Waiving the Red Flag

That's it. I'm done. Winter has officially beaten us all. Little W was in Children's Hospital most of last week with pneumonia. Little H is endlessly snotty and I am recovering from strep, tonsilitis and a sinus infection, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Nothing was scarier than how sick W was before his Dr sent us to the emergency room. The kid was a rag doll. I thought I was done with W in hospitals for a few decades.
He's home now and convalescing nicely. Trying to get him all better in time for his birthday party. Fingers crossed!

Nor'Easter? More like Bore'Easter

Here's comes the next overly hyped megastorm. Good thing we're all still sick and ready to stay in the house the whole weekend. 
Now Little H is down for the count with a bug just annoying enough to keep him up and crying all.night.long and clinging to me in tears all day. I love a good cuddle day, but not when it's accompanied by screaming. I thankfully, finally got him down in his crib for a nap and when I came down, W was watching a cartoon (lay off, super mom, it's cold and raining and he played his little heart out all day). I took advantage of the serenity and started to clean up the impossibly huge mess in my kitchen from heaven-knows-where and after a few minutes, I heard snoring in the living room. W had fallen asleep watching tv. I quietly switched the tv off, turned off the light and laid a comfy blanket over him. It was such a quiet, intimate moment between us. I tried to soak it up as much as possible. I wanted to curl up in the chair with him, in the blanket, but that would have roused him and he would have gone back to dinosaurs versus Buzz Lightyear again (fyi: the dinos win every.single.time). So my moment of motherly zen was fleeting. But it was just enough to erase all of the mayhem from a sick H and snot covered hoodie and unholy messy house. Thanks for centering me, little guy. You're the best.

Do you ever have moments like that? Where the rest of the world melts away and it's just you, completely in the mothering zone?

How Do You Celebrate Valentine's Day?

It's almost Valentine's Day. We've never done much to celebrate it. We're of the annoying "I celebrate my love to you every day" ilk. But really, do we? Most nights, we clean up after the kiddos, pop on the DVR and stare at our iPhones for an hour before I slog sleepily off to bed and he works from home for an hour or two. I mean, we fully appreciate each other's presence, but we're both usually spent from our days and ready to veg out. I guess that's not really expressing our undying love on a daily basis, but for now, it'll have to do. These kids poop us out.
So while we won't go out to a fancy restaurant or buy each other expensive gifts or enjoy a Love Toilet, we'll maybe sit on the same side of the couch and snuggle a big more, or fold the laundry together or something super romantic like that.
Oh, and I bought myself flowers yesterday. Romance!

Cooking with kiddos

We're all hacking up lungs today. So early on, I decided I wouldn't be changing out of my pajamas. I put the kiddos in comfy clothes and we hunkered in for a quiet day at home. Ok, so quiet isn't exactly the right word. A rambunctious day at home, more like it. I was expecting a good nap out of H because he's been snotty and snuggly so I started to plan something quiet to do for W and I during H's nap. I knew if I had to listen to Toy Story one more time, my head would explode. So I started flipping through my William's Sonoma Kids Cookbook. I got it for W a few months ago. It's a bit old for him, as he can't read or operate a stove. But one day, I know he'll love the recipes in there. For now, he's just my little sous chef. We chose a recipe based on the ingredients we had in the house, cinnamon swirls.
We rolled the puff pastry and spread the sugar with our hands. Messy cooking is the most fun, says W. Then W jumped up and down as I rolled the pastry up into a log and cut it, and placed the pastries on the cookie sheet.

 This recipe was great for a three year old because it only took 5 minutes to make and ten minutes to bake. By the time I cleaned off the cutting board, they were ready.

We gobbled up way too many of them. I'm kind of ashamed of myself, really.
These snacks are completely void of nutritional benefits, but whatever. The kids had a kale smoothie (sshhhh... they don't know there was kale in there) for lunch, so I'm not sweating it. And really, I think the benefit of cooking with Mom outweighs the butter and sugar he inhaled. I hope he always loves cooking with me. It's such a great way to spend time together and it helps reinforce the importance of every day mathematics and following instructions.
Today, a kid's cookbook. Tomorrow, Mastering the Art of French Cooking!

Holy Sleet, I'm Bored

It's another snowy/sleety/rainy day in these parts. So I've written today off as a lazy day at home, doing puzzles and watching movies with the boys. They played nicely by themselves for about 45 minutes in the next room, so I was even able to catch an episode of my boyfriend, Tony's show, The Layover. Parenting!

