The Peasants Foiled My Evil Plan...

Our three year old is allergic to sleep. She goes to bed wonderfully (that is after I have read to her, placed her blankets on her perfectly, fetched her all of her "favorite" stuffed animals, found her Bible, placed Holy Water on her head, kissed her 4 times on each cheek, and made a sacrifice to the sleep gods that her slumber will last her throughout the night!), she just doesn't STAY asleep.

Some nights she is up just once, others nights she can visit our bedroom up to 4 times. It is frustrating and we have tried everything (so please do not put your "we tried this with our precious angel and it worked" suggestions in my comments). Each time she wakes up I simply guide her back to her bed and tuck her in... it takes only 2 minutes and I am back in my own bed in no time. I will admit that some nights I do not fall asleep again after she wakes me up, but I am assuming that is just a side affect of pregnancy and surely by the time she is 18 she will not be waking me up any longer. *fingers crossed*

The other night I came up with a brilliant plan! My son has never been a good sleeper either (my children must be so intelligent that their brains do not turn off at night and therefore they are thinking of quantum physics or something instead of sleeping). He does not like to sleep alone-or be alone... so I suggested to our little one that she goes and climbs in with her brother when she wakes up in the night. That way, she can bypass coming into my room and the two little people in our house who like to cuddle and have a warm body next to them can have each other.

The first night was a success. Our son welcomed her into his bed and they slept soundly until after I was even done with my shower. It was a world record! The second night... last night, did not go so well.

I did not calculate into my evil "passing of the sleepless night's torch" that my son is both a mixture of his father and of me. The part that is of his father is the one that would welcome his sister into his bed to cuddle up next to and keep warm. This is just like my husband, he likes to cuddle and sleep close. I on the other hand HATE IT! I am cranky at night and I do not want to be touched. That is the part that my son picked up from me... the cranky if woken up part. So, although he would have happily had a little body next to him to cuddle with, he was not happy when she walked in at 4 a.m. and demanded he share his covers and give her a pillow (she obviously gets her "demanding" attitude from me as well... can't these kids get any of my good traits like my ability to recall 80's pop music at the sound of the first note?)

Our little one was back in our room in no time... with tears in her eyes and proclaiming her brother's meanness for all of the household to hear. That is except for our oldest who I would never suggest to our little one to go climb in bed with because our oldest is the carbon copy of me. Do not bother this child when she sleeps. She sleeps long and hard and if woken up she will place her wrath upon you. I just leave her be-one day she will have children of her own and her pleasant nights of sleeping soundly will be shattered.

So now we are back to where we started. I think I will do a practice run tonight before bed-much like you would practice a fire drill with your children. I will have them practice how to quietly climb in and out of each other's beds without waking mommy up. If all else fails, I will just pretend I am a possum and play dead when my daughter walks in my room--then my husband will have to carry the sleep torch, but he is very VERY good at playing possum himself... he's been doing it now for three years.

Friday Romance...

My husband took the day off of work today-I don't know why, he just felt like having a day off I guess. He works hard so a day off here and there on a Friday is much appreciated.

His original plan was to go golfing, but when he woke up it was raining out so he had to change his plan. As I have said before, my husband is nesting. He wants everything in order for when the baby comes, so he suggested that he and I go to the commissary together... without children... and even get some Taco Bell! He was accurate in pointing out that our cupboards were so bare that Mother Hubbard would have to fry up the dog rather than looking for a lonely bone for the poor thing. I agreed and I was excited at the prospect of a couple of hours alone with my guy. My heart was a flutter and I was giddy with sexual desire. Hey, I am about to give birth here-I am like a 15 year old boy pulling his mom's Victoria's Secret magazine out of the mailbox-I have no control.

Now, my husband and I go to the commissary (grocery store for all of you civilians out there) a lot together, but lately I have been doing it solo or with my son. I can zip through the aisles faster than a race car driver and get in and out of that place in no time. Today, shopping with my husband I realized why I had decided to start going it alone the last few months... he is soooo slow! It is like shopping with my mother-and if you knew my mother you would know that she does nothing in a speed faster than a turtle... a turtle who recently had hip replacement. My mom has always been slow and that is just the way she rolls... slow. I on the other hand have to do things fast. I have to talk fast, type fast, do the dishes fast, shower fast, and even walk fast. The only one who has me beat on my fast speed is my older sister, but I chalk that up to the fact that her legs are about 2 inches longer than mine and she just takes longer strides.

