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See?  This crazy stuff actually exists.  Aragog, and his sons, are alive and well in Texas.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20514703/

Can anybody say “Ewwww!” with me????

You know how when you’re scared of something, or don’t like something, you always end up face to face with it?  I’m highly allergic to cats, and whenever I’m around them, they’re all up in my space, rubbing and meowing and throwing their sneezy dander in my general direction.  I’m also deathly afraid of spiders (if it’s a particularly big arachnid, I’ve been known to dry-heave for a half hour after the sighting).  It seems that inevitably I’m the one being surprised with their presence, walking into their nasty webs or flicking the light on in the garage just to see the son of Aragog clambor under the stairs (but not before shooting me a dirty, 42-thousand eyeballs look). 

Mike isn’t afraid of spiders or allergic to cats.  He is, however, NOT A BIG FAN of snakes.  Today I got an email from him, which is unusual because although we love each other a lot, we don’t really speak when we are at work. When we do email, it’s 1-2 sentences and god forbid we talk on the phone, because then it’s “YEAH, I’m in the middle of a brief who died?!?!”.  The subject line of the email was “SSSSSssssssss.”  I’m sure you can see where this is going.

One of the associates took this on his cell phone camera, so excuse the bad quality.  Actually, I’m happy I can’t see too much of the detail. It looks gory enough as it is.  Turns out this little “baby” snake was in front of his office door, inside the law firm.  Also turns out that the general consensus is that the snake is a baby copperhead.  I’m not sure what Mike crushed it with but it looks totally gross and if there had been a hissing snake in front of my office door, well, frankly, I would have taken that as a sign that I was meant to have the day off. 

This is Mike’s second run in with a snake - the first was a regular brown or black snake taking a nap under our garbage cans.  That one met its demise at the business end of a shovel.  I’m all for letting animals live in the wild, but when snakes are arm’s length from the sandbox my children play in, all bets are off. 

Nighty Nighty, baby snake!

My cousin Sally and her boyfriend Hansel were in Virginia visiting Mike, Anja and baby Mia - all came to see us today. I’m posting some new videos plus pictures here.

Those who have known me a while know that I used to laugh my ass off at the crazy shit mothers did and said to each other, all in the name of being “good parents”.  I always called it “competitive mothering”, and this past week, I ended up feeling like one of those women I make fun of.

I explained to Mike that with kindergarten looming in Lily’s future (well, her 12-months-from-now future), I feel like I did during her first year of life.  Uncoordinated, uneducated, a little bit fearful, apprehensive, and paranoid to make a mistake.  I’d almost forgotten how HARD it was to feel that way.  With Arden, even if I hadn’t know what I was doing, I was too tired to be aware of my incompetence. 

Lily is entering a pre-K class on September 4, and I went to the orientation blissfully ignorant and happy that they were giving her structure and working on the basic skills that will enable her to learn to read in kindergarten.  I didn’t really pick it apart or worry too much about it - I think I was more focused on how I was going to help her decorate her first big-girl locker.  Then I spent some time on the phone with Emma’s mom (also in Lily’s class).  She’s got an older daughter in college, is very smart, and highly up-to-date on education.  She was having a fit of worrying about the curriculum in the pre-K classroom.  (The fact that she referred to it as “curriculum” should have clued me in that I wasn’t really with the program).  She met with the director of the school, researched Montessori programs, and reported back to me on her conversations with the school.  It turns out the that “curriculum” is actually going to be just fine, and thank god I have smarter, more with it parents to explain it all to me.  One thing that was made clear:  Lily’s school’s primary function is not to teach her to read this year - they are leaving that for kindergarten.

