Your poop story for the day. You're Welcome.

I put the girls down for their naps before I sat down at my desk for lunch and blogging. I sighed heavily after setting my two little burdens down for awhile after a busy, busy morning at the zoo with our friends. It appears that the zoo is the place to be lately. Goldie looked tired. I felt tired.


Then I heard a chant coming from Goldie's room. Softly at first, then steadily louder until I couldn't ignore it any longer. I went outside the door trying to gain insight as to what exactly I was walking into. "Mot too" (?) "Hop Goo" (??) "HOT POOP" (!!!) Holy God. Not that. Anything but that.


So, to make an incredibly long, gross story short. There was poop. It was indeed hot. There has been a lot of pineapple eaten lately. Sheets and clothes were changed. Disinfectant was applied. Baths were taken by all concerned parties. There may or may not have been post hot poop cocktails served in the playroom.


Help.

The Hair.

When it comes to my hair, opinions are like, well, you know, and every body's got one. Rewinding a bit. I had hair over two feet long for the past 5 years or so. In that 5 years I had it trimmed and colored maybe 5 times. I wore it in a ponytail. Every day. For 5 years.

I decided about 2 years ago that I wanted to chop it off. I had such strict requirements that I thought it would never happen. I needed easy. I needed to a magician of a stylist. I needed a drink.

So after much research I found this place, where the hair magicians live. Before I got it chopped I was careful to let all of my close friends know what I was planning on doing so that no one would go all Code Blue when they saw it. You would think I had told them I was planning on cooking my children for dinner. Or worse, cooking their children for dinner. In my crock pot. Slow like. It's only hair people. Reactions varied from the enthusiastic " I LOVE IT SO MUCH!! LET'S MAKE OUT!" To the coolish "Ohhhh. You cut your hair. Wow. That's, um, a big change" to the blatant ignore tactic "If I don't mention it, maybe it will reappear." Sheesh people.

Here is a little fact sheet designed to help people still having problems digesting the hair situation.

• That "Godawful color" (thx Mom, I heart u 2) is actually my natural color.thankyouverymuch.
• Yes, apparently the trauma of squeezing humans out of my body turned my hair curly
• No, I did not get a perm. We won't go into the Great Perm Debacle of 1987, but trust that I would never willingly do that again.
• Yes, those are gray hairs you see and no I do not plan on covering them at this time.

While I appreciate all of the concern regarding my hair, rest assured that it really is the least of my problems right now. Speaking of which, I have to go check and make sure my child is not engaging in Fecal Finger painting as an Interpretive Art which is apparently all the rage this season with the 2 and under set. Ciao.

Memories

Hey Goldie! Remember that one time that you went pee pee in your potty chair and mama forgot to empty it and then suddenly all the pee was gone from the potty chair and then mama noticed that your new Beanie Baby Bear was soaking wet? They make awesome sponges those Beanie Babies.

That was almost as much fun as the time mama found your new talking Elmo floating in the cooler and you told me that "Elmo Swim!!"

Yeah, those were good times.

Open Letters

Dear Overly Cheerful Starbucks Drive-Thru Guy,

I was hoping you would get the hint before, but apparently I need to spell it out for you. GET OUT OF MY FACE WHILE I AM WAITING FOR MY COFFEE. One of the reasons I go to the drive-thru is to achieve as anonymous a coffee retrieval process as possible. It is early in the morning. Generally one or both of my children are crying. Maybe I have managed to gather a quiet 32 seconds to listen to the radio or hear myself think.

Please stop making awkward conversation. Just take my money, hand me the coffee and let me get the hell out of there. I don't like you.

Thanks,
The lady with two screaming children who won't make eye contact with you.


To the people driving on I-205 between Sunnyside Rd. and Milwakee last Tuesday,

I deeply apologize for the dance/karaoke party that was happening in my van. It was The Captain and Tennille. What was I supposed to do?