Anyway... my husband was getting on my last nerve at the store, and seeing as I am about to drop this baby from my loins, she is so low that she is resting on my sciatic nerve-so having my husband on my last nerve and this baby on my sciatic nerve made for a very frustrating shopping trip.

He had to read every stinking label! He had to comparison shop! He had to stop and chat with the senior citizen in the olive oil aisle about the Vin numbers on the back of the bottle in comparison to the Vin number on the shelf label! He kept suggesting foods that I never buy and by the time we were finished, not only did I spend $60 more than my usual grocery run, but I wanted to rip out the ad in the back of the Star magazine for the divorce lawyer/exotic dancer!

But all was forgiven and forgotten when we were able to enjoy our fancy lunch of Chalupas and Empanadas. I looked across the sticky table for two that only has enough room for a one-armed person and all of my sexual desires came rushing back. It is Friday, my husband has the day off, I am eating a Chalupa, and I am feeling frisky. It doesn't get any better than that!

Look Hon, No Pants!

Has anyone seen the Burger King commercial that is on right now advertising the kid's meal with SpongeBob?

It starts out with an ENTIRE family in the bathroom-kids asking mom if they are going to BK. They run off in delight and mom then turns her attention back to cleaning the sink (I bet there is cemented toothpaste on the sink, as I am quite sure there is cemented toothpaste on every sink in every house that has children... and men.) We then notice that her husband is not only in the bathroom with her, but he is in the bathtub... taking a bubble bath no less. Now, I don't know about you, but my husband does not take bubble baths because well, he is an adult and the only time he would attempt a bubble bath would be if I were in it with him and we were on vacation somewhere... without the kids.

The husband decides to be "funny" and puts a sponge on top of his head and stands up. We get a full frontal of this man-thankfully the bubbles have strategically hidden the family jewels-and he makes some off handed joke about a child's toy. "SpongeBob, no pants."

I am repulsed by this commercial every time I see it. First of all, what dad takes a bath (or does anything in the bathroom) with his children running in and out. Yes, our little one will run in and out of the bathroom while I am in there, as will the dog, and the occasional neighbor... but that is different. I am the mom-we have no private parts. All of our private parts have been on display for years and we are like anatomical eunuchs to our children. And secondly, why do we need to see this naked man make a joke about a kid's meal toy?? Gross!

Maybe if it were the Bachelor in all of his muscular glory standing up in the tub naked with the bubbles placed just so, and there was no mention of Spongebob... then I would not be so repulsed, but that kind of thing does not come on until after 8p.m. in these here parts.

I don't know what Burger King was thinking! I guess it could be worse. That creepy King they have who will show up in people's beds in the morning or on the elevator to work could have played the part of the naked husband in the bathtub. But my guess is that he is built like my Ken doll was when I was a little girl...

A Challenge

We have chosen the Godparents of our little #4 and today I have been browsing the Internet looking for the perfect gifts. My older sister is the Godmother and I have ordered this for her:

It is very sweet and it fits her to a tee...

I have come upon a road block for what to get the Godfather. My cousin Steve is the Godfather and he is a Irish, drinking, hilarious, fun-loving kind of guy. I want to mix all of those things in with the fact that I am so thankful to have him as our baby's Godfather and I cherish the relationship that he and I share and how happy I am that he has accepted this role of being a Godparent to one of my children.

That being said... I was going to order this:

But then I came across a T-Shirt saying this:

And then I saw this poster:

So as you can see... I am at a loss. I need to step away from the computer before I end up ordering him a Toilet Humor book!

I need your help-do you have any suggestions for a Godfather gift for a unique and lovable guy? One that will let him know how much he is loved but also be appropriate for the Sacrament of Baptism??? I am depending on you!

There Was a Saint Hubbins?