I thought everything was fine, until the following day when I picked up a “Reading Express” flyer or something like that from her folder at school.  One of Mike’s pet peeves about where Lily goes is that he feels he is nickel-and-dimed to death.  Everything is extra - and it’s fabulous that they offer things like Computer Bus, Gym Bus, Ballet, and now Reading Distress Express.  However, each of these little activities runs in the hundreds of dollars per quarter, and I am constantly fielding questions like “Why can’t I take ballet like Kate?” or, “Why can I not go on Computer Bus like I used to?”  Well, honey, it’s because Mommy’s business isn’t really paying her these days and Mommy can’t afford to sign you up, sweet cakes!!!  I checked over the flyer and it’s all about a class, $200 per quarter, 8 sessions per quarter, giving your child the “necessary foundation” for reading success.  So I took this to mean that if we didn’t fork over the money, Lily would be foundationless.  It sent me into a tailspin, especially when another phone conversation with Emma’s mom yielded the fact that Emma would definitely be taking all four quarters of the Reading Rainbow stuff.

Mike’s take on this?  “I don’t remember my parents signing me up for reading enrichment programs before I ever entered school, and frankly, I think this is a little over the top.”  I tend to agree with him, and then I start to freak - but what if we don’t, and Lily’s behind everyone else?  What if she spends her life in therapy determining that the reason she is a failure in life is due to missing Reading Spasms class???  I mean, I am poking fun at this - and tempering my fear with sarcastic posturing - but what pisses me off is that I feel like a pawn in the game to get parents to cough up money by using fear marketing techniques.  Perhaps we should employ that method in our online stores.  It would be something like this:

“Visit us at http://www.napmatsandmore.com to ensure your child’s educational future.  Did you know that without a high-quality, allergen-free nap mat, your child could be seriously brain-damaged during nap time?  Sure, you can skip the nap mat, but studies have shown that kids without a NapMatsAndMore.com mat will score 40% lower on standardized testings and also have a tendency to drool and sleepwalk.  So why take the risk?”

That’s how I feel a lot of the time.  Am I messing with Lily’s future as a computer programmer if I skip the $250 quarterly Computer Bus?  Will she end up an illiterate street bum because we passed on Reading Rugrats?  I don’t know - but I’m trying to go with my gut and not let what all the other parents are doing affect our decisions.  Damn, it’s hard.  It’s like peer pressure in reverse.  The school says, “We don’t teach them to read because that’s a skill they learn in kindergarten, but hey, while we have your attention, here’s a flyer on a reading program we offer during school time to teach them to read. No pressure!”  It just seems like a major mixed message.

My head hurts.  I’m going to bed. 

At this very moment, I only have one child in the house (besides Mike).  Lily is at the Vozar’s tonight for her very first slumber party with her cousins.  She was really excited.  Christine had invited us to stay for dinner, which we did, but as we approached the front door, Lily informed me that I could “stay for a few minutes” but then we all had to leave so she could hang, unfettered by parents, at their house.  She also informed Arden upward of 82 times that SHE would not be spending the night because she was still “too little”.  Note to self:  explain to Lily the meaning of “rub it in”.  And soon. 

It’s weird, having her gone. She’s nearly 5 and I know that soon this will become normal, more frequent - but it’s so strange having your “baby” home every night with you and suddenly she’s telling YOU that you need to split so she can hang with her friends.  I’m not sure I’m quite ready. 

I’m not much for calling genitalia or bodily functions by anything other than its proper name.  My mother raised me with creative little ditties like, “Never let anyone touch you where your bathing suit covers” and “Do you need to make chocolate or a lemonade?”.  However, there’s something quite shocking about hearing your little child call their genitalia by its rightful name.  It’s like the word “penis” or “vagina” is just way to big or loud to fit in that tiny little mouth, but out it comes anyway! 

A couple of nights ago, I was getting Lily out of the bathtub.  I was drying her off with her frog towel.  Lately whenever I try to dry “where her bathing suit covers”, she giggles and acts spastic.  I ignore it.  This time, however, she says, “Mommy, you’re tickling my PENIS!”  After getting over the initial shock of hearing her say the “P” word, I tried to calmly (and without busting out laughing) explain that she did not have a penis - only boys have penises (and hemaphrodites, but I figured I’d save that one for later in life).  I said, “I need to dry off your vagina.”  She repeated it loudly after me.  Then she points at Mike, and starts laughing hysterically.  She shouts, “Hey, Daddy!  YOU’RE A PENIS!!!” 

