There are milestones that occur in a child's life that are never covered by the pediatrician, and we experienced one of them tonight: the sleepover. Now, Lil' Puddin' Tater is nowhere NEAR ready to spend the night at a friend's house. But when she and the little girl next door came to me after playing for a couple hours and informed me that "Hey! Guess what! J can sleep over!" my stomach did a little flutter and I realized (perhaps even more than her first day of school) that my wee one, my first born, is growing up.

Of course, she being my first born, my Lil' Puddin' Tater, I should have known that the evening would not go as I planned. Everything began well enough, with the requisite pizza for dinner, then playing, then a movie before going to bed. We made up the couch in gnome sheets, with a girl at each end and lots of fluffy covers. We made popcorn, and I had to tell them a thousand times to be quiet. I went into my bedroom and told D that the midgets in the living room were to be sleeping in 45 minutes. Deviance from this would be acceptable (I'm not some wretched mother) as long as they stayed on the couch. Talking, giggling, etc. were all acceptable behaviors.

Then the shit hit the fan, and I feel like a tool for being blindsided by it. Ok, first a little background: Friday nights are "Girls' Night" in the house with the blue door. Midget 2.0 goes to bed, D is working or out with friends, and LPT and I stay up late and watch cartoons (Ok, we watch Hannah Montana.) and give each other manicures and pedicures and make popcorn and talk. Most importantly, LPT is permitted to sleep in our bed, and D sleeps in hers. It is truly a Girls' Night. In the morning, we all make cinnamon rolls together and bask in the glow of momentarily being a picture-perfect family.

Anyway, when the time came for LPT to actually sleep, she kind of flipped out and wanted to sleep with me. D told her no, that she had a guest and that they could either sleep on the couch or they could go upstairs and sleep in her room. LPT started crying, quietly. I had no clue any of this was going on (maybe I dozed off?) but I heard them go up the stairs. I thought that the girls had gotten up and were going to play. I yelled "Lil' Puddin' Tater?" up the stairs. This was not the correct thing to do. LPT realized that Mom was awake and could save her from mean ol' Dad. So she really loses her shit and cries even harder, and then the inevitable happens. She coughs, then pukes on the floor of her room 4 times. At that point, I hauled her into the bathroom, where she threw up again, in the toilet. D took J home and I got LPT in the tub because she had vomit all up in her hair.

Yes, I hate cleaning up puke. Yes, it still reeks up there. (washing the room down with vinegar is tomorrow) And as soon as I had everything cleaned up and had successfully gotten LPT to sleep (7 minutes! a new record!) and had gotten back into my bed with a book, Midget 2.0 realized that it was his turn. Luckily, that was a brief and not-stinky endeavor. But there's a part of me that is a little bit happy that LPT isn't quite ready for sleepovers yet. I get to hold on to my girl for a while longer.

AND! Reading Rainbow, one of the staples of my childhood and near the top of my list of Favorite Kid Shows, is over. Let's sing the song one last time, and I know that you all know the words:

I have decided that I'm going to "go green" with my lunches. I found a tutorial to make reusable snack bags here (why can't I reuse regular snack bags, you ask? Because they're thin and they rip and then it's just not worth it, and by that point I'm so frustrated I just need to sit down with a drink.) THEN I found a tutorial for a reusable sandwich wrap and got all excited. I'll post pics if I actually get around to making them. (I know myself. There have been plenty of things I was dying to make that are not in existence.) I'll also post a pic of Lil' Puddin' Tater exhibiting her disapproval of said bags and wraps. She's turned into a teenager at the age of 5, and she can be (forgive me) quite bitchy at times. Oy. And no comments about her being just like her mother, thankyouverymuch.

Going out for the best food ever tonight with the ladies. Mmmm mojito.

It's fall here. Granted, it will be 81 degrees this afternoon, but the mornings are definitely fall. I actually had to turn off the fan in my office because I was cold. Do you realize how rare this is? I don't get cold. Ever. Usually I sweat.
But! The arrival of the autumnal winds means that there are events on the horizon that will be absolutely gobs of fun: The Light the Night Walk (to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society), the St. James Art Fair (everything is incredibly expensive, but it's a lovely walk through Old Louisville and St. James Court), A's bridal shower and subsequent wedding! Of course, after that we're thrust head on into The Holiday Season and my head begins ramping up to it's inevitable explosion, usually occurring somewhere around Christmas Eve. This year, though, I get to add the task of providing snacks for Lil' Puddin' Tater's class the week before school lets out for winter break. So, let's see: 26 kids x 5 = 130 little foodstuffs and juice boxes. Jeebus.