I'll be stepping on blocks and books and dinosaurs all day today. But you know what I won't be doing today? Going onto Pinterest for "rainy day" ideas for toddlers and preschoolers. Because you know what? All that horse sh!t is just a lot of flipping work for mom. I made cloud dough once for W and blargh! I was cleaning slippery flour off my kitchen floor for days. And my house smelled sickeningly of baby oil all day. I wanted to ralph. So, I won't be filling a bag with finger paint and taping it to my door. I won't be making any more god forsaken cloud dough. And I won't be making an indoor mini sandbox with rice. My kids can rot in front of the television, thank you very much. Screw you, Pinterest! I free myself of your vice grip. I will be a god-for-nothing, lazy parent today. Ole!

I will NOT be making any more f@&king cloud dough.

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Speaking of lazy parenting, I'm currently reading an excellent book. I haven't read many general parenting style books. I can recite the Essential Guide for Parents of Preemies and You Can Adopt, but that's where my parenting research kind of fizzles out. I perused The Happiest Toddler on the Block for a while, but it seemed so far fetched to me. Like, for robot parents. Not parents who have lazy days. Then I found the book I'm currently reading and I just fell in love. It's called The Idle Parent, by Tom Hodgkinson and I think it might have been written just for me. It's magic in type form. Teaching kids to 'just be' and sitting back to let the magic happen is my kind of parenting style. Please, check it out if you're like me and just want to let you kids be free range from time to time so you can sit back and watch No Reservations while snarfing a Diet Coke float for lunch. 

Some of the key points in his idle parent manifesto are:

• We pledge to leave our children alone
• We reject the idea that parenting is hard work
• We drink alcohol without guilt
• We lie in the bed for as long as possible
• We read them poetry and fantastic stories without morals
• We reject the inner Puritan
• We try not to interfere
• We both work as little as possible, particularly when the kids are small 
• There are many paths    

Sounds pretty ok, doesn't it? Coming from a childhood where I suspect my mother was a so-called "helicopter parent," it only make sense for the pendulum to swing back the other way. Not sure if this is your bag or not? You know this book might be for you if any of the following are true:

• You're happy letting your kids run free at the playground while you play Words with Friends on the bench
• You let your kids climb up the slide the wrong way, even while other moms are screaming at their kids for the same apparent atrocity
• You wait for the mother at the birthday party to finish her story about how cake is a big deal because at home, they mostly eat BULGAR, then tell her happily that sometimes you let your son walk to the bakery to eat a cupcake for lunch.
• You calmly wait for a howl after a large crash before you get up to see what or who is broken. 
• Your baby proofing begins and ends at plugs in electric sockets and an upstairs gate.
• You don't shelter your kid from good music, just because there's cursing in it

Check it out. It's a good thing. Also a good thing? The aforementioned Diet Coke float I just made to wash down my lunch. Yessiree, today's shaping up to be an ok day.

...In Which I Find Some Time for Me

Confession, ya'll: I pluck my eyebrows in the car because it's the only place I have to do so. And I only do it about once ever six weeks. So... yeah. When I paint my nails, I text pictures of the event to my friends. Just today, I took ten minutes to master the art of sock bunnery and was so proud, I texted it to the friends I knew would feign interest. Taking time to do things for myself is very, very low on my list of priorities (and I don't consider sitting on the stool in the kitchen, pinteresting on my iPhone while hiding from the kids "me time"). But that's something I'd like to change this year. The kids aren't in a constant state of AAAAACK anymore and I think I've got this mom-of-two thing down a bit more and I'm ready for a little Summer of George.

Damn tight sock bun, son. But worthy of mass text? Really? Also, judge not the walls. It was that way when we moved in (ahemfouryearsago).

I'm not gonna like, liposuction my double chin and lay around eating bon bons or anything looney like that.  I just want to do more things for me. Like remember to pluck my eyebrows more than once every six weeks. Or start saving for a new bathroom so I don't have to pluck in the car anymore <insert wishful dream bubble>.
This weekend, I'm supposed to go out with a friend to celebrate her divorce which by definition, means a hangover will be involved. So that's cool. Last weekend we actually got a sitter and went out with friends. Or I'll paint my nails more - and when they start to chip, I'll take the time to actually remove the paint instead of looking like a 14 year old girl for a month. Or I'll make shaving my legs in the shower such a commonplace affair, that I can stop announcing it, proudly.

