Colleen: The quintessential dilemma

Miss Colleen left this in a comment, but it is so post-worthy I am putting it here also. Just what Crib Ceiling is all about:

Kris, et al,

This is not a response to your blog...just a blog of my own (I don't know how to add one unless I'm responding). Anyway, this part time working (16 hours a week) is not all it's cracked up to be right now. My babysitter left...not me, her husband...so I have no care for the little guy since all the 'organized' day care's in this town only take little one's full time unless they are 2, then they may take them part time if they turn 2 at the right time of year (by Sep 1) which is not my case.

I did (through some great streak of luck and a little help from a friend) find a new babysitter for the little guy. Someone with a clue who will only watch 4 children at a time including her own 2 year old. At times there were 9 children at my past babysitter's (way too many!). My problem is that the little guy has serious separation issues and I'm not looking forward to 'breaking in' a new babysitter with him. What to do to try to keep my sanity and my foot in the door at work?!?! Also my worry...is this damaging my son?

Of course my mom, who was a SAHM with no work on the side just says things to me like "This is more trouble than it's worth" and "you should just quit already". But I was thinking that eventually when the kids are in full time school I would be in a great situation to be a "full time" - part time worker (20 -25 hours a week?). And, since I already have over 15 years in with the same organization I'm not looking at that long before I start really receiving good benefits for the future...dare I say retirement? But how to continue to juggle this mess when I have another baby on the way? I've never left my kids with someone else when they were babies...I waited both times until they were over a year, but somehow I don't think the boss will agree to the same situation this time. I haven't asked yet...I still have a few more months! Some days I can't think about it because it becomes too depressing. I just can't wait until my little guy can go to 'playschool' like the big guy. I know I'm doing the right thing there because he loves his 'school' and doesn't want to leave when I pick him up :) Why can't all the decisions we make be so easy?

6:46 AM

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Kris: The loss of New Orleans

In the face of all the sadness, tragedy and destruction in other parts of the country, for today I'll refrain from complaining about my own little dry part of the world.

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Kris: I miss my pals

Where's the Cousin? Where's the Sister, Lisa? What can I say. One has a little one, works part time, and is nine months pregnant. The other has three kids, home schools, an actual social life, and a home based business. Maybe they're busy.

I do know they both have insightful, helpful, intelligent and possibly even humorous things to say and I hold out hope that, once in awhile, something from them will pop up here. Once in awhile.

Also, they are new to blogging. (As am I). Maybe they think it's a once-a-month kind of a thing.

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Kris: It is actually my first and only language

Today was a pretty good day; had a babysitter play with the babies in the morning, I was left to my own devices with them for only, like, half the day.

For part of that, the insanity that is this house – toys strewn from one end to the other – was driving me crazy and I thought we should have an all mommy-baby-little big girl pickup.

Things were going swimmingly for awhile. Baby, of course, has been teething AND has a cold (I don’t think that green stuff coming out of her nose is strictly from the teething) so pickup goes slow – the baby wants to be held even more than usual. (Can you pick things up with your feet? I can.)

Little big girl (age 3) got into the spirit of things and even wanted to sing one of our friend’s “pickup” songs. The only hang-up was, every time she went to the closet to deposit a toy, she found a new toy she wanted to take out. With every trip, I had to repeat, “no, honey, you cannot take a new toy out until we get all the old toys picked up that are already out here.” And repeat. And repeat.

Finally, while attempting to put away some Little People toys, she found some dress-up clothes, sat down, and was proceeding to put them on. This time, I thought I’d try to be more specific. Instead, I got it all messed up. Out came something like “No, you cannot wear those Little People until you put all the dressup clothes in the farm.”

The funny part is, my daughter just looked at me, with a straight face (literally; it was completely sincere) and asked “What does that mean?” She even got the emphasis right – what does that * mean *?

Like perhaps Mom used a new English sentence that she just hadn’t learned yet. Poor little thing.

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Kris: Maryanne and the fleet

In honor of my good college-friend Maryanne, who once told me the most hilarious story about a shoe salesman who kept referring to her size 10 feet as 'the ships' and his shoes as 'the fleet', with a straight face, to her flummoxed face, I offer this piece of information:

You can buy big-size shoes at: barefoottess.com

I don't have many readers, and none of them have big feet, that I know of, but I still thought that I would share.

(And if Maryanne ever logs in here, I love you and miss you, girlfriend.)

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Kris: My other cousin's big fat glasses

This is how far things have gotten.

Have I mentioned we live in this really small town (and I am SO NOT a small town girl), at the top of a mountain at the end of a highway? We are here for my husbands job; this town is full of geniuses and foreigners (thank God!); it's not your normal small town.

Anyway, there is no shopping here. I'm not really a big shopper, but once in awhile, you know, you need THINGS. This happened when my mom and all the cousins were in town recently. Actually, they were in a lovely tourist destination nearby. Suffice it to say that, in all the hubbub, once again the baby got ahold of my sunglasses.

I don't know how this happens, but she does love them. How she manages to unscrew the teeny tiny screw holding one of the side pieces on, I don't know. Is it the constant tweaking, bending and turning? Is it just that they are cheap $10 Target glasses? All I know is, on more than one occasion, after baby manhandled the glasses (various pairs, that's why they're $10, I can have lots), the ear piece falls off.

And so I needed another pair. (All had been broken with the demise of this pair). My cousins, meanwhile, had been doing some shopping. Technically, some of the women visiting were my mother's cousins. (We have a lot of cousins, we just call everyone cousin; what, am I supposed to say my mother's cousin once removed?) Anyway, they had all bought themselves some very hip, very cloned (or very hot) designer sunglasses. And so one of the women, Mary, offered me her old pair. I took it. I've been wearing them. It's sunny, I was glad to have them, have I mentioned we have no stores here? (Ok, I *could* buy a pair (maybe?) at the grocery store.)

Today we got ourselves all organized to go on a hike with our little girls. As we were going out the door, I put on the sunglasses and my husband burst out laughing.

And I realized - I had never actually *looked* at myself in these glasses. That is how far things have gotten.

Ok, so they're a little wide. Ok, so they're like, really wide. Ok, so they like hang off the sides of my head like a miniature surfboard.

It's still better than wearing a pair of glasses from the deli section.

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Kris: Papers, numbers, trottlers

I saw in the paper yesterday that 97% of working women think they are a better mother because they work. There were all kinds of other statistics - like, percentage of women interested in sex more often when their husbands do house chores - but damned if I can find that sneaky little newspaper page now.