I nearly lost it, but I ducked my head behind the frog towel and tried to compose myself. Mike was also having composure issues until I shot him a fierce look and gesticulated wildly with my index finger to GET OUT THERE AND TELL YOUR DAUGHTER NOT TO CALL YOU A PENIS!  He explained to Lily that calling anything other than the matching body part a penis or vagina was rude and unnecessary. So far, we’ve gotten through the day without any discussion about Hoo Hoos, Hoo Hoo Heads, Wee Wees or Tinkles.

I mean, penises and vaginas. 

Zoloft is an amazing antidepressant and mood stabilizer.  As great as it is, Zoloft can only control my highs and lows - not the highs and lows of life.  If I could invent a life-stabilizer drug, I’m be totally dripping in money.  Until that day, we all just have to put up with it. 

It was for me a week of rollercoaster highs and lows.  I’ll start with the lows first, because I believe in ending on a high note. 

We had our first highly disgruntled customer on the nap mats side.  It was quite frustrating - apparently the fabric on the nap mat did not make her two year old happy, so the woman who bought it wanted to return it.  That would have been okay except her kid’s name is unusual and was appliqued in HUGE RAINBOW COLORS across the pillow.  We clearly state we don’t allow personalized items to be returned.  After Jennifer said no, in her polite way, she had her husband call. I made the mistake of answering the phone.  He threatened us, cajoled, begged, told me he was a lawyer (which I told him didn’t scare me as I sleep with one every night).  He said we had misrepresented the nap mat on our site (we hadn’t).  He did what lawyers are best at - he argued until I was so freaking tired of his whining I just gave in.  I was mad at myself for that, but on the other hand, when people initiate chargebacks on their credit cards, it takes a while to sort through it and we’d already wasted enough time with this guy. And his wife.  So one disgruntled customer out of over 300 isn’t bad, I guess.  It did, and still does, make me upset.  I know I have to become, in my dad’s words, a hardened businessperson, but apparently I am resisting it.  I need to “get my bitch on” or something.  I wish Risa worked with me - she has a serious bitch switch when she needs to turn it on.  Perhaps I can hire a long-distance bitch? 

Later that afternoon, one of my closest and dearest friends sent out an email.  Her mother just found out she has a very aggressive form of lung cancer, and while they are going to try chemo, it’s terminal.  Her mother is a wonderful person and someone I’ve met on numerous occasions.  I put my head down on my desk and cried for a while, then got it together.  I really am fed up with cancer.  It takes so many good people and it’s such a nasty, debilitating disease.  Here’s a woman who fought scleroderma and won, just to find out later in life while living near her only daughter so she can watch her grandchildren grow up that she’s going to lose anyway.  What sucks even more is that I am 5 hours away from my friend.  I can’t do jack shit for her other than send emails and call, and show up when and if she asks me to.  Which she won’t, because she’s SuperWoman, and she never asks anyone for anything.  I think about how scared I was when Sara told me her mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer - I burst into tears at the table.  She managed to beat it thanks to an early diagnosis.  My tolerance for cancer and for watching people suffer through it has been shot.  First Leigh, my cousin’s first wife.  Then Stephanie, a close friend of Julie’s.  Then my mother-in-law.  Then Ken, Lois’s boyfriend.  All in the last 6 years. 

All I could do was send her mother a card, which felt so entirely lame and unhelpful, but I had to do something. 

My father’s birthday is tomorrow - he turns a bouncy 83 years old.  We hooked ourselves up with a babysitter so the four of us can have dinner, uninterrupted.  My dad at 83 is working a part-time job, active at the Y, volunteers and is a great “Boppa”, as Arden calls him.  I realized when I got the email from my friend that I am so very fortunate to still have both of my parents with me, in relatively good health.  They may drive me nuts at times (and I know I do them), but my father has gotten to see his youngest child’s children and be a part of their lives.  If he died tomorrow they would both have memories of him. 

The high notes have been a couple of things. 