Sometimes I feel like the only mom who can't hold her shit together. But I can't be, right? Surely there are other women out there who feel the need to document when they take the time to learn how to jam a sock in their ponytail, right? Right?

Trying to Understand the Unthinkable

Ive been crying a lot recently. I don't live near Sandy Hook. I don't know anyone affected. But I'm a mother. And apparently, that's all it takes to be shaken to the very core.  My babies are nearly four and freshly one. We're not in elementary school yet. But even so, when I send W off to preschool twice a week, I never think twice about his safety. Might he get hit or bitten or trip down some steps? Sure. Might he be blown away by a semiautomatic weapon? Gee. Never even gave it a thought. I try my hardest not to think about those babies' final moments. I try not to look at their pictures online. I try not to watch or read the news. Not because I want to pretend it didn't happen. But because I simply can't function once I've imagined the fear and pain they felt - and the pain their families will feel for the rest of their lives. Every time I catch wind of it online or on tv, I break down into tears as painful and fresh as when the story broke. And as the world mourns, there's nothing we can do to help. During a plague or natural disaster, we can donate time or money or supplies. But when twenty babies are viciously and senselessly wiped from the planet, there's nothing anyone can do for the grieving families. And not being able to help is a terrible feeling.

In the wake of all of the violence, the talking heads are screaming into the wind. Was it the lack of gun control or lack of mental health assistance in our broken health care system? The chicken or the egg? Who knows. All I know, is that someone with some of the issues this young man had should not have had easy access to weapons. Machine Guns.

My mind is off in a thousand directions and it's hard for me to form coherent thoughts. All I can say is that none of this makes any sense. How could anyone be so sick? How could anyone look at a six year old and shoot them with a gun? It just doesn't make sense to me. So until it does, I will continue to cry for everyone involved.

I can't help the victims or their families. I can't make a donation or send supplies. But I can learn a lesson from all of this. Life is fleeting. You don't know how long you have, so you have to make the most of every minute. Before this shooting, W and I were in a bad place. He was constantly pushing my buttons and I was yelling. A lot. tears and yelling were an hourly affair. Then the shooting happened and I saw my babies in a completely different light. What if they were taken away from me suddenly and our last interaction was tears and yelling? I would be haunted with that forever. So I've been very careful about how I chose to handle situations. He's three. He's not going to be perfect. Do his actions really warrant that negative of a reaction from me? How else can I handle this situation? Life is short and I love my little babies endlessly. I can't reform gun control, I can't cure mental illness, I can't treat all the world's mental illness. But I can be the best mom I can be for my babies for as long as this big, blue marble permits me.

Go the Eff to Sleep!

A few weeks ago, Walt started refusing to stay in bed after we put him down for the night. He'd get up and just stand in the hallway over and over until about 11pm. We tried Nanny Jo's method of wordlessly plopping him back into bed. We tried yelling at him, we tried ignoring him, we tried taking toys away. Nothing works. I know it's just a phase but it's starting to annoy me. Ok, it's way past "starting" to annoy me. I'm totally irked by it. Neil and I feel like we don't get a single drop of time to ourselves day after day. It's wearing on us. Every time it happens, he knows there's no cartoons the next day and I will take his most prized toys, his wooden train set away. It still doesn't stop him - even though he's heart broken when he comes downstairs in the morning and his trains are gone.

Through this punishment, though, something magical has happened. He's only had one day over the past two weeks where he's been allowed to watch cartoons. And you know what? He doesn't miss them at all. He barely even asks me for them. He's like a recovering addict. Before this punishment routine began, if he went a day without watching Pocoyo, he'd be frothing at the mouth. But now, he could care less if he watches anything at all. I use to pop a cartoon on when I put H down for his naps so I didn't have to worry about W getting into trouble or hurting himself. But now that that's not an option, I come back from rocking H to sleep and W is curled up in a chair with a book, pretending to read. It reminds me of the end of the Cable Guy when the cable goes out and people rediscover life outside of tv. It's not like he was glued to the tube all day. But he definitely watched his fair share of cartoons.

So while I hate that we're still fighting the fight over bed time, I love that he's using his imagination 100% of the time during the day. He no longer tells me that he's bored (where on earth did he learn that, anyway?). He can just sit down with some cars or trains ad piddle away quietly for hours. I couldn't be happier.
Speaking of bored, how spot on is Louie CK? I'm so in love with him right now.

