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Not What, But Who

20080201_02I'm never one to talk up my own kids. I tend to roll my eyes at the moms that gush about their Chinese-speaking two-year-old who can do yoga and read.

Try toilet swishing. Sass-mouthing. Monster pooping. We'd knock your socks off in the quickest roll and getaway by a 13-month-old during a diaper change.

It's not to say that I don't think my kids are wonderful, talented, and incredibly gorgeous.

Hello. Look at their mother.

Heh.

But it's more that I don't necessarily want them to be known for what they can or can't do. Quinlan, the artist, Drew, the toilet swisher, and Fetus-Hathor, the brain sucker.

I want them to be known for who they are, and quite often that's very hard to communicate to someone else.

20080201_03How do I really tell someone about my daughter's gentle spirit with a flair for the dramatic. Her patient heart when it comes to her unruly younger brother. Her creative mind that never stops working.

Or my son's twinkle in his eye, particularly when he is doing something he's not supposed to. And his wide, bright smile that greets me and my husband whenever we enter the room.

To some people, that's not impressive. And that won't get them into Harvard. Or make them a million dollars.

But honestly, speaking Chinese at two won't guarantee Harvard or a million dollars either.

And while nothing can guarantee happiness and personal fulfillment -- two things I desire most for my children -- I'm betting that a little less of the yoga, and perhaps, a little more focus on your child's spirit and strengths, might do them way more good than downward facing dog.

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We're collaborating with the Strengths Movement and author Jenifer Fox, hoping to spread the word about her new book and this exciting educational movement that focuses on the various strengths your children posess rather than their limitations. I hope you'll consider bragging about your own kids today (damn, it felt good), and perhaps win some of the fantastic prizes we're offering.

It's also the last day to enter an amazing giveaway from Julian & Co. Someone needs to win and by golly, why shouldn't it be you?

Save My Pants!

Okay. So over the last few weeks I, like another fantastic mommy blogger many of us know and love, have adopted a mom uniform, much to the chagrin of my husband.

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Enter my J.Crew track pants.

Now, these bad johnnies have gotten me through two and a quarter first-trimesters in what I thought was a fairly non-imposing (meaning, not stylish but not frumpalicious either) manner. They're comfortable and the best part, they're long enough for my 35 inch inseam.

Do you know how hard it is to find track pants that are long enough?

I don't usually wear them out of the house, but I have, on occasion, made a trip to the grocery store wearing them paired with sneakers and a vest.

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Look! They can be easily paired with an Argyle t-shirt! (That's hot this season. Ask Liz. She knows).

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Okay. So they have an elastic waistband. But c'mon. Are you really looking at that or my cute 8-week pregnant belly? (On second thought, don't answer that. It's rhetorical).

So, if you think I should let my husband burn them, then feel free to say so. I'm a big girl. I can take it. But if you think that they're not so bad and you, by chance, have worn something worse (and have picture evidence to prove it that you will generously share on your blog... ahem), then speak now.

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Separately, help out my friend who is trying to finish her dissertation. She really needs your help.

Are you a mom?  Do you blog?

I am a mom trying to finish my PhD; and I need YOUR help!

I am conducting academic research FOR you and ABOUT you. I have a particular interest in studying those things that make the transition to motherhood easier, or at the very least, better understood.  The growing number of “Mommy Bloggers” has piqued my interest and I am researching the experience of blogging for mothers of young children.  Your help would be greatly appreciated and go a long way toward increasing the knowledge of the ways in which blogging can be meaningful for people like mothers.

Please complete my survey and let me know about your blogging experience.

Please click HERE to learn more.

I know your time is valuable, thank you so much for participating.

Racists and Sexists Won't You Come Out Tonight

I have to admit that I'm pretty surprised that race and gender have not played a bigger role in the primaries. Could it be that our country has finally moved past the race and gender issues that have plagued us since the beginning of time?

Please.

Until we see equal pay, equal rights, and equal treatment, we're still stuck in the same "one step forward, two steps back" dance our country has perfected.

Personally, I just think no one feels comfortable talking about it.

