Halloween was fun. Now go home.

Because I am a great mother, I totally forgot to take pictures of our Halloween night. So here are pictures from last Sunday because we trick or treat at our church.

My little pea in a pod

duck duck, not a goose
Trick or treating was fun. We went with all our friends and ate pizza and drank wine and shovled the small ones full of candy. Maybe there was copious amounts of gossip.

Too tired to talk more. It was a day full of flu shots and misery up to the Halloween festivities and I must sleep and rejuvinate fore a full day of parenting tommorow.......wish me luck. At least there's candy.

The Pumpkin Patch

It was a beautiful day on Saturday and so we decided that rather than take care of all of the pressing issues around the house, we would make a family tradition and head to the Pumpkin Patch for the 1st annual Wage-Stein Fall Family Outing. I mean, no one was particularly rested, the baby was sick and we had shitloads of work to do. Why not take off?

Goldie really like the animals

They had all kinds of flowers and produce. Goldie was not interested in hanging out with Moms and Pops. She had better things to do.
Roob was all tucked into the Ergo. If you do not have one of these things, Buy One.
The Money Shot. I spent all morning trying to catch one good picture to make my Halloween memory complete. When she finished rotating towards me, she flipped me the bird and ran away screaming "GOLDIE NO PICTURE MAMA." Must she strip this motherhood gig of all perks? Notice that we are more about The Pumpkin than The Patch. I had a hunch that loading our family of semi-disabled, screaming Weebles onto a hay wagon to ride out into a muddy field full of pumpkins that would all be gigantic and dirty would not be my idea of a fun time. Point us to the pre-picked piles of pumpkins, please. Thankyouverymuch.
Inevitably, there was a meltdown. Because I haven't suffered enough, I was the chosen parent of the day and had the pleasure of packing around two screaming children like a mule.
Overall we came home with 2 small pumpkins, 1 squash, an ear of corn, 1 hotdog, 2 headaches, 6 muddy feet, 4 smiles and a really cool memory.

Welcome to the Family

I remember the extreme caution and neurosis with which I began the solid food introduction with Goldie. Rice cereal had received a lukewarm reception and when we spent her sixth month in Mexico I proceeded to have an MFO (Maximum Freak Out) over my friends introducing her to sugar in the form of freaking Coca-Cola and ice cream and letting her suck on steaks. When we returned home I lovingly prepared homemade purees of organic chicken and carrots and watched as my baby gave me the finger and spit it in my face. It turned out that she really liked food of a much less bland variety and is frequently seen slurping down curry and heaping salsa on her food.

And so it goes with my little newly toothed second child. Rice cereal was decidedly Not Tasty. Carrots make her lips curl. Oatmeal with applesauce is hit and miss. I was beginning to think that the mouth pucker was permanent as I stocked my pantry with various purees of the Gerber persuasion trying to find SOMETHING that would pass her lips at seven months.

I wouldn't say that we are Foodies, exactly. David is a trained chef and that was his career in a previous life many years before me. I like to cook too. Mostly, however, we like to eat. Obviously. Whether it is something foi gras or ramen we really don't care. Do you have a lot of it? Good. We are not picky and we hope the same for our children. Goldie is good to go, but Roob? Ruby is my little wild card.

Then tonight we all sat down to a bowl of my homemade split pea soup for dinner that coincidentally was inspired by the new look of this blog. Ruby was doing what Ruby can often be found doing at any given moment these days: screaming. I scooped her up and continued shoveling in the green stuff thinking to myself that the cayenne pepper and extra onions were indeed a good idea when I saw Roob's little beak open wide each time I waved the spoon over her head. Alright, I thought, I will put a little on my finger and give her a little taste. She liked it. Ok, so I'll get a spoon for her and give her a bite. And I'll be damned if that baby didn't polish off a good quarter of a cup of chunky split pea and carrot and garlic with extra onions and cayenne pepper.

