And now all has been revealed!

Our currently equal testosterone/estrogen ratio is about to skew... in favor of estrogen!  That's right!  Bun #3 is a girl!  The Hubbs and I are very excited and also a bit in shock.  We were convinced it was a boy... but it's not so that means more pretty, sparkly girl clothes are in my future.  Yay!

*sigh* 

Bur poor Sass Monkey.  We will need to stop by the grocery store for some "emotional support" cupcakes to liberally apply after we drop this bomb on him.  He was insistent we have a boy and that we name it "Gunman".  He was adamant about "No more sisters."  Tough breaks, buddy.  Here... let the buttercreme make it better.

But.... just maybe.... it's the universe looking out for me.  Because you see, last night, as a freshly bathed Sass Monkey ninja-style tea-bagged my woefully unprotected knee caps while laughing maniacally (knowing full well that Mommy was a sitting duck because she was very roundly stuck in a giant, leather bean bag chair) I thought to myself "Oh gawd.... what if it's another boy?"... and then "Ug... that is uncomfortably warm...".

*deeper sigh*

Just a thought.  Just a thought.

Not-So WW: The awful truth... in pictures.

It's "funnier" *ahem* for me because I know that,  much to the horror of her older brother, my sweet Sprinkles finds warm bathwater quite...um... stimulating.

Want to pass mah WISDOM along and add to my all around out-of-control head-puffery?  You can Pin It here!  I will be your best friend, if you are into that sort of thing.  ;)

A stroke of culinary.... genius?

     So... there was a crisis last night.  A Dessert Crisis!  You know the kind I mean.  Both kids practically licked their dinner plates clean and then I had nothing of chocolatey-value to offer them afterward.  Because chocolate is the only REAL dessert in our house... unless it's a Gummy-whatever.  Bad Super Pregnant Mommy, snarfing all the goodies!  Boo...

* In my defense, I didn't mean to.  The baby made me do it.  And I thought we had pudding... I can be wrong occasionally, you know?

     So anyway, there Hubbs and I sat, watching the heathens messily devour the lasagna and green bean bounty we had set before them while we quietly sweated bullets knowing Old Mother Hubbard had hard core been in her cupboard.  In our house, not having dessert is tantamount to ... oh... I dunno... pick something terrible. More quickly than we thought possible, both empty plates were presented with smiles and a hearty "Ta-dah!", seconds were denied, and it was time.  I went to the dessert shelf (yes, we have a whole shelf devoted to dessert) to try and buy some time but... wait... is that Quick?  Chocolate Quick?  Maybe a big glass of chocolate milk would satiate the beasts long enough for Hubbs and I to make a break for it and lock ourselves safely in the bathroom?  I went to the fridge for milk and.... hold up... we have plain greek yogurt!  Yogurt is kinda like pudding, right?  Well, that's what I'm going to tell them anyway....

3 minutes later...

... each child has their very own bowl of "special" chocolate pudding delicately garnished with Autumn colored sprinkles from last Fall's sugar cookies.  I AM A GENIUS!  Sass happily devoured two bowls full of the stuff and thanked me to boot.  Sprinks took one bite, opened her eyes wide in shock, grabbed her mouth in utter disgust, forced herself to swallow, aaaaand promptly puked it all up.  Hmmmm.... maybe it was a texture thing?

It was actually pretty good, though....

And I'm still counting this as a win, d*mnit.

Are you a PWM?

     I am a PWM (that's a Proud Working Mother for all of you out there).  Period.  End of sentence.  It may come as shock for some but there is no "..but if I could afford it, I'd stay home.".  That's it.  A PWM.  Let that sink in.... And you know what else?  Even if I could afford it I wouldn't stay home with my kids.  There!  I said it!  No guilt, no shame, just the truth.

     "Day care employees don't care!" a few Moms will cry.  "They will abuse your children!  They will  neglect your children!  They will be irreparably damaged!"...  Bullsh*t, I cry back.  Sure... there will always be bad people in this world.  Some of them will be day care employees, some will be pediatricians, and some will even be SAHMs.

     "If we birth them, we should raise them."  Ummm... and I'm not?  I may not be at home, teaching my kids to make caterpillars out of old tube socks and some pipe cleaners. but I am still helping them learn!  (Cool craft, btw.)  I am just doing it differently than someone who is a SAHM.