Granted, I'm not a Rush Limbaugh listener, nor am I a Hannity & Colmes or Bill O' Reilly connoisseur, so I might have missed their terribly insightful rampages on the topic.

But from what I can tell, it seems as though the pundits are skirting around what I think is the big elephant (no, not that one) in the voting booth.

Will this country be able to elect a black president? or a female president?

Some might say that Obama's winning streak indicates that yes it's going to happen. And with Hillary still maintaining some steam that it might just be possible. But quite frankly, it's really not that surprising that in a male-dominated society that a black man is beating a woman (even though she's pretty dang white). Or, in a race-driven society that a privileged white woman is still in the race.

So I must say that I'm extremely curious to see what happens when the mano e mano (or womano) race is on. Will it bring out all the closet racists (or sexists) in our country? Will we begin to address what I believe people, pundits, and parents need to be open and free to talk about?

That we all have race and gender biases that affect how we live, how we react to others, and how we raise our kids.

Why is it so surprising that it might affect who we deem worthy to be our president?

Never Give Up

The only reason I know motherhood is hard is because I've done it once before. Otherwise, I might have been sitting in complete darkness, holding a fussy and still-stuffy one-year-old while bawling my eyes out and saying to myself "what have I gotten myself into?"

The only difference now is that I know what I've gotten myself into so I don't have a really great excuse for crying anymore.

It's been a harrowing week of travel, illness, restlessness, allergic reactions to crib mattresses (cripey!), more travel, and more illness. Like a drug, the highs of seeing friends and my own mother last only momentarily and then I come crashing back to reality -- a sick husband, a mischievous and snot-infested toddler, a sweet but extremely loquacious three-year-old that appears to be incredibly bored, and an impending pregnancy that has only yet caused me to want to puke and weep.

Sometimes at the same exact time.

I try to enjoy this ride with these tiny precious children because I know it will be over all too soon. My daughter won't ask to be cuddled and held. My son won't be around for me to clean up after. And in some weird way, when I drag myself out of bed for the third time to let him chew on my nipple and pull on my hair, the knowledge that this time won't last forever consoles me.

And no matter how hard it gets, I can rest assured that I won't ever give up. It's the creed of mothers everywhere. It's the one constant in our everchanging state of being.

They can wake us up ten times a night, talk us 'til we're blue in the face, and tell us they hate us or don't want us anymore, and we'll still look them straight in the eye and tell them we love them.

Every single time.

And I take comfort in knowing that that's the one thing about this crazy job that will never ever change.

Okay. So this is really why I went to back into the fire.

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Forget the yummy babies (helloooo Deb makes cute shirts). Look at that ass!

What you missed:

A bunch of posts about my in-laws.

Vaccines -- Political Issue?

Shocker of the Week: Breastfeeding mom asked to leave NY State Museum (Seriously, when did NY start to hate on boobies?).

Pick of the Week: Can you believe that these are back?

Blog Blast Today: Violin or Microscope. Which will it be? (and a great resource for parents)

Did you enter my Julian & Co. Giveaway yet? Hellloooooo.

And in a totally unrelated note, what is with this new movie 10,000 BC? I mean, were there actually people back then? And if so, I'm betting they didn't have much to say, at least that I would understand. I suppose that's the perfect movie to make during a writer's strike (heh).  

I Never Thought I'd Say "Yay, Little Rock!"

Edited with the outcome below

The Bisquik pancakes soaked in McDonald's (yes, you read that correctly) syrup that my son was tripping on downing when I came down from doing some work this morning was enough to put me over the edge.

But then, I overheard a conversation between my daughter and mother-in-law during bathtime that literally has me sick to my stomach.

MIL: "So, who gets mad, mommy or daddy?"

Q: "Mommy doesn't share her food with daddy!"

MIL: "Oh, well that's not very nice, is it?"

And so, for the first time EVER, I have decided that I need to confront my MIL tomorrow before heading out the door to the airport. I just haven't decided whether to let the air out of her tires as well.