Atta Girl Roob. This means you can stay.

So now we know

As I eluded to last week. Things have really sucked recently at Chez Davey. Ruby screamed enough to make our eyes bleed due to croup and then suspiciously, when the cough and gasping pleasantries had passed, she continued with what we considered extra special bonus screaming for several days. WTF? So we dosed her up with Advil every 6 hours, re-inserted our earplugs and resumed clawing at blackboards in an attempt to block it out and called it a day.

Last night my mom came over to watch the girlies and give us a break from the Incessant Howling of Doom so we could go to the first drinking party I have attended since college where the express purpose was The Booze and oh, maybe costumes. Don't ask us about ours. They were horrifyingly lame, but the booze was much needed. Also? Taquitos. Anyway, Roob, yeah, so Mom was holding her while we were scurrying to get ready and she was all " um she has a tooth." Whaaa? So I suppose it would suffice to say that Roob has, in effect, handed us a roadmap pointing to Suckville population Me where she will be heading 19 more times or so in the next year.

Daveyism of the day

"Just because I called that guy a dumb motherfucker, doesn't mean that I'm in a bad mood."

BFF

Since Ruby is sick like the dog with croup and barking like the seal, I am trying to distract myself from her cough that is gnawing at my soul and making want to shove sharp sticks in my eye and look at pictures of her in healthier days. So here is a pic from last weekend with Roob's BFF Ani. They are only 3 weeks apart and Ani's mama and I are only 3 days apart. Twas meant to be.

Also? Love hurts.

IT'S HERE!

Doesn't it look great? (That was the sound of my horn. Toot toot) The new template has been in the works for a long time now, BUT! Mrs. Flinger did not let me down, in fact, she rawks, no? I am SO EXCITED I think I just peed a little. Hurray pretty new site! Be patient while some bugs get worked out......Mrs. Flinger is a busy lady.

Tuckered Out

After a full morning of screaming and coughing, then proving to the doctor that she is in no way, shape or form at all sick, Ruby takes a well deserved rest. She spent the remainder of her day hacking up a baby lung and dripping snot in biblical proportions all over my shirt.

The hardest toddler crash out I have ever witnessed. She had spent her morning smearing Desitin over all of her self and belongings. She followed the smearing with a lively round of "I'm not doing anything you tell me to" and a snack. Yes, the brown stain on the sheets is what you think it is, but I didn't realize it at the time I snapped the picture. But that, my friends, is another story for another time. For now, lets just watch her sleep. Shhhh

WTF

My children are some kind of genius'. They have figured out how to pack a full days worth of bullshit into less than two hours of being awake.

Fuck Me.

Also? How do I get Desitin out of fabric? And hair? and skin?

Tips appreciated.

Also

Ruby is sick. Again. Horribly, horribly sick. I think I may be braving the doctors office again tommorow. Help.

An Open Letter

Dear Six Months,

Could you be any more delightful? I think not. Six Months, I must confess that due to your unbridled adorableness, I have been rendered a large puddle of gooey love that wants nothing more than to snuggle you all day long. If I could hire a body double to take care of Two Years Old, I would happily munch on your cheeks, nibble your soft, soft ears and devour your tender thighs all day long. Also, perhaps I might just swallow you whole. Please stay this way forever.

Love,

Mama

Hello Friend!

Look at Me! I am delicious! Also, my Tia Carrie is very brave to bathe two babies a the same time. Looky! I have a bubble beard!

Dear Two Years Old,

While I continue to quietly adore you and still hold the belief that perhaps you may have hung the moon, I must ask you this: Why are you trying to eat my soul?

Just Asking,

Mama

Tah Dah!

We started off on August 29th with this, my little 50's kitchen. I actually didn't mind it. It was one of my favorite things about the house when I bought it. But, alas, Davey hated it so it had to go.