Speaking of school, today was amazing. Last week, I was still walking Lil' Puddin' Tater into her classroom, a habit frowned upon by the administration, and rightly so: the kids get more worked up the the farther into the school the parents go. On Thursday, I spent 25 minutes trying to calm Lil' Puddin' Tater down enough to go in and sit down. Now, I am not one of those parents who "need" to leave but then continue to say goodbye for an hour, and secretly love it when the kids flip out. No. However, I am a mom who hates to see her daughter start the day sobbing with a possibility of throwing up. So I let D take her the next day, thinking it had something to do with me dropping her off. Nope. SAME THING. But today! We had a plan! We would wait in a different-from-normal spot for a friend to arrive, then they would walk in together. I was hoping this would minimize the tears, but boy was I surprised when M pulled up, got out, and LPT took her hand and said "Bye Mom!" over her shoulder as she walked in to the school. I stood there for a minute, trying to comprehend what had just happened; did this actually mean that I successfully dropped Lil' Puddin' Tater off with no consternation? No feelings of guilt? I could just leave? It was a heady experience, let me tell you.
See all these vegetables and fruits? Everything except the strawberries is what we brought home from The Farm yesterday. We picked all these ourselves. And see that big tomato in the middle? The purple-y one? That there is the best damned tomato you'll ever eat, bar none. (it's a Cherokee Purple, and I'm going to keep some seeds and see if I can grow some next year. They're that good.)

This weekend I was able to spend time with J, one of my best friends ever. We're quasi-related (my uncle won't make an honest woman out of her mom) and former roommates, so I kind of consider her a sister. Anyway, we went to the farmer's market on Saturday (a thousand noms, and one of the most influential teachers I had in high school has a booth there!) and then we spent Sunday finalizing an outfit for an upcoming interview on Friday (hers, not mine, and the job is PERFECT for her.) On Saturday she had gone with another friend and tried on an insane number of ill-fitting power suits, cursing the fact that she's one size on the top and another size on the bottom. Basically, buying off-the-rack she could have insanely tight pants and a nicely-fitting jacket, or perfect pants and a jacket that made her look like a little kid playing dress-up. On the other end of the spectrum, one store tried to put her in a short-sleeved/cap-sleeved/sleeveless suit. For an interview! Luckily, she had another friend with her who made her opinion abundantly clear to the salesperson: we don't need trendy, kthanxbai. But Ann Taylor (as always!) came to the rescue. She found a dress and jacket that don't come as a set, and I think she struck the perfect balance between appropriate attire and showing a bit ofher unique personality. Thus, I give you The JH Interview Ensemble:










And she hasn't chosen her shoes yet, but basic black pumps should do the trick. [and i swear that I am a complete tool then it comes to posting pictures. I apologize for the utter wonkiness.)

In other news, Midget 2.0 has officially become a biter. Against all better judgement he bit his sister this weekend, ON PURPOSE and VERY HARD. I'm surprised, frankly, that she didn't whack him upside the head. But there were tears all around, of course from LPT, but also from M2.0 as soon as he realized he was in T-R-O-U-B-L-E. I can't wait for preschool, when I'll get concerned phone calls nightly from parents, wondering why their Little Precious has been rendered nothing more than a teether for M2.0's purposes.

So one of the significant drawbacks (or benefits? or maybe just facts?) of working for your stepfather while having your mother provide childcare at their home is that when something unexpected comes up (like, say, your 24 year old stepbrother is ill and decides he wants to be with his father, thus rendering the aforementioned residence off-limits to ankle-biters) you have to bring one or both of the midgets into the office with you. Now, in the past, this hasn't been a big deal at all. Lil' Puddin' Tater has lots of "work" to do, and now that she can write and is learning to read, I can give her endless activities to accomplish while I do actual work and speak to actual clients. And for an idyllic, halcyon (my word of the day calendar pays off! finally!) time, Midget 2.0 could come into the office and it was truly like he wasn't even there. But, friends, that time is OVER. He's able to ambulate, get in to all sorts of trouble with seemingly innoculous objects, and yell REALLY LOUD. And he refuses to sleep. I kind of understand, because, hey, if people you like are doing potentially cool stuff, you don't want to sleep through it! You want to be in the middle! Helping!