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Before my daughter woke up, I asked her the reasoning she had by asking such a question and giving such an answer. After denying it a few times, she asked "Well, what was I supposed to say?" I suppose I can't be surprised. Sucks to get caught, now doesn't it? Her tires are still in tact, because with my luck, my FIL's car wouldn't start and we'd need to take hers.

Rage Against the Vaccine

I am a pediatrician's worst nightmare. I am the mom who comes in with a list of questions that will take longer to answer than the ridiculous amount of time I had to sit in their waiting area. I'm not trying to be a pain. I'm trying to be a parent.

I had the distinct privilege of speaking with Dr. Paul Offit or who I like to call, the "Vaccine Man" a few weeks ago. Calling him "Vaccine Man" saves me from having to list his 4,000 credentials, that include "creator of the Rotavirus vaccine" and other things that I can't spell without looking up in a dictionary.

Due to a highly controversial debut episode of Eli Stone, where a family sues a drug company because their child got autism from a vaccination, Dr. Offit along with the organization "Every Child Under 2" decided it would behoove them to speak to bloggers in the hopes of putting a kibosh on the possible boycotting of vaccines by desperate parents everywhere.

Cue public health crisis. Cue resurgence of measles. Cue pediatricians everywhere doing one hell of an "I told you so" dance for parents who so as question a vaccine.

You know, if doctors actually did such dances.

In other circumstances, I probably wouldn't have cared much. The show itself looked pretty dumb to me, with all the George *I'm desperate for attention that doesn't have anything to do with me shaking my wanger in public* Michael appearances. But thanks to the writer's strike, there is nothing new on television except reality shows (God help me another Survivor?), and I could see their concern.

People were desperate for anything to watch and would probably tune in.

So in response to the controversial show, several news outlets featured articles debunking the claim that vaccinations, specifially the MMR, causes autism, and Dr. Offit spoke to bloggers, kindly answering all my 22.3 questions.

In that vein, he is owed much credit (although he did say my birth canal was full of over 2000 bacteria -- but I won't hold that against him).

To be honest with you, I wasn't as concerned about the relationship between the MMR vaccination and autism. As someone who has worked with children with autism and their families for many years, I'm aware of the arguments. I'm also aware of the ten plus studies that show no relationship between the two. 

Ten totally flawless studies, of course.

We are all inclined to believe the good doctor, and should, because quantitative research in this country has afforded us answers to many difficult questions. And ten quantatitative studies providing similar results is pretty damn good. But being a researcher, I just have to say that unless you've got robots conducting the research, collecting the data, and analyzing the results, there is still a possiblity for error.

We are humans after all.

So the studies say the vaccine doesn't cause autism. Families continue to say that something wasn't wrong before the vaccine and something is wrong now. And conducting a qualitative study about the experiences of say 4000 families with video analysis of their child before and after takes up way too much time.

We believe the studies. Or do you?

When you decide to vaccinate your child, it is an issue of public health. But it is also an issue of personal health. And until I am forced to vaccinate my child on a specific schedule, no questions asked, then I will take what I have read and the opinion of my doctor, and form the decisions that I feel are right for my own child based on my own situation.

I want an honest answer when it comes to injecting my child with a shot that will cause him a full-week of fever and discomfort. Has there been a resurgence of Polio in our area that I need to give my child the IPV? Does my situation warrant me to get the DTaP, a shot that almost every single family member on either side has had a negative reaction to? 

But if you've tried to ask your pediatrician about a vaccine, then chances are you may have had the guilt trips, the "bad parent" speeches, or my favorite "if they die, it's going to be your fault" comments.

Yes. I've really gotten that one.

The response from the panel is that pediatricians are busy. They see upwards of 40 kids a day and there's not enough time to have indepth discussions about each and every vaccination.

Fine. I get that. Let's get a democrat in the office and change our fucking health care system. (Can I get an "amen"?).

*But with the cases of Diptheria in this country at 20 last year (20!) and Tetanus at just a bit higher, why are we still giving the highly reactive DTaP, when really, the most prevalent illness, at least for our children right now, is Pertussis.

Convenience (to quote Dr. Offit).

Is that good enough for you? It might be. For me, it's not.