Sorry


Goldie,

If you shove all of my precious Cottonelle butt wipes down the toilet again (for the 3rd time) You may not survive until kindergarten. Because I will kill you. Let me tell you why this is so important:

1. Those fuckers are expensive.
2. I aim to have the cleanest crack in town and now I have to wait until you stop tantruming long enough to get to the store.
3. I had to reach my hand in the toilet to retrieve them after I am certain you peed in there. (See: Gross)

Loves,
Mama

A Love Letter to my Big Girl

Dear Goldie,

Today you turn two years old, and what a couple of years it has been! I woke up teary eyed today thinking about how proud I am of you. How proud I am to be your mama. Remember when you used to live in the sling?

Not so much anymore. You are such an amazing little girl. Watching you learn and grow everyday is what makes my world go around. You have a personality that sparkles and shines and you have a way of making friends everywhere we go. You are a great traveller and love to be on the go. Some days I wonder if I have created a monster because of how you hate to be stuck in the house. Yesterday we pulled into the driveway and you started crying "No! No! Goldie Go! No Home! Park!" You have a full grown personality in a little tiny body, but your charming way makes your orneriness adorable.

This year you became a big sister. All of my worrying was for naught. You adore your sissy. You help mama all day by entertaining her, getting her diapers, bringing her toys and giving mama time to take care of her. I have never seen a child who adapts so easily to change. The list of things you like goes on and on. I can hardly think of anything you don't love. Maybe being told no.
Some days are so challenging being your mama. I just want you to do what I want you to do. But you are fiercely independent and know exactly how you want things done. It drives me crazy, but we are so much alike that sometimes I feel like I can read your thoughts. Happy Birthday big girl. Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for making me want to be a better person. Thank you for being my daughter. I still can't believe that you started out so small!

I love you to moon and stars and back again my darling. I loved you before you were a thought. I love you forever. And don't you ever forget it.

Love,

Mama

Definitely Mine

Goldie is a little mimic, sounding more like her mama every day:

"Okaaaaay....Soooooooo"
"Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!!"
"Shuuuuuure"
"Okaaaaaay Guuuuys"
"Duuuude"
"Hereyago"
"Mama! 'Offee" (coffee!)

She can also reconize the Starbucks logo, that mama's coffee is always iced and daddy's is hot and she continues to be a Starvin' Marvin. Tonight at my friend's house when we were done eating dinner and in the living room visiting, she snuck back into the dining room, climbed on the table and sucked all remaining meat off of the pork chops, followed by soaking up all the juices with tortillas.

She's a charmer like that.

Proud Parenting Moment #1198

Took the family down to the Satay Hut for dinner tonight. We smugly stuffed Goldie full of satay, curry and pad thai with tofu while watching the children at the next table turn their noses up at white rice. I decided to kick up my smugness a notch by filling her plate with raw bean sprouts, lime and sliced green onions. I gloated as she shoveled the stuff into her gaping maw. What a mature palate she has!

About 10 seconds after the shoveling came the screaming. What the hell!? Turns out that the green onions? Were HOT FREAKING PEPPERS. Now that poor kid has what looks like a kool aid mustache and whimpered while we tried to convince her to try the white rice.

We are waiting for children's services to come pick her up any day now.

Reason #7859 why I love Davey

As we were getting ready for Goldie's pool party today I was trying to be very sensitive as I gently asked Davey if he felt comfortable being in a swimsuit in front of everyone. His reply was as follows:

"Body issues? I got your body issues right here. I paid like $500 bucks for this thing and you better believe my fat ass is gonna be floating in there showing off my Man Cans for the whole party. Body issues? Paleeeze."

Oh. Okay.

Setting the Bar Lower

Actual conversation this morning after David returned from an overnight trip:

Davey: I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick before we head out.

Me: Oh yeah, I should totally shower today since I can't remember the last time I did.

Silence

D: Um, I was kind of hoping that with me and Goldie being out of town you would have had some time to soak the dirt off.

Me: Well, empty hopes I guess.

This conversation coming two days after I was informed that "Maybe you should let me do the cooking for awhile." because apparently the food to hair ratio has been askew since the post-preggo hair fallout started a few weeks ago.

I also totally have hairy toes.

Do you want to make out?

The one where I pee myself

My friend Erica knows about Goldie's pooping issues and so when she came over to pick us up for a day out together she asked "So has Goldie William Shatnered herself lately?" Then I peed my pants. Like, literally. My children have not only ruined my social life, but now they have reverse potty trained me.