All of this is made worse when I have to bring M2.0 in unexpectedly. Like this morning - I'm unshowered, I overslept, and my clothes need to be washed again. I feel like ass and someone turned off the a/c in my office overnight so it's humid and hot as hell in here. M2.0 refuses to drink his cow juice or sleep and is now in the boss's office and from what I can hear, he's attenpting to make phone calls while taking the heater/air conditioning unit apart, singlehandedly.

I feel like M2.0 will associate this office with an utterly bitchy version of his mother, since I'm constantly trying to keep him quiet, away from office supplies, and out of the boss's office if there's a phone call.

and I missed my coffee.

Completely wonderful filing kit from the Office of the Tooth Fairy. Apparently, these "Official Certificates of Record have increased speed and efficiency of [their] filing capabilities by 47%." Good to know that they're trying to keep costs down.

Via Poppytalk (coolest blog ever): three FREE giftwrap designs. Generosity is a fabulous thing. [And you should also check out Poppytalk Handmade, the main website, for all sorts of spiffy finds.]

30 Rock is completely ripping off The Muppet Show. Thank you, Brian Lynch.

It's dark outside today, at 10 in the morning, which gives the distinct feeling that I should not be at work, that I'm actually supposed to be elsewhere, like cooking dinner or giving the ankle-biters a bath. Speaking of cooking, last night we had a couple of friends over (D&S) and we really "put on the dog" - we had pork tenderloin and the best mashed potatoes ever (I can say that because it's not my recipe at all) and green beans, then for dessert we had Boston Cream Pie. NOMS. It's funny; when we have people over, cooking is no big thing. We do it, it usually tastes pretty good, and we clean up after. When it's just us, dinner consists of M2.0 eating some of whatever I'm having (usually cereal), LPT eats a sandwich if I can talk her into it, and D winds up making something completely gross, like hotdogs with cheese in them.

oh. my. gosh. Have you ever had one of those days when you wake up, are feeling really productive, but then hit a wall around lunchtime? (Maybe I need some Emerald Nuts...) Oy. I've had to be very conscious of the weight of my head, because it keeps gravitating to my desk. It's the kind of sleepy where if you can just close your eyes for five minutes, everything will be fine. Then you wake up two hours later, confused and probably with drool all over your cheek.

Tomorrow I'm going with the ladyfriends to try on bridesmaid dresses for A's wedding. But I'll have to make my undergarment choices carefully. I'll have to wear Spanx (naturally) and possibly wrap myself head-to toe in spandex/lycra, to create a more smooth base so that all the taffeta, tulle, satin and organza will lay more nicely and not cling to every bulge and dimple. Oy again. But, at least I'll have my support group with me, and I am completely confident that no one will let me purchase something atrocious. Right, ladies?

Had a most uncomfortable lunch today with Mother regarding religion and Lil' Puddin' Tater. I'll spare you all the gory details, but the conversation did involve phrases like, "She's my daughter. I will raise her as I see fit," "I know you think you're right, but you're so wrong," and "You're doing Lil' Puddin' Tater a disservice by not embracing this." Yeah. It was unpleasant, but I think the she got the message, and now we'll just have to slink into our respective corners and lick our wounds for a day or so. I won't lie, many things that were said stung a bit.

The new iPhone update comes out on the 17th. I am counting the minutes.

I have to say that I am quite irritated with myself for not updating this blog a bit more regularly. So, henceforth, I WILL UPDATE DAILY. I can't promise that the posts will be fantastic, or even worthy of mention, but they will be.

First up: I am sick of sippy cups. (see? I warned you...) I will be SO FLIPPIN' GLAD when Midget 2.0 is finished with them. I daresay that I would take a lifetime of bottles to sippy cups. The thing is, sippy cups (the ones that don't leak all over everything, that is) have these little valves. They're clear, with intricate little tubes etc. and they don't come apart. They get lost in the dishwasher (where do they go? no clue. probably off gallavanting with all missing socks) and if you leave a sippy cup in the car, under the seat, with juice in it for two weeks (ahem. it happens.), the valves are impossible to ever get clean again. I'm sick of them and I'll be ecstatic when they're gone for good.

Number two: I have a new car! And it's SO PRETTY. And I would advise everyone to purchase this car, because it is SO MUCH FUN to drive. Along with being fun, it's a blast to drive. And I've found that if I turn the music up really loud, I can almost forget that there are two kids in the backseat. Can your car do that? I though not. (I have the 5-speed manual sport version, which increases the fun factor threefold.)

Pet peeve of the day: Why the hell do they make unlined white linen pants at all? I got a pair at Target (very cute, cloth covered buttons and a drawstring) and when I wear them, I have to put more thought and consideration into my undergarments that into any other element of my outfit. No me gusta.

