I Want My Cake While I'm Eating It. Or Something Like That.

So I asked (told) my husband that for Mother's Day I wanted him to take both kids somewhere.  That was not in our house.  Not to Home Depot, which is where he usually takes them when I get that look on my face, but somewhere entertaining.  For like five or six hours.  Except I don't want to have to rush around cleaning or doing messy projects while they are gone.  I want to watch my DVR shows and eat junk food without sharing.  And except, here's the kicker, I don't want him to do it on actual Mother's Day.  On Mother's Day I want to be a mom. With the kids.  But to celebrate being a mom, I want to be un-mommed for a bit. My husband (the BHitW) is really wonderful at stepping in, doing anything the girls need and house stuff too.  In general, however, the feeding/schedule-keeping/changing/entertaining falls to me by default.  As a person who would regularly remember to eat breakfast at 3pm (except coffee, a mom's gotta have standards) and who does not naturally keep a schedule, this is draining.  So just a little break from that.  Reasonable request?  Or guilty for asking for two "special days?"

Thanksgiving

I was wondering why Squish smelled like Thanksgiving this afternoon.  What a strange smell for a baby to have.  I sniffed her hair and her toes and lastly in her diaper area wondering if something bad had happened.  I didn't know if there was a Thanksgiving-smell disease like there is a maple syrup urine disease.  I mean, she is a little turkey!  I finally realized that she had pumpkin for lunch and Bug was sneaking her cinnamon graham cracker-thingies that she got for her birthday.  Pumpkin + cinnamon + graham cracker = Thanksgiving :)  And I don't even eat pumpkin pie!  Wonder if I could hire her out to smell like fresh baked cookies at realtor's open houses?

Inch by Inch

My daughter got a pair of shoes for Christmas that she loves.  I checked them a week or so ago to make sure they still fit.  Because last year we accidentally kept cramming her feet into too small shoes.  They grow out of those suckers fast!  Anyway, there was still space for her toes, so I didn't think anything else about it.  A few days ago my husband commented that Bug needed new socks because her feet were out-growing the ones she was wearing.  The same socks I just bought a month ago.  Next time she put on her red shoes, I checked the toes again and her feet were bulging against the toe of the shoe.  I'm thinking, is it even possible for her feet to grow like an inch a week?!  That is insane!  I immediately starting a hunt for new shoes in the next size, berating myself for letting this happen again. This morning Bug and I were leaving to go to the grocery store.  I picked up the red shoes because they were beside the door.  I put the sole of the shoe against sole of her foot and the shoe was still an inch or two longer than her foot.  What?  I reached in and found a pair of socks stuffed in the toe of each shoe.  Did my husband commit this insanity to combat his frustration that he can never find a pair of socks?  Did Bug do it when she was playing hide and seek with her figurines?  Her shoes still fit, but I can't figure out why her socks don't fit anymore.

Three

Bug turns three today.  Three is so strange.  I remember three as being my best year of childhood.  It was just so much damn fun.  I hope Bug feels that way about her third year.  She says and does some really adorable things. She calls eyebrows, eyebrellas.  She calls knives, sharks (because they can bite 'cha!).  She says "Shiver me timbers!" and "Ahoy mateys!" and "Kiss my grits!" and "Exsqueeze me please" when we pass someone in the aisle of a store. She says, "Happy 'scuse me" instead of "May I be excused" when she is done with dinner.  She knows all of the numbers in our address, but not in the right order.  She will tell you today she is "free years old."  She learned about Band-Aids and tape in the same week and now thinks mommy can fix anything.  Staples and glue are going to blow her mind.  She is so brave outside with the other kids if she falls down or gets hurt, but inside, a too-sharp tone can bring on the tears.  When she cries, she asks for a tissue, blows her nose, then throws the tissue away.  Everything isn't all better, but close.  She loves to eat M&Ms, mandarin oranges, pizza, pepperoni (but not on her pizza), and her daddy's bread, waffles and scones, but not his blueberry muffins.  But just plain blueberries, she can eat two pints a week or more.  She is my oxygen, my young pair of eyes.  I love that little girl so much it hurts some days.  Happy day sweet Bug.  Enjoy your purple door!