As for the 97% statistic – I so get it. I feel like my mind is turning more to mush with each passing day. And it’s not just the child-caring-for (see? see that right there? mush!) as much as it’s the dang housework / cleanup / laundry. Gack. (Hm. That other statistic might make some sense too…)

And for the record, we really need a better term for “working mothers,” when we mean the ones working at a job, which is the phrase you always have to add when referring to that segment of the population. It needs, like, it’s own word. Trottler. There you go. There is a word for when you go to a job that they pay you to do and you are also a parent, usually a mom. Ok, I don’t expect it to catch on, but really. We need a word.

And as for the inability to find that (really, it was interesting) article - I could blame it on General Disorganization, but in this case I will blame it on . . . Newspaper Inundation. If I don’t cut something out of the paper RIGHT THEN, it is lost forever. I don’t usually do that, because it would annoy me if my husband cut up the paper before I read it (although he would never do that, unless it was about fishing or football, and for all I know he DOES do that…) but trying to find things the next day is apparently impossible.

We don’t even get a lot of newspapers (not like I would like to - ho ho! - NY Times, LA Times, bring it on. My kids would be in front of the television ALL DAY!) just our rinky-dink town’s, and the Big City’s, two hours away. (We used to get the Small City’s paper, from one hour away, but even when we lived there I could hardly stand it. It was not a newspaper. It was sort of like a really flimsy yearbook; a record of things that had already happened. Oh, and if it managed to mention an event ahead of time? No date or time or place was included. Its motto should be, If You Live Here, You Must Already Know. And forget any, say, actual national or world news.)

Anyway, apparently Paper Elimination is yet another of the jobs assigned to the Stay at Home Mom (hate that phrase) that I had absolutely no idea would fall entirely on to me. So if it goes a day or two - dang! - piles of paper. And it's hard to throw them out, I'm the type that wants to read the paper that arrives as padding when people send gifts. But trust me, I am now getting ruthless.

So now, as a non-trottler (that works, right?) I gotta go recycle some papers.

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Kris: Blogsplat it is

In the mail yesterday, my Mom sent me an adorable tour-Santa Fe peasant skirt. (Actually, tour-Taos). Just like my cousin had on when she tried to push my thousand pound car out of two thousand pounds of sand. Ironically, the note said "for use when driving through arroyos."

I say ironically, because Mom hadn't even read the post about the car, and the sand, and my cousin, and the skirt. (But she had heard the story real-time. Which might be better except for all the spittle coming out of my mouth as I try to explain my frustration in hanging up on a phone service, that's not even working, and the hot sun and the crying baby and the (incredibly helpful) thousand volunteer rescuers and their various approaches.)

Anyway, although she has ALREADY SEEN the blog, this is our conversation about how to find it again anyway:

Me: ok, the address is cribceiling dot blogspot

Mom: blogbot?

Me: no, blog SPOT

Mom: blog bop?

Me: blog SPOT

Mom: ok, blog plop

She was not messing with me. When she finally says "blogspot", we carry on:

Mom: ok, I get it. BlogSPOT. So, it's cribceiling bop blogspot

Me: DOT, Mom, DOT

Pause.

Me: And no "www"

Mom: No www?

Me: No.

Pause.

Mom: Are you sure?

Me: Yes.

Pause.

Mom: Ok. I got it.

Me: Ok.

Pause.

Me: You could bookmark it.

Mom: Yes. That's what I'll do.

Right.

The skirt, however, IS adorable. Thanks again Mom! (If you do manage to bookmark this...)

PS Who am I to talk. I *still* cannot get the link to the other post to work - the post I referred to above is called "Kris: the car disappears in sand". I know it must be an obvious fix but danged if I can find it now...

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Kris: Col's mother-in-law story (part 1?)

My girlfriend Colleen has taken us up on the offer of sharing a story about her life. Although also in a comment below, definitely worth sharing here. Anyone else feel the mother-in-law anxieties?:

From Colleen:

I also realized early on that my kids would be little angels for my mom...play nicely be polite, etc. Especially when I'm not there. The minute I return home all H--- breaks loose and the monsters return. What's up with that?!?

Conversely, the kids are worse with my mother-in-law. (maybe they smell my fear?!?) They throw the most awesome and inspiring tantrums and say the most embarrassing things when she is visiting. Which is probably what prompted her to ask if our third was a mistake?!?!

OK - I'm going to make an effort to not talk about in-laws here. Mine are visiting in a few weeks and I'm already freaking out on my husband in anticipation. It's a yearly event. My husband starts making their travel plans and this little knott forms in my stomach and doesn't go away until the visit is over.

Why is this such a problem? Why can't I relax? Maybe it's because I'm always on edge waiting for the next innapropriate comment to come out of the mother-in-laws mouth when I'll have to do immediate damage control for my almost 4 year old. Case in point....we were eating dinner and my son of course was not eating (because why WOULD he want to eat in front of his grandparents and make his mommy happy?!?) and out of her mouth comes " what's wrong with him, why doesn't he eat? " NOW that's NOT going to convince him to eat....it is of course punctuated with " look how much your brother eats...he's a good boy " Then the damage control begins.....

I also get a lot of comments like... "I'd just throw a lot of bleach in the wash to get those stains out of the kids clothes" and "have the kids had a hair cut this year?" She also spends a lot of time shopping at the store because they don't eat what I cook and she doesn't think I have the right cleaning products for the house...I have a cabinet full of bleach, clorox, laundry detergent etc that she has bought me and I refuse to use. I save them for her to do her laundry with when she visits.

Did I say I wasn't going to talk about this? I'm liking this blog stuff...it's helping me get out my aggression!

What else can I get off my chest? There was the visit where my mother-in-law took steel wool to my non-stick baking sheets and pans....the visit where she 'trimmed' (chopped) all my shrubs into nice little round balls (shudder)...the visit where she shut the front door on my son's hand and left him standing there not knowing she did it...the list goes on and on unfortunately. I can't wait to see what happens this trip - which is probably why I'm getting so anxious.

I'd better stop now this can't be too fun to read.....

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To the converse. It is insanely helpful to hear. That's why this is here, babe!

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Kris: Warning - Mush, and then no mush

I have these moments, every once in awhile, when it just dawns on me how adorable these little munchkins are. Usually, this is when someone else is caring for them.

I know that sounds awful; its just that if someone else is concerned with whether they are okay, fed, changed, dressed, entertained and possibly learning or at least having fun…my mind takes a little break and I get some perspective.

Today we had a babysitter for a couple hours. Just so I can get caught up on bills and mail, make appointments, pick up the house…in fact, Little Big Girl knows this is her friend and not really a “babysitter.’ Anyway, when she was caring for them, I looked up from my desk and suddenly saw how cute my three year old is. Dressing herself lately, she had on tights (though it’s still summer), dress shoes because she wanted to dance, and a pacifier. And that was it. Completely happy with her attire, having the greatest time ever, perfectly absorbed in her day.