First, I’m fairly active on a mother’s social networking site called Maya’s Mom.  I’ve been on it for about 8 months and I’ve gotten to know many of the women on the site well, at least virtually.  It’s amazing to talk to women all over the world, all from different backgrounds living different lives, and still find ways to connect with each other.  Recently one of the members proposed a Maya’s Mom Meet Up, and it takes place in April in Vegas.  I’m definitely going, assuming I can scrape the money together.  Mike was all about it.  I will probably go there on Friday and come back Sunday.  I’m not into gambling or drinking but I’m sure there’s a lot more to Vegas than that, and I have some potential roommates who are a lot of fun.  All of us are ditching the hubbies and kids for the weekend. I can’t wait. 

Second,  one of my all-time favorite bands is coming to Fairfax which is only about 100 miles up the road from me.  I conned Sara into going with me (although in all fairness, she likes them too).  We’re going to relive our high school memories and possibly wear black lipstick and hit Ikea on the way up, go to the show, spend the night in the cheapest hotel I could find and head back the next morning.  It’s on a school night even (a Wednesday).  The sheer irresponsibility of it all!!! Taking off work a few hours early and coming back in the next day, a few hours late!!!  Somebody call the po-lice!  I’m going to do something solely for me TWICE in one year. 

Third, business is great.  It’s nap mat season - it should be. But we’ve managed to pay down a bit of our debt and will continue to do so through the next month.  It feels good to make positive progress - especially after the extremely dark time we went thought in July.  Right now, I’m just trying to focus on all the great things that are going on. 

Some random pictures and video from the weekend of play dates with Lily’s friend Emma, and a couple hilarious shots of my car after picking up nap mats from the embroiderer. 

The scene:  Arden, wanting to go potty.  Lily decides she also needs to go.  Both cram themselves into the tiny half bath downstairs. Arden goes first. 

Arden: “Willy, MOVE!” 
Lily: “Arden, don’t talk like that to me.”
Arden: “You no talka me like dat!!!”
Lily: “Arden, you are NOT the BOSS.”
Arden: “I AM DA BOSS!”
Lily: “No, Arden!  You are NOT the BOSS!”
Arden: “I AM DA BOSS!”
Lily: “Arden, only Daddy and Mommy are the boss.  You are just a little children!”
Arden: “I NOT a LITTLE CHILDREN! I DA BOSS!”

She is so right. 

I grew up in a family of cooks.  My grandmother rocked the kitchen first (homemade tortillas, delicious refried beans, killer enchiladas), and my mom was and is an awesome cook when my dad or company from out of town convinces her to do so. And I guess after 50 some years of cooking for everyone, she deserves to not cook. Then my sister, who is freakin’ gifted at everything, also became a veritable sous chef in all of her free time during law school and raising kids.  Her husband also is talented.  Suffice it to say that I sort of have a hang up about cooking. 

I think the main reason I don’t like to cook is I didn’t like the way my mom taught me (sorry mom).  Back then she was quite the perfectionist and my cooking skills were about as far from perfect as you can get.  I remember screwing up a batch of sugar cookies at Christmas - I thought her eyeballs were going to pop out of her head.  She ended up making them herself.  The more my mom tried to teach me, the more I resisted.  Especially when I had to hear about how great my sister was.  Besides, back then, it was part of my entire black-clothes-wearing, art-school-attending, screw-the-establishment believing self.  Who needs to cook? Just because I have a vagina does not mean I have to wield a saucepan!  Ironically, in my sophomore year of college, I got a job at an organic bakery in Birmingham, Michigan.  I learned to bake my ass off.  I was good.  I went from hating all forms of kitchen activities to hating anything other than baking.

When Mike and I first got married, I got some great items from Williams-Sonoma and Pottery Barn. I didn’t really know what to do with all that stuff, but as they say here in the South, it sure wuz pur-ty!  I started looking up recipes online and asking friends for advice and I cooked.  I cooked a lot that first year.  We had a great kitchen in our first house - the previous owners had been professional caterers, and they had just renovated it - and I had so much fun in the privacy of my home making dishes for Mike and I. For the first time in my life, I liked cooking. I like trying new recipes, and more often than not, I didn’t screw up. I felt like little Suzy Homemaker. All I needed was a tidy white apron and a gin and tonic sweating in a glass for Mike when he got home.