I realize I'm a responsible parent who keeps track of everything. So, it's not a huge issue for me. But for people who don't have access to regular medical care, and whose work schedules and everything else they have to do to survive don't allow for them to keep regular doctor's visits, then I get why they need that DTaP right on schedule.

But that's not me. Can't there be a marriage of public and personal health, without making the parents feel like asshats?

Take the Hepatitis B vaccination, given immediately after birth in the United States.

As I was reminded by Dr. Offit, there are 9,000 cases a year of Hepatitis B.

"But who are these people?" I probed.

Half are children of mothers with venereal diseases, and the others are just kids who contract it from somewhere, somehow.

"And the other half are upper middle class kids, right?" I asked, knowing what his answer would be.

No. These are low income kids from urban settings.

So yes, the vaccine is pure. And yes it might be worth getting. But depending on your situation (like how many genital warts you're sporting, or preferably not), they may be just fine without it.

My rage about this topic is that parents are not given adequate information by their pediatrician to make an informed decision. Currently, it's still our right to agree to or refuse vaccinations (depending on your state school requirements, your child will have to be vaccinated for school unless you use a religious exemption).

So don't give me a hard time when I ask questions that you don't have time to answer. Many folks feel comfortable bringing their kids in and completing the vaccination schedule as is. And many parents do not. That does not mean they are against vaccinations. It just means they need more information.

I look at my own situation. I am a wife of a pilot who travels domestically to large urban cities, but not internationally yet. My children do not attend daycare or school. We do not travel overseas often, nor do we live in an area of high immigration. 

I am less concerned about Hepatitis B. I am more concerned about Meningitis, possibly Polio.

You've got to look at the odds. Of course, vaccinations nowadays are incredibly "pure" (as Dr. Offit stated), and are much safer than they were even 10 years ago. And the benefits of not contracting a disease greatly outweigh the risk of the vaccine (if you believe the 10 studies, or don't and delay the MMR vaccination until post 15-months which many families are doing).

I pay high premiums and cheap co-pays for "personalized" care -- you know, the tender-loving care that requires them having to look at the chart to remember who I am and why I'm standing there in front of them with a half-naked baby. And if my trusted pediatrician (who I've found in the 'burbs of Atlanta, thankfully) looked at my situation and said "your kids really need this vaccination" then damnit, I would get it.

But don't push me aside and ask me to hold my child's legs still without offering me some type of respectful explanation. Because one man's pure vaccine might be one parent's pure nightmare.

And that's enough for me to ask questions.

*I'm well aware that the low numbers of deadly disease are, in part, due to vaccinations. However, when it comes to a vaccination that kids often have an adverse reaction to, I think it might behoove us to take a better look at why we're giving that vaccination the way we are.

[Check out these books for more information on vaccines, as well as the PBN reviews on Dr. Offit's newest book]

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Separate and unrelated note: I loved this book. I forgot to link it yesterday.

If You're Already Afraid to Fly, Then You Might Want to Skip This Post

For all the shit I give the huz, he's a pretty damn good pilot. Granted, I've never actually flown with him controlling the plane, but considering the detail with which he cleans our kitchen floor -- spray bottle and paper towels in hand, you've got to figure he's not about to just "skip over" important steps.

Like checking to make sure the wings are still attached. That sort of thing.

Honestly, the dude used to fly with first time pilots. You know, the wee fresh college graduates, ripe for pilot training with their stomachs of floppy cardboard, who would try to kill him on a daily basis.

You know it's bad when he has to tell students that he doesn't want to die today.

Pull up on the fucking stick you idiots. Even I know that. Haven't you watched Top Gun?

So, when he looks over at you when you're flying in a tiny commuter jet from Little Rock to Atlanta and says "What the hell is the pilot doing?" you tend to freak the fuck out.

Just a little.

Like, could you possibly keep your whole "he's trying to make altitude and not doing it well" response to YOURSELF?

Moving on, I decided to stay a few more days here in Philly to celebrate my mother-in-law's birthday to chill with the New Girl and binge on Cold Stone and Starbucks. Unfortunately, the huz had to return to Little Rock to finish up some flying and complete a couple of exams.