     But.... that's the REAL problem isn't it?  That we all have different ideas of what is beneficial for our children?  And as women, and our own BEST worst enemies, we judge, we form biased opinions, and we criticize....  Do you really think that other fathers leave nasty comments on posts, or whisper behind another Dad's back at a playdate about whether or not so-and-so uses Dr. Brown's or Wal-mart bottles or whether they get their fruit from the farmers market or Kroger?  For the most part, they don't.  WE do that to OUR OWN.  We have no one to blame but ourselves.

We really need to quit that sh*t, ya'll.

     This is why I believe I see so much passive aggressive nonsense and self-guilt about SAHM vs. Working Moms out there in the blogoshere.  You can quote whatever obscure study you want to (there are sh*t tons for both sides) about what is better for who, but what it all really boils down to, ladies.... is our penchant for trying to emotionally destroy one another.  Our incessant need to build ourselves up by breaking others down because we are unsure and afraid of our own choices.

WE are our biggest OBSTACLE.

     I don't SAH, cloth diaper, worry about organic, or EBF but I also don't think those who do are bad Mothers.  I think we are all trying to figure out a puzzle with no defined boundaries or space... our kids and their futures. We are all trying to do our best and our best definitely shouldn't include negativity.  To so fervently believe that yours is the only way that you are blinded to all other ideas is dangerous, scary, and wrong.  Nobody ever knows it all and has it all right.  Nobody.  Ever. Take some pressure off yourselves and realize we will never be perfect.  And besides... perfection is boring!

     SO again I say... I am a PWM.  The Hubbs and I are doing what WE FEEL is right for OUR CHILDREN by providing them with lots of social interaction, a structured curriculum, and space away from Mommy and Daddy to figure out who they are.  WE are also showing them that both Mommy and Daddy are thinking, contributing members of society who are passionate about learning and doing as well as Mommy and Daddy, their doting parents.  One of the great things about raising children is that there are TONS of ways to teach them all the things you as a parent feel are important.  Each child will be raised differently to become an individual we can all learn from and this will make the world an even more interesting place for all of us.

     So, next time, instead of snickering behind your hand at another Moms way of doing things, think about what they are teaching their child and how that could enrich your life and the life of your child.

And PWMs... no more apologies.  Just own it and rock it...

4 going on 14

     Sass Monkey is... well... is going through A PHASE.  *cue ominous music*  I can safely say I hate this phase.  Passionately.  I don't hate my Sass, of course, but d*mn boy... cut that sh*t out.  The problem is, despite the lack of any body hair growth or voice cracking, my big, blue-eyed boy thinks he is an Axe-Body-Spray-wearing, zit-popping, honest-to-gawd teenager.  This phase comes complete with eye rolling, ignoring my very existence, and "Duh, Mom.".  Here is an example of a typical conversation:

Me:  "Don't use the furniture as a jungle gym, Monkey Boy."
Sass:  *continues to swing/jump/chew on the arm of the couch as if I haven't spoken*
Me:  "Sass, quit it.  Get off the couch."
Sass:  *more ignoring*
Me:  "I said get off the couch!" *snatching ensues*

or

Sass:  "You forgot my milk, Mom."
Me:  "I didn't forget it.  I'm getting it right now."
Sass:  "I'm thirsty.  I want some milk, Mom!"
Me:  "I am pouring it right now.  Use your eyes, please."
Sass:  "Well, Duh." *eye roll*
Me: *more snatching ensues*

He also liberally applies "Seriously?" and "I told you!" to his everyday beratement conversation..  Grrrrr....  This little Napoleon is just itchin' for his Waterloo.

     I will admit to a shorter fuse due to hormones and general pregnancy exhaustion, but come ON, little man!  You just had to skip ages 5-13 and go straight to teenager with a wish for certain irreparable bodily harm?  But why?  Even Daddy has had enough... and he has WAY more patience than I do.  Dude... just.... Please?

Sass Monkey the Dictator Barbarian

Concerning the Hubbs....