And go it did.
And then! A new kitchen was born! It was delivered by a stork!
It still needs new light fixtures, paint and the dishwasher to be connected. I am not a person who was designed to have dishpan hands.

The organizer just left after spending 2 days getting the new kitchen just perfect. Ya ya ya, I have an organizer. You have no idea how disorganized I am. Suck it.

My Weekend in Pictures

OhMyGodSoMuchFun! I went to the beach with two of my best friends, Carrie and Lori and Carrie's baby Ani. Carrie just bought a beach house and so this was the inaugural girlfriend trip. Aren't they cute?
Carrie spotted an arcade and so I was all, what if they have fun games and they were all, lets find out and we were all, aren't we way too old for this? Answer: No.
We knocked down clowns, whacked the wacky gators and learned that the three of us together can, indeed, Skeeball like Motherfuckers.
There was domino playing and wine drinking of plenty. Also, see roll of toilet paper and guess which lucky a-hole came down with a bad cold.
There were too many highlights of the weekend to even begin describing. It felt so amazing to connect with these girls who can say more to me with a glance than an hour of talking could ever explain. They know who I am, they know my heart, They know where I come from. It was getting late and we had the radio on in the background while we were playing a game. Carrie was nursing Ani and I had Roob on my knee while Lori poured another round of wine.The old song The Rose came on and without a word, one of us turned up the volume and all of us started to sing in harmony, just as we have been doing for the last 25 years or so and just kept playing our game as we sang. It felt so warm, so familiar. Then we kept the volume up so we could proceed to do The Dinosaur and debate Stevie Nicks lyrics. Rockin.
Here's to another 25 years together. The best is yet to come.

License to Veg

Alrighty Ya'll. I am out of here. Without my toddler or husband. Going to the beach with two of my oldest friends, one of their babies and Roob. I have packed sweats and an unholy number of bottles of wine.

See you Monday. Be good.

You can't take me anywhere

Today I went to a memorial service for a friend who passed away. He was a good man, but old, tired and sick. I was so happy to be able to say goodbye to him in the hospital a few weeks ago.

Unfortunately, my dorktitude follows me into even the most somber circumstances. I only live 2 minutes from the cemetery where the service was to be held. I worked all morning and was determined to look decent for the occasion. Uh huh. So I hunted around for something nice-ish when I realized that I had purged nearly all of my nice clothing with the organizing. Nothing that remained was warm enough. Ok. I felt the stare of my jeans from across the room. Hmmmm. They are cleanish. And warm. And go with anything. HURRAY! Have pants, find top. Now this was tricky as I don't want to wear sweater as will have baby in sling which=pilly sweater. White t-shirt with new zip up sweater. Am genius. Load baby with cute hat and blankie into car and head off. Notice something out of corner of eye. Cannot believe it. IS STAIN. Crappity crap. Indian food. Last week's curry was delicious, mmm, curry. Oh well, must get going, no time to turn back. Sling will cover stain! Hurray!

Service is very nice, decide not to wear sling so others can hold baby. Except, crap, stain is exposed. Jolly good. Certainly no one will notice. I check Ruby over during service. What a cutie she is! But wait! What is that on her hat? Who spilled coffee on her effing hat? oh. Hopefully no one will notice. Wrap blanket around her head to disguise discretion. WHAT.IS.THAT. Candy stuck to the blanket? This cannot be happening.

After the service I grabbed my stain trifecta and headed off to the after-gathering.

I really should have headed home to hit the spray and wash. And then the bottle.

P.S. Bill, I hope that you have remembered what fun is on the other side. Rest well, friend.