Scratch This

Squish's nose, chin, forehead and cheeks are covered with scratches.  I trimmed her nails earlier this week, so they are short and I checked them for sharp edges and there are none.  So, I am forced to conclude one of four possible causes:
1.  She turns into a tiny Wolverine in her crib at night.
2.  She has smuggled razor blades into her stuffed animals.
3.  She is getting scratched by the invisible cat that we do not own.
4.  She is utilizing her crazy baby flexibility and scratching her face with her toenails.

Any hypotheses?

Why watching Doomsday Preppers is a bad idea

First, a random for you.  When my blog loads (remember, I am VERY NEW at this) the title text pops up in Comic Sans before it switches to whatever the name is of the other font I picked.  I always feel a wave of nausea and my heart race for a second.  I am not a Comic Sans fan and would never choose it, so this makes me sad.

Ok, on to other topics.  Has anyone seen the show Doomsday Preppers?  My husband just started putting it on the DVR and I occasionally watch it with him.  I've also seen a few episodes of Extreme Couponing.  Here is my issue.  I am not-so-good in stressful situations.  I mean, I can handle a burst pipe, or running out of diapers, or even calling 911 and starting CPR if someone falls down clutching their chest.  But continually struggling for food, water, safety, sleep, etc would not be something I was good at.  So, as morbid as this sounds, if an apocalyptic event happens, I kinda hope I am in the first wave of people who don't make it.  My husband could make it.  At least for awhile.  So he just keeps putting in requests to buy weaponry, which I refuse with small children in the house.  My other problem with DP and ExCou (haha, just made that up) is that we have suddenly, with two small children, starting going through multiple gallons of milk in a week.  So now I have this urge to keep an unopened gallon in the fridge at all times.  And if I crack open my back-up gallon, all I can think of is, "when is the next time I can get to the grocery store?" or "is it worth another twenty minutes of this afternoon-time-waiting-for-daddy-crazy-child-wrangling to send him to the store before he comes home from work?"  I don't know what I think is going to happen if we actually run out of milk. It is now seeping into other areas.  Toothpaste.  Dental floss.  Peanut butter pretzels.  Logical, I am not.

How long would you survive in a zombie attack?  Do you run out of milk on a weekly basis?  Have you ever bought 40 bottles of hot sauce?

Intro, finally.

So I'm a thirty-something SAHM (not necessarily by choice) to two little girls.  I haven't thought my way through all of the internet blogging security issues, so I will call them Bug (almost three) and Squish (almost one) here.  Bug because she used to curl up like a little bug against me when she was tiny.  I was trying to reserve that nickname for her.  My heart broke a little bit when Squish was born on the first day of June and the doctor goes, "oh, you have a little junebug."  Squish is, well squishy.  Her sister had some adorable baby chub, but Squish is covered with arm rolls and tummy packs and some of the best baby thigh chub you've ever seen.  It was a surprise to me and Squish she became.  I love it.

I have The Best Husband in the World.  He is thoughtful, kind, and smart.  He knows where to scratch my back when it itches.  He bakes and cooks, gardens and cleans (some).  He lets the girls do his hair and comes to our tea parties.  Sometimes with a big hat on.  He is scared of craft time and glitter (that may be related to my aforementioned non-love of cleaning).  He cleans all of our girl hair out of the drains in our bathroom (but he makes me share a bathroom with the girls, so he has a man-bathroom), he makes homemade ice cream, he eats strange meals I make with little complaint.  He also makes fun of me when I get lost within three blocks of our house and deliberately brings up controversial topics on long road trips so I'll stay awake and argue with him.  He still pretty much rocks.


I'm sure I'll end up sharing more.  Maybe one day I'll even share a link to this blog somewhere so I'll get some readers.  Or not :)