With Father's Day fast approaching, I would like to pay tribute to Hubbs and his awesomeness.  I couldn't have done it without him... no really, I couldn't have... marriage and progeny usually take two.  But he really is awesome... and handsome... and smart... and gonna read this...  :)

AH-hem

But seriously, I feel lucky everyday (at some point, at least) to have found, married, and created a family with this man.  Watching him with our kids (he is a WAY nicer parent) warms my heart and apparently other things that lead to more children.  ;)  Here are just a few reasons why he is the most fantastic of Fathers... and of Men!

1.  He has taught our son to burp properly... Sprinks is not far behind.
2.  He says he likes the baby weight.  An attorney to the end, this one.....
3.  The man can grill a steak that will make you slap your Momma.
4.  He gets up with the kids at night when they play "Bed Battle" because I am enormous and pregnant and the stairs suck.
5.  He picked out a purple tutu bathing suit for Sprinkles because "It was the most obnoxious one I could find so I knew you two would like it."... and he was right.
6.  He cooks AND does the dishes.
7.  He wore a pink Candy Land Band-aid to work today on his poor, beat-up thumb because we were out of Spiderman ones.
8.  He pretends not to notice my wrinkles... or my grey hair... or my various noticeably sagging bits.
9.  He puts up with my frantic and sporadic pregnancy cleaning.
10.  He can negotiate tiny toddler hair elastics.
11.  He can reach things on the top shelf and open jars.
12.  He lets the kids use him as a trampoline to get back massages.
13.  He's a snuggler.
14.  He makes his own beer and brings home deer.  It rhymes AND it's hot.
15.  When combined, our DNA can do amazing (and sometimes scary) things.  Like make wonderfully frustrating little people full of opinions, poop, and... wait... I said opinions, right?

We love you Daddy!

Only a real man can handle a fairy with a full diaper on his shoulders...

That's some good DNA work, right there....

Tired but still multi-tasking.

He is so awesome at multi-tasking!

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

It's too hot for a Title....

I'm pregnant, it's in the 90s (eff, eff, EFF) so I gots nada.

Except...

Except...

If one more unfortunate soul makes one more pregnancy comment I will temporarily suspend my stance concerning non-violence towards the mentally feeble and leave nothing of their passing but a rusty stain in the carpeting.  I have been holding off on snarky, bad tempered come-backs because it is polite... of me.  They aren't actively TRYING to be assholes, right?... they just can't help it.  It must be ingrained in their DNA and, not unlike sharks, they just have to bite the surfboard.  Or poke the bear...

But I can still write them, you know.  And let's just be truthful with ourselves here... I WILL start saying these things in a month or so.  I will have to divert all energy from non-essential programming, like my verbal filter, to programs that help me concentrate on not peeing when I sneeze.

Responses to Observations On My Very Obvious Pregnancy And Its Aftermath:

"You sure there's just one in there?"  (Mind you, I am only 17 weeks and already very pregnant looking.  This is SOOOOOO "poking the bear".)

- Great... you think I'm fat?
- One what?
- You know we aren't cats, right?
- Go make yourself useful and get me a doughnut.

"Oh you poor thing.  You are going to be so tired/busy/crazy." (in reference to having 3 on the outside)

- No shit.
- No shit.
- No shit, Sherlock.

"You know how that happens, right?"  (I hate this one so very, very much.)

- Actually I have no idea.  Be a dear and draw me a diagram.
- I knew I shouldn't have swallowed.
- How "what" happens?
- Only when the kids are asleep.  *evil grin and awkward pause*


And to you crazy blue hairs who think it's okay to touch my belly... you do realize I am just pregnant, not paralyzed, right?  My arms and hands still work just fine and I will hurt you.  I am going to start hissing at the Grandma Grabbies while walking away quickly.

Grr..

The More You Know... A Public Service Announcement.

   You know when you have a great idea and you are all like "Why doesn't EVERYONE do this?  I am an effing genius..." and then you do it.... and you realize exactly why everyone doesn't do this?  Yeah... had one of those last night.  So... as an F.Y.I. (or for personal amusement) may I present my:

10 Reasons Why Outside Kiddy Pool Time Should Not Double As Bath Time

(and for all of you that are all like "Well, duh."... bite me.)

1.  Bugs.  As in, Mosquito bites where the sun don't shine.  No bueno when one is dealing with a Disney Princess Pull-Up.