And the baby suddenly took notice of me, crawled over to the desk, and bounced up and down on her knees chanting “ma ma ma ma ma”. Also incredibly heartwarming.

Then the babysitter left, no one wanted to take their nap, both grouched around the house all afternoon, I finally got them out for a tryke ride / stroller ride / walk and it started to rain…well, that is just why I need some perspective once in awhile.

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Kris: This explains everything

I was at a dinner party with several couples last night. The women were chatting (naturally) and one was talking about how when men hear other men speak, they use the part of their brain that processes language. But when they hear women speak, they use the part of their brain that processes music. They've actually seen this on brain scans of men during experiments.

Now, in some ways that sounds so romantic. Ohhh, our speaking is music to their ears!

No. No, I *so* do not think that that is how this plays out.

How this plays out is, we have a conversation. I think we've shared information, discussed, and come to a common agreement. There are action items, and an assignment of responsibilities. Some of these, even, are not my responsibilities.

He hears: You see, I've been to the desert on a horse with no name...

Later, when I say, Honey, did you get that errand run?

He says, Errand? Kinda sounds familiar. It felt good to get out of the ra-ain...


And so, once again, just in talking to other women, whole entire portions of my life become illuminated...

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Kris: Things I *really* should not know - #1

That the toy in a Sonic "Wacky Pack" is MUCH better than the toy in a McDonald's "Happy Meal".

My oldest is only three. I really, really should not know this.

Buy, compare, buy often - you have to do all of that to know this. And I know this. For instance, all summer, Sonic (you know, the old fashioned drive-in place with the retro-futuro-50s flying wedge logo...) had really cool "summer camp" type toys; things you could clip to a backpack, things you could use on a hike in your backyard - a flashlight, a cool little compass (my three year old just liked to spin it around...) and some other little camp thing I already forgot but thought was cool at the time.

And then, they moved on to this very fun little rubics-cube looking toy that folds out and flips over and makes these cool shapes - and has helpful info on it! For now, they are just pretty colors to her. But when she finds it again when she is eight (and I suspect we'll still have it by then), I can just hear her saying "Mom! Did you know the constellations are on this thing? And the state capitals?" And since we'll have the internet, and we probably won't have an encyclopedia, that will pretty much be her only hard-copy encyclopedia.

McyD's, on the other hand, had these CHEESY (excuse the pun) little mini-computer games out for the summer. As far as I can tell, the appropriate age range for those toys is about one month, when the child is five. Before that, they cannot figure out how to play them. (My Little Big Girl squeals with delight when she sees them - it is a new toy, after all - and says "Yea! It's the little box that makes those beepy noises!" and has thrown it to the bottom of the car floor before we get home; after that one-month window closes, when they are able to figure out how to play those games, they move quickly on to the X Box and whatever real computer games there are - forget that cheesy little Happy Meal toy. At least, that's my opinion. I don't have the time to figure out how those little box games work. Maybe they're actually fun.

I still should not know any of this information.

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Kris: The car disappears in sand

At the end of this story, the front end of my car is stuck in sand up to its bumper, in the middle of a dry riverbed, on a hot day (Monday), in dry, scraggly, pinon-covered countryside, some twenty miles north of Santa Fe. In the car with me are my three year old, the baby, and my cousin.

As the car came to a complete stop, my cousin said "don't stop now!" (she's right, I had let up on the gas a little, and that just sank the car in), my three year old started repeating “what’s happening?”, and the baby started screaming, on principal. And then my cousin – tall, thin, lives in Europe, wears designer clothes, weighs approx. 102 pounds – jumps out of the car to push. In low-heeled flip flops, adorable tour-Santa Fe peasant skirt, and tank top.

But first she calmly tells Little Big Girl what was happening, and that we are in a bit of a crisis. At which point Little Big Girl switches her mantra to “can you knit me my purse now? Can you knit me my purse now?” After all, the car *is* stopped.

I realize this is not the end of the story. Because at the very end of the story, we get the car out of the sand with the help of an entire slew of locals who happen to drive by... Mainly, by the man in the truck that pulls our car out, who I never did meet. He is helped by the (handsome, Hispanic) man in the Jeep, who stays around to loan his chain to the guy in the truck, who is also helped by an (older, weathered) Native American man who helps the Jeep Guy lift the front end of the station wagon out of the sand, so that the truck guy can actually pull our car out of the quagmire it is in.

This is after, of course, the guy in the Jeep tries to pull our car out. He attaches this huge chain to the back of our car (who put this metal loop thing – I’m sure it has a real name – under our car? Did they know I was going to buy it?) All I know is, I hear terrible popping noises, I look in the rear view mirror and the Jeep is reared up on its hind tires like a bucking stallion and I think, that thing is going to flip right over backwards. Onto us. Our car, in the meantime, does not budge. An iota. Like nothing at all is flipping around behind it, attached to it, and trying to pull it somewhere.

When I called out “Stop! Please stop!”, my cousin said to me “Have you ever towed something?” Uh, no. In addition to speaking four languages, she also used to live in Colorado and drive a Jeep. “This is normal,” she assures me.

And all this was after the girl in a tiny car drove by and offered to drive all four of us somewhere. And after a second girl in an equally tiny car drove by, disgorged four incredibly large men, who altogether, along with the older Native American man, tried to push our car out.

And this after the older Native American man alone tried to push our car. And then the Native American man with the help of my cousin. And then before that, just my cousin alone, in the flip flops. Suffice it to say, none of the actual human pushing was noted in any way by my incredibly stubborn car, or the approximately two tons of sand which had sucked in its tires, and possibly its axle. I don’t know much about sand (obviously), but I do know that those little 50 pound bags of playsand are heavy and we had a hell of a lot more than a few of those surrounding the car.

In the meantime, I’m on the phone trying to call Amoco Motor Club. I am incredibly grateful to the girl, and the girl, and the Indian guy, and the four large men – and to be honest, we didn’t really know that anybody was going to drive by let alone a guy with a chain and another with a truck to actually help us. I was a little skeptical of those initial efforts, I did have two small children in the car, it was hot, and sandy, the baby was crying, and I figured the sooner I got on an actual tow-truck’s waiting list, the better.

Of course, the calling wasn’t going so well. First the baby had scattered all the cards from my wallet around the house the day before, and of course the Amoco Club card is the one I didn’t find, so I don’t actually have their number. And of course, the 800-Info number doesn’t seem to work here in the sticks. And the 411 number, with it’s automated system, cannot understand my female voice, per usual, plus it keeps picking up the baby’s screaming in the background, and so it keeps saying in its insanely calm voice, “Sorry, I didn’t get that.”