[Yes this means I will have to make at least one leg of the trip alone with two children, one of whom is called Drew, otherwise known as "the boy who refuses to sit for longer than two seconds" but I'm not thinking about that right now. I prefer to gorge myself on Coffee ice cream mixed with brownies by young teenager who will sing unenthusiastically when I put a dollar in her glass jar].

So he left. And got in a plane. That got hit by lightning.

Helllooooooooooooooooooo. That just can't be good.

He calls me all nonchalantly like "Oh, the plane just got hit by lightning." Sweet! Rad! What the fuck? He's fine, except they had to emergency land in Columbia, SC (read: bumblefuck with no Delta planes that were not struck by lightening tonight), and he's trying to get home. Alive. In one piece.

Except, in order to calm my nerves he says "Oh, it happens all the time."

Um. Huh? How can that be a good thing?

Fortunately, I did not have time to get into an obsessive anxiety provoking "holy shit I'm never flying again" discussion about planes getting hit by lightning because I was too busy explaining for the 27th time that I was perfectly happy eating cold stuffing and turkey.

See, the in-laws are good for something. 

Oh Right. That's Why I Hated Living Here.

FIL: We need someone to put the breakfast casserole in the oven at 6:30am.

MIL: Well, Kristen is always awake with the kids at 6:30am. She can do it.

Kristen: Right. Because when Kristen who never has a babysitter comes to visit the grandparents who never see their grandchildren, she should be waking up at 6:30am to put your casserole in the oven.

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MIL *hugs Drew*: Oh boys. They're just so loveable. I mean, girls are nice. But boys, they just have so much love.

Kristen (sitting with The New Girl, MIL's friend, with Quinlan within earshot yelling for her grandmother) *tries not to strangle MIL with her bare hands*: Um, I'm pretty sure girls are pretty damn loveable too.

On the Road Again

Well, since I've absolutely no interesting or exciting news to discuss here lately, I figured it was high time I visited the in-laws.

What better way to spice up a boring *puke* uninteresting *puke* blog *puke* than two plane rides with two small children to Philadelphia for my Mother-in-Law's 60th birthday.

And you thought I was a terrible daughter-in-law?

Eh. I'm not that great. I just told the internets she was 60. She's been trying to keep that a secret since she was born.

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Here's what you missed this week:

Fertility strikes again

Signs to save your marriage

New Blog: Well, before I was going to announce my whole "oooh look at us, we're sooooo fertile" pregnancy, I hesitated knowing two of my dear blog friends were trying hard to get pregs. And guess what, they are! So, they're not new blogs (probably to anyone), but I want to wish them well.

Pick of the Week: Because these cards made me laugh out loud. Really.

Podcast: Wendy Strgar of Good Clean Love (plus worth listening to as I rant about my Kenneth Cole/Blogher debacle.

Now back to my poor coughing son -- reignited thanks to that fantastically dry plane air coupled with the fantastically cat-ified in-law house air and the inevitable entrance of all his molars at ONE TIME. Seriously, enough with the snots and fucking coughs people!

Stay Undivorced.

I've been fairly candid about my marriage. But it's my space, and I made the decision a long time ago to use it that way.

I'm the first to admit that every story, every disagreement, and every fight has two sides.

This is mine.

That doesn't mean that I'm not at fault. I've never hinted that I'm absconded from any type of blame or responsibility when it comes to the state of my marriage.

So, instead of grabbing some edible thong, a bottle of chocolate massage oil, and some organic rose petals, I'm going to make an effort to change my bad habits. For the sake of my children, and my own health and well-being, it's time.

Let me introduce you to my new line of products that was sort of inspired by this incredibly brilliant marriage-saving tool.

No Yellers

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These multi-use signs work well in any situation -- rude subway folk, inconsiderate shoppers, and even bratty little kids at the playground. If you can't say it nicely, hold up a sign that will.

No Yeller: Ass Series

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Ass size and asshole customization available.

