while the nice lady at

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-20120671433597411452009-08-06T17:36:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:37:18.430-07:00

If you don't follow Dooce's blog, you really should. This woman is freakin' hysterical and honest and real....basically, she is my hero. Her post entitled, The Labor Story, Part Three left me weeping. But before I go any further, I will preface this post with the following statement: I know that a healthy baby is the ultimate prize and I would in no way, shape or form sacrifice or risk that. I

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-68009481730947986002009-08-06T15:17:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:38:15.433-07:00

I'm on my laptop getting some work done and Evan comes up to me and hands me this. "I made this for mommy," he says. I try to maintain my composure as I ask, "What is it?" Evan starts laughing and says, "It's a horsie ride!" I hope this is indicative of his blossoming sense of humor, because holy crap, I thought it was so funny.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-35165136610183308992009-08-04T15:05:00.001-07:002009-08-14T19:38:51.325-07:00

Hmmm...so the requests for a non-parenting book list have me feeling a bit ambivalent. Can I put magazines on here? Because other than that, I've done very little to stay current in the last 6 months or so and that makes me sad. But I've been busy with so many wonderful things, so that makes me happy. A real quandary is what I'm in.If I can put magazines on the list, then I highly recommend

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-62111147615971889752009-07-30T17:47:00.000-07:002009-08-06T17:35:37.642-07:00

Please see end of post for a note about "On Becoming Babywise"Since so many of you have requested a book list, here it is. These are just the books I'd recommend, not the books that innocent trees unjustly lost their lives for. And since Amazon has such extensive reviews on almost all of these books, I've just included an IMO blurb on each one. Yes, I've read all of these books. And my Wish

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-60300636658973332472009-07-28T17:50:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:49:30.816-07:00

Since becoming a mom, I've learned to be even less judgmental than before (I try, anyway...I am only human!) as I have found myself in many a situations where all I could do was hope that other moms were cutting me some slack. Recently, I was the mom at the park with a kid in fleecy footie pajamas...and it was blazing hot that day. But by golly, he wanted to wear them and by golly I was going

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-74033527684382180082009-07-24T21:47:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:45:41.821-07:00

In my on-going pursuit of parental knowledge, I recently read "Mother Styles" by Janet Penley. Let me tell you, it was well worth the time and energy. I highly recommend it to mothers who want to understand themselves a little better or who are dying to take a Cosmo-type quiz but find the "Are you a tiger in bed" quizzes not quite germane enough. Ever wonder why you do or say some of the

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-20777158954841680262009-07-23T11:35:00.001-07:002009-07-23T20:54:53.008-07:00

As I sit on the potty with nary a square in sight, I open the cabinet under D's sink, doubtful yet naively hopeful, that on a day like today, someone, somewhere will take pity on me and that there will be a single, solitary roll of tp just waiting to be lovingly and needfully unwrapped. I lean over, reach around the door and move the bottle of mouthwash. Nothing. I clumsily knock the can of

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-48913065778764234022009-07-21T20:59:00.000-07:002009-08-14T19:50:41.361-07:00

Be warned: if you are squeamish or are of delicate sensibilities, do not read any further.Being pregnant is unlike any other experience I've ever had, and I've lived a jam-packed life. When I was pregnant with E, I was one of those annoying women who actually liked being pregnant. I was skipping through tulips, rainbows and lollipops, the whole nine. Even the side effects weren't that bad.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3285935427567155097.post-74915164784181318682009-07-21T20:06:00.000-07:002009-07-21T20:41:24.831-07:00

So many people have told me that I should write a book, that I should blog, that I should do something. As if I spend my days sitting around with my thumb up my ass. As if I need one more excuse not to vacuum. As if I need one more thing to become totally obsessed with. Oh well, here it goes.Fittingly, my first post will be about E and how he, at not quite two, has begun to talk shit on us.

nejhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16847088250687320006noreply@blogger.com1