In the other meantime, I am constantly hanging up in order to drive, or put it in neutral and pretend to steer, or whatever needs to happen with each of our would-be rescuers. When I finally get the number (by calling my husband at work and saying “I really can’t explain right now, but can you look up the Amoco number we’re stuck in an arroyo and a guy in a jeep pulled up, I gotta go”) I get the Amoco rep in India, who is having a very hard time understanding the concept of an arroyo and an even worse time understanding where we are in northern New Mexico, because even I didn't know that (our Native American friend gave me our location as "the arroyo in the Tesuque River by KC's" "who is KC?" I ask, and he grins and pats his chest) when, thank God, the guy in the truck pulled up. At least that time I didn’t think I had better odds on the phone than in the craziness going on around me when I hung up.

My three year old, meanwhile, keeps asking my cousin for that darn purse to be knit. At another point she is again asking me something - we had some lull times between rescuers and I was again on the phone - and I didn't even hear her. Finally my cousin answers her question, and tells her "mom's a little busy right now." "Oh yeah" says Little Big Girl, "she's in a crisis."

And at the very beginning of the story, this is what I learned. First, do not trust Mapquest to give you directions to random small Spanish towns in northern New Mexico. The computer, which has never driven through these parts, will pick what looks like the most expedient route, on small random county roads, rather than the less direct but actually passable highways and roads built after 1957. Second, when the small county road you are on – yes, in landscape that is beautiful and rolling and dotted with pinons but really in the middle of BFN – suddenly dips down and disappears under fifty yards of silty dry sand two feet deep, because the road crosses an arroyo (a usually-dry river bed) - even though other cars have passed and packed down parts of it - just take those little babies and your lovely cousin and go back to the damn highway. Even if you think your crazy Mother, and Aunts, and Cousins who are on vacation and you are trying to meet up with in the quaint lovely Spanish town already came this way. They didn't.

And a couple of the lessons that I learned at the end:

- that when you give your husband such brief information about a sketchy situation, you really ought to call him back and update him. ("okay, tell me again why you were four-wheeling in an arroyo, on a hot day, with our kids in the car, in a station wagon?")

- that there are a heck of a lot of nice people in northern New Mexico.

- and that it probably doesn’t hurt to have your hottie cousin in a short skirt out pushing the car first in order to have them all come running.

And now nap time is officially over, kids need attention, and you will have to just put this story in order by yourself.


--------------(addendum):

Comments:
Due to Blogger limitations, I stopped Comments for this post and am instead pasting the existing ones here. New Comments, if any, can be emailed to cribceiling at yahoo.com and will be added here. : ) :

BoulderLynne:
OMG, now that I can breath again, and am down to wiping the tears from my eyes, that was so darned funny, and so darned Krisco! Put it in the girls baby books, at least Little Big Girl's.

Lisa says:
Funny. I'm just incredibly grateful that there are an awful lot of nice people in NM. Love, Lisa

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Kris: Share your story

If you are new to blogging (as we are), and found this site via another mom-friend or other word of mouth, but most importantly can relate to anything here and would like to share your story, we would love to hear it.

You can click on any "Comment" link and leave your comment there, or send it to cribceiling@yahoo.com, and we'll put it in as a post or a comment for you.

Thanks for visiting. We have found it incredibly cathartic just to share some stories here. Like Lynnette on Desperate Housewives - it just helps to know other women also find that this mom thing is not nearly as easy as it sounds.

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Kris: Kindergarten can be hard...on Mom...

Got another update from Deb. Kindergarten turned out to be not quite as easy as she thought...

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okay, so today i start crying because my baby is in kindergarten and I have no life of my own left, apart from taking care of my precioius kids...oh my gosh, it is all so warped!!! i did get my hair done yesterday which was nice, of course no one in my family noticed....

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Kris: What you find at the Farmer's Market

I just went to the Farmer's Market here in town. In this goofy little town, thank god for the Farmer's Market once a week.

Do we have a grocery? Yes. But they apparently know this town is on the top of a mountain at the end of a highway, and we don't have much choice. So my theory is they send us the dregs from the other stores. Just a guess.

Anyway, after finding wonderful organic raspberries and actual fished halibut from Alaska, I ran into a couple girlfriends. We had a nice chat under some pine trees while we fed babies and nursed. One has her doctorate in, oh, Oceanography or something brilliant; the other is a nurse and with a four month old, has just gone back to work two days a week. (The perfect amount!) We with slightly older children encouraged her not to feel guilty about it.

The Oceanography friend - really, known as Super Mom to me, she is great - was saying how, now that she has been doing this Mommy thing for awhile - her oldest just started Kindergarten this week (! wow! it goes so fast...) that she realizes she never writes anything. Just "thank you for the gift for X"... so she has started to write things - just anything just for herself - because she's feeling like she's going to lose that ability altogether. (I guess this is the extrapolation of my now I can't spell problem...) (And apparently I need the "now I can't punctuate either" after this last paragraph. Sheesh.)

We encouraged her. Great idea! And I told her - have I got a place for you for those musings...

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Communicating With Husbands

Hubby and I went to a convention for our church ministry this weekend and a speaker ~~ an expert on communication ~~ opened up a whole bag of worms for us. He said that the latest research shows that men and women have VERY different communication needs (duh). But here's the twist: When women talk to women we interrupt frequently with tangental comments that show the other woman we understand what they are saying and, oh yes, we can relate. When men talk to men they do NOT interrupt like that because interrupting, for men, is showing disrespect and it SHUTS a man up ~ actually turns off his aspirations for communicating that particular line of thought and leaves him feeling frustrated.

So the problem comes, of course, when women and men talk and the woman keeps interrupting to add her two cents. Okay, I have to tell you that I DO THIS ALL THE TIME. In my opinion I'm showing support. Oh, no. I learned this weekend that it ANNOYS my husband and he considers it one of our biggest communication problems (that I don't let him complete his thoughts before interjecting) only he just didn't know how to articulate it before. NOW that he understands the problem he's all over wanting to fix it.

What problem? He just needs to talk a little faster so I don't feel the urge to finish the thought.

Just kidding. I've agreed to make a conscious effort to hold my tongue when he's expressing some big thought and if I'm interjecting prematurely (wait, isn't that something they do? Oh, wrong word) then he's going to hold up a quick "time out" sign with his hands so I know he's still talking. It sounds so demeaning and I'm really having trouble with this one but I agreed to work on it to honor his need for uninterrupted discourse. I do wonder how I'm supposed to know when he has this urge to finish a thought and when we are in just a regular old conversation. So I keep interrupting our conversation to ask him if it's okay to interrupt.