Spinal Tap is reuniting. I'm sorry... I've got nothing. This is all I can think of. Well no, this is not all I can think of, but I am in a bad mood today so this is the only "safe" thing I can think of without offending people...

Maybe I'll be back with a more pleasant outlook later in the day-right now, I prefer to stay in my bad mood.

Deodorant OCD

Random thought #1

I believe I have Deodorant Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I buy Secret Invisible Solid... but it is never invisible. Almost every time I put on this stinking deodorant, I get white marks on my shirt. I have tried the inside-out-roll-out technique when putting on my shirts, but I still get the white runs down my side. I have tried switching brands of deodorant, but none keep me BO-free quite like Secret does. I think I have cracked the code on my white marks...

Maybe I put too much on.

Each morning when I get out of the shower I count as I put on the deodorant.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 on the left...
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12 on the right...
then I have to go back to the left...
11,12,13... 13? UGH! Now I have to go back to the right...
13,14...
ARGH! Back to the left...
14!

I can have anywhere from 12 to 17 wipes under my pits on any given day. I think this may be deodorant overkill. I do not know why I need to have the same amount on each side... for fear of one pit smelling through 12 wipes versus the other not smelling through the 13 it received? Maybe I love my pits like I love my kids-equally. I do not want to show favoritism.

In any case, I think I am putting too much on so the "invisible protection" is overruled. Do people really only put 4 or 5 wipes on each pit? I do not know... but I am not willing to take my chances with a measly 4 or 5 wipes and end up smelling like dirty laundry.

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Random Thought #2

I have not been watching the Bachelor this season because, well he is in too good of shape for me. It is ridiculous! Do these girls not know what they are getting themselves into? Do they not know that life is much more pleasant if you fall in love with a man who has love handles and a little gut rather than a man who has more muscles than the statue of David?

I am thinking that working out is the Bachelor's main source of relaxation and entertainment. I am also willing to bet that he follows a very strict diet-a "NO FUN" diet. I can tell you that he probably expects the same level of commitment from the person he dates. That means no Dairy Queen M&M Blizzards for dinner. That means no laying on the couch for an entire Saturday afternoon and watching 5 movies while eating nachos and popcorn. That means no cake, cookies, cupcakes, candy, chips, or Milk Duds.

These poor girls are going to stress themselves out completely trying to keep up with this Iron Man and in the end they will find themselves hiding in the back of a closet stuffing a Honey Bun in their mouth for a little relief.

June Cleaver rule... never marry a man who is in top physical shape. Find a man who is a little on the lazy side when it comes to working out. Sure, find a man who will go to the gym... but also one who will say "OK" to your request for that DQ Blizzard for dinner. These are words of wisdom here...

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Random Thought #3

I have Narco-somnia.

When my little one wakes me up in the middle of the night to either give me another kiss, or to have me fix her blankets on her bed... I end up awake for the next hour or two. It stinks. I hate it and I pray for sleep to come.

When my husband's alarm clock goes off early in the morning after my hours of insomnia and he needs me to get up with him and make his lunch and breakfast... I can no longer keep my eyes open and I fall into a deep deep sleep in the 3 minutes that he is in the shower.

This is an amazing phenomenon to me. When woken up-I have insomnia, but when I am needed to get up and help someone... I have narcolepsy.

Scientists are baffled.

Under WEAR? Under THERE!

OK, so I recently did a post on nursing bras. It was all the rave and I received many emails on suggestions for the perfect "over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder." Thank you very much. I have ordered enough bras to last me through my prison sentence... I mean my nursing years, and will keep you posted on the support factor, the pretty factor and if they are repulsive enough to keep my hound dog husband at bay (for the time being).

Today I thought I would share a conversation I recently had with a girlfriend of mine who is 6 months pregnant.

She called me one day to ask what kind of underwear I wear. She apparently knows me well and was confident that I would go on for hours about my panties. She was right. We had a long conversation about what type, make, model and year built that the panties were that I am sporting these days.

She was a little apprehensive about going out and buying the granny pantie that I had suggested. Hey-I am pregnant, there is nothing sexy about what is going on with this body so therefore if I put on some sexy panties i.e. thongs, it would be like a man who has not showered in days putting on cologne. It does not work and it makes other people avoid you.