Then I got pregnant, and everything made me want to throw up.  4 1/2 years and 2 kids later, I still don’t spend much time in the kitchen unless it’s foolproof and fast.  On top of my fear of cooking, we don’t have a lot of time. 

However, I decided last night to get on the internet and search for a pasta dish I really like - a thai linguine with peanut sauce and chicken.  I pulled a recipe off and left work early to shop for the ingredients. I had to make some calls, namely to Jennifer, because I’d never cooked with fresh ginger before (I sat in the parking lot staring at this bizarre root thing in my hand saying “WTF?  Do I peel it?  Chop it with the bark stuff on it? I’m just going to go pick up a rotisserie chicken. . .”).  I couldn’t bring myself to call my mother because then she’d know I was TRYING something new, and simultaneously realize how dumb I am for not knowing how to prepare ginger. 

Let me just say, even though Mike doesn’t like Asian food of any kind, my FREAKING LINGUINE ROCKED!  It kicked ass!  It was better than California Pizza Kitchen’s version of the dish!  It was that damn good, AND I DON’T EVEN OWN A WOK!!!! 

I was so excited about my cooking prowess that I literally did a little dance when I tasted the sauce.  I cheated a bit - I bought the pre-cooked chicken strips because I didn’t have an hour to spend baking chicken, but other than that, it was homemade all the way, bay-BEE!!!

I also cooked last night, but I made something I’m comfortable with - Chilaquile.  Tomorrow I’m making Pesto.  I’m on a roll.  As long as my mother doesn’t come over (inevitably that’s when I screw things up), we should be golden. 

Tonight, after seeing Windsor (Arden’s ex-teacher from Red Room), I realized I haven’t downloaded photos in forever.  So, although I have no interest in blogging tonight, I will at least post the latest smattering of photos.

Included in this set are pictures of 4th of July festivities at preschool, including a RARE picture of myself that I can’t even believe I’m going to post, Lily’s odd bedtime rituals, Arden wearing Aunt Jenn’s ridiculously big, Paris Hilton-esque sunglasses, Lily’s reunion with her true love Patrick, random shots of the girls, and pictures of our fun evening with Ms. Windsor.  I plan to take some video at the pool tomorrow to post as well. 

It happened again.  Sometimes, no matter how hard you try to make everyone happy, while simultaneously closing any loopholes that can cost you, the business owner, any money, you lose anyway.

About 2 weeks ago, we got a call from someone who had ordered a nap mat.  She wondered where it was.  We tracked her package and she realized it had been delivered over a week prior.  She assumed it had been stolen, and asked us to send her a new one, which we did.  The tricky part comes when the shipper says that they have delivered it.  Once it leaves their hands, whether some freak wanting a nap mat whirls by the back door and grabs it, it’s not their problem.  Therefore, we could have filed a claim, but it probably would have been denied. 

Happy Ending though - the nap mat turned out to be at her neighbor’s house, we didn’t have to ship a new one, and the customer was thrilled that we were willing to do that.  However, Jennifer and I put our heads together and decided that we would put language ALL OVER the site stating how we ship, and that once the delivery is confirmed, it is no longer our responsibility.  We also added the helpful advice that if you don’t want packages left at your door or mailbox, might we suggest having it shipped to a work address?  We did this on both sites.  We felt like that loophole was closed, financial implications avoided, and whee haw, not our problem if we ship something to you and your neighbor steals it.  Sounds harsh, I know, but it’s fair.  At least that’s what the 10 people we polled felt was fair.