Date Night

My mother came to watch the girls the other night so we could have a date night. I must say that nights on the town have changed a lot since the children arrived.

Before children: Friday night Lots of money and time to burn. Little Italian restaurant. 5 courses. 2 bottles of wine. Amazing conversation. Comment on couples who aren't deep in conversation and swear to never end up like that. No actual activity needed because dinner took all night anyway so lets just get home and work on making babies.

Now: Tuesday. Meet at local bar, call Davey on my way there so he can order my sandwich so it will be ready. Cokes. Not much conversation, reading of the paper. Desperately miss our children. Finish up dinner so we can head out to a long-awaited activity. Get antsy mid-way through museum because am missing children. Get home by 8:45 and I head to bed, David to his chair.

Actually? I prefer how we do it now. It isn't that we aren't interested in each other, it is just that we have to enjoy quiet moments together while we can without the screaming "SHOE!! SPOON! GOLDIE POTTY!". We went to see Body Worlds at OMSI and it was very cool. It would have been better had I not been dodging an OBGYN that spent copious amounts of time rummaging through my nether regions a few months ago when Ruby was still on the inside. It was like the whole worlds colliding thing. There was also an exhibit that showed exactly what killed my father and that was sort of rough to see so up close.

We totally thought about going for dessert, but felt bad leaving mom out so headed off to Dairy Queen and brought home some ice cream.

I think this is what happens to old people.

The long, long Night

9:35 Tuck Ruby in 2 hours past bedtime, Go to grocery store

10:30 Return and stuff self full of goldfish crackers until glowing orange

11:00 Daily Show, very sleepy

11:31 Asleep

11:32 "Waaaaah" ok, ok, I'll feed you

12:00 Back in bed.

12:20 Tossing.

1:00 Turning.

1:15 Sweet, sweet slumber

1:28 "Waaaaah" *sigh* ok ok, one more time. Ruby sucks remaining bits of flesh off boobs.

1:57 Breach of diaper

3:39 sleeping!

4:21 "Wahhhhh!" Holy Mary Mother of God, YOU AGAIN!

5:00 Sleeping!!

5:06 " Mommy? MORNING!!! SHOE! Mommy?" Oh Hells Nah.

5:07 David, you are totally dealing with this. WAKE UP

5:15 Seriously asswipe, GET UP. Dude.

5:45 Not sleeping

6:01 Screw it, going to Starbucks

6:19 Um, hi friendly Starbucks drive-thru guy. In case you can't figure this out on your own, I haven't had coffee yet. I could not possibly care any less about what you are yammering about. Where in the hell is my coffee?

6:21 STOP TALKING AND GET ME THE FREAKING AMERICANO

6:22 Seriously

6:45 Blogging and toast

6:52 "Mommy!! Poopies!!" "WAHHHHH"

6:57 Head explodes

And on and on and on

First of all, thank you internets for all of your overwhelming support as we continue with Milk Watch 2007. Your kind (and numerous!) comments and emails mean a lot because the screaming baby? She is starting to crack my cool, calm exterior, which is no longer very cool, nor calm.

The plan, until I get more information is feeding on demand as usual, except demand is every 1/2 hour and when I can't take any more screaming, a bottle of thawed milk and pumping pumping pumping. I fucking hate The Pumping.

Thanks for your Kindness, I have to go pump and cry now.

Nickname Games

Somewhere on the road to totally stop swearing in front of my children, I started calling them Turkeys. Like gobble gobble. It is pretty much universal around here and you can use it in almost any circumstance. From, "Goldie, stop being a turkey" to "Who is my sweetest turkey lurkey?" It works. The girls are known as Turkey Pants and Turkey Lips respectively.



Today we were driving and I heard a persistant phrase coming out of Goldie. What in the hell was she chanting? It took me a half hour, but eventually I figured it out. She was saying " I Turkey! I Turkey! I Turkey!" over and over and over again. I should really check out if we have a deductible for psychiatric care. Crap.