In my opinion, there are few times when one can get away with wearing granny panties for months on end. The first, is if you are my mother and have worn them since the beginning of time and therefore do not know that there is a different kind of world out there-one that is full of panties that do not go all the way up to your belly button and all the way down to your mid-thigh. But she is happy and why challenge her full-coverage freedom. The other is when you are pregnant.

My friend is STILL wearing thongs. Crazy I know, but she just cannot let go of the need to feel sexy, and then she said it... the words I knew she was going to say but was hoping that she would have thumbed her nose at and ignored. She said that her husband does not like the granny panties and therefore she is still sporting the floss between the cheeks look-even though the cheeks are getting larger and her tummy is all but hiding the front on the thong so she looks like her body is literally EATING her underwear.

I sat stunned in silence. Finally I had to ask, "Well, is your husband paying any attention to you while you are in these thongs of yours?" Her answer... "No."

I convinced her that if said husband does not take an interest in you while sporting said floss than he has no say in what you wear. AND JUST WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS? (I didn't say that last part, but I was definitely thinking it!)

Long story short, she has gone out and bought the granny panties and called me to fill me in on the pretty colors and the comfort level that she is feeling. It is amazing what a little room "under there" can do for a woman's outlook on life!

Were You Ever a Kid???

My husband and I are in a heated debate... no, it is not the Economics versus Hormones debate, this debate is much more critical to the pleasant atmosphere that permeates the air in our loving home.

Should we or should we not buy our little 3 year old a sandbox.

For weeks now I have been waiting for the warm weather to come so that I could go to Toys R Us to buy a sandbox. I love sandboxes. They are hours of cheap entertainment for kids of all ages. Our little one is at the stage where she no longer wants to play inside where I am, she wants to run free in the warmth of the outdoors every waking hour of the day. She will beg and bribe-she even told me the other day "Mommy, I will give you a penny if you let me go outside." She is a smart cookie. I figure if I have a sandbox, I can at least keep her in the backyard.

I have not shared my plan of getting a sandbox with my husband because frankly, he is no fun. Seriously-I can only assume that he never had any fun as a child and therefore does not know what it is like to feel the cool sand of a sandbox between your little toes, or the thrill it is to dump and pour sand for hours and hours.

He always veto's my brilliant ideas!

"Let's get a TRAMPOLINE!"
"NO... too dangerous! Our kids will break their arm, or worse, the neighbor's kid will break his arm and they will sue us and we will lose everything and become homeless."

"Let's get a POOL!"
"NO... do you know how much upkeep a pool is? I don't have time to go to work so that you can stay home and live the life of a princess and also take care of a pool."

"Let's buy another PUPPY!"
"No... the dog we already have stinks and a puppy will pee on the carpet and poo everywhere and I will have to spend more money to have the carpets shampooed each month."

"Let's have another BABY!"
"NO!"
"You are right... what was I thinking?"

This morning I briefly mentioned that I was planning on taking our little one to Toys R Us and getting a sandbox for her. I mentioned this while Fox News was on and while he was scanning his blackberry in hopes that he would just give me a "Uh-Huh." and life as we know it could carry on as planned. Well, he stopped dead in his tracks and said "We are NOT buying a sandbox!"

Why not? What is the harm in a sandbox? I do not understand his logic. His concern is the mess that will be tracked around the yard and in the house. I on the other hand do not have this concern because I do not see sand being tracked into the house... and if it is tracked in the yard--who gives a crap! Anyway, if sand does come into the house who does he think will clean it up? HIM? Not likely.

Here is the deal. This man of mine gets up every morning and goes off to work. He is surrounded by adults all day and he is able to have conversations that do not involve the words "Mommy, Snack, Little Bear, Can I?, or Wipe ME" all day long. He truly has no idea what happens in this house during the day. He is not aware of the fighting between the two oldest, or the tantrums with the little one. He does not have to drag three children (two that are unhappy that they have to go) on every errand that he has. He also is able to use the toilet without an audience of a dog and a three year old-every stinking time! So... if I need a sandbox for a little sanity around here, well then he better get used to the idea that I am going to buy that sandbox!