And I made it clear that if I couldn't throw in my sarcastic side~comments on a regular basis then I just wouldn't be a happy camper. He married me with all my little comments. C'est moi!

What does this have to do with kids? Not much but it's interesting because I'm pretty sure this is a universal phenomenon. What's also kindling my husband's new awakening about our communication styles is that he read a book called Keys To The Kingdom (by Anderson?). He actually heard the author interviewed and bought the book by himself online. Amazing. Anyway it's all about understanding MEN and the various phases they go through in life and the kind of support and communication they need (of course he wants me to read it).

I'll give you a book report when I'm done. Short book.

Lisa
P.S. Just kidding about the book being short. But see? I just can't stop with the comments....

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Kris: Deb's experience - a ray of hope!

My girlfriend Deb emailed:
........

love your blog, i am amazed you are so coherent and i must say...quite humorous as well!! i commented to something, i don't know how to blog but that's okay...

I must say I've gotten way more used to the whole mommy/work/live/who am I and will I ever return?/thing as the years have passed. Now that Ben is almost 4 and Isabelle going on 6 (she started kindergarten today!!! and loved it..) it is not insane anymore. For two years I could have been put away (his first two). Two whiney, complaining, insane little people, oh my god, I thought I would never return and find myself still functioning. Bill put up with all my shining and to this day and forever will never understand what I went through. I remember saying many times "You just don't get it!" (at the top of my lungs with sheer desperation..) Anyway, things get better. Now it's actually enjoyable!!! I actually want a dog! I never could have imagined I'd be at this place... i need more creatures to take care of? anyway, it's good to write about it and get it out cause you have company in little kid insane world. I always said it's like dealing with short insane people....love , Deb ( you may quote me on anything)

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Toy Division

I have come to the conclusion that there are two types of mothers of young children, divided along the lines of their Theory of Picking Up Toys.

I like to think this holds true for working moms too. I could be wrong - perhaps this is something the nanny or the aupair or the babysitter does. In which case, don’t even tell me that.

I am also specifically excluding mothers of older children. I’d like to believe as kids get older, they pick up their own toys without unending suggestion and supervision. If this is not the case, don’t tell me that either. I really need to believe in that one.

I am also, obviously, excluding fathers. You only fit one of these categories if it spontaneously occurs to you, on your own, to pick something up. If you can step over a toy in a walkway two hundred times and picking it up does not even once cross your mind, then you are excluded from this analysis.

So the two Theories of Picking Up Toys: Toy Reunification, and I Just Want These Freaking Things Up Off The Floor Now.

Under the Toy Reunification model, all toys and miscellaneous parts are reunited into a coherent whole, or at least into the same box or bag. This way, the child can joyfully spread them to a hundred different locations around the house on their own the next day. My Little Pony hair brushes, hair clips, apples and ponies all go in the same bag; Little People animals, "trikes", cars, furniture, ladders, gates and people all find their way (with help!) to their respective Farm or House.

The I Just Want These Freaking Things Up Off the Floor Now theory – pretty self-explanatory.

I developed these categorizations because I have – and I swear this is true – witnessed several mothers just spontaneously volunteer their Theory of Picking Up Toys. One said, with absolute conviction, “I think it is part of my job to keep all his toys together. It’s part of doing a good job as a mother.” And another mother, different circumstance, different time, completely sui generis and apropos of absolutely nothing, said with equal amounts of conviction, “I just don’t think it’s my job to keep her toys together.”

And another reason – I think about it every day. Every day, three times a day, when I am picking up toys, I have this internal debate. Hm, one pink Barbie shoe. Do I keep picking up in this general area, or walk across the room to the closet which the toys have taken over, search for the bag of Barbie clothes, and reunite it with its mate and the matching dress, hence saving us from the Urgent Problem of tomorrow, or next week, when Little Big Girl Really Really Really NEEDS the pink Barbie shoe and I otherwise don’t know where it is and we have to do an All Out Search? Or do I just drop it in this conveniently located bin right here at my feet that has an assortment of random toys, or for that matter the one over there, and pay the consquences later?

I am, actually, mostly a Reuniter. Because doing the All Out Search can really be time consuming. But sometimes, I just need these freaking things up off the floor.

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Lisa: Crib Ceiling -- They Get It!

Hubby and I attended a college alumni event tonight with a discussion about "The Good Life". I expressed the whole surprise of not being prepped for the reality of giving up career for kids still wanting to pursue other passions while keeping them a priority, etc., challenges of balancing time, kids, husband, housework (ugh) etc. I mentioned my sister dealing with the same thing and that she started a Blogg site called Crib Ceiling to address just this issue. I want you all to know that the crowd of about 25 all ....

Laughed. They got the name of the Blogg and appreciated its sentiments. One guy paused longer and then laughed saying, "I get it....that's funny!"

Good job, sis!

The Good Life? The older alums said spirituality and meaning, giving back. The younger ones were more focused on achieving, not surprisingly. For me? Right now, staying up way too late again but having an outlet for creative expression AND knowing that I get to hang with the kids tomorrow -- we're going to an Aquarium. Looking forward to hugs and kisses from all three of them in the a.m even though it's past midnight and my toddler gets up around 5:30. -Lisa

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Kris: The raves pour in :)

Here is another response from a friend who checked out Crib Ceiling. And if you know me and are now paranoid to email me on the basis it will get willynilly pasted here, she agreed (so fear not):

----------------
Hi Kris,

I'm at work, and supposed to be doing work...but I just read through your entire blog and loved it! Thanks for sending the link to me...I'll be checking in from time to time because I am also going a little stir crazy and realize that putting a few hours in at work does not solve the problem. It's more the abrupt change of life, lifestyle, husband-wife interaction, etc. that throws you for a loop isn't it? And I seem to vascilate between martha stewart like moments where the cooking and cleaning is fun and exciting (sicko!) and slob moments were I can't stand the house or myself! Anyway...keep up the good work....talk at you later. Col

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Kris: Thank goodness for little girls

So I was driving home the other day.

Wait, I have to back up. I had just picked up my daughter from playschool. We live in this funky little town, and picking up a child from playschool has to be, logistically, easier here than anywhere else on earth. You park on either side of the school, there's always available spaces, and you walk through the playground. It takes, approximately, one minute.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is, it's low stress.