Second Verse, Same as the First

Welcome to rantville, population 1.This does not promise to be very entertaining reading, but does promise to be long to the point of ZZZZZzzzzzzzz because OMG I swear I totally already wrote this post in 2005. The Milk. The Fucking Milk. Let me start at the beginning and you will see that I am totally being Ridiculous to the point of being Ridonkulous about this not to mention incredibly boring to anyone who is not me or married to me, in which case it is still boring but you would have to pretend to be interested for the sake of keeping your loins intact because the wife? She is obsessed. For some unknown reason, there isn't enough milk in the afternoon. I have no clue why. I seem to be about 4 oz short of what she needs. I pump. I take EVERYTHING available to help in this sort of situtation. I am still half-boob empty.

Why am I beating myself up over this? Basically? The supply-demand theory is a lie. All day I have been trying to figure out why this is so important to me. I actually tried to give her some formula today. I couldn't physically do it. I cried. She cried. I felt like a failure. I have this vision of how I want things to go starring me as some earth-mother-goddess-type whipping it out wherever I need to because the baby? She is a hungry hungry hippo. In my vision I am a Lactivist who participates in every nurse-in to promote women and babies and IN YOUR FACE HOOTER HATERS.

Reality is somewhat different. I hate hate hate (HATE!) nursing in front of people. It freaks me out. I break out in a cold sweat and am waiting for someone to glare or yell at me. I secretly want to crawl in a hole and die.

But I want to do this. For a year again. My Ruby Doobie deserves it. I don't think I am being very realistic that I won't need to supplement though. My friend St. Tanya who so kindly invited us to breakfast this a.m. thinks I am crazy and SERIOUSLY KIRSTEN, FEED YOUR DAMN BABY ALREADY. Even my LC (Hi Barb!) thinks I am crazy and is like give her a bottle if she needs it or if I feel like it. Incidentally, the charming Barb! came for a lovely dinner last weekend because if you spend a certain amount of time forcing someone to look at your boobs, dinner is really the only polite thing you can do and bruschetta is a tasty way to say that you care.

In closing. I have lost my damn mind and even though I know that this is a very small item in the long list that will be Problems With My Children, it is weighing heavily on my mind and am praying for some perspective.........*sigh*

The one where she drops the kids off at the pool

Sorry for the absence, have been busy living life instead of writing about it. All apologies. Eh Hem. At the risk of making this the official blog of poop and hooters, I have another poop story for the good of the order.

Goldie absolutely, positively will not poop on the potty. No amount of persuading, cajoling, encouraging, bribing etc. will result in a turd deposit. She will, however, beg to take a nap so she can wear a pull-up and relieve herself whilst she slumbers.

The other day I noticed all day that she was holding her sweet little buns all day. I reassured her that it was fine for her to go sit on the potty and let loose. She assured me that "mama, you are a crazy person who is obviously misinterpreting my body language. Also? You are stupid." Or maybe she just said "Noooooooooooooooooooooo." I don't really remember.

Anyway, Davey promised to take her outside in her little pool to swim when he got home from work so off they went when he hit the door. I took the opportunity to get some nursing in and the conversation I overheard went something like this:

D: Goldie, do you have to poop? It's okay. Let's go in and use the potty.

G: NooooooooooooNooooooooooooooooo

D: Oh! I guess you do have to go! Let's hurry up the stairs!

G: Wahhhhhhhhh! Nooooooooo! Daddy! Mommy!! Isssy! Shoe!

D: Honey, it's okay, let's go poop. You know, Daddy poops on the potty! And Goldie can too! Up the stairs! Quick!

Silence

D:It's okay! Lets just use this box to practice if you can't make it! Kirsten! Help! Code Brown!

Me: Dude, nursing. Boob alert.

G: WAHHHHHH! Poopie! SHOE!!

Door Opens

D: *whispered to me* um, we have a brown trout swimming in the pool.

Me: You mean she went downtown to brown town in the pool?

D: Yup. And um, by the way, her turds are hard like rocks, what has she been doing? Sucking them up all day?

Davey cleans up Goldie, grabs packet of prunes, heads back down to pool.

D: *sigh* C'mon Goldie, lets go catch the brown trout, get some new water to swim in and take some poop pills.