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Since none of our punishments are working, I'm faced with one last ditch effort. And it's a very scary one for me... no. more. napping. Gah! We'll see how it goes. When did your kids stop napping?

I think I'll be getting this book for Neil for Christmas, this year.

Ode to the Second Child

Little H is eleven months old now. How that happened, I can't fathom. He's been home with us for eight months, but it feels like a lifetime. He has the funniest little personality and knows what he wants. Thank goodness what he wants is to tail around behind his brother. Because that's all he gets to do. We're either taking his brother to and from school or play facilities, keeping him from eating his brother's toys or being pummeled by his brother (playfully, of course).  He is truly the second child. Give him a view at the front door and a toy to chew on and he's set for twenty minutes.

I finally noticed him signing "milk" a few weeks ago. I thought he was waving to me as I was helping Little W build a train track... but here he was patiently asking over and over again for milk.  Helloooooo negligent mother! I was so happy to see him using words to communicate, I nearly forgot to give him the milk he asked so nicely for. D'oh.

This breakthrough got me thinking. I taught Little W so many signs. But as I sat with H and his requested milk, I couldn't remember a single one. What else was I forgetting to do with H that I did with W? Once W was home and healthy, I fretted over every milestone and taught him so much. I read Leaves of Grass to him as an infant, for flip's sake. By the time he was eight months old, I had read all seven Harry Potter books aloud to him (ok, I read them for myself but I read them aloud so I could read while he was awake. Remember, we couldn't take him anywhere that first winter, to protect his premature lungs from germs so I was climbing the walls). I taught him about 12-15 signs and gave him baby massages almost daily. He had every developmentally appropriate toy on the market.

Exhibit A: Here I am photographing him leaping off of the couch, head first, onto his brother's fort instead of trying to catch him.

I've caught him doing things I would have never let Walt do at his age. He tries (and succeeds on rare occasion) to sneak up the steps. He has gotten away with eating dog food. He prefers to play with wooden spoons and remote controls and dog ropes and the front door rather than developmentally appropriate baby toys.

What's that Henry? You want a baby treadmill? Say no more. I'm sure the 50 year old stadium seat (possibly full of asbestos) will soften your fall. Just try to fall to the left, please.

I wonder if I'm not so far up H's butt simply because he's the second child and my hands are more full, or because I'm a weathered parent and I realize that it's really, really hard to break a baby. An attentive, loving parent really has to work hard to mess a baby up..Especially Little H. He's built like a brick sh*t house. He'll still be a smart, independent member of society even though I didn't read Walt Whitman to him as a six month old. I'm nearly sure of it. But just in case I'm wrong, I'm going to set time aside to read to my little guy some more. And I'm going to teach him all the signs that I taught Walt. Maybe he'll learn them, maybe he wont. But the point is, I'm spending my time engaged with him. I may still find him crashing through the gate and tearing ass up the steps. I might still catch his brother playing way too rough with him. I may still let him play slam-the-front-door-against-the-wall for twenty minutes every evening so I can prepare dinner. But it doesn't mean I love him any less than my first born. It just means I'm a mom doing the best I can. Yeah, ok. I'll go with that.

I'm Told it's Ok to be Happy...

We met our birth parents today. We liked them and they liked us (*phew*) so it was deemed a success. We're going to get together again on Monday at a park by them so we can meet the baby and some of their immediate family members. I can NOT wait to meet this little dude. I'd like to say that I'll be graceful and respectful. But I'll probably dissolve into tears over love for the baby and grief for the birth family. I better stock up on stoic pills that morning.

 We were told by our agency's social worker at the end of the meeting that we really have no reason to expect another disappointment. I'm trying very hard to hang onto those words. I'd love to be more excited and less nervous. Luckily, placement is going to be soon. Our social worker thinks it'll be early next week, definitely by Wednesday. And they're probably going to sign in NJ which means we can simply go home after placement. That would be divine! Dang you interstate compact bureaucracy bologna.

I'm so totally in love with my house full of boys. Boys are just the best.

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I'm trying to enjoy all the almost-baby giddiness. I really am. It's still hard. At least I'll have one less thing to worry about soon. Friday is my last day of work. I love my company. I love my work friends and my employee discount. I'm highly tempted to bust out the credit card and grab this mushroom I've been eying for a year before my discount goes away. Stupid ridiculously overpriced completely useless but covetable mushroom pouf.