Coming Soon! No Yeller: Road Rage Special Edition

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Don't Yell. Use a No Yeller! (Patent Pending, Testimonials Available Upon Request).

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And make sure to check out another questionable saver. Okay. Try savers.

Ambivalence. How's That for a Baby Name?

I admit that for the last week or so I've been stuck in a place between desperation and a nervous breakdown. Combine that with wicked gas, spontaneous crying, two sick children, and the fear of a miscarriage, and it's like a weekend in Mississippi!

Okay. I'm kidding.

Sort of.

For the record, I am freaking the fuck out. You know, just in case you were wondering. The "freaking the fuck out" part has less to do with the idea of a cute little addition to our family, and more about my ability to handle three children (eek, can barely say that) in a way that doesn't make me want to shave my head and party late nights without my underpants.

I'm trying my darndest to live day by day, and not look ahead to October, where I see my poor unshowered stinky gigunda self trying to manage three kids and work, mostly alone, with no family within a 1500 mile radius.

And up goes the "freak" meter.

I admit that your comments, congratulations, and thoughtful emails did wonders. Your excitement will be my excitement. At some point soon, I hope. And apparently a positive pregnancy test is a good way to delurk people (so nice to meet you all, officially now).

Plus, there are babysitters, nannies, and booze to be had. And cool bloggy friends who I will force my baby upon. 

But today, I'm okay. Other than wanting to toss my cookies unless I'm actively shoving food into my gullet (which is now baby related -- I did actually have the stomach flu) and waiting desperately for my second set of HcG levels (4590 were the first set. Is that high? I'm still looking at ONE baby right? RIGHT?), I'm doing okay.

And right now. This instant. That's all that matters.

Well, If You Were Reaaaaaaaaaaally Wondering, It's the International Symbol For...

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I Tend to Like a 5 o' clock Shadow. Just Not When it's On Me.

So I decided with the exactly 62.8 minutes of totally uninterrupted no-child bliss I would tackle the extremely important and life altering task of changing my blog profile picture.

I mean, it's pretty and all, but since having another baby, living with my in-laws for a year, moving twice, and enjoying a week long "chocolate for breakfast" phase, I'm just way more gorgeous.

Heh.

And therefore, I decided that I must spend my precious childless alone time attempting to take another picture of myself.

Who needs clean underwear in this house? I must update my blog!

Plus, I want people to giggle at my picture, and not stare longingly at me like I'm a really hot model or something.

Right.

Except I didn't do my hair. Or my make-up. Or, as the picture I decided to use clearly emphasized, wax my man-stache.

Thankfully, Katie has effectively rigged my blog so I can only change the template when the moon is in the 7th hour and Jupiter and Mars are in perfect alignment.

Otherwise, you would have been greeted with this beauty the next time you clicked through to my blog.

Bio

International Symbol for .... [you fill in the blank, you smartass readers you]

And feel free to tell me if you see my man-stache shadow. I'm a big girl. And apparently, a hairy one. I can take it. 

Thanks to the Stomach Flu, We're Celebrating St. Patty's Day Early

"Mommy, can I have some more of that green beer?"

[Canada Dry, the drink of vomitous children everywhere]

So, What's Your Number?

Not that one. This one.

What you missed this week:

Me on the shitter

Me really on the shitter

New Mission: Plastic. Not Fantastic.

Newsworthy: Call for ban on BPA in all food/baby related products. YIKES!

New Blog I'm Digging: Tessie (courtesy of my BFF's blogroll)

Pick of the Week: It's a seat, it's a table, it's a MIRACLE!

Cool Contest: CleanWell (my favorite handsoap/santizer evah) and Shutter Sisters

Podcast: Felicia Sullivan, author of "The Sky Isn't Visible from Here" (it's currently not working, but go click around and listen to my archives).

Who Else Wants to Get a Nipple Ring With Me? 

How Not to Tame a Preschooler

Common sense generally tells you not to reason with a three-year-old. And yet, I hear parents do it all the time. Like there will be any type of favorable ending to you begging your child to put a raincoat on to play at the water table to which he will refuse and then soak himself entirely.

Just put the damn coat on him and be done with it already.