Anyway, we recently had an order from California for some expensive stuff.  We had it in stock; we shipped it that day via the USPS Priority Mail with Delivery Confirmation(TM).  It got there - we had the delivery confirmation to prove it. The problem is that the woman who ordered it said she never received it.  Even though I told her during Phone Call #1 that I was terribly sorry, but that we had the confirmation and therefore it HAD been delivered, she was the type of person who wasn’t taking “Sorry, shit out of luck to you” lying down.  I felt badly for her, but I have to admit, I felt worse for myself.  Every dollar we make right now is going back into the company.  We don’t mind paying when we screw up, but when the postal service (or worse yet, if the customer was lying, which I don’t think she was) screws up, we don’t really want to pay for it.  She got really crappy with me on the phone, even though I was being very nice.  I suggested she call her local post office and discuss it with her carrier, that there wasn’t much else we could do.

She hung up, and a few days went by.  I was thinking, “How fortunate for us! She must have found her package.”  UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHHHH (loud stop sound here)!  She had tried for 3 days to get in touch with her local postal carrier, and they were avoiding her, and her calls. She even sent her husband down there on Saturday - they blew him off too.  She basically alternated between bullying (“I’ve had this happen before, and I’d hate to have to get Visa involved”), crying poor (“We aren’t the type of people that can afford to flush $60 down the toilet”) to placating (“You seem really nice - and I’m nice too, so I’m sure you’ll do what’s right).  I told her I’d call the post office, but she said she was going on vacation and “really needed the shirts” (cuz you know you can’t vacation without one of our shirts).  So I caved.  I did what I, as a customer, would want.  While I was on the phone with her, I pulled the same items she’d ordered and stuck them in an envelope and sent them. 

I then proceeded to call her local post office and spent over 35 minutes on hold getting the same runaround she had gotten.  I felt sorry for her, but I felt sorrier for me, having to deal with it. When I finally talked to the supervisor, he told me he’d look into it but if they show the package as delivered, they were off the hook.  We hadn’t purchased extra insurance for the package.*

When I got home and told Mike about it, I could tell he was irritated that I caved.  What’s the purpose for policies, he said with his eyes, if you don’t enforce them?  I don’t know the answer to that. I just know that we have always prided ourselves on giving great customer service, and it wasn’t a black and white question today. I had to do what I felt was right, and so one lady out in California is a happy camper and will hopefully remember what we did for her.  On the other hand, it’s been ANOTHER learning experience for us.  We will now be adding insurance as an option and if the customer doesn’t pay for it, and the shipment is lost, we’re sticking to our guns.

I need a drink.

So tell me - how would YOU have handled the situation if you were in my shoes?  Please comment and let me know.

*and frankly, that pisses me off!  You pay for the service of shipping. You expect your stuff to arrive in one piece and on time.  And yet you have to pay for extra insurance in case something happens??? Isn’t that what the shipping is for as well?  Shouldn’t they just guarantee their stuff like the rest of the shipping universe?  No wonder the USPS is going downhill.  Everything is freakin’ extra!!!

Yes folks, I finally got an answer. Of course, no one has actually ASKED me why we were crazy enough to have one, let alone two, girls, but last night I was rewarded for asking my own unanswered questions. 

Arden has developed over the past two weeks a fear of thunderstorms.  Lily was never bothered by them, and we’ve tried to act totally cool and hip with regard to the storms.  However, she freaks out now when it thunders loudly.  Last night Mike was at HellMart for over 2 hours (seems I forgot to remind him it was Virginia’s tax-free back to school shopping weekend), and I was trying to get Arden and Lily to bed sans husband.  Of course as soon as I had them both settled down, a major thunderstorm rolled through.  It was scaring me - on a scale of 1 to 10 of noise, it was a Spinal Tap 11. 

Arden started crying, and by the time I reached her room, Lily was already in there, petting her arm and telling her, “Don’t worry, baby sister - it’s just the clouds bumping into each other!”  Arden was not comforted, so I tried lying down with her and Lily and rubbing her back.  She was shaking and whimpering, and asking repeatedly for Mike.  “Where Daddy?  Where Daddy?  I wanna cuddle Daddy!”  I wanted to say, “He’s in suburban hell, shoping in a dirty, nasty, understaffed Wal-Mart, probably cursing me from top to bottom at the moment!”  But I didn’t.  I told her he’d give her a hug when he got home.

