I’m on it

Let’s be honest.

I think we all know that I am the last mom to, say, create a from-scratch leprechaun trap, have a leprechaun hunt, and dye the water in the toilet bowl green.

After I microwave a dinner out of a can, I may or may not have a history of bragging to Husband about how I lovingly toiled to prepare the family meal.

Nevertheless, let us state for the record that today is March 27, a full three days before Easter, and this year…

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the Easter bunny has got her shit together.

“…Intimacy! That’s the you in me…”

I can neither confirm nor deny that tonight’s Top 10 List items are true stories of romance from the House of Stumps and Beans.

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You know you’ve been married awhile when…

…a nightly dutch oven is as much a part of your bedtime routine as saying goodnight to your spouse.

…offering to take care of the kids’ bedtime rituals is the most successful type of foreplay if you want to ensure that you will score.

…”scoring” means getting a really long, deep, thorough, and attentive footrub.

…you beckon your spouse into the bathroom, point to the inside of the toilet bowl, and say “Baby come look at this. Should I call a doctor?”

…you beckon your spouse into the bathroom, point to the inside of the toilet bowl, and say “Baby come look at this. Grab the camera. Call Ripley’s.”

…the ultimate betrayal is not infidelity; it is discarding your spouse’s most cherished pair of exceptionally and unacceptably holey underwear.

…your beloved occasionally checks the garbage to make sure you haven’t committed the ultimate betrayal by discarding said cherished underwear. And while you aren’t 100% certain, you suspect that there was one time you caught him cradling that particularly frightful pair while whispering “My precious”.

…Your level of disgust with, and outraged overreaction to his farts pretty directly correlates with his general level of happiness in your marriage.

…You reserve your sexiest most risque lingerie – you know, those pink plaid pajama pants with the sassy word on the butt and the matching pink sweatshirt- for very special occasions like your anniversary or weekends when your parents are sleeping over in the next room and have promised they will get up with the kids the next morning.

and finally…

…you have ever yelled across the house “Hey! Bring me a new roll of toilet paper! Imma ’bout to tear it up in here!”

About the unweaning of my 35 lb infant

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So I admit it – I am having a problem letting go. You see, I am ridiculously in love with babies. So much so that it may be some sort of sickness. Shortly after the birth of my dear friend’s first child, I  terrified bonded with her by revealing that I was pretty sure Heaven involves rolling around on the floor and cuddling with a pile of babies ages 2-8 months.

Anyway. Nearly two-year-old Beans is my second and, as hard as it is for me at times to come to terms with, last baby. Around 14 months old, she started to become ambivalent to the pacifier. Indifferent. Blase’. She was entirely take-it-or-leave-it during the day, and we stopped giving it to her at night entirely. She didn’t seem to notice.

We were making great strides forward in Project Paci Wean and then I just couldn’t handle it anymore and completely backslid into denial. This was my baby. My newborn. (14 month olds who can walk and scream “NO!” while throwing appliances, food, and shoes at you still sort of qualify as newborns, right?) I started shoving pacis back in Bean’s mouth gently giving her the opportunity to spend some time with her forgotten pacifiers, and just see where it led.

Husband was horrified by my regression, but the crazed look in my eyes as I presented my toddler only-just-barely-no-longer-a-fetus  with a veritable buffet of options from Paci Paradise, spoke both loudly and clearly. The madness in my eyes warned: “You know that whole ‘choose your battles wisely’ expression that comes in so handy within the constructs of the marital dynamic? This is one of those times that you’d best wisely choose to indulge me by tempting our 60 week old infant with every size, color, texture, and brand of pacis available. The Mams! The Nuks! The weird green translucent ones that we brought her home with from the hospital! PRESENT ALL THE PACIS!!!”

Husband chose wisely.

Children Cherubs over the age of one are not allowed to have pacis at daycare. Fast-forward to today at drop-off, and I had to wrench a bink out of clenched teeth while my preschooler neonate jelly-legged in the middle of the hallway, publicly and theatrically screaming “PAAACIIII!!! MY PACCIIIII!!! WANT PAAACIIII!!!

So anyway when my 66 month old and I are still inevitably waging this battle in the fall 2016 kindergarten carpool lane, I am probably going to have some serious regrets about my 2012 regression and subsequent paci-unweaning.

But the truth is, I just don’t know how to let my baby go.

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{There are some instances when I am writing, such as in this particular post, where I am so tempted to use words like “swimmingly” and “ahem”. I had the perfectly appropriate places for both. And I just can’t bring myself to do it. The association is too unpleasant. I am ruined forever. I’ll leave it at that.}

Lessons in marital courtesy from my preschooler

Earlier today while we were visiting a local park , Husband was messing around with some wifi access. Beans and I walked away to go check out an outdoor dinosaur trail, knowing that Husband would eventually follow. Stumps, who is standing by Husband, yells across the park to me “Mommy! You should not do that! You married my daddy and so you should never walk away from him and leave him behind!!”