Jim is the cutest thing ever. That is all. (yeah, that one clip isn't of Jim, so I guess what I meant to say was "John Krasinski is the cutest thing ever." My bad.)

I've discovered that my average time for going without harming my car is approximately 4.5 years. When I was in high school, I had my first incident. I was coming down an icy hill, and at the bottom was a Volkswagen van, going in reverse, attempting to get up enough of a running start to get up the next hill. Well, I simply braked and my car went off to the right, nearly missing tumbling into Beargrass Creek. This ultimately cost my car its transmission. The second incident (completely my fault) was about three years later, when I went to turn left on to Bardstown Road, crossing two lanes of traffic. I pulled in front of a work van and smooshed my front driver's side. On Friday, I had my third accident, and the entire passenger side of my little Corolla was incredibly smooshed. I'm pretty sure the car is totaled, which in a way is nice, because I can get a new one. But that car has been through a lot. It's been to New Orleans (the last official trip the four ladies took together) then to Tuskeegee (a poorly-thought-out trip for which Y will never forgive me) then to Florida. It's been to Lexington more times than I can count, and has worked pretty hard these past 6 years.
Now, the window is gone, the frame is bent and there's glass EVERYWHERE. From behind, it looks like the car has had liposuction on one side - it's got half of a perfect hourglass figure.

And the completely sucky part of all this is that the police report (with all of the chick's insurance information) hasn't been processed yet, so I've got to wait until that posts before I can even think of getting a rental. And getting the children to where they need to be plus getting the two adults to work with only one car is no picnic. (this is not to say that millions of people do it every day, and without all the bitching. I'm just frustrated and complaining. so there)

And, because I don't want this post to be all gloom-and-doom, Midget 2.0 turned 1 on 30 April. I can't believe it's been a full year since his debut.

Oh my goodness. The children are killing me. Slowly. Midget 2.0 is a biter without discrimination, Lil' Puddin' Tater is becoming a teenager before my very eyes, and both of them are starting to argue with one another. Granted, Midget 2.0 usually just growls, but it's arguing in my book. AND M2.0 has morphed from pudgy/drooly/sweet thing I can carry with me wherever I go (i.e., out to lunch with the girls, running errands, emptying the dishwasher, etc.) to a little terror who tries to eat everything in sight, becomes attached to things like rocks and will not give them up for any reason, and yells. At me. Frequently. Just last night, I was trying to make sense of the kitchen, putting dishes and groceries away. M2.0 wanted to be in the refrigerator. Then he wanted the knife out of the dishwasher. Then he wanted the banana peel out of the trash can. Now, as you can probably deduce, not a single one of these activities was acceptable. So he proceeds to get stuck under one of the kitchen chairs. When freed, he plops down and begins telling me off. I stood, dumbfounded, and just took it. I'm a total wuss.

Anyway, after I put the wee angerball in bed, LPT, D and I made homemade pizza. And it went perfectly, except LPT ate almost an entire bag of shredded cheese. But she made her own little pizza and D and I made THE BEST PIZZA EVER. Here's how to do it:

Layer the ingredients in the following order:

Pizza crust (store-bought, pre-cooked)
Thin layer of olive oil, brushed on
Pizza sauce
Diced tomatoes (the ones seasoned with oregano and garlic)
Pepperoni (just a few)
Italian Cheese
More pepperoni
Ham cubes
Goat cheese crumbles
More Italian cheese
Red onion slices
Fresh Basil Leaves

Bake at 425 degrees until it looks appetizing.

My children are destroying the world.

Midget 2.0 is in a general destructive phase. He may not intend to, but the problem is that he enjoys pushing buttons - literally. If there's a remote nearby, he'll find and commandeer it, then proceed to push a button and look at the nearest piece of electronic equipment. Then he purposefully pushes another button, and looks expectantly at the object he thinks the remote should control. If he's permitted near the stereo/dvd player/receiver/tv area, he goes hog wild: each button is pushed repeatedly, ad nauseum, until he is forcibly removed, at which point he protests loudly. He has successfully unplugged and turned completely silent our stereo, turned off the tv while Lil' Puddin' Tater is watching (a very dangerous move on his part - I think he may have a death wish) and rendered useless several game controllers. If he could reach the computer, I'm certain he would casually unleash the next world-crippling virus.