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But I digress. I'm going to miss my job and more importantly, I'm going to miss working - bringing home some bacon for the family - contributing. I know raising two kids is no small feat, but it's not the same as providing. I'm sure I'll be singing a different tune come Memorial Day when our town's pool opens up. Hello beach and hello pool. Muahahahaha...

So, that's where we stand. Hopefully Neil and I can sneak away this weekend to watch the Hunger Games (nerds!) before it's all baby all the time.
Keep your fingers crossed for us. We're not out of the woods yet... but we're getting close. I can almost smell baby head from here.

One Thing at a Time

Move over, darling husband and adorable son. I have a new love in my life. And his name is Mucinex. DayQuil (my former lover) can suck it. I forget important things like blinking and stopping at traffic lights when flying high on the big orange Q. But Mucinex? Oh that stuff is delightful.
Little W was out of commission for a week with a fever and ridiculous cough. It was breaking my heart to see him so sick. You think he'd return the empathy to me now that I'm on my death bed? Noooooo way. Kids are heartless that way. One more day of nonstop cartoons won't kill him, I suppose.
It's two weeks until opening night of the musical, so I'll likely see no empathy from my rehearsal schedule, either.
No rest for the weary.

In cheerier news, the baby stuff is coming along nicely. He has a dresser and it's chock full of clothes. I borrowed 20 gallons of newborn-3 month clothes from a friend this weekend, which was a lifesaver. So we're set. The diapers and linens are washed and in the drawer, the clothes are washed and organized by type and size (crazy much?) and the emergency gotta-run baby hotel stay bag is packed.

We still haven't gotten word when we're meeting D&A, the birth parents. Which is causing more than a little shpilkes and agita. But I'm going to remain in my zen frame of mind. If this baby is meant to be ours, he will come home with us. And if not, then we'll mourn the loss and move on. Because our little person will still be out there and we'll be ready for him or her. See? Don't I seem peaceful and content with the situation? I'm remaining peaceful, dangit!! Peaceful!

If I even begin to think about the work scheduled to be done in the kitchen next week (then the week after that we'll be without a countertop) or the musical's opening night in two weeks, my whole peaceful bubble is going to pop. One.Thing.At.A.Time. And now W's hand-me-down monster cold on top of everything is the mucousy icing on the cake. Thanks, little man.

Today will be full of tissues, hot tea, cartoons for W, packing up the kitchen for the eminent work being done, OTC deliciousness, and trying to make myself presentable enough to get changed in front of my cast mates for our first rehearsal in costumes. But first, I think I'm going to curl up in the fetal position on the couch for a few hours.

One Ringy Dingy

Well hot diggity... We got The Call.
The woman who was checking out our profile last week chose us. We're over the moon excited about this turn of events. So much so, I'll be recapping the last 36 hours in bullet form.

- I was at work when I got the call. I ran over to my boss because I had to tell her before I could get on the phone and make enough noise out of my mouth hole to tell Neil the news.I toyed with the idea of breaking the news to him in a big reveal type style. But that's not really how we roll. So I picked up the horn and told him point black.

-We ran right over to our agency's office and jammed a cheeseburger (bribery of choice this week) in front of Lil' W to keep him content while we signed all the paperwork. We read all about D, the birth mother and learned all about her. I took an immediate liking to her. I can't WAIT to meet her! We also learned that I will be completely and utterly outnumbered as the only female (human) inhabitant of out house for quite some time. It's another awesome little boy for us!

- I swear I'm not lying when I say I felt an instant connection with this woman's story. From the moment we were asked if we wanted to be shown to her, I knew this was our situation.. I don't believe in signs, but I do believe in feelings and I just had a feeling - deep in my spine. This was the first situation that we were informed of that I really got my hopes up for. And lookie how it turned out!

- We went public with this information pretty much right away.We partially fear (as I'm sure everyone does at this stage in the game) that she'll change her mind and we'll have to un-tell everyone. But you know what? So What?!?! We were robbed of so many happy big announcement moments with W's scary birth. So we're reveling in the good and hoping for the best. If she does change her mind, we'll be supportive and happy for her and her beautiful baby boy. And yes, I'll un-tell all the people I told with my head held high.

- Baby Boy 2.0 is due mid-March (approx 47 days away, if you're counting) so we're in zomgscramble mode now. Yes, I said ZOMG. Deal.