So I had picked up my daughter, brought her and the baby back to the car, and was buckling them in. My girlfriend A. also parked on the same side of the school (another thing about a little town - you see your friends everywhere! You also see everyone everywhere!:), and was loading up her little boy, when he reminded her she had forgotten something at the school. Sippy cup, "lovey", lunchbox, something. I offered to wait by the cars while she (also pregnant) went back, without having to unload her boy and bring him along, and then redo the procedure.

While I'm waiting by the cars, talking to her little boy along with my little girl and the baby, my little girl realizes I also left her "lovey" at the school. So when A. gets back, I take my own walk back to the school.

After I get back to the cars, A. and I each drive off.

About half way home - and by the way, when I say "little town", I mean, it takes me three minutes to drive to the playschool. And that INCLUDES if I miss both the lights. (Yes, I have timed it). So what we're talking here is, about a minute and a half of driving.

(And here's a funny thing - you actually can get used to living in a small town. So used to it, in fact, that after a month or two of playschool, I seriously considered switching my daughter's school. To one that was CLOSER. I came to my senses only after my husband looked at me as if I was insane, and pointed out the whole consistency-is-good-for-kids thing. And so my pipe dream of a fifty second school commute evaporated.)(Yes, that does mean we could have walked it, but this town is also built on top of steep hills, and the walk would be straight down and then straight up and I do have a baby and so pushing a stroller would take me more like twenty five minutes and that defeats the WHOLE POINT.)

Anyway, when I was half way home - at the minute and a half mark - my little girl said "I am holding my Baby's hand."

"That's so sweet, honey" I said.

"Yea," she said, "I don't want her to fall out."

"Um, what do you mean?"

And my three year old says, "I'm holding her hand, I don't want her to fall out, she's not buckled."

Immediate turn-off, almost-screeching wheels (but not so screeching as to throw the baby out of the car seat), I jump out and hop into the back seat and yes, indeed, the baby is not buckled in.

How could I be such a dope? Was I really that distracted? Just by standing by two cars? In a completely low stress environment?

All I could think was, thank goodness my little girl is so sweet that she wants to help and hold her baby sister's hand, and that she wanted to tell me about it. And thank goodness I had driven half the way home, and that the sum total was only a minute and a half in the car, before I found out.

And the baby was smiling beautifically, thrilled to be holding her big sister's hand.

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Lisa: Advertising & Kids

This is more of an informational post for you mommas.

Advertising and marketing to children is out of control in our country. In Europe and Australia their are controls in place to limit advertising to young children -- not so in the USA. In the 70's we had a few controls under the FTC but those powers were lobbied against and lost due primarily to the efforts of major food manufacturers (fast and junk food) and they were replaced with the notion of self-regulation by the marketers (uh, not working). I found an informative website on this issue: www.commercialfreechildhood.org and I've included some quotes below from Dr. Susan Linn about the failure of self-regulation by the advertisers. I've read of some of her information before. Shocking.

Essentially, our efforts to parent and raise children to have a sense of healthy food and make good consumer choices is undermined by a $15 billion industry. No wonder I'm exhausted all the time (saying: No, No, No, No, No). Even my two year old (the naughty one) recognizes junk food in the store (Trix) because he sometimes catches an older-kid show with his siblings. Sure, turn off the TV you say? Remember those other blogs about needing some sanity time? Children used to go outside and play -- roam the neighborhood. If I let them run free in Southern California I'd get a visit from the social services. So they are in when I can't be out with them and when I can't physically or mentally watch them inside there is a chance they are tuning into TV and being bombarded by marketers trying to sell them more and more and more and more stuff or more and more and more junk food. Solution? Limit advertising to young children (sure, sure I could cancel my own cable but it doesn't really solve the societal problem, does it?) What can you do? The site says you can donate, of course, but also LET THEM KNOW when you see shocking advertising targeted to kids because they work to fight it. That's some proactive parenting...email to protect our kids, blog to other moms! Again, its: www.commercialfreechildhood.org. Also, I had my kids watch Supersize Me and except for a short blip talking about sex (which I'm hoping went over their heads) they got a really BAD impression of McDonalds and now sing: "Dut, Dut, Dut Da Da. I'm Hating It, My Kids Are Fat!"

Lisa
(always up too late but highly informed on a random assortment of issues) See below for quote from Dr. Linn:

"Self-regulation has failed. When the head of CARU (the self-regulation group) endorses General Mills’ latest TV campaign to sell sugar cereals—that’s evidence of failure. When Coca-Cola claims that they don’t market to children under twelve, yet their product placement is rampant on American Idol, a top-rated program for children 2 to 11 - that’s evidence of failure.
When the advertising industry, which spent about 100 million on marketing to children in 1983, is now spending $15 billion—a significant portion of that on food advertising--that’s evidence of failure. When McDonald’s pays rap artists to shout out “Big Mac” in their songs and there is no action from CARU—that’s evidence of failure. "

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Kris: I actually spell it Riting now

I used to be the world’s greatest speller. I am not making that up. Okay, I am exaggerating for the sake of making a point, but this is the deal: sleep deprivation is so freaking cumulative.

Now, even the most simple words (“squeal”, for instance) I CANNOT figure out how to spell. (Yes, my last take on it was “squel.”) Thank goodness I still have enough sense left to know *hm, that just does not look right.* But I cannot for the life of me figure out how to spell it correctly. I have a heck of a lot more sympathy now for people who just could never spell – something that always seemed so obvious to me that I did not know what their problem was. (“Um, can you help me out with this water-drinking thing?”)

I realize that may sound obnoxious, but if it is any consolation, I still do math on my fingers. Now, part of that is just an innate inability to do math. And part of that, to be fair (to me : ), is that not only was I part of that first era of women who were EXPECTED to have a career, but I was also smack dab in the middle of that whole New Math thing. (And if you are too young to know what that is, let’s just call it Educational Fiddling. I am sure you had a similar kind of thing, it was just different. This was what they did to people in elementary school in the ‘70s) I have no idea what it is New Math was supposed to teach us, but I do know what it did not include, and that is multiplication tables. I remember uncles or grandfathers or somebody amazed that I did not have to spend all the hours they did memorizing their tables, and I felt so darn sorry for them. (Or lucky for me.) Now, I wish I’d gone through the pain back then. For instance, it might be nice to know what 8x6 is without adding it up. Every time. In other words – we were expected to have a great career, but not one that would be offended if you did math on your fingers.

(And if you think there is a possibility I should just learn the tables now – I don’t think so. I can’t even remember how to spell.)

Thank goodness for “Spellcheck” in Word. And I have extreme distaste for all things Microsoft, in a true used-to-work-in-software way. (Or, as I like to think of it, “Macrohard”. Of all people, this was supposedly Alice Cooper's suggested name for it (just to include more references from the '70s)). So that really is saying a lot from me. The truth is that I actually draft these posts in the tiny box on the blog – it encourages me not to be as freaking verbose as I (obviously) otherwise would be (but that is countered by the tiny text!). And when I get that weird sensation I paste my version into Word, and see if it can figure out what I was trying to say.