Lil' Puddin' Tater, for her part, is focusing mainly on cars. Today, in the span of a single hour, she succeeded in killing my car battery, shutting the garage door on my purse, and removing the back windshield of Papa's truck, which he then proceeded to drive over and shatter. When she (finally) went inside for dinner, she knocked several items off the end table and began to play with bandage tape. She was headed for Midget 2.0 when I releived her of the offending tape and sent to the bathtub.

This is why I go to bed at 8:30 every night. And why I'm going to have gray hair sooner than later.

Blargh. Why is it that when your mother says something to you, it is fraught with so many layers of meaning, it's completely insane? For instance, on Sunday, Lil' Puddin' Tater and I went over to Mammy & Papa's house to pick up some things Mammy brought from cleaning out her mother's garage. It was lovely outside not cold by any stretch of the imagination, and I frankly didn't feel like arguing the merits of putting a coat on with LPT. So she wore two t-shirts and long capri pants. And shoes. And she was completely comfortable. But my mother, as soon as LPT gets out of the car, exclaims, horrified: "Where is your coat?" then follows that up with a fleeting glance in my direction. Now, on the surface, this is nothing. It is an adult asking a simple question to a child. However, when you peel back that simple, vanilla veneer (did I just mix metaphors?) you see the jumbled mess of emotions contained in those four little words: How could your mother let you go out in this weather and get cold? She knows you have breathing problems, and you can't convince me that the cold is harmless. And you! You're her mother, and you should make her put on a coat if it's chilly outside! I know that I get cold when it's like this, I cannot imagine how she must feel! I never let you go outside without a coat when you were little. Why don't you care more? You are not a good mother, and I would do so much better.

Now, not a bit of this is actually said, possibly not even thought outright. And perhaps I'm just making it all up, just reading too deeply. And my mother would say I was completely insane if she ever read this. And perhaps this isn't a good example. But there is something to the hidden nuances present between daughters and mothers. A tone of voice, a look, even posture all convey the slightest changes in disposition toward another person, and I think that with mothers and daughters, it's especially true.

Can you tell who I'm dealing with today? :)

Mexico.

On Wednesday evening, I arrived back in Kentucky from Cancun, Mexico. It was a lovely trip; we stayed here, and somehow were "Club Platinum" guests, which means that the hotel employees will help you get rid of a body, as long as you are wearing your platinum wristband. I got to spend uninterrupted time with my mom, and I discovered that she (and probably I as well) can be very enjoyable when she hasn't had to deal with my children all day. We relaxed, we read anything we could get our hands on, we drank to our hearts' content (all-inclusive is the only way to go) and we slept late. We also took home a bit of a sunburn, but hey, it's the price you pay. This is not to say that I didn't miss the midgets. And I really missed D. There were several couples who were honeymooning, and the king-size bed in my suite was HUGE. I spent most nights with pillows piled around me, I guess to mimic the crowded nature of the bed at home. And Lil' Puddin' Tater would have had a blast at the pool and on the beach. There was even a special "Kids' Clubhouse" right next to the pool. Maybe next time.

And really, the trip was uneventful until the last day. We were packed, breakfasted and ready to go to the airport by 11:00 am. The shuttle arrived on time, and the 30 minute drive to the airport was completely great. However, it was when we were standing in line (it was Disney-world long, I tell you) that a US Air employee made an announcement that we needed to write contact information on the back of our Immigration Stub, and have it and our passports ready when we got to the ticket counter. Since we flew in to Cancun on Mexicana Airlines, all announcements involving customs and immigration forms were in Spanish or broken English over the PA system of the plane, so if they mentioned that you needed to retain this little stub of paper in order to leave the country, I was unaware. But I didn't panic! It was 11:40-ish, our flight didn't leave until 1:40, so I thought I would just go to the information desk and clear everything up. The girl at the desk said to go to the immigration office. Ok, cool. So I leave everyone in line with my luggage, and take off. The Immigration Office is a sad little room in the back of Terminal 3, at the end of a hallway. In it is a desk, piles of boxes, and a chair. No computer, no phone. The officer sitting at the desk spoke only Spanish. So I filled out the appropriate form (designated through gestures and pointing) while she went and fetched "Josh," who could speak English. I did not care for Josh, mostly because he entered the office and confiscated my passport, then told me to go to "el banco" in Terminal 2.

