My new and improved diet plan

We have had the best morning. I got up at five when Brad left to go hunting. I came down stairs and got to work on my Christmas sewing uninterrupted for a couple hours. My kids got up and we had breakfast and got dressed. We went to the gym where I got an hour of clearing my head and the kids got to play with their gym friends.
After the gym we did a little grocery shopping at Publix. For anyone who doesn't know, Publix has the coolest shopping carts in town. They are space ships and have two steering wheels. I got to talk tot he kids the whole morning and enjoy both of them. My kids are funny, smart and of course they get it all from me.
After we got back home it was time to start making lunch. I had the bread and peanut butter out when I noticed Tate acting like she needed to potty. So I stripped her down and plopped her on the potty. We talked for a few minutes but she didn't act like she had to go. I left her bare bottomed and went back to making sandwhiches. She ran off to go play. She came back to me a minute later trying to hand me a fist full of peanut butter. I bent down to take it from her, but it wasn't peanut butter. Oh no, my baby girl handed me a fist full of poop. So gross. I had to scrub her down before she got it all over her. Once Tate was clean I had to find the rest of her deposit. There in my living room on Turner's little wooden rocking chair was a huge pile of terds. My daughter had stood in the chair, squatted down and crapped. She's so dainty and lady like huh?
I disinfected the entire down stairs. I Lysoled everything. I scrubbed poop off of the chair. When all was said and done strangely, I had no appetite for my peanut butter sandwich. This is my new diet plan. I will let Tate crap all over the house and it will deter me from eating chocolate, Reese's Peanut-butter cups and anything else i can think of.
I could not help laughing the whole time I was cleaning. Turner was gagging and asking why Tate had to poop on his chair. The glamorous life of a stay at home mom is always exciting.

Pass the sutures

Last night a tragedy occurred at my house. Brad and I had just tucked Turner in bed and come down stairs to watch TV. We snuggled up on the couch when we heard a pained scream. Turner was panicked because his bear, the beloved Brisco, had a hole in his head.
Brisco has been with our family since the day Turner was born. When he arrived he, much like Turner, was new, so soft, and smelled so good. After four years of being drug around the house, to Walmart, on cross country plane trips, and every other place Turner goes he's looking worse for wear and smells a little. Brisco isn't as plump as he once was. I guess following a busy little boy around is the perfect diet plan. He has been loved nearly to smithereens.
I walked upstairs to see Turner laying in his bed hugging Brisco with big unfallen tears in his eyes. He asked if Brisco would be OK and if I could fix him. I told him of course I could stitch Brisco up and it wouldn't take very long. I came down stairs and did the best job I could performing brain surgery on a VIP bear. Once he was hole free I returned him to a very happy little boy.
Life would be perfect if I could solve all of my children's' future problems as easily as sewing up a toy. I know that soon I will have to sneak bear out of Turner's bed and put more stuffing in him. As he is now, he's little more than a bear skin with no filling. I thank God the He starts everything out small for me. My children were small and easy to handle when I was first blessed with them. Their only problems were poopy diapers and hungry bellies. But as they grew new issues had to be dealt with, but I think I handled all that came my way. I just hope I can keep growing with my kids and always be able to give them the help they need. Even if the help they need means that one day I will have to stand back and watch instead of jumping in.