Have I mentioned I love this man?

Open Letter

Dear Man eating lunch at La Isla Bonita yesterday,

While I totally understand your annoyance at being forced to listen to my friend fumble with her Nextel radio when her staff called while we were eating, did you have to be a total asshole about it? You are obviously a very important, busy man as indicated by your suit that was undoubtedly purchased as a closeout at TJ Maxx, but was it necessary for you to get up from your seat, grit your teeth and get in a 60 year old woman's face and tell her to "SHUT IT OFF RIGHT NOW" in front of my children? I realize that you must have been looking forward to enjoying your $5.95 special enchilada while soaking in the festive decor of La Isla Bonita, complete with gumball machine and big screen TV blasting reruns of Sabado Gigante on Univision. Fine dining at it's um.....finest.

The woman you yelled at is from the South. She is always a lady with impeccable manners and I thought that her reply to you whilst she sipped her sweet tea was indicative of her commitment to decorum. I wish I had taken a picture of your face as she sat with my baby bouncing on her knee, set down her phone and batted her long, lovely lashes at you and said "Fuck you Sir."

Fuck you indeed.

Keep the crazy washer woman away from me!

I really should pay more attention

I should have known where the afternoon was headed when, after getting Goldie up from her nap and laying her down to change her clothes she slowly unfurled one sweaty toddler paw and then the other. Before I realized what was happening, she had delicately placed two perfectly round turds into my unsuspecting hands.

Well played Goldie. Well played.

Not today

I would totally love to tell you share an interesting story about our lives or a chuckle to start your day about how my little darling did something....well.....darling. But not today. Today I am recovering from my own personal barf fest 2007.

If I felt better I would regale you with my tale of woe, how no one deserves to get the stomach flu 4 times in 7 months, but I am afraid it would bore you. *As a practical side note, I will tell you that it is wise to sit on the toilet whilst you empty your stomach of the past 3 days of pesky meals into a bucket-type device because you will be so happy to have saved yourself the humiliation and laundry that "pooping the floor" will surely bring you.

Maybe something more interesting tommorow. Maybe. If the world stops spinning.

*This little gem brought to you from bout with stomach flu #2 of 2007

Dear Friends

To all of you that I may have spoken to today at the Big Doin's,

What a great afternoon visiting with friends. The foods were great! Especially the black bean salad! That I ate like a quart of! And walked around sporting a large black been on my front teeth that was not intercepted until I got home. Tragic for such a festive day filled with, you know, smiling.

At future functions where I will undoubtedly be snarfing down beans, spinach or the like, I would greatly appreciate your letting me know if this happens. A simple dude-you-better-check-yo-mouth gesture type maneuver, or a "Hey bean tooth!" or even the classic "Get that shit out of your teeth!" will suffice.


Thank you.

Proud Parenting Moment #613

Took the girls to El Winco for some grocery shopping yesterday. I have no idea why people gave me dirty looks when I took them into the walk in beer cooler to grab some Mike's. It wasn't like I sent them in without an adult. I totally waited till we got home to fill their sippies with it. Geesh.

Weapon of Mass Lactation

I am not a woman who has a lot of milk for her baby. I work very hard at building and maintaining a decent supply. With the help of herbs and Reglan as galactagogues I have enough to keep Ruby chubby and I pump twice a day, morning and night for the freezer and am lucky to get 3 ounces. Last night, when it was time to pump I came down with a severe case of I Don't Want To, treatable only by falling asleep where I fell. I woke up this morning with Giant Hooters of Doom. Oh my. The Swelling! The Stinging! The Leaking! So I dragged myself to the pump and sucked out a good 10 oz.

On a semi-related note, when this happened with Goldie, before I figured out I needed to sleep with a bra on, we had a dog. She would climb in and roll around on my side of the bed and lap it up. We are a classy bunch.

And for more information you don't really need, I totally had to get rid of our recliner because too much of my milk got spit up onto it during the course of the year long nurse-a-thon it smelled like rotten milk. Yum.

The Sling of Summer!

My new Mei Tai sling! I am so excited, I actually figured out how to nurse in it. I will soon be flashing boob all over town. Watch out!