Two or three times I tried to comfort her. The storm just got worse and worse.  Arden started asking me to get in Lily’s bed, so I let them hunker down together.  They were whispering and giggling, and every time the thunder boomed, I would hear Lily say, “Don’t worry Arden!  I’m RIGHT HERE!”  Finally, around 9.45, both girls fell asleep.  When I checked on them at 11 pm, Lily had her arm slung around Arden and they were cuddled together.  It was one of those rare few times when I realized that both the girls actually like each other, and might not, given the choice, strangle the other when opportunity knocks.  How cute!

***

On another note, it’s nap mat season.  That means a lot of shipments, craziness, stress, and happiness all rolled into one portable nap mat with a removable pillow.  Nap mat season means that we can pay down our debt and maybe, just maybe, get paid ourselves.  That thought still feels like a fantasy, but maybe one that might actually happen. 

Sometimes, that’s how I feel.  Like I am wiping the derriere of the universe.  In a good way, of course.  Because Arden is in the throes of day-potty training, and Lily still would rather have me wipe her butt then wipe herself (and frankly, who wouldn’t???), I am doing a lot of wiping these days.  Mike taught Lily that the best way to be sure all systems are go “down there” is this bizarre-looking, Downward-Dog-themed bend-over where she sticks her rump in the air and shouts, “AM I CLEAN???” 

Tonight, we went to the pool after an early dinner.  Lily went to the bathroom by herself (something she’s been asking me to do) and I stayed in the pool and watched the door to the women’s bathroom to make sure no weirdos went in or came out clutching a brown 4 year old.  All of a sudden, out flies Lily with her bikini bottoms down around her knees.  She was sort of holding them in one hand and gesturing for me with the other.  Then, at the top of her lungs, she yells, “MOMMY!  I REALLY pooped!”  As I am gesticulating frantically, trying to cover up her girl parts, she pulls her bottoms DOWN, not up, turns away from me, and starts to assume the Downward Dog Butt Wiping Position.  I nearly died right there on the spot.  The entire pool got a bit quiet while she yelled, “MOMMY!  I wiped myself!  But I really pooped a lot!  AM I CLEAN? I don’t want to get POOP on my BATHING SUIT!” 

I wanted to slink down into the water and hide, but I had to get Lily and her Crack of Dawn covered up.  My gestures finally got her attention along with my panicked “LILY! PUT YOUR BATHING SUIT ON!”

Thankfully, most people laughed.  Some older people gave me disapproving stares.  I wanted to flip them off, but I am a good neighbor, and I pretended not to see.  Ahhhhhh!

Earlier, on the way home from preschool, we stopped by Mike’s office. The girls love to visit him there.  Well, let’s be honest. They love to visit his office because he has some cool toys there they like to play with, like a set of golfballs, a plastic alligator from our first trip to the Outer Banks (it came in a drink called “The Titanic” or something crazy like that).  We had dinner, and later, she saw someone with short hair, and loudly asked, “Daddy, is THAT a girl or a boy???”  I thought Mike was going to pass out right there on the spot.

Tonight, during cuddle time, we discussed that asking questions is great, but perhaps in private would be better. I asked Lily how she would feel if someone asked ME if she was a girl or a boy.  She said she wouldn’t like it.  I know that in a few years, I’ll be embarassing her at every turn, but right now, MAN, does that child come up with some doozies!

Speaking of doozies, Arden’s mood was a doozie tonight.  She was really tired from refusing to nap at school, and after swimming, she was a mess.  I put her down to sleep and she was out within 5 minutes.  She’s been entertaining Red Room at school with her dramatic song and dance routines.  Sometimes I feel like we’re raising Liza Minelli or something.  Ms. Christy sings a song about “Three Blind Jellyfish . . . sitting on a rock.”  She sings it in this weird sort of French accent.  Arden sings it now too, only she screams, “SITTING ON . . . A RRRRRRRRRROCK!!!!” and she gets all spastic and hops on one foot when she yells the “rock” part.  She then collapses into fits of giggles.  I think she has a future either as a prison warden (for her emphatic “You KNOW BETTER, WILLY (Lily)!!!” or a Broadway star.  Either is just fine with me.