My day in Haiku

Out my hair I pull

Frustration defines my day

I must drink more wine

This and That

• I recently discovered that if I ask Goldie almost any question such as: Is your name Fred? Do you like to eat worms? Are you Jack the Ripper? that her answer, invariably, is yes. However, if you ask her if she does in fact know, The Muffin Man, she vehemently insists that no, she does not indeed.
• We have been to IKEA every night this week. Just so that you know.
• There have been two more sightings of Arachnid Ginormus in my basement. One so large that as it was moving, I actually thought it was a mouse for a moment. I am going to consult a doctor regarding having a basement-ectomy because I cannot live this way.
• Ruby is quite surprised, and delighted to see you:

I am an extremely disorganized person. Except when eating Skittles. When eating Skittles, the only proper way to consume them is to line them up just so and then take one of each color at a time to make a perfect rainbow of fruit flavor as it were.
It is only now I notice that the lines are somewhat crooked. That simply will not do.

I got yer bus right here

To whom it may concern,

I want to take this opportunity to thank whomever it was that taught Goldie The Wheels on The Bus song. Each time we are finished singing it for the 50th time on the way to the sitter's house she looks forlorn and says sweetly "Try again?" And again we sing. I am sure that you were unaware at the time of her bus obsession with a particular curiosity as to whether each bus is a school bus, a city bus, or a short bus. Speaking of short buses, to whomever this concerns, I have no doubt as to your mode of transport.

I thought you might like to know a few new verses we have been toying with: The Goldie on the bus stops singing this song, singing this song, singing this song all over town. Also: The mama on bus loses her damn mind, her damn mind, her damn mind all over town. And my personal favorite: When I find out who taught her this song your going to pay, going to pay all over town.

Kind of catchy don't you think?

Looking forward to meeting you,

Kirsten

No real content here. Go Home.

Awww, so sweet. A modern dad teaching early literacy skills by reading his child the basketball season schedule. I could almost cry. Also, how does hair that is one inch long get messed up?
Daddy teaches his girl to perfect the Wage-Stein stare. I am sure she is developing The Carpal Tunnel as I type this.
Ruby's getting baby's first passport. Finally caught her smile on camera. For the government.

She's all ready for a brisk morning walk, my little early bird.Did I ever tell you about that one time when I didn't have anything to write about on my blog because my life is incredibly lame and I didn't even have a fresh poop story to entertain with and so I told the internet to expect a lot of pictures this week? No? Well, that story? Is really boring.

Bad Mama

I know that I am going to regret this later, but tonight I have to ask your opinion on something. Am I a bad mother for leaving my child sometimes with my husband or Godparents so that I can go and have fun and not be a mama for a little while? I mean, because of the feeding situation, I can't leave Roob for more than two hours, but I have at least two weekends in the next 3 months where I am leaving town with friends and Goldie will stay with Davey.

Am I a horrible mother or am I just wise enough to know that if I don't take care of myself I will be a miserable person and a bad mother?

I will listen to the warning signs next time

Despite the alarm bells going off in my head and the red flashing lights warning me not to, I decided to go the mega store that rhymes with Mall Fart tonight. I realize that I am a socially irresponsible a-hole for ever stepping foot into that store and can think of at least one blog reader who will personally punch me in the face for having admitted to as much (Be gentle with me Er-ca, I'm tender. And juicy!) .

My reason for shopping there is that they are the only store with decent generic pull ups to avoid The Princesses. Do you smell the irony? I can only SAVE my daughter from evil corporations by purchasing products FROM evil corporations. Yeah. I am dizzy from the head spinning too.

The one great thing about that store is that you get a slice of Americana that you can find no where else. There are, of course, normal folks like me, just trying to grab their shit and get the hell out of there as fast as possible. But, there are also major cultural phenomenon that could easily be missed. For example, I counted exactly nine women wearing athletic socks with flip flops, I had no idea that was even an option! I also saw a man with three teeth and a Michael Vick jersey on commenting to his buddy about how "Sheeet, mann, this place is really ghetto."

Really ghetto indeed.

Annoying Starbucks Guy Strikes Again

My children are recovering from colds. Because of last season's experience with Constant Illness and Loathsome Woe, I decided that my approach of not being afraid to expose self and children to germs because it will strengthen our immune systems was, indeed, flawed. I have adopted a new strategy as cold, flu, diphtheria and rickets season approaches:

Dear Germs,

Die, Motherfuckers, Die!