Here is a map of the Cancun Airport. I was at the black dot in Terminal 3 (the orange area) when I heard this. I protested leaving my passport, making "Josh" quite displeased with me. When I realized he was serious, I walked out and took the shuttle to Terminal 2, in search of "el banco." On the shuttle, I met a group of French tourists and I swear, I have never been so happy to speak French. I verified that this was indeed the shuttle I needed to take, and that el banco was in Terminal 2. Apparently, I was being sent to pay an immigration fee of 525 pesos, and all I needed to do was bring the receipt back to the immigration office and all would be well. When I arrived at Terminal 2 (the red area - I'll explain the black route in a sec) I was offered several "extra" visas that various airport employees had on hand, for about 50 bucks. I chose to stay legal (and where did that get me?!?)and queued up at the bank. It was apparently pay day, because the line was forever long, and most of it was airport employees cashing checks. I have always heard that things move really slowly in Mexico. That is 100% correct. I stood in line for about 90 minutes. My mother found me after about a half hour, and progressively became more and more irate the closer we got to the teller window, at about 1:00 pm. (remember, the flight leaves at 1:40.) When I submitted my form (after fending off several instances of tourists in my same situation trying to cut in line) the teller looked at me blankly and said "Cash only. Sorry." My mother is gone in a flash with my check card, and I would up paying my fee in dollars and pesos. I get my receipt, and we dash outside to discover that we've missed the shuttle and it won't come back for another 20 minutes. It is now 1:10. We ask if it's possible to walk to Terminal 3. The porters who keep trying to take our bags for us assure us it will take 5 minutes. The route from Terminal 2 to Terminal 3 is the black line on the above map. It was about 3/4 of a mile, and both mom and I were running the entire way, rolling suitcases be damned. We get to teh terminal, I run to the immigration office, fill out another form and then we bolt to security. Looking back, this is where it becomes amusing.

My mother is in a panic. We have printed our boarding passes out at the hotel, so she is waving this sheet of paper in front of her while screaming "We're about to miss our flight!" and running at the security guards. When she sees that there's a line, she bypasses the line and tries to go around the guard. Naturally, this alarms the guards, and they are on high alert. They detain my mother, as she is still screaming about the flight. To their credit, they listen, then see what she has in her hand. They inform us that electronic boarding passes are not valid in Mexico. This means that we will have to stand in the hideously long line again, and get real boarding passes. At this point, it's 1:20 and there's no hope. We're going to miss our flight.

We descend the escalators and see my stepfather, standing with our luggage. My stepbrother has gone ahead and gotten on the flight we just missed, and now we have to find a seat on the next flight out of Cancun or we'll be there until Thursday. Our luck starts to look up, and we get scheduled for a flight out of Cancun at 3:20, and the US Air employee writes (not prints, mind you) the following for our flight out of Charlotte the next day: Charlotte Louisville Flight 3285 9:10. The rest of the day is uneventful, and we arrive in Charlotte, NC that evening at 8:00.

We have to spend the night there (at the hippest airport hotel ever) and we wake up early the next morning to get to the airport by 7:30. George tries to print out the boarding passes at the hotel that morning at 7, and is told that he can't since it's 90 minutes or less before the flight departure. Turns out when the Mexico US Air person wrote 9:10, that was when the plane arrived in Louisville. It left Charlotte at 7:35. At this point, I want to cry. D is getting more and more pissed, since I've told him at least twice now that I was going to be home, and then was delayed. We finagle three seats on a flight Louisville that leaves at 10. We're at the airport in plenty of time, and all is well.

Then there is fog.

The flight is delayed 30 minutes.

The flight is delayed another 30 minutes.

The flight is cancelled.

Since I'm getting tired of typing, the gist is this: we get booked on standby to Lexington and miraculously make the flight. We rent a car and drive home. I arrive after D had to go to work, around 6 ish. I vow never to travel again.

The End.

Well praise the lord that Chuck Norris is thinking about the future and what he can do. He's going to run for president! Of Texas! When it secedes from the rest of the United States! But the real question is: will he be wearing these pants at the inauguration?
This week's Modern Love requires Kleenex. I think everyone hopes their marriage (or partnership, which ever the case may be) is that strong. But to know that it is, 100%? Amazing.
And since I can't think of anything else to write, here's a video to make you smile from FotC.

It's finally (finally!) starting to get nice around here, weather-wise. Today the high is 69, and it's not going to be completely miserable at night for awhile. I wore sandals for the first time this year yesterday, and I nearly blinded myself with the pallor of my feet. Going to Cancun (6 days and counting!) should do me good.
I've had to bribe LPT to let me leave. She doesn't know exactly how long I'll be gone, but she does know that I'm leaving and thus I have had to promise presents (namely a doll and some clothing) wrapped in paper upon my return. This means that I'll be toting a roll of wrapping paper and some scotch tape (not in my carry-on though - who knows what kind of damage I could do with that serrated edge?) because I know she'll ask about it as soon as we get in the car at the airport.

