I should have finished pre-med

#2 son has an ear infection. Such is the life of a little guy in daycare with an older, germ carrying brother. He has handled it in true #2 son style; sleepless night and Crankenstein behavior. Nothing with #2 is remotely easy, ever. Except meal time, when Henry VIII rears his ravenous head and the little fat king eats, a lot. Which is quite the opposite of #1 son (even now) so at least #2 throws us a bone. But I digress.

So his ear infection is bad enough to warrant a dose of antibiotics, orange flavored. I tasted them and this picky eater thinks they are fine. #2 disagrees, strongly. He took them the first 2 times, then began the violent “NO!” head shake. So I started mixing them in apple sauce and he gobbled them up. Until tonight, when the apple sauce was no more.

TH is out at a hockey game, with my blessing, so he is not here to help with the medicine giving gymnastics. But #1 son is. I instructed him to stand in front of #2 and make funny faces (but not too funny, don’t want #2 to choke) while I administered the evil elixir in a syringe. Worked like a freaking charm. So there.


What mess mom?

Times have changed. I admit to being an anal control freak, whose house will never be neat enough for my own liking. However, between the births of #1 and #2 something happened. I have chilled a wee bit. #1 and #2 sit amidst an enormous mess of rubber containers and lids in my kitchen. While I allowed #1 to empty this same cabinet as a little guy, I still maintained some control over the chaos. (only a few containers allowed at a time, only allowing the mess for about 5 minutes) Since #2 came along, the amount of minutes I can get by myself is much less, so short of chewing on an aluminum can from the recycling bin, whatever gets me those precious minutes is fair game. Especially when TH isn’t home from work yet, it’s dark outside at 5pm, a Pete’s Wicked Ale is whispering to me from the fridge, and new magazine arrived in today’s mail.


Today is a PJ day, or in #1’s words “pajammy” day. #1 and #2 are both in their PJs at 3:20pm EST. The only reason TH and I are clothed is because I ran on the treadmill (done early so I could justify some wine later in the day-and now is technically later) and remain in my leggings and t-shirt, and TH is out blowing leaves. So yeah, we’re all pretty gross. But 2 cases of strep (TH and me, not the germpits…errr kiddos), an upset tummy (#1, I am looking at you) and the ever cranky #2 (seriously, how bad can it be to have every single of your needs met on a daily basis) who needs to be “fancy” (another favored term by #1)?

And dinner has been cooking all day; I got my act together and put a black bean chili in the crockpot this morning, I’ll use leftovers for enchiladas tomorrow. (Are you there God? It’s me, Martha). Yum.

Working and Raising Kids…One Last Nerve at a Time

It’s one of those mornings. Why have an alarm clock when there are children in the house? My six month old decided that 5:30am is the perfect wake up call; he’s raring to go so why aren’t I? Of course him being up this early throws my entire morning routine off. I normally try to be up, dressed and ready to go before my kids. Most of the time this works, not so much today. Coupled with the fact that I dared to take a vacation day yesterday to stretch out the holiday weekend, I am dreading opening my work e-mail. In fact I look at it through my fingers, like you do when watching a horror movie. By 7am, the baby had a melt down, I had a melt down (with crying) and my husband was eying the front door, planning his escape. How sad when he’d prefer to battle traffic in the rain then stay around a few more minutes and watch me dissolve into a puddle on the floor.

Oh yeah and we’re out of milk and diapers. No doubt my preschooler will wake and demand milk with his cereal. (He’s so unreasonable) Husband volunteers to run out, only to find the grocery store at the end of our street without power, so he has to try another. Are you kidding me?

I get into the shower since my day is packed with client meetings and washed hair is appropriate and I pull the baby in there too to sit in his bouncy seat. Nothing kills a relaxing shower like peeking out of the shower doors to sing a few verses of Wheels on the Bus so that the baby won’t cry. God forbid a I should get five seconds to shave my legs in peace. By the time I have made myself presentable (the bags under my eyes are a fact of life that I am slowly accepting) #1 son is up, and thankfully dressed. But the demands begin. “Mom I want milk,” “mom I want breakfast,” “mom, mom, mom…” By now I am ready to pull my hair out and run screaming from the house. I am so exhausted I feel hungover, without the alcohol to prove it.

As I go to load the morning dishes in the dishwasher I discover it was run last night, oh JOY how I love emptying the dishwasher, it seems like that is all I ever do. Oh yeah and wipe butts. In my childhood fantasies of being a grown up, these mundane tasks never factored into my dreams. The morning is capped off by me spilling thawed breast milk onto the counter. I let out a string of expletives (I know I shouldn’t curse in front of the kids, but this warrants it) clean up the mess and start gulping my 2nd mug of coffee. I don’t think it’s going to help today. And now I feel badly because I told my four year to get away from my toast, can I not have one thing to myself around here? I guarantee that if I made him his own, he’s look at it with disgust and refuse to eat it. And he already ate breakfast. When I am tired and hungry, my maturity level is that of a 2 year old. So there.

The Four Year Old Play Date

My preschooler had a friend over today. Before he arrived to play, we reviewed all of the play date rules that we have in this house. (The rules also apply to birthday parties):

-No hitting

-No kicking

-No pushing

-No screaming like a little girl. ( I honestly think my husband much prefers our son to hit other kids than to hear the high pitched screech he often makes when playing with friends)

-No tattling

(For other information on play dates, check out this book by Christie S Mellor, Three Martini Playdates)

For the most part, #1 son has no problem following the list, with the exception of no tattling. Four year olds LOVE to tattle on one another, then go back to playing. If my friends or coworkers tattled on me regularly and then expected life to go on as usual, they would be sorely mistaken and be in a line for a solid crotch punch (which I know violates other rules in our above list) But four year olds get a perverse pleasure in telling on one another, and if it gets their little friend in trouble (the Holy Grail is getting the friend in a time out), it’s even better.

When my girlfriend left with her little boy today we remarked that today was the most successful play date so far, only 2 issues of tattling, one by each boy. What caused today’s infractions? The non-sharing of a Wolverine costume and the use of a Mr. Potato Head body part as a weapon.