2.  Grass Clippings.  Dried grass clippings.  Everywhere.  The kids are fine while in the pool... but then the little albino demon-weasels get OUT of the pool to careen around the yard and eventually bust it.  Have you ever tried to scrape grass clippings out of a 4 year olds armpits?  No?  Well... lucky you.

3.  Neighbors.  One of our neighbors is a Psychology Professor at a local college.  He walked out on his deck last night, took one look at the sudsy, muddy mayhem, turned back around and went inside.  Freud THAT, pendejo.... but please don't call DCS.

4.  Hose water is roughly the same temperature as glacial melt water.  I could just fill the pool with ice cubes and get about the same reaction from my children as I dump cups of frigid "torture liquid" over their heads.

5.  My childrens' bums are so pale they actually glow.  They act as a sort of "beacon of shame" for any passers by who aren't used to our family antics and might be jonesing for a reason to overreact.  Again... please don't call DCS.

6.  Potty training.  What does this have to do with bathing in a kiddy pool, you ask?  Well... not IN the kiddy pool, per say, but when your daughter decides to bolt out of the pool so she can do her dooty in the grass in front of God-n-everybody, then it has everything to do with bathing in the kiddy pool.  Because when you are naked outside, apparently that means you are also free of even the most basic of social restraints... like dropping a dood in public... loudly... in the grass.  In her defense, it looked incredibly satisfying.

7.  Clean-up.  You can't just pull the plug like in the tub... you have to drain the whole damn pool.  Otherwise you will end up with what looks like crop circles in your carefully cultivated weed patch grass.

8.  Your children will smell like baby shampoo... and grass.  I'll just let their teachers try and figure out that one on their own today.  You know... keep 'em guessing.

9.  As you try to cleanse them in said glacial melt, your children will scream and yell like they are being seriously injured... slowly.  This will be loud enough to draw the attention of still more neighbors and curious passers by.  Also, saying things like "But it's just like camping." may give the wrong impression to your sweet littles and cause them to suddenly get the shakes anytime anyone even mentions the word "tent".

10.  Did I mention the grass clippings?  They get into everything, and I mean EVERYTHING.  No crevice was safe.  It was like we had dipped my babies in elmers and rolled them in glitter except that would have been cute and this was not.  It looked like someone had rolled warm, sticky marshmallows in a leaf pile.

So yeah... lesson learned.  

But we tried... and THAT'S the most important part, right?  RIGHT?!?!

The Sandals of Eternal Stench (Sorry "Labyrinth"...)

   My kids' feet really reek.  I mean, an invisible-stone-wall-of-impenetrable-funk kinda stink.  These tiny, adorable, wiggly pink nubs on the ends of their legs create so much odiferous flavor that they will chase grown men out of a large and well-ventilated room.  You can smell it, taste it, and SEE it.

     It's sandal season, you see, and despite, you know, being SANDALS  (shoes with openings and stuff to let air in and out) they grow such a funk that I am considering writing Washington and suggesting these tiny WMDs as an ecologically friendly alternative to mustard gas.  I have washed their shoes in hot water, cold water with Dawn, detergent, and baby shampoo.  I have air dried them, sun dried them, and even soaked them in Purell hoping that the alcohol would at least make a dent in the alarmingly prolific stink-bacteria colony that is so obviously inhabiting my childrens' toes.  I wash their feet every night in a combination of antibacterial hand soap and fervent prayer because HOLYHAIRYJEEZUS JUST MAKE IT STOP!  I will sacrifice a goat if I have to.

     Sprinkels' new favorite activity is to whip her shoes off the minute we are all nicely trapped buckled into the car.  We don't just have to crack a window... we have to open all four full-bore and the sunroof and then you STILL get hit with grey-matter-melting whiffs now and then at a stop light or when making slow turns.  This makes any kind of long distance travel quite impossible.  And while eating a delicious dinner of bratwurst, peas, and fruit salad last night I was almost completely thrown off my food by the insidiously creeping guerilla-stench emanating from beneath the table.

It's a bit embarrassing.  What must their teachers think?  We bathe them, really we do.  Daily, in fact.  We are not dirty people!  And we could buy them new shoes but this would still happen.  Within a week of purchase, the merciless fetor would begin to wind its way back in and we can't afford to buy new shoes every month...  can we?