It has always been my understanding that daddies are very protective of their little girls, but apparently it is, in fact, the other way around.

Husband is contemplating the inevitability of an eventual alpacalypse.

Husband is contemplating the inevitability of an eventual alpacalypse.

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In other news, Stumps is currently napping and I put in an Elmo movie for Beans while she eats her afternoon snack so that I could have some time to write this. After hearing the “Alphabet Jungle” themesong on repeat for 20 minutes straight and feeling like my head might explode, I checked in with Beanie and her movie. Beans is just sitting there wholeheartedly engrossed in watching the DVD’s menu screen, paying close attention and carefully concentrating as if she is worried that with even a very minor distraction, she might miss some of the key points and nuances of its plot.

I am relieved that she generally seems to be an intelligent kid; otherwise I might be a little worred about the Beans.

It’s all fun games until it’s 20 degrees outside and some poor hot mess locks her keys in the car

In the past 24 hours, my poor clumsy Stumps has inexplicably charged full speed into a number of large, decidedly visible objects. First the corner of a birthday cake table, and then a large concrete landscaping planter. She now has her very first shiner. When we drop her off at daycare tomorrow, we may have some serious ‘splainin’ to do to our friendly neighborhood state-mandated reporters.

poor stumpsLooking like we had been on the losing end of an ugly prison gang brawl did not deter us from attending a lovely Valentine’s tea party at In the Oak Treetops this afternoon. In just two hours, Stumps and her little friends played dress-up, made gingerbread houses, beaded necklaces, created Easter hats, decorated take-home mini-chalkboards, and still had time for three books, an etiquette lesson, and some silly rhymes. I think that Carolyn of ItOT accomplished in 120 minutes approximately the same number of arts & crafts that I have managed to create with Stumps in the past four years.

If you live in my area and are the parent of a little girl under the age of eight, she probably wants to have her birthday party here. So! Stinkin’! Sweet!

building a gingerbread house

etiquette circle time

etiquette circle time

stringing some beads for necklaces

stringing some beads for necklaces

five girls build houses

tea party fun

tea party fun

Well I am being really special by looking at the wrong camera, but at least this is a "mom stays in the picture" example where I don't look like I have questionnable hygiene

Well I am being really special by looking at the wrong camera, but at least this is a “mom stays in the picture” example where I don’t look like I have questionnable hygiene

My friend did give me permission to post this ubersophisticated pic of us, but I neglected to ask Hello Kitty.

My friend did give me permission to post this ubersophisticated pic of us, but I neglected to ask Hello Kitty.

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We had to rush out of the tea party early to another much-anticipated little buddy’s birthday party across town, but like the spaz tornado of completely disorganized chaos that I unfortunately am, I locked my damn keys in the car. Husband had ventured out for the day and accidentally forgot his phone, and I can confidently say that after nineteen missed calls from me and two completely rational voicemails where I did not at all overreact, he will probably never make that mistake again.

Stumps asked why I was mad, and I said “I’m not mad, sweetie. I’m disappointed that daddy didn’t answer his phone and we missed the other party.”

In the true spirit of high-drama hyperbole, which she comes by so very honestly, Stumps responded with, “Well tell daddy I’m destroyed.”

One day when “Peppa Pig” is cancelled, or an event just as equally devastating occurs, poor Stumps is going to be all out of adjectives with which to properly articulate the magnitude of her grief.

Thank you to our lovely hosts and In the Oak Treetops for a truly lovely time. And if in the future should you happen to add locksmithing services to your party packages, we will be frequent guests for life!

I think perhaps I am supposed to experience some sort of guilt over this?

After a dance class, two birthday parties, and a snowball fight, my girls collapsed from exhaustion in the car around 4:00 pm today. In my defense, I did attempt to wake them both at 5:30 for dinner. The baby immediately had one of those meltdowns that necessitates the services of an experienced exorcist, and the 4 year old (whom, for all intents and purposes, does not even nap anymore) went to the bathroom, refused to change out of her leotard, and then went back to bed.

This picture is from 3 weeks ago. Even we don't have snowball fights in tank tops

This picture is from 3 weeks ago. Even we don’t have snowball fights in tank tops

Essentially my children went to bed at 4 pm and apparently that was it for the night. I am going to regret this with every fiber of my being when they are both ready to start the day at 3:00 Sunday morning, but I am a basketball widow* today, so I am not about to go and force the issue.

*so in other words, Husband is going to regret this with every fiber of his being when they are both ready to start the day tomorrow at 3 am.