So, on to the real reason for my post: INSPIRATION. I received this book in the mail yesterday (love love love Heather), and the images (and, let's be honest, EVERYTHING) in it are so lovely! Is it inappropriate to bring my sewing machine to Mexico?

Seriously?

Wow. I certainly hope this runway trend (Isaac Mitzrahi via Jezebel) doesn't catch on. And if it does, and I for some reason lose all sense and try to follow it, I certainly hope my ladyfriends will set a gal straight.

Anyway, life has been pretty quiet at the house with the blue door. I received a new washer for Christmas from D and as soon as we had it installed properly, the dryer, in a fit of jealousy, refused to function. I cajoled it a bit, and now it works - but only if I have a bungee cord keeping the door closed. If not, it pops open and spits out clothing. And yes, the bungee cord isn't the brightest idea out there and yes, it has snapped off and hurt my hand. Thank you for your concern. The feisty dryer will be replaced, just as soon as we get our tax refund back. And friends, I would just like to say that if you are in a situation in which you (a) work full-time, (b) go to school at least part-time, and (c) have two kids, the government gives you quite a few breaks.

So... I'm taking a trip pretty soon. I'm going to Cancun. And there was much gnashing of teeth and pouting on my part (long story: short version is that I wanted A to come with and the parents paying for the trip said no, essentially) but I have calmed down and am actually looking forward to some time away from les enfants. Not that I don't love and adore both of them, but waking at the ass-crack of dawn and demanding food and diaper changes can be a bit much to handle at times. D is staying home with the midgets (cue evil laugh here) and I'll have a condo all to myself with TWO BATHROOMS. I think I'll use them both, just because I can. But this trip brings up an unpleasant prospect: my wobbly bits in a bathing suit. I have a suit that I still wear, but it's a maternity suit and the bottoms don't really stay on and the top tends to balloon out as soon as I get into the water. So, I'm looking at a few things. Let me know what you think.
Option 1: a la Miranda in the Sex and the City movie. Covers all pertinent areas, cool retro vibe.

Option 2: Sporty, basic, racerback tank.

















Option 3: Something in a print <shudder> that is inexpensive.

Sorry the pics are so huge. (and, after having previewed the post, wonky.)

If only...

Yeah, it's a T-Mobile ad. But what a cool way to start the morning.

Snow!

After a truly hectic week, we are at last snuggled down comfy cozy in our own house. Why would we be out of our house, you ask? Well, let me tell you. A terrible winter storm just attacked Kentucky with absolutely no provocation. There was snow, there was a copious amount of ice covering everything, and as a result, all the trees broke and/or fell over, landing on the power lines. Now, we had a windstorm back in September where we didn't have power FOR TEN DAYS. That was not cool by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it was warm, and it's a lot cooler hanging out without power when you can open all the windows and doors and entertain the children by going outside. When it's approximately 20 degrees out, the house cools very quickly to about 47 degrees, and it's not a suitable environment for children. (ok, not really a suitable environment for adults, either, but D and I probably could have survived with sweaters and blankets and socks.) And I'll spare you the (obviously fascinating but nonetheless interminable) details, but I will say that the tale involves two adjoining hotel rooms occupied by our family of 4 plus my mother and stepfather, in the only hotel in Louisville that allows pets, followed by a two-night stay at the house of a dear friend (nay, saint!) with the most freakish-looking dog I have ever seen. Then our power came back on, and we had to deal with (a) a smelly refrigerator, (b) the residue left from frantically packing clothes (and all the crap you need for a baby) for an undetermined time period in about 20 minutes and (c) finally digging my car out from under the pile of snow and ice.

Then, when everything had settled down, it snowed. Again.

But it was not bad at all, light and fluffy, the kind of snow that's pleasant. Lil' Puddin' Tater agreed with me, though: We're all sick of snow. (but not of Rosemary Clooney!)

Is it possible for children to remember their lives as babies? I don't mean remembering specific things, like a trip to the zoo or a birthday party, but feelings or senses? Here's the poop: LPT has become increasingly clingy over the past few weeks. So much so that she's actually stressed out when I'm not around, or if I am around, not next to her or holding her. She whines, cries at the drop of a hat, and becomes a different person. Now, I know what's causing this on the surface ( I think): I'm going to Mexico in March with two of my parents and my sister and brother-in-law. D isn't going, mostly due to his crippling fear of flying. So the kids will stay with him for the 5 days that I am gone. This isn't the first time I have traveled without LPT, but it is the first time she'll stay for multiple consecutive days with her dad, in our house, with all my stuff but without me. I'm pretty sure that this is what is eating away at her.