My husband also has a condition that I like to refer to as his "Christmas is Cancelled, " or his "sling-shot attitude." He will quickly veto a thought and not only will he say no, he will give a stern warning as to what will happen if the idea is actually carried out. This morning he said "OK, you can buy a sandbox, but we are cancelling the cleaning lady!" HUH? Crazyhusbandsayswhat? Why does he have to hit me where it hurts! I would give up indoor plumbing before I gave up my cleaning lady!

As God is my witness... I will get that sandbox. Childhood fun will prevail in this house if it is the last thing I do! When I was a kid, we were able to run free. We had a pool AND a sandbox. We never had a trampoline, but if we really wanted one I am sure it would have been in our backyard. We had dogs, cats, hamsters, a homing pigeon (yes, I said a homing pigeon), turtles, snakes, tadpoles, frogs, and birds. We ran in and out of our house with boundless energy, slamming the basement door at least 300 times a day without my mom yelling "IN OR OUT!" or "TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES!" or even "PUT SUNSCREEN ON!" We were carefree kids-we drank out of the hose for goodness sake! I want my kids to have the same thing.

Let life be all neat and organized when they are adults. Let kids be kids, stinky dogs be stinky dogs, and let hormonal pregnant women get their way! That is my motto.

It It Too Much To Ask For a Little Support... In a Pretty Shade of Pink?

I am going to cover a topic today that I have never read about on any blog, in any magazine or in any medical journal... nursing bras. I mean, come on! They stink. They are ugly and they look like something my Grandmother wore in 1932. They look like the prototype that first came out for bras (when the first man thought it would be beneficial if women had something to strap her twins down so he wouldn't have to walk around excited by her body all day long... men are so selfish.)

We have such an array of bras to chose from when we are not nursing. We have little bras, we have big bras, we have red, green and blue bras. There are bras that give you cleavage and there are bras that allow you to run without knocking yourself out. We have back support bras, and front support bras. There are water bras, push-up bras, separate and lift bras, and "has she gotten a boob job?" bras. We have bras with lace, bras with flowers and bras with sports' team logos on them. There are bras for everyday use and bras that are meant to only be worn for an hour and then lay on the floor. We have bras we wear for special occasions, and bras we wear hoping for a special occasion. There are even bras that can apparently perform miracles... but I have not found one nice nursing bra!

Buying a bra should be an Olympic event. It takes some people years to find one that fits right and does not pinch, bite, crowd, harness or cause pain. First though, you need to have a complete stranger who makes minimum wage in the lingerie department at Nordstrom's feel you up and measure you. Honestly, a man would never be caught DEAD having his personals measured and sized up by a stranger... unless it was a female and she was more attractive than Shamu that is.

Who really likes bras? I mean, I know WHY we wear them (visions of National Geographic women haunt my mind when I think of actually going braless... I personally do not want my boobies touching my belly button.) but do we ENJOY wearing them? I vote no. I take very good care of my bras. I hand wash them (OK, I only hand wash the "gonna get me lucky-which will possibly lead to pregnancy-stupid bra!) ones and the others get tossed in the washing machine... but I do air dry them all so that they do not lose their shape. I fold them and place them delicately in my drawer (OK, I wad them up and toss them in the sock drawer-only to curse and scream when I cannot find the one black bra that goes with that one black top that I have that I want to wear today because I am feeling a little frisky and I want my husband to notice my cleavage and not my cellulite.) But still...

The last few days I have been on a mission to find a few nursing bras. I have decided that the world is a cruel cruel place. Once a woman goes through 9 months of pregnancy... and yes, I know pregnancy is supposed to be a beautiful thing, but let's be honest with ourselves shall we? Pregnancy makes women look just odd. My husband has learned to avert his eyes when I walk naked from the bathroom to the closet everyday because if I catch him even glance at me it will send me into crying fits of "Don't look at me!" I compared myself to a naked sea lion the other day and my sister had to agree. Nice. But anyway... pregnancy is not a great body image builder, and then you go through birth and are left with a deflated balloon for a tummy and torpedoes for boobs and you don't know what to make of yourself. The sympathetic makers of nursing bras have obviously taken all of this into consideration and made an arrangement of the ugliest, most uncomfortable nursing bras for a woman to chose from... I bet male politicians are behind this obvious attempt to bring women down. First they screw us with the no equal pay thing, and now nursing bras. Sheesh!