Yours,

The Reaper

At the first sign that the girls had something I gathered my armaments: Zicam, Airborne, Lysol, humidifiers, soap and hand sanitizer. I squirted, guzzled, sprayed, breathed, scrubbed and squeezed my army of products for all they were worth and waited for that bastard cold to come and get me. Then a few days ago, I started sneezing. I was cool with that, is just a sneeze I told self, until the most troubling symptom set in. My right freaking eye is weeping uncontrollably for long periods of time. That is the worst the cold has gotten. Sweet.

Which leads me to the title of this post. I cruised through the Starbuck drive-thru this morning for some Joe and a chonga bagel on my way to pick up Goldie because, SWEET JESUS, I love me a chonga bagel. toasted. with cream cheese. am not very picky. or piggish. I am certainly not drowning in the memory of it's cheesy deliciousness as I type this. Indeed not. Ahem. Where was I? Starbucks, right. Mr. Awkward Talker hasn't been there in awhile (haven't you noticed the absence of bitching around here?) so I didn't even think of a strategy before I pulled up. As he started talking to me, so began the sneezing. He didn't skip a beat. He kept talking. Tears were pouring down my face so I didn't' turn to face him, but his conversation was persistent. It demanded eye contact. My mind was racing. How was I going to avoid looking at this freak? I dug through my CDs, I rifled receipts and I briefly considered picking my nose to force him to look away, but my plans were for naught. I took a deep breath, my own personal rain shower leaking down my cheek, eye bloodshot and I stared at him. Really stared. Like a predator looking at her next meal. I am not sure whether it was my drippy eyeball or the intensity of my gaze but that jackass finally turned around, stopped asking me about my sweater and gave me the damn coffee.

I should get viral illnesses more often. No, scratch that, I should find another Starbucks. Because there aren't very many in Portland.

Kitchen's Closed

Ever since I discovered a spider the size of my minivan floating like a dead LOBSTER in my dishpan , the basement cooking center has been officially closed.

When David insisted that I was being a rather large fool for not sharing a meal down in the Dungeon of Despair that he had so lovingly prepared, I told him something to the effect of SEE YA SUCKA and ran upstairs, flab a' flailing.

Unfortunately, the basement is where the food is. But! No More! I am going to grab my children (one of whom had a slumber party with friends last night as part of Birthday Bender 2007) and head off the the store where food will be purchased to stock New Kitchen. That's right folks, you heard it here, New Kitchen is ready for business. If you don't count the fact that the entire contents of Old Kitchen have not yet been located to cook with. But! We have a stove! a sink! paper plates! A dishwasher that is totally not connected!

I say this calls for a rather large pot of homemade soup wouldn't you?

Birthdays RAWK

I feel like I am living the plot of The Bernstein Bears: Too Much Birthday. As you might guess, my birthday RAWKED. So let me break it down for you.

Kirsten's Birthday By The Numbers:

Nights of free babysitting: 2

Meal celebrations in my honor: 4

Free drinks: 5

Birthday Cakes: 2

Nights out with the girls: 1

Nights out with the girls from my CHURCH where I may or may not have returned home too drunk to nurse my child and my husband may or may not have had to help latch her on because I was sleeping: 1

Number of awesome new Ergo baby carriers in requested color: 1

Days it will take to recover: 5


Only 364 days to go and do it all over again.

Happy Birthday to Me

Dear 28,

Before we officially say goodbye at midnight, I have a few parting words for you. 28 has been a year equally full of stink and fury as it was of delicious triumphs. The first 6 months of 28 were jam packed full of barfing and feeling like I was being ran through a meat grinder only to be shit on as my pieces squished out. This physical unpleasantness is not exactly conducive to gold star parenting and I truly regret all of the opportunities I missed with my child.