- This weekend will be a whirling dervish of Home Depot and Ikea and Target and Babies R Us. And I'm loving every second of it. If I could run up and down the street screaming at the top of my lungs, I would. In fact, I'm surprised how cool and collected I've been on the outside. The inside is a mess of nerves and emotions and I need to drink more wine to settle things down. *gulp*

I'm sure I'll be back with more complex feelings and ideas and really deep thoughts a little later, but right now, this best explains how I feel:

Human Resources

I've been reading a lot of articles recently about moms tearing each other apart for any number of issues (stay-at-home vs working, home school vs public vs montessori, potty training, diapering etc...) and I just need to get it out there that it drives me insane. I partially blame the internet. It gives people with nasty 'tudes the ability to berate anyone and everyone for little reason, all from the comfort of their couch. It's the same thing that gives someone insane bravado-induced road rage, I'm sure. And it makes me insane. Maybe it's my inner hippy, but why can't we all just get along (man)?

I once overheard two mommies at the playground heatedly arguing (yes, arguing) over who's almonds were more organic. Arguing.over.a.snack. I mean, come on ladies. Let's retract our claws and let each other slide a little. I also read some comments on a Huffington Post essay where a mom mentioned her four year old still wore pull ups to bed because he was still working on overnight potty training. And holy moses. You'd have thought she proclaimed she was aiming to raise the next Hitler, the way people pounced on her. More than a few people out and out called her and her son retarded. Jeeze!

I just keep picturing that scene from Mean Girls when the girls are making all kind of wild cat noises and lunging at each others' throats. It's a jungle out there and we're tearing each other to pieces.

When in the office or a professional environment, I doubt these mean moms rip their coworkers apart. So what is it about mommy-world that makes people go insane? Is one's penchant for making other moms feel like failures just a litmus test for their own insecurities? Or do some moms really think that they have a right to be a buttinski on other people's parenting? Who is anyone to tell another hard working mom that she's not raising her kids right? What nerve.

Maybe the only thing keeping these mean moms from going berserk at work / in the real world is the fact that they have an HR department (or authority) to answer to. If they walked up to another woman's desk in the office and told her she was putting apostrophes in the wrong places then swiped all the paper off her desk and cracked the keyboard over her knee, mean mom would surely have to take a trip up to HR for a little talk. Or if mean mom was at the doctor's office getting a mole looked at and told the doctor that his exam room wasn't feng shui and upturned everything, she'd have some splainin' to do.

We can't very well organize an HR department for all of motherdom. But we can try to install a little HR in the back of our brains. Next time you find yourself forcing your point of view at another hard working mom, or next time you feel the need to vocally (or type-illy) berate another mom holding it together the best way she knows how, take a minute to check with your inner HR department. And maybe keep your nasty comment to yourself. Afterall, let blah blah blah that casts the first stone blah blah glass house be judged - or whatever that saying is.

Racism in America from a Completely Different Point of View

Today is a day set aside to celebrate Martin Luther King's legacy and it really has me thinking this year. Baby #2 is going to be African American or biracial so I've been stewing over things I don't have to think about as much with W. I mean, of course we'd teach both of our kids about Dr King and his dream that one day, people would be judged by the content of their character and not the color of their skin. But I'm wondering how it will make them feel, and if those feelings will be different for each child. Will #2 worry about being judged by the color of their skin? And if so, will I, as a mother be able empathize properly with them?
I know when I think of the Jim Crowe laws and segregation and how recently they were present, I feel sick and ashamed that one human collective could treat another so terribly.

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 But how will it make #2 feel? Will I ever be able to truly empathize with them? Identify with their feeling? And how do I protect them from racism that still exists today (seriously people, it's 2012)? If  I can't shield them from it, I have to prepare them for it and give them the tools to rise about it with grace. Will I, as a white person be able to adequately do this? Sometimes I fear that I take too much for granted or block out too much hate with my rose colored glasses.
Can I teach #2 to simply ignore racism? I don't think so. Sometimes it's prevalence knocks me off my feet. Just the other day, we were outside talking with an older man from the neighborhood and he was telling us a story about a family that happened to be biracial and he called the children "lil' creamies." We both gasped and rolled our eyes at him, but he just went right on with the story like it was nothing.  The truth is, there is no protecting #2 from most situations because it's completely omnipresent.

I mean seriously... how insulting is this?!?