The huz and I aren't pushover parents. I suppose the Parental Gestapo -- you know, the ones that drag their kids out of the store by their underpants -- might think otherwise, but for the most part, we're in charge.

But parenting gets a whole hell of a lot harder when you get a preschooler, mainly because it's now painfully obvious that they're indeed smarter than you. Granted, it's nice to know that they'll able to survive in the cold hard world, as evidenced by you being convinced that they must eat brownies and ice cream with a side of video games for dinner in order to make it another day on the planet. 

It doesn't help that the huz chooses to create his own path and blaze new trails of preschool relations, taking his own vigilante approach with our 3.5 year old.

It generally blows up in his face.

Take his insistence on forming every single request of our daughter as a question.

"Would you like to get out of the tub now?"

"No fanks, Daddy." [Hey. At least she's polite.]

"Um, okay, but it's time to get out of the tub."

"But you asked me and I said 'no fanks' Daddy. I want to stay in for awhile."

[Cue him trying to get her out of tub, her screaming, and me intervening].

Or the four-thousand choices game. You do know that one right? Generally speaking, the key is to make your kids think they are making a choice (which, technically, they are) so that they feel empowered.

My choice offerings generally go as follows:

"You can clean up your room or you can go outside and collect dog poo with a pair of ice tongs."

Okay. So maybe it's not that bad, but I don't mess around. It's apples or oranges. Juice or water.

But the huz likes to pretend that life is a multiple choice question. Or that we live at Tavern on the Green.

"You can have juice, water, milk, or a chocolate smoothie with raspberries and oreo chunks."

Who in the hell is making that for her, freak?

"Well we have turkey, ham, or a prosciutto stromboli with sage and arugula."

Huh?

Now before you jump all over the huz, to his credit, he's an actively involved parent who really just wants to make his kids happy. Besides, whenever she takes the uber-gourmet option, it just so happens that I have to "go blog."

Funny how that works.

Foreshadowing Blows

Wouldn't it be my luck that my smart little ode to the commode would foreshadow the exact spot where I would find myself for waaaaaaay too many times to count over the last 24 hours or so?

Except there was no ballet. More like some Martha Graham reject rectial meets a Mosh pit.

Yep. I give my beautiful children the gift of life and my perky breasts, and in return, I get a stomach bug, complete with hugely amplified stomach gurgles, and massive shit fests.

Truth be told, I'm a pooper, not a puker. (I was an occasional smoker and midnight toker too, in case you're singing the song right along with me). In the long scheme of things, I've been very happy as the "pooper," but after pushing two kids through my zamboozle (You like that? I think I made it up.), I'd much prefer being the "puker."

I mean, if you're sporting a party in your backside with guests who sorely [heh] overextend their welcome, like "anal fissure" and "hemorrhoids," pooping once a day is an event, but fourteen times?

Well. I'd rather puke.

I did, however, have a great excuse for extra blog reading. Of course, that means I was probably reading your blog on the shitter.

Sadly, that's not so much different than any other day.

[And the nails were done in OPI -- don't know the name but it's brown with a lovely red undertone. Thank you for asking. And for the compliments. When all else fails, at least I know I still have good toes.]

Happy Pooper, er, SUPER Tuesday!

Toilets and the Positions of Classical Ballet (and a few others just because no one actually does the positions of ballet on the toilet)

In honor of my two extremely close and personal friends, I would like to share a few ballet positions of my very own. But since I don't have access to herds of cows or a cooperative dog, I figured I'd pick something everyone could relate to, particularly since we've been battling one hell of a stomach flu for the last week.

The toilet*.

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The "Hoping for the Best" position

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But "Prepared for the Worst."

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The "Here Comes an 8 Pounder" Position

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The "Mommy's Busy Leave Me the Hell Alone" Position

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The "15 Years and a Shit-Ton of My Parent's Money on Ballet Lessons Got Me Something" Position

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The "Now I'm Just Showing Off" Position

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The "Don't Bother Me, Mommy is Doing Her Important Reading of the Day" Position

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The "Phew. Glad That's All Over" Position.