I purchased a nursing bra the other day at a baby store and decided to wear it yesterday, as my regular bras have been screaming for some relief from my pregnancy induced breast augmentation. When I put it on I thought it felt rather snug, but figured I would just have to stretch it out. I have this same belief with jeans... if I just do enough squats and lunges after I put them on, surely they will loosen up around my rear. Anyway, after a couple of hours I had to take the nursing bra off. I felt defeated. I am normally a 36 C and so I was buying a 36 D for nursing-which has been my routine for the last 2 kids. My first born, I went from a perky 34 B to a saggy 36 C... life is just not fair. This bra was so tight that I started scanning the Internet for a 36DD! My husband was excited (I don't know why... it is not like he is going to be able to-WHATEVER!) I was very sad because once you go into DD's, the pretty factor is out the window for bras. I was looking at a future of Cross-Your-Heart support with 4 inch thick straps, and 17 clasps in the back. *Big Sigh*

I figured I needed to return the bra I had purchased and started to fold it up and put it back in the original packaging... and what do I see? I had accidentally brought home a 36 B! I was not growing to enormous proportions at all! I was just going blind in the nursing bra aisle at the baby surplus store! What a relief!

I called my sister right away to tell her the good news... that I was able to withstand a couple of hours with only B cup boobies! Yes, my girls were relieved when I took off the bra and I felt like Hilary Swank in "Boys Don't Cry" with an ace bandage wrapped tightly around me... but I had stuffed these suckers into a B cup and survived! So I say BRING ON LABOR! I am no longer afraid! I stuffed my C's into a B for a time and came out rejuvenated! It is the little things in life, or in my case, the larger... but not so large that I have to go to DD's, that make me smile.

By the way, if any of you have found the perfect nursing bra-please let me know. I am looking for one that does not have any of those stupid flowers all over it (that will ultimately show through when I wear a white shirt) and no lace. I am partial to the ones they probably hand out to women inmates-white or beige and plain. Nothing that will excite my husband too much-now, that is a tall order!

It Is A Slow and Painful Death... Hormonally Speaking

I had an interesting conversation with my husband last night. He was editing a magazine article he had written and we were talking about him asking our neighbor if he could take a look at it before he submits it.

Me: "I could edit it for you."

Him: Sounding a little haughty, "No, I don't think so"

Me: "Well why not?"

Him: "Just... because."

Me: What is this article about?"

Him: "Economics"

Me: "So, let me read it."

Him: "You wouldn't understand it."

Me: blinking back my disbelief in his dance with a slow and horrible death, "I don't understand economics?" Then I turned to my daughter and said, "Your father thinks he is smarter than me."

Him: "It is not that I think I am smarter, it is just that I understand this and you don't. It would be like you asking me to edit a paper on hormones for you."

Me: Again blinking at him in disbelief, not knowing I had actually married a CAVE MAN! "Oh... hormones."

I did not reply, I simply walked into the kitchen and proceeded to:

• eat an entire chocolate cake
• throw an expensive plate against the wall screaming "NO ONE UNDERSTAND ME!"
• start to cry hysterically
• grab my car keys and head out to Target to see if there is anything I may need to buy.

My husband looked at me in complete disbelief.

Him: "What is wrong with you?"

Me: "You wouldn't understand... it is hormonal. By the way, tomorrow I am selling your golf clubs and donating your collection of sports jerseys to Good Will. I must be hormonal. Also, I want you to paint the living room yellow and the dining room red... don't ask me why, I am hormonal. Oh, and if you want to have sex tonight--I am feeling hormonally imbalanced and I feel a headache coming on. But I wouldn't expect you to understand."

I then run into out bathroom and lock the door... I can carry on like this for weeks! I bet I am editing that economics paper by tomorrow evening.