Estrogen and why it sucks

I have been having some "female troubles" as of late. So I went to my OB/GYN. He declared me devoid of estrogen and put me on a temporary hormone replacement therapy. Let me tell you about the devil called estrogen and why it sucks.
For the last fourteen months or so I have only suffered from normal worries: Pollution, the ozone eroding, the looming election, the ever rising cost of gas etc etc... I can handle all of these and file them away in the not so important to keep me up at night category. But now, no now I have a whole new host of things to keep me up at night.
I have a sweet life. I have a husband who loves me, two kids who are as perfect as any God has ever created and a life the queen of England would envy. But estrogen is ruining everything. I hate being overly emotional. For two days now I have gotten my daughter out of bed from nap and been almost in tears for an hour. She is so sweet and perfect. Every inch of her oozes sweetness. This is not new to me, but it's never knocked me over quite like this. My son wakes up and is my ever present companion from 6 a.m. to 8p.m. He was in bed tonight when I noticed the magnets on my picture board. He had pulled all of them off today. I saw him in the act and told him I wished he hadn't done that, then went on about my business. Well low and behold I look up after he is in bed and notice that every picture is put back in close to it's original place. Now folks, this isn't a small board, there are thirty pics up there and he put everything back the way I had it. So what happens? I tear up while watching my Tivoed Eli Stone episode like a big baby. He wanted to make me happy and put everything back the way he found it, can you say perfect son?
Once my husband gets home, life is only more complicated. My hormones soar at the mere sight of him. I'm always happy to see him but the past week has been ridiculous. He walks in and I swear birds sing and he twinkles, yes he actually sparkles in the late afternoon sun. My children run up to him and he is a fairy tale in motion. He helps set the table, gets the kids ready to eat and I fall hopelessly to the floor in a puddle of mush. Now mind you that I stay composed, I go on about my routines like nothing is different. We eat supper and I am amazed the whole time that I have found someone who I share 90% of my political views with. Then it's off to the bedtime races. We go upstairs and Brad bathes my children. He hugs Tate and gives her undivided attention before she is put to bed. She hangs on his every word and kisses everyone goodnight. Then Brad and Turner leave me to have a bath by myself, what a luxury. After my bath they come upstairs and Brad reads a bedtime story. I love this part of the day. Brad, Turner and I lay in my bed and read together. Then for thirty minutes Turner and Brad wrestle. It is hilarious if you are not reeling from the effects of the Satan spawn that is called estrogen. I used to just laugh and think is was funny to watch Brad and Turner wrestle. Not this week. This week I think of all the children in the world who don't have a Papa like Turner does. This week I think of all the children in the world who can't defend themselves from evil pedophiles. This week I think how unfair it is for any child to be born with out a man like Brad to look up to. How do I keep a straight face and then smile at the two most wonderful men in the world?
Then my husband and I go down stairs and watch TV. Well there is not a damned thing good on TV these days. But I sit every night with my head in Brad's lap trying to act like a normal human being and not the slobbering weeping mess that I am inside. We go to bed at nine and the most wonderful man in the world hugs me. Now my usual routine is to fall asleep laying on Brad's arm. I usually feel safe and happy and warm. This week I feel hot, full of anxiety and self doubt. Did I do enough today that Brad Turner and Tate know how much they mean to me? If I pray hard enough will all the sweet babies in the world be taken care of? Can I protect everything in my world if I lock all the doors and buckle all of the seat belts? If I never let them eat anything bad can I keep everyone I love alive forever? No, I can't. My logical mind knows this and accepts it. My estrogen poisoned mind reels all night long thinking of ways to protect all that is mine: The husband you read about, the kids you pray to have, the parents who you want to talk to every day, and all the best kinds of friends who get me through each day.
I can't take the worry. I know it's there, but usually I can let got of it long enough to breathe. Estrogen make me feel like I am treading water holding a fifty pound weight. The last time I felt like this I had a miscarriage. I swam through that without drowning, but barely. That was a loss I wish for no one. But these damned hormones make me feel that emotional again. I have two more days of this blue pill induced torture. Then hopefully my body will return to normal and I will be able to breathe without worrying. It would be good if I could get my hormones balanced. But given the choice, I would take no estrogen and female troubles over being overly emotional and teary any day. So if my eyes water tomorrow when you tell me about your dry cleaning that wasn't ready on time ignore me, my body has turned traitor and I can't help my tears. Check back in a week and I may tell you to suck it up you big sissy, it's just a damned pair of pants and you can live without them.