For those thinking this sleep-deprivation topic came from out of the blue – hello!! This is a site about CHILDREN. Including BABIES. And children and babies especially equate lack of sleep. Period. It is the subtext to every one of these posts. (Or at least, all of mine).

I did suspect having kids would mean giving up a lot of myself. I just had no idea that would include the ability to spell.

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Lisa: Career Moms

In regards to the BMC post by my cousin, I remember reading a Newsweek cover article that describes our generation of moms to a T. Basically, we thought we could have it all, we focused on education and careers, we proved ourselves in the working world and then we had a baby and wanted to -- like our mothers -- also spend time with our children. Ironically, we took the energy we channelled into our careers and we now channel that into our children. That explains the sense we have that if our kids don't go to this class or that, start reading early, learn a second language, take karate, etc. then they won't be competitve. We just can't seem to do enough for our kids to help them get ahead, there's always more we think we should do and it's drive us CRAZY.

I often think about this philosophy as I've taken on homeschooling. Really, could I do a little more. How about teach them piano too. Good idea, I'll start tomorrow (not).

Lisa

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Kris: I Heart Working Moms

I just have one thing to say. Okay, I started this blog, that’s clearly not true. I just have one thing to say *right now* - and that is this: I think the whole Working Mom v. Stay at Home Mom thing is a croc.

Really, I do. I don’t mean “it’s a shame there’s such animosity between the two.” I mean, I don’t think there even IS such animosity. First of all, who has the time? I have yet to meet a stay at home mom with some additional time on her hands to worry about such things, and for “working” moms (but of course, aren’t we all), it is even worse.

Second, I think there are a lot of women who don’t fall squarely into one category or the other. I think there is much more of a contiuum than two clear sides – women working part-time, (and let’s just for the record define “working” in this post as “working at a job where they pay you” because God knows I am not doing the laundry for fun), working a few hours a week, trying to freaking have a home-based business, not working outside at all but really, really hoping to do so again when all youthful family members hit kindergarten and so are keeping up contacts and accreditations…there really is quite a range here.

(And this, by the way, is much more of a real contiuum, than, say, the supposed “sexuality contiuum” I heard of when dating. That, to me, is also a croc, in the other direction. I think that is a binary situation: either you like girls or you like boys. And if some guy is telling you about this contiuum out there, run for the hills because it’s just a matter of time before that guy comes out of the closet. Possibly in his mother’s clothing. But, clearly, I digress).

But back to the boring Mother discussion: I think there is a lot more understanding about other's women's choices than we are given credit for. For instance, before I had kids, I really did not understand the phrase “I am a better mother because I work.” Literally, I thought, what a cop out! You just want to work (and that's okay). Now, I so get it. Now, if I can just go to Starbucks for an hour by myself - if I can go anywhere where for however brief a period of time I do not have to worry about someone else – whether they are hungry, happy, wet, learning developmentally wonderful things or pulling a bookshelf over on themselves – then I get a mental break and I do a better job when I get home. If some women need a longer break than going to Starbucks or writing in a blog, I can understand that.

Maybe the real lack of understanding is between women without kids and those with, with the child-free ones trying to preserve their status, not believing how much they might be willing to give up on their hard-won ladder climbing once they have children. I don't know. Perhaps fodder for a later post.

There can be, however, some serious misunderstandings about what life is like “on the other side.” I have a few stories (of course : ) but since Baby is about to get up they’ll have to wait.

I’m just saying I get it, that’s all. And I think most women do.

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The Cousin: Darn the BMC

I'm in toddler gym class the other day and there they are - the young, blonde mom click ("BMC"). They are standing there talking in eager, hushed tones. They know me - I'm on the toddler-class circuit - I live in their neighborhood. Yet, they are purposefully excluding me from their conversation - I'm sure of it.

Why do I care? My goodness, I'm almost 40 and this isn't High School? What is it though and how do I navigate these waters? I've been trying to figure that out since I entered this altered universe of SAHM-hood about six months ago. I look at it like this... my job right now is my daughter (daughterS as of the end of the month). That means to open every possible door for them by educating myself about their development and looking for appropriate opportunities to enrich their lives. I can't do that without information! And it is more difficult than you think to get that info?! I'm gathering that a lot of this kid-stuff is by word of mouth. I mean how would I have known that there is a mom-toddler class at the zoo (which is perfect for H, my animal-loving daughter) without happening into a conversation about kids with my real-estate agent? It is not even posted on the apparently techno-savvy zoo web site?! How do they expect people to know about these things?

Which gets back to why I care about the BMC because I'm sure those young, blonde moms are discussing something that will give their children a leg-up... something that that only they know about that will enrich their children's' lives - I'm just sure of it! Then, while standing in line at the rings (still in the toddler gym class) I more clearly overhear the subject matter of the BMC's discussion - and they are talking about getting a babysitter for the Tom Petty concert at Red Rocks.

I need to chill :-)

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Suger comes in other forms

So Mom called. Loved the blog! Will be contributing now and then as "The Mother". Great!

On final note of call, says, "and, honey, I am worried about all those M&Ms you're eating. (see the post called "M&Ms and Curves - Coincidence?") That's too much suger!"

Good point. Today it is store brand donut holes.


PS And does this mean in 35 some years I will still be monitoring my children's suger intake? Oh lord I thought that part was a twenty-year stint.

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Rasberries

My two and a half year old boy is very naughty in a hilariously funny sort of way. We drove home from a mini-weekend vacation today and all three kids were getting slap-happy about the drive. The car-seat buckled little one (the naughty one) kept pulling his sister's hair. I held his hand to stop him. He screamed and stuck his tongue out at me, blew and made a raspberry (with spittle flying). Well, that was hilarious so he did it to his sister and me over and over and over again for the last 10 minutes of the drive (with sister screaming at him to stop and Dad yelling that everybody needs to keep quiet).

I tried not to laugh but he was so damn funny. He knew perfectly well that he was being naughty and did it anyway with such delight.

My middle son proclaimed that we should have Rasberry Night where we all give each other rasberries on our tummies. That would be fun, he thought. He's probably right.

It's the moments we create for them that matter -- giving them a sense of belonging and being loved. Even dad was laughing when we pulled into the driveway.