But my mother (bless her heart) can't leave it at that, no, she has to dig deeper! She ties in how I interact with Midget 2.0 versus how I was with LPT, and how LPT watches and observes how I look at M2.0, and frequently asks if I looked at her that way when she was a baby? Now, the crappy part of all this is that LPT could, conceivably, have reason to feel slighted due to a major case of PPD I had shortly after she was born. Also, the life that D and I were etching out nearly crumbled a few times, which (obviously) caused a lot of stress. And I hate that my little girl was around and subjected to environments that weren't nice. And yes, there are and always will be significant (overwhelming?) amounts of guilt on my part, even though I got help and I'm doing just fine and dandy now. And my mother (interior designer by trade and training, psycologist and doctor by will) thinks that this is just now causing problems, causing LPT's insecurity. And there's just enough guilt on my part to indulge her, and now I don't know what to do. Do I not go to Mexico? Do I sit LPT down, all of 4 and a half years old, and explain that Mommy was really sad after she was born, but things are better now? Do I accommodate the clinginess and let her be by my side constantly? Or do I let her know that I'm here now, will always come back for her, and that she's completely safe? And how do I do that without freaking her out more? And speaking of freaking her out, how do I get my mother to stop talking about it?

Oy. I need more coffee.

Lil' Puddin' Tater loves to change things. Her clothes, furniture arrangement, hairstyle, etc. (and which parent bestowed that? hmmm...) Occasionally, she gets a wild hair (no pun intended) and decides to take care of things herself, if the powers that be are moving too slowly for her liking. Case in point: on Sunday afternoon, D caught her in the office/sewing room with my scissors and shards of orange corduroy. The rule in the house with the blue door is that LPT isn't allowed to even approach the sewing area without prior explicit permission, and even then she must have an objective - she's not allowed to pereuse and see what she might enjoy destroying. So we had a chat and I refreshed her memory regarding the rules (and she's damn lucky it was some old scraps she was cutting - there have been other times when she decided to cut the shoulder out of a dress I needed to hem, for example.)

The next morning as I was putting her hair into a ponytail, I noticed that she had a few shorter stray pieces of hair near her face. Truthfully, I didn't think anything of it. However, when I went to pick her up from my mother's house later that day, Mom pointed out that the front half of her hair had approximately three inches taken from each side, and her those portions were now in the area of her chin. (I use the word approximately because the left side is longer than the right.) So I asked her, "LPT, did you cut your hair the other day in the office with Mommy's scissors?" And she responded with, "Yeah mom [duh implied], I wanted it just a little bit shorter. It was in my way."

So today, we're going to have the other half (the back) cut to match the front, and hopefully have the shorter pieces blended in.

And I told her that if she ever does that again, we're totally shaving her head.

Man, I'm doing a bang-up job of keeping this blog going, aren't I? My apologies. I've grown unaccustomed to updating daily.

Anyhoo, since the 29th of December, we've had a New Year's Eve party where I had the wonderful pleasure of ringing in 2009 with those I hold most dear. And my husband. [bah-dum ching!] Kidding - shortly after the party (on 3 January, to be exact) D and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. Five years and all we have to show for it are two midgets and a messy house. :)

At the party on New Year's Eve, Lil' Puddin' Tater begged me to stay up to see the ball drop. And she didn't nod off even once! She's quite the hostess, and stayed up until 2 a.m. to see everyone off. We negotiated with her after that, and she was allowed to sleep in our bed with us as long as she promised to stay in bed until at least 10 the next morning. But at 8:30, she was up, and yelling for us to wake up, too. Damned kids and their desire for breakfast.

Monday morning, I took (and passed!) the exam to get my license to sell life & health insurance. And really, I don't know how much selling I'll be doing, but this enables me to legally answer questions about the products marketed here at IBP. So I'll really just be doing what I've always done, except I'll no longer be breaking the law. Yay for me!

Thursday, D and I will be going to dinner in honor of the aforementioned anniversary and then going out with some friends to see a movie. It will probably be a scary one and I'll probably scream. After that, on Saturday night, comes the REALLY fun part. Thank goodness for P's birthday!

As far as Midget 2.0 is concerned, things have been somewhat tame. He's gotten another tooth (on the top, this time) and enjoys above all sneezing while eating a banana, and spraying me with goo. Oh, and he likes to eat LPT's toys. There is much screaming on her part.