Indulge me

My little baby girl isn't a baby any more. Sad, but true. She's now 16 months old and considered a toddler. But every once in a while I get a moment with her where she's still a baby. One of those moments happened tonight, my heart is full.
Tate and I have the same routine for her bed time every night. Read a book, brush her teeth, let her hug and kiss the boys, and then off to bed. I always ask for about eight more kisses and then I put her in bed. Tonight I was hugging her and heard air roll around in her belly. I began patting her on the back just like I've done so many times before. But before she was a baby and it was just another part of eating- getting the burp out. Tonight she laid her head on me like she remembered being held like a baby. She burped but we just sat in the middle of her floor and rocked and patted each others backs.
Tate is so busy that I rarely get to hold her. It's not because I don't try, she is just too busy to stop and be held. In the mornings she snuggles for a couple minutes after the oatmeal is eaten. She sits and finishes waking up, but it's never enough for me.
Tonight she indulged me. Maybe she was just stalling to postpone bed time as long as possible. I don't care the reason. I will never out grow wanting to hold my children, even when they are bigger than me. I know they will start to shy away from the hugging and sitting in my lap all too soon, so I am soaking up every second that I can. I'll breathe in as much of their scent as I can. I'll keep these memories for when they won't just sit with me.
I am thankful for my children. Thankful they show me what fun is. Thankful they show me what in life is really important. Thankful they show me everything good that's in my husband. Thankful that they have made me slow down and realize how truly wonderful our life is. Thanks for indulging me kiddos, you'll never understand how much you mean to me.

You give me fever

I need to be in bed, but I'm not. I am downstairs having a conversation with myself and typing to no one. Turner is sick and I can't sleep. Well, he's not really sick, he has a high fever and I don't know why. He is otherwise not sick. No runny nose, no cough, no vomiting, no cold like symptoms, just a fever.
I have given him Motrin and laid in bed with him til he fell asleep. Of course while I laid by my precious boy I wracked my brain to figure out what is causing the fever. Drawing a blank, I turned to a higher authority. God why does Turner have a fever? I feel oh so blessed. I also feel like I have such a good life that something bad has to happen. Why am I such a damn pessimist? Why does a simple fever put me in a panic? I wish I knew. Why don't I just give the boy some medicine and go to bed? I don't know.
As my mother says worrying is pointless, it changes nothing. Well I wish it were that easy for me. I am a worrier by nature and I can't change the nature of my worry.
I am a true control freak. I wish to run every little detail of my day, and your day too. I do a pretty OK job of filling my children's days, making up a schedule and what not. But when one of them gets sick I feel like I am in a tailspin. I have no say-so over a fever, damn it. I can not take it away. I can not diagnose it. I can only sit and wait.
So here I am typing, trying to clear my head. It isn't working. Why doesn't God have a call in line especially for parents? I know we can pray to Him when ever we want to, but I need something with more feedback. I want a 24 hour help line for mothers. I want to call and have a cherub answer the phone, listen to beautiful harps while on hold, then speak to a head honcho angel who can tell me if this is cause to worry or not.
I can hear it now: "Hello, heaven's parent help line how may we assist you?"
"Yes, I'm Turner's mom. I hate to bug you, but he has a fever. I've given him some medicine and he's resting peacefully. I would just like to know if he'll get sicker, is this the beginning of some cataclysmic illness, or is it just some run of the mill day long bug?"
"Hello again Tiffany, didn't think we'd hear from you so soon. How is Tate after falling out of the crib last week?"
"She's fine, thanks for asking, but about the fever.."
"Well not to worry, this should pass in about 36 hours. I have run it past The Boss and He assures me Turner will be good as new before supper tomorrow."
"Thank you so much! Please tell God how much I appreciate this help line. Please send me a comment card so I can commend you Gabriel on the fine job you do."
"I will send the card right out. We'll also be sending a book on patience to you door free of charge. We send it to all the parents who call in on a weekly basis."
"I didn't realize I called so much. I'll try to read the book if I have time. Thanks again bye-bye."
Wouldn't that be glorious? I think it may just let me sleep through the night if such a thing existed. But I am sure I could conjure up something else to worry about. I am feeling a little sleepy, so maybe just thinking and praying about it worked. I'll rest with one eye and ear open. I'll hope tomorrow my boy wakes up and has no fever, no aches or pains, and is ready for his bowl of oatmeal.