All we can do as parents is help our babies to learn that  it's the content of your character that matters, and not the color of your skin. And if they run into someone who sees color as a reason to think less of you or make fun of you, they're... well, they're big dummies and should be stamped as evolutionary throw-backs (ok, so maybe that's just adding to the problem a little). I think I better take a hard look at the path I plan to take as the parent in a multi racial family.

It's not my job to change the minds of people who see color first and judge based on stupid stereotypes. It is my job to make sure my children understand that some people think this way, and that it's not right. Do I teach them to ignore it, raise their chins and rise above? Or is that too passive? Is it ok for my children to just turn their cheek to someone saying racist things? I think it is. As long as they know that it is always safe to bring those hurtful things to me so we can discuss what they mean and why someone might say them.

What do you think? I need a little sage advice on this topic. I tend to obsess about things out of my control.
If anyone is reading this... throw your two cents my way.

Stinky Habits Die Hard

I am at a loss. Little W is doing so well with his potty training. He loves peeing on the potty and even wakes up dry several mornings a week. But that's about as far as it goes. The kid poops himself (sometimes two or three times) every day. Every.dang.day. I'm so tired of cleaning the poop up. And I'm at a loss as to how to get him to do it on his potty. He knows that poop's supposed to go in the potty. But he makes zero attempts to put it in there. Grumble. I'm at the point where I'm considering something like taking a toy away when he blatantly makes zero attempts to make it to the potty. I know that goes against EVERY piece of advice in the world. But no amount of rewards seem to sway him (seriously... ice cream sundaes for breakfast, people).
Any pointers from you seasoned veterans? Was your kid scared to drop his deuce in the potty as well?

W and I sing this song all the time. So he gets it. He just doesn't care. He's such a boy.


  Over the Rhine as heard on WXPN's Kid's Corner,
 This song kills us and it's so catchy. So be careful, you'll likely be singing it to yourself in the market or in the kitchen at work. If you ever have a chance to check out Kid's Corner on XPN, you should. It's very easy to listen online. They even have an app so you can listen on your mobile phone. It's a great kid's program. We listen every night at bath time. We're big fans, if you can't tell.

From the Mouths of Babes

Little W is still sick and relegated to the couch. But the only way to keep him convalescing quietly is to rot his brain with cartoons which I'm not too keen on, but it's a small victory. He was just fully engulfed in Dinosaur Train (which I actually really like) when he kind of stopped staring slack-jaw at the tv, walked over to me and said (not quite so eloquently) That Buddy doesn't look like his brothers or sister but they're still a family. It was actually was more like, "Buddy's orange and Tiny's green and they're sisters." So I might be making a stretch in my assumption that he fully grasps the idea that family comes in all forms and love is love, regardless et cetera, but it doesn't matter. He has melted my weary heart into a big, sloppy puddle. Anyone have a mop?
*sobs*

Thank you, Dinosaur Train

OH GROSS

I recently had the WORSTTHINGEVER happen and I feel I need to share. I can't be the only person this WORSTTHINGEVER has happened to. I'm hoping someone out there has the courage to speak out and let me know I'm not alone in my suffering.

I'll cut right to the nuts and bolts of it. I was doing a load of diapers in the wash*. A task I've done every day** for a long frickin' time without issue. I removed the soaker inserts from the diaper. I have this routine down to a very hygenic science. I remove the soakers (there's two of them and they're attached by snaps) by their tag. I hold the diaper in one hand and the soakers in the other. I use the diaper to unsnap the soakers from each other and toss all pieces in the washer. It's fast and my hands stay clean. Everyone's happy. Well, it's a one man job. So I'm happy. Whatevs.
So the other day I was going about my business. I was down to the last diaper. Seeing as Little W is doing a super job on the potty... I'm only washing diapers every 3 days, roughly. So this last diapers was old and wet and cold and stinky. I pulled the inserts out and pulled them apart. But I must have been doing it with extra gusto because the large, wet, cold soaker flew back and smacked me square in the face.
I can't even talk about it without dry heaving. So stinking gross. I washed my face like a maniac for a very long time. I may or may not have included a Clorox wipe in the cleansing process...
I'm just (endlessly) glad there was no poop on the diaper. If there were, I may not be here today to tell the story.

*We use Rumparooz and they're just the cutest things ever.

You can read a review of them here at mummies reviews

**As much as I love W's adorable diapers, I'm SO over diapers in general. We're about 40% potty trained and anxiously awaiting the last 60%.