On the other hand, 28, you brought me a new little love. My Roob. My heart. 28 saw more than a baby born to complete a family, but 28 saw sisters made. Little girls who smile and love each other and whose indecipherable communications are far beyond words, whose very existence makes all the years I've lived and have yet to live worth something.

28, you saw me do things I never thought I'd do. I've potty trained, disciplined, played and learned toddlerese. I've gone shopping with two babies and actually come home having purchased my entire list. Through all of the chaos, 28, I love my husband more than ever and as sure as I am breathing, I know that I have found the one who keeps my soul to share my life with.

You were one hellava year 28. If I made it through you, I can make it through anything.

Yours,

Kirsten

Come on 29, bring it. I'm ready for you.

I thought I wouldn't live to see the day

after a post-naptime discovery of crusted crap on the hindquarters of my charming toddler and an ocean of urine so plentiful that it gushed onto the wood floor (have you noticed that I am obsesed with my floor? Not that I have ever cleaned it. I just like to know that it is there) and she had a bath to loosen the crust and I had things sort of disinfected, I knew that I had better get some laundry done.


I didn't need her chasing me to the basement so I thought of a diversion: I handed her panties, a turtleneck and some pants and said "get dressed, I'll start the laundry."


Five minutes later, I heard her little horsey clip-clop coming down the stairs and there she stood, fully dressed. Nothing on backwards. We stared at each other for a moment before she said "Where my sock?"


I better start filling out those Harvard applications.

The Last Time I am Putting Myself Through That

Roob is sick. Or rather I should say, Roob is still sick. Two weeks ago she was acting funny so I had someone check her out and they were all "seriously lady, we have never seen a healthier child. You are crazy. Or possibly suffering from Munchhausen by Proxy. Either way, get out of here and make room for the sick children."

The acting funny progressed into a cold, with all the trimmings. Snot, fever, coughing, pathetic whimpering and shrill screaming. Today I had reached my breaking point. I again took her in where it was determined: HEAD COLD. What kind of herculean virus has this baby got? It is certainly bigger than the both of us and it is threatening to take my last shred of sanity.

While we were at the doctor's office it was a rather odd exam because I was clutching the naked baby after taking her out of the sling where I made the unfortunate discovery that we had grown a new umbilical cord made of snot that was connecting her face to my shirt. Lovely. As I was clutching the naked baby, Goldie figured out how to get out of the exam room and she made a run for it. I tossed the baby at the doc and sprinted out of there just in time to see the wee troublemaker dash into another drs. office. I zigged when I should have zagged and she escaped my grasp as I lunged at her, but finally caught her when she paused in front of the bathroom trying to determine if she was looking at a BOYS! potty or not.

After resuming naked baby clutching and positioning myself against the door to keep my little escape artist on the inside, the doc resumed the exam and determined that there was, in fact, nothing she could do for me, but gee that cough really sounds nasty. Thank you. I am so glad that I put myself through this.

Unless there is blood or verifiable death, my children are never going to the doctor again.

Bye Bye Bjorn

Dear Bjorn,

I've started writing this letter a dozen times. I'm breaking up with you. There. I said it. It feels like just yesterday I was so confused by your snaps and loops but before I knew it, I could strap you on in 10 seconds flat. Your ease of use is not why I am dropping you.

We've had a lot of good times together, you and me. We spent a month in Mexico, countless trips to visit family and even romantic weekends at the Beach together. Your morning breath (while indeed gut wrenching) is not the reason I have to let you go.

You see, Bjorn, you are a my 2nd step in the baby wearing game after my gateway sling, The Pouch. The Pouch, while short-lived, served a purpose. We hung it full of baby on the back of the door while she slept, you know, like where we hang the pants that are only sort of dirty. We are also going to prison. Don't believe me?:


Bjorn, I loved you so much, but I kept looking for a bigger rush. So I searched. I discovered the Moby Wrap and the Mei Tai and hopefully soon, the Ergo. I will miss you and your patch worked extra-long straps that Laurel so kindly sewed on so that Davey could wear you too.