*I was not actually using the toilet at the time this photo was taken. I enjoy good potty humor, but not when it actually involves we using the potty.

The House of Puke and Snot, Now with a little less puke, but way more snot

Well, we made it through the night without puking, only to be greeted this morning with mini-puke (which is way better than frequent-puke -- her evil twin from yesterday). And her little brother snot-man. And their father, now the snot-master.

I feel like "one of these things does not belong here." Or maybe Ashton Kucher is going to walk in and tell me that I'm "Punk'd" because well, I'm not sure I can take another day of this, people.

But I can't go back to my germ-filled environs without offering up a fantastic prize, courtesy of the gorgeous and talented Tania, owner of Julian & Co. When her son was born at 29 weeks and the ID bracelet she had purchased was too big, she decided to figure out how to make one of her very own.

No kidding.

And what she does is pretty dang fantastic. So lucky you! She's giving away a lovely birth necklace to a lucky Motherhood Uncensored reader. All you have to do is go over to her site and tell me what your favorite piece is over there in my comments, you know, other than the birth necklace.

Speaking of which, I have one, and as you all know, I'm not the sentimental one, but when I wear it, I get compliments all the time. I'm not saying you should want it to boost your self-esteem, but it's always nice to get attention for something other than your tantruming three-year-old.

And Valentine's Day is coming up. So send the hint to the hubster. Or get him something.

Contest ends 2/29/08. One entry per person, per url, per email (you get my drift). I'll pick one winner at random.

The House of Puke and Snot

I'm emerging from under my children's snots, coughs, and pukes and meals of gatorade and toast to tell you that the Blog Exchange is today. If you don't participate, then you should. It's fun.

Is there anything you can give a 12 month old [edited] with a cough, other than your guilt and sincerest apologies?

Why Does Healthy Have to Taste Like Ass?

I have tried, for the last time, to actually enjoy something* made by Kashi. I'm drawn in by their crisp white packaging and pretty pictures of food at its most basic form. And I really do love their message.

But let's face it. Even my dogs who lick their own assholes won't touch it.

Clearly they need to stop having these outdoorspeople slash food gatherers slash kayak enthusiasts creating their recipes because let's be honest. If you were outside chasing bears and climbing ice cliffs, you'd probably eat anything too with your chalky dry mouth.

So some weird looking cereal with cat food-like bran bits and dried currants probably tastes like a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

For my taste, the true test for any healthy food is if some Pringle-slinging couch potato schmo who's been sitting on his ass for a minimum of twelve hours watching a Lifetime movie marathon thinks it's tasty.

That's my stamp of approval.

And considering I grew up stomaching my mom's own homemade extra whole extra brown extra extra rock hard rolls, then Kashi has to pretty darn terrible.

I will say that their cereal makes excellent kitty litter and I carry the granola bars in lieu of pepper spray. Aside from being about to beat someone down with it, I can force it down their throat as their mouths are overcome with complete dryness and make my getaway.

Sorry Kashi. Your seven whole grains are apparently on a mission to make me gag. And here's a challenge. Make something actually worth eating.

*I have enjoyed a Kashi waffle slathered in maple syrup, but I don't know if that actually counts.

--

Here's what you missed this week:

My take on politics

Quinlan's first experience with gum

Separation anxiety at its finest

New this week:

Oliver is here. Mom and baby are great.

New ads here at Motherhood Uncensored. Check out small business Julian & Co (more details and giveaway to follow). Au revoir Blogher Ads. (The people spoke and I listened -- so small bizzes who I will crush on and love and you promised to click on it is)

My children have exchanged illnesses. So now Quinlan is puking and coughing or po-coughing and Drew has a wicked cold, or teething, or who knows what. With a cough. What does that mean for me? 3 hours of sleep last night. Sweet!

Pick of the Week: Another bag, of course!

New Blog: Shutter Sisters

No podcast, but today is the Blog Blast (hence my diatribe on healthy food, which I do love, by the way). Check it out and you can be entered to win one of five gift cards for FREE GROCERIES.

Now back to tending to sick children. Again.