Aftermath

Hopefully everyone made it through the 4th with all digits intact. I was handed a Roman Candle after clearly stating that the whole fireworks-in-the-yard freaks my shit out. Because I should totally be the president of MENSA I was all like "sure light me up" and then realized I had no idea what I was doing. Flames started shooting out of the thing that I had accidentally pointed at my friend. I desperately looked around for somewhere to point the thing and realized my options were few. I could aim either at:
a) my car
b) power lines
c)my friends
d)myself
All I can say is that my face was not rearranged and neither was my car and leave it at that.
Overall that day was a success. I layed around like 3rd base all morning and stuffed myself with wieners and bean salads because there is no better way to celebrate democracy than with nitrates and stinky gas. Later on I watched my kid go batshit insane in a wading pool because ADUCK! ADUCK! is a heapin' helpin' more AWESOME outside than in the tub at home

Happy 4th!

I'll be back tommorow.....Today I am busy stuffing myself with BBQ and trying to keep my kids from bursting into flames. Have a good one! Tell me....what are you doing today?

Her Way

Since Goldie was just a wee fetus I dreamed of taking her too the zoo. I fantasized about it the way some people do about the perfect Christmas with the Perfect Tree and The Perfect Turkey until the one of Perfect Children spill some of their Perfect Cranberry Sauce on their Perfect New Shirt and they have the Perfect Meltdown.

That's kinda how it went down at the zoo last Saturday. I dreamt of a magical mother-daughter time discovering animals. It turned out somewhat different. I should have known how it was going to go when I was trying to skip the Bat exhibit and she freaked out because the bats? They are better than Elmo. The way they eat fruit, hang upside down, chew their tongues and FREAK ME THE HELL OUT, to her? Awesome.

I totally shouldn't have let her have let her navigate, because she led us to every lame exhibit the zoo has to offer.

Then when I took her to see the cool animals she was all like "Done!"

I knew she would LOVE the Tigers! Everyone LOVES tigers!! Um, no. She loves big leaves.

See? Even Ruby was surprised at the utter lameness

In the end, I realized that this was about Goldie discovering the world, her world. I just let her get excited over the things that fascinated her. Like the empty exhibit where there is a large puddle of water!! YES YES YES!
I totally bought an annual pass so I can teach her the right way to enjoy the zoo on another day because watching your child's face light up at the sight of litter on the path to the elephants=totally amazing.

Brides and Beefsticks

*Note* The many times aforementioned Dress will not be found in this post. All photographic evidence of The Dress that was that was under my control has been destroyed. As soon as the ceremony was over, The Dress was ditched into a dark corner and jeans donned.*


I cruised down to my buddy Devin's wedding a couple of weeks ago to be a bridesmaid. She was my very first, and only, college roommate. Turns out that people aren't so into living with someone whose idea of cleaning involves a garbage bag, a wet sock and some air freshener. I totally don't get why she moved out.

I was in charge of something blue. So I did what any responsible parent would do. I took my baby to the porn store then nursed her in the parking lot because I refuse to let my friends get married without an aqua French Tickler. Oui oui.




My awesome friend, and one of the fabulous Godmama's to my kiddos, Mindy came along as my chaperon. So I strapped her into the Moby Wrap to make sure Ruby didn't get out of line. She was also there to make sure that I didn't ruin the weekend by snarfing too much champagne and trying to drive with my head out the window back to the hotel because FOR CHRIST SAKE ACE VENTURA DID IT IN 1995 AND THAT WAS THE YEAR I WAS COOL .

So I did what any youngish girl would do who was unfettered by responsibility for a whole night with all her friends. I did the Chicken Dance. *

Congratulations Dev. I swear if you keep inviting me to awesome parties like this I totally won't tell the whole Internet about the year you survived on Mickey's Malt Brew with instant apple cider mix thrown in instead of eating food or the time you stole a beef stick at Plaid Pantry by shoving it down your ass crack and then ate it in the street at 2 a.m. because, you know, I totally forgot about that.
I love you girl.

*I also aim to look 9 months pregnant in photos whenever possible so as to keep the inevitable swarm of Hot Guys away. Back off, I'm a married lady now, yo!