So.... what do we do?  It's already this bad and the true heat of summer hasn't even hit us yet.  Oh gawd... just imagine July and August!  *gag*

If anyone has a suggestion, I would really LOVE to hear it!  We need help!  I am sending out a De-Stink S.O.S.!

Then and now... a boo-boo retrospective.

     Sprinkles took a dive this morning that ended up with a small cut on her eyebrow.  She cried for a minute, but then let me clean her up while she played with the boo-boo ice pack.  Some kisses from Daddy and Mommy and a band-aid and she was right as rain.
It's funny how becoming a parent changes you.  3 years ago, Hubbs and I might have reacted completely differently... but we know better now.  :)  Let me give you some examples.

Eating sidewalk chalk:
#1 - "No, no!  Don't do that!"  *Take all chalk away and do something else.*
#2 - "So which color tastes the best?  Pink?  Yeah... it looks like it."

Falling down:
#1 - "Are you okay?  Let's check for broken bones!  I need a band-aid and ice pack STAT!"
#2 - "Ooo... that was a good one.  Let me see...  yup... yer good.  No blood no foul."

Food that has fallen on the floor:
#1 - "No honey, don't eat that.  It's dirty.  Let Mommy clean that up."
#2 - "Hey Sprinks... you dropped some Cheerios.  Awwww.... Mommy's little Hoover."

Mud puddles:
#1 - "Wait honey.  Lets go change into "play clothes" before you get all muddy."
#2 - "If you are okay with getting the hose then I say go for it!"

Random acts of testing of mortality:
#1 - *long explanation of why he shouldn't do something*
#2 - "Did that hurt?  Well, we learned something today didn't we..."

Head bonk with bruising and/or minimal blood:
#1 - "OMG!  We need to get his head x-rayed!  Call the pediatrician and tell them we are on our way to the ER!"
#2 - "Your pupils look fine. Can I kiss it to make it better?  Once the bleeding stops we'll get on our way to school."

So basically the 3rd will be raised by wolves.

* For those of you who are like "But there was blood!" let me assure you...  she was acting normally, her pupils were fine, and the cut was on her brow ridge, the toughest part of the skull.  The cut was also too small for even one decent stitch.  It just bled like a sonofagun...*

Wait! Wait! Are you sure I'm ready?

     My baby girl... is growing up.  Shocker, I know, as kids tend to do this but it's still a little hard and a little wonderful all at the same time.

     As the new edition is quickly rounding me out, we have had to begin the transition process for sweet Sprinkles. This is not the kind of transition you look forward to, like potty training, where the end goal allows you to shed some sort of baby shackle and function more like an adult instead of a personal servant.  No. This is the most dreaded transition of all... from crib to bed.  She will no longer be confined and will be able to run amok at all hours, should she so choose.  Or fall down the stairs.  Or play in the toilet.  Or terrorize her brother.  Yes, all of these things and so much more.  Her opportunities will be endless.  *sigh*  But all good things must come to an end, right?  Or as my Great-Great-Grandmother used to tell my Grandma "Whistling Girls and Crowing Hens always come to some bad end."... or something.  Whatever, it was Victorian and they were odd.

So anyhoo...

     The conversion from crib to bed happened and the creature was freed... and she took a nap.  Wait.... Wha? That's right, folks.  My 20 month old laid down and took a nap.  And she didn't get up.  Not even once.  Okay... okay.  I know what you are thinking and there were no drugs or duct tape involved, I swear.  I thought it was a fluke and was convinced bedtime was going to turn into the Super Ball Battle of in-out-in-out that Sass Monkey became famous for.  It only happens rarely.... but I CAN be wrong.

     As I knelt next to her crib bed that night, cooing sweet words of encouragement and sleep after some kisses goodnight, she place one chubby little hand gently on the side of my face and.... pushed hard and said "Go.".  She then hugged her kitty and closed her eyes.  Clearly I had been dismissed.  She was ready and I was not.

     I was stunned as I closed her door quietly and walked down the stairs.  My baby didn't need me.  :(  My baby didn't need me.  :)  She had broken my heart and put it back together again with one pudgy, drool covered nudge.  At that moment she was the most powerful force in my world... but all she knew was it was past her bedtime and Mommy was being weird and wouldn't shut up.  Silly Mommy... now leave.  I'm tired.

Well... okay, then.

My baby isn't a baby, ya'll.... *gulp*