The reason that you have to go is that you are killing my back. I am too young to be a sling wearing hunchback. I will always remember you as the sling that taught me how great it can be to have my baby close to my heart.

RIP Bjorn 2005-2007

Can you believe that Goldie was ever so small? The binky is bigger than she is!

Shrapnel

Did you hear that? Not a thud. It was much louder than that. Not a pop exactly either. However it sounded, it was indeed the Exploding of My Head.

Nothing interesting or funny to report tonight. Have been dealing with the Night Toddler Discipline Ate My Soul for the past five hundred hours and it is starting to get to me. Long boring story where we made a ridiculous threat where if she didn't do what we asked her to do we would put her to bed blah blah blah and she didn't and we did and it was 5:00 and I am stubborn so we listened to wailing for hours and then we cried because, the screaming? WE COULD NO TAKE IT ONE MORE SECOND. So we let her out. And she commenced more of The Not Listening that had started the whole mess and we regretted our softiness (is that a word?) and there was much woe in the house of Wage-Stein.

From there things got worse and she had the upper hand and we are total failures as parents because we DID NOT FOLLOW THROUGH, even though we were WRONG and oh my God when she is fifteen and runs away to become a prostitute we will be able to trace the downward spiral to THIS NIGHT and shake our fists at each other and say: Why did we not pay attention to the Supernanny in 2007 and FOLLOW THROUGH? Now our daughter will have to die of syphilis without her diploma because we LET HER GET OUT OF BED.

Now do you understand the head explosion. Go fish. We'll try this again tomorrow. (Also, would really like to someday not misspell the word 'tomorrow' each and every freaking time I write it. Thank you spell check!)

WAHM

As I mentioned a couple months ago, I recently made a personal conversion from Stay at Home Mama to Work at Home Mama. The difference is surprisingly.....big. I had been toying with the idea for awhile, but was content hanging out with my kids, eating bon bons and having swarthy young men fan me with unusually large feathers until the the right thing came along that I could do from home.

And come along, it did. Literally fell into my lap. A conversation at a play date with old friends, over passion tea with vodka and some rowdy toddlers fighting over a Cinderella tea set later, I was offered a job. It took me awhile to get into the swing of things and dig out 20 hours from my week, but now I've got the hang of it. I bust my chops two days a week and send Goldie to daycare with Nina the Russian to eat borscht by the bucket and duke it out with tiny Ukrainian kids and learning how to share the hard way. Then I try to do an hour a night after dinner while Davey bathes and reads to Goldie and I finish up in time to sing Jesus Loves Me a few times. I work a few more hours over the weekend and call it a day.

I feel so self-conscious about working at home sometimes because I keep thinking that since I am on my own to get the work done and totally am wearing pajamas while I do it, that people must assume that I am slacking. I try to work extra hard to prove that I am not screwing around and in the beginning I was rushing too much and making mistakes. These days I take a deep breath, and do the best I can. I know I am S L O W at the amount of work I get done, but I want so much to do it right because it would be really, really embarrassing to disapoint someone whom I rode scooters with and shamelessly invited myself over to her house because she HAD THE BIG TRAMPOLINE OMG in grade school and I know she needs the work done right (Hi Tami!).

I like my job. I am so grateful to have one. It's not rocket science but it keeps my mind moving and it is really nice to think about things other than sippy cups and boobs sometimes. And my boss (and friend!) Tami, is so great. When I pulled in to drop off my little stack of work this morning she busted out the most awesome puzzle book for Goldie. It even came with a CD! For me to learn nursery rhymes! Do you know the words to Bah Bah Black sheep? I DO, SUCKA! Like I said, Tami rocks.

Just another working mama. That's me.