Glutton for punishment

Why do I do it? Why do I stand outside of Tate's door and peek through the crack to watch her cry? I know she's not in pain, scared, or panicked. No, she just cries a bit to wind down to fall asleep. Turner did this too, but not as much.
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....

Just like riding a bike

Hello, any one out there? I have been sadly missing typing all my thoughts and clearing out my head. Yes, it's been months. No, there's no excuse. Life just seemed to be happening so fast I could barely keep up, much less write about it.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.

Pee stains on toilets, come on sing it with me

I know Christmas is long gone, but I can't get this tune out of my head "Rain drops on roses and wiskers on kittens..." But here's my version:

Pee stains on toilets
and scum in my tub

Pre-treating poop stains
and tile floors I should scrub

Brad's shirt collars have nasty rings
These area few of my most hated things

Too many shirts to press
and not enough time

Dust on every shelf
and my kitchen's full of grime

Yellow work gloves on my hands and I can't wear my bling
These are a few of my most hated things

When I get hugs

When the babes smile

When I'm feeling glad

I simply remember why I do all the work
and then I don't feel so bad

If my mind didn't work on such trivial, silly things I may be able to accomplish something once in a while. There is a sneaky idea thief reading this somewhere. Just watch, the new Broadway musical "Pee stains on toilets.." will be wining Tony awards in a year or so. Then it'll go on to star Patricia Heaton in a movie adaptation and bring in eighty million it's opening week. Well you heard it here first, it's what on my twisted mind. Now off to scrub some floors.

I want my money!

I am going on strike. Yes you heard me, strike. I refuse to come up with another fantastic idea until I am being paid royalties. The people at Apple owe me(this is a loose estimate) seventeen million dollars. I have had music playing in my head since birth. I am the original IPOD. My brain has been set to shuffle for years. I am only seeking seventeen million dollars because I never sent in any formal proposals. I assume that one of their sneaky idea stealing techs was behind me in line at Albertson's and heard me sing eleven different songs in three minutes. I want my money Apple, don't make me get the lawyers after you.
As sure as I am that I am the original IPOD, I am equally sure that the resurgence of American Gladiators is due to me and my kids. No one person was sitting around and came up with water obstacles, giant Q-tips, and Battle Royals. No, the slimy TV idea men sat outside my window and watched my obstacle course. First round, baby jumping. This consists of me trying to sweep one-handed. Then I set Tate on one side of the room and grab my mop. My goal is to mop around her while luring her to the already dried areas. Sounds easy? Bring your A game. I'll put money on Tate any day against any mopper. The Gladiators run up a cushy padded slope while squishy foam balls are gingerly rolled at them, please. Let them try to climb the stairs at my house(which are not padded) while Turner and his friends throw cars, trucks and buckets at you. Come on Saber, only real men compete here.
I am also delusional enough to think that the whole Survivor craze was inspired by babies. Now mine weren't born yet so I know there's some poor mom out there who's been cheated out of her money. So if it was your baby scooting around on the floor surviving off eating three year old Cheetos, army crawling through mud, and testing your will at stare downs go get your money.
Today Tate got into a sticky mouse trap. I bet that in it's opening season there will be a sticky type challenge on Gladiators. I am not kidding NBC, I'm pissed. I really do think I'm on to something here. Or maybe I'm on something and delusional. Which ever the case may be I'm all fired up with no one to bitch to. I am off to retrieve the Siren of the Second Floor. I'm starting to take notes today, so I'll have proof that it's my ideas that make the world go round. No more freebies go get your own genius ideas.