Lisa

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Mommy: Work vs. No Work

I'm a mom. I left a career to be a mom seven years ago (when my first-born was almost one). We made it work financially despite some stress and I have NEVER regretted leaving that particular job. But I do miss working and the rewards of working. Money, yes, of course. But more than that I miss the satisfaction that comes from accomplishing work-related goals. Here are some of my daily goals as a STAY AT HOME mom:

Snuggle each child in the a.m. (I have three)
Feed them
Feed myself
Get all kids dressed (most days)
Brush all teeth (most days)
Dishes and lunch/snack prep for the day
Activity (What are we doing today, mom?????)
---In summer we've had some camps, the zoo, playdates, etc.
Feed them lunch (remember to feed self)
Baby naps
P.M. snack (eat my own lunch if too busy earlier)
Make dinner
Eat dinner when hubby/daddy gets home
Come up with some way for him to take all three kids for at leasdt 30 minutes while I veg.
Bedtime routine (takes an hour)
Time for hubby (some days)
Get on computer, blog, emails, etc. (for my own amusement)

Sounds tedious doesn't it? Sorry to bore any of you but that really is my day. No wonder "J' in Boulder is seriously considering not having kids. We give up a lot of our own goals but I truly believe this precious time is short (when they are little). Oh, I forgot all the loves, giggles, laughs, temper tantrums, time-outs, reading and learning that goes on. That's my day too.

Lisa

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The best birth control for some - children

My girlfriend "J in Boulder" (as she would like to known) had the reaction below to the post "M&Ms and Curves" (someday I'll figure out how to make a post title like that one a link; in the meantime, you can scroll down :), which she sent to me in an email. As threatened (and, actually, with her approval), I am posting that email here. Brings up some darn good "life choices" questions:

----

Well, that's all the birth control I need for a while......HA! Loved
reading this - too funny. I'm new to blogs too and still really don't
'get it'. Oh well. Anyhow, I'm still on the fence about wanting kids
myself and my biggest concerns are those of the selfish vane. I simply like my life the way it is and don't know if I can be bothered with it all. I don't think I can handle it. I know that sounds just aweful, but it's true.

I'll be checking in from time to time - this is truly hysterical.

Take good care.
J
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The emailing commenters - thanks...and...you know...

I am getting such great feed back from my friends and family about this site - all via email.

Thank you friends and family for even bothering to read this blog! You are great! I appreciate it!!

Now - USE THE COMMENT BUTTON. Really, it will be fun. That is how this whole "blog thing" works! I swear. And right now, really, no one will see your comments. Nine people, tops. I added it up. Husbands of the three of us (3), parents (4 - two of us are sisters), and maybe two other friends (2) once in awhile. That's 9! So be not afraid! Go forth! Comment, baby, comment!!

And if you don't, I may, indeed, be oh so tempted to paste those emails into a dang comment myself!

K

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This is why I can't blog/work/think

As I was writing a little email - I mean, a *little* email! it took me 30 seconds so far! - just to let some girlfriends know about this blog - all of a sudden I hear running water. Running water? How can there be running water? The three year old is entertaining herself (ok, not really, she is watching "Arial" (as "The Little Mermaid" is really known around here) for the literally 75th time) and the baby is playing at the toy kitchen.....oops, no baby. I hurry around the corner to the sound of the water to find the baby has pulled herself up at the water dispenser, is standing under it, pulling the handle, and giving herself a little shower. Stomping in the water, sopping wet, happy as can be, quite proud of herself.

I hate to interrupt because, technically, she is entertaining herself.

They grow up so fast. And always right when you're not looking.

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M&Ms and Curves - Coincidence?

It is past midnight again and again this is the only time I have to "post". Note to self: don't stay up so darn late, it makes those afternoons sooo long; they go from a quadruple to an I-stopped-counting the handfuls of M&Ms days.

My husband (bless his heart) has taken on the grocery shopping duties on a fairly reqular basis. (Shopping with two small children (he goes it alone) can be, um, slow-going. Bordering on ordealish. One is old enough (3) to want everything she sees - and conveniently of course the Dora-Wiggles-Barney-Barbie "fruit" wraps, "fruit" bars and other non-food items are right at her eye level (whether she's in the Green Child Car cart or walking - I don't know how they do it), so every few steps is a discussion/negotiation/whinefest (and that might be me) - and the other is old enough (10 months) to just be real difficult in the grocery store. Wants to be held. Wants to be in the cart. Wants to be on the floor - where she can only crawl. Will scream until way is had. Laughs at sister. Snuggles mommy. Wants bright shiney object. Screaming resumes. Repeat. Do this while avoiding cart collisions with the mommies, young children and old people who populate the grocery store in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, navigate the cart by pushing with one hip, try to recall what you actually wanted to feed your family that week (list now lost near bananas/at bottom of bag/in baby's mouth), and acquire said foodstuffs with one hand. The other holding the baby or the small child's hand, depending.)

Suffice it to say, I really do mean Bless His Heart, sometimes my husband goes. On his own. (Whether it is to help me out or to get himself out of the house some evenings - I say, either way! Doesn't matter!! Thanks for getting the groceries honey!)

But I have, per usual, completely digressed. The point is - as much as his doing the shopping is a wonderful thing - it can also be a problem when you have a little "habit". I say, at least it is a habit whose needs can be met at the grocery, and not in the pharmaceutical depatment thank you Rush. I am embarrassed about my M&M intake (really, those afternoons with a whiney three year old and a baby who WILL NOT take a nap (hm, maybe the non-sleeping breastfeeding baby and the chocolate MIGHT be related!! (See, these blogs are so helpful!)) can be long. Anyway, I hand him the list, and M&Ms are not always on there. And then, as he heads toward the door, I say, casual-like, "You might want to add a little, you know" and I nod toward the cabinet where they are kept. "Again?" he asks. "Um, yeah." is all I can say. Really, literally. It is all I can say because I am indeed embarrassed. But I do REALLY WANT that M&M fix. And I really DO NOT want to go to the grocery store with our offspring to acquire it. (Sweet. Darling. Young. But please do not make me go there with them.)

It is a sign that you, perhaps, possibly, have a little problem of the M&M variety when your own mother (or maybe all mothers do this?) asks on a repeated basis "Do they have a Curves in your town?" Apparently they have a Curves on Mars now because they do, indeed, have a Curves in my odd, tiny, small, has-only-one-Starbucks!, size of a town. And no, I have not managed to go there. When? When my husband would otherwise go to the grocery store? I don't think so.

PS Do I know that there is much better chocolate out there, not necessarily but often in the form of imported and dark? Yes. Absolutely. And can I explain this obsession with the small crunchy dyed sugary variety? No. Can't even begin to. But that is the nature of these things we politley refer to as a "habit." It is indeed, as I call it around here, my Drug of Choice.

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