Judi sent this funny email out today, which I had to copy here, because it goes hand in hand with my story of the day. 

The Birth Order of Children:

Your Clothes:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
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Preparing for the Birth:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don’t bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn’t do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.
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The Layette:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn’s clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby’s little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can’t they?
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Worries:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress-a whimper, a frown-you pick up the baby.
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
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Pacifier:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you ! put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby’s bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.
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Diapering:
1st baby: You change your baby’s diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
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Activities:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
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Going Out:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
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At Home:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn’t squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
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Swallowing Coins:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance!

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In my case, I should have something like this:

Immunizations:

1st child:  Religiously schedule immunization appointments 6 months in advance.  Spend hours of time on the internet researching the potential side effects or future repercussions of said immunizations.  Remember 30 minutes prior to appointment to spread LMX on injection sites so the pain will be lessened.  Take rest of day off to be with child for comfort and fun.

2nd child:  Forget entirely about immunizations.  There’s a 15 month checkup?  An 18 month checkup?  Call randomly to pediatrician’s office for another reason at 20 months only to realize you’re behind by 2 check ups.  Panic and schedule a combination appointment and feel horribly guilty about it.  Realize that you’ve packed the LMX and you have meetings all day of the checkup. 

3rd child:  In a moment of great clarity you realize you are already failing at raising 2.  Send husband for vasectomy.  End of story. 

I realized tonight as I sweated and tried not to curse that hell on earth was currently cruising in the shape of a Volvo wagon down West Broad Street.  Inside the car, trapped within the heated panes of glass, was Damien the Screaming 3 Year Old, the 666 on her scalp pulsing and throbbing as she screamed in increasingly loud and frantic bursts, followed by the usual chantings of “HOLD ME HOLD HOLD HOLD ME MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY . . . AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

I had already had a long day that I began early this morning in an effort to learn something new.  I attended the Legal Marketing Association monthly meeting in Norfolk with Jennifer - the speaker was amazing and validated all the things we’ve been trying to teach our clients for the last few years.  I did indeed learn a lot today, including how far behind I am in my reading and exposure to new thoughts and ideas.  Side note - remember the days of college when you basically spent your days exposing your brain to new ideas and ways of thinking?  Yeah, those were the days.  That was around the last time I felt really intelligent, like I had something to say, and would have been an interesting person to converse with.  These days, I am a fount of information on lactation, marketing for professionals, and potty training.  How the mighty fall.  But I do digress . . .

Jennifer had a difficult morning and as she recounted life with children and a career, I realized how amazing it is that all of us mommy-folk balance an amazing amount of shite on our plates.  We really do.  Stay at home, working, whatever - it’s all a lot to manage. Seems like there should be more moments of insanity or nervous breakdowns, but most of my friends are doing just fine.  Some of them even make it look easy.

I called Mike from the girls’ preschool with the brilliant idea to meet him for dinner. I was tired, hungry, really hot (I REALLY DESPISE RICHMOND IN THE SUMMER - the all-mighty creator obviously had a bug up his butt or some Southerner really pissed him off, because the humidity and oppressive heat here really isn’t necessary), and just needing a break from going home to look at the mess we are living with.  A side note again:  seems like every time I try to eat out with Mike and the girlz, chaos ensues, and Mike glares at me from across the table, occasionally muttering “Wow.  This is SO MUCH FUN. I LOVE having dinner with the girls.”  Me, the eternal optimist, thinks everything will be fine. 

Tonight was the usual - dinner with the girls, one always crabby, the other not.  Tonight Arden was having hissy fits because she wanted to do EVERYTHING herself (I’m using a lot of capital letters, but it was that kind of EVENING).  Feed herself, drink her own milk, everything.  That’s great, but she really doesn’t have the whole utensil-scraping-food-into-the-mouth thing downpat, and would get really hyper when she couldn’t shovel the food in fast enough.  Temper tantrums ensued, followed by a lot of eye-rolling and sighing from Mike, and me wanting to put my ever-optimistic head down on the table and just give up . . . relegate ourselves to a life of dinners at home where the dog can lick up the mess from the floor. 

Lily was pretty good except for using the booth as a trampoline and talking in a very loud, very un-indoor voice, and telling me that the word Rainbow started with an “s” instead of “r”.  I really hate those conversations.  She asks me to help her with the alphabet, which I do, and then she argues incessantly with me about how wrong I am.  Okay WHATEVER.  FINE.  You win.  Just stop talking to me. 

The real fun began when we left the restaurant.  Arden went with Mike in the “red car” and Lily came with me, as usual.  She asked me for her stuffed ducky, which I dutifully handed her.  I got in the car, started the engine, and she asked me for the “other ducky” (Arden has one too).  I looked briefly for it while holding up traffic in the parking lot, couldn’t find it, and told her I’d look when I got home.  That was all it took.  Damien took over Lily’s body and the screaming and kicking ensued.  At one point I decided to try to remove the duck she had from her as punishment for being a huge turd, telling her in my calm, Dr. Phil-like voice that I was not going to tolerate her behavior.  She got smart and SAT on the duck.  I nearly crashed the car in my fury and steely resolve to remove the duck from her posterior.  Success . . . at a red light.  More screaming, kicking, and eventually, shrieking followed by hiccuping, snot trails, burping and nearly puking from being so mad.  I lost it about 1 mile from our house.  I hit play on the old Ipod, cranked the music as loud as my ears could tolerate (not even CARING for ONE MINUTE what kind of permanent hearing damage I inflicted on Lily) and started maniacally singing along so that I couldn’t hear the wretched satanic sounds issuing from the back seat.  That made her cry harder, which gave me a combo guilt/pleasure emotion. 

At home, I calmly closed the car doors, thanking Volvo again profusely for their well-made, soundproofed automobiles.  I could barely hear her!  Bliss!  Heaven!  I walked to the mailbox, browsed through the junk mail, meandered back to her door, and asked her to get out.  Mike offered to take her, but I was feeling calm and triumphant. I’d only raised my voice once. 

Upstairs the screaming continued.  She was now mad about the lack of Ducky #2 and the fact that I refused to “CARRY CARRY CARRY ME MAMAAAAAAA”.  Then I tried to undress her for the bath, which caused another fit because she wanted to do it.  I finally became the anti-Dr.Phil and screamed, “THEN JUST DO IT!!! I’VE HAD IT!!!”  (Note to self:  screaming at Lily doesn’t help, at all, but man, at the time, it sure feels good)

Eventually I stripped her while she kicked and screamed, put her in the tub, and washed her.  After the bath, she calmed down, and I held her until she stopped crying and we had a rational, calm discussion about how her behavior is unacceptable, and that because of her 30 minute scream-fest, she would lose story priviledges for the night.  It set off another set of waterworks, but I held firm and told her that she would learn the hard way that the tantrums don’t work and there were going to be consistent repercussions if she kept it up.  As I put her to bed, she gazed into my eyes and said softly, “Mommy, PLEASE read me a story,” complete with quivering lip.  NO!  My Inner Disciplinarian shouted.  DO NOT GIVE IN TO THE DARK SIDE!  I explained equally softly, minus quivering lip, that it hurt me not to be able to read to her - that I love to read to her in bed - but that she had blown her chance and tomorrow was a new day, and a new chance to get through the day without the demon possession. 

I’m not proud of the music-blasting episode (and I subjected her to the Pixies, no less) and I’m not proud of the screaming fit I had, in which I threw her shirt at her and stormed out of the room.  I am proud that Mike and I stood firm and didn’t give in.  I’m also totally freakin’ exhausted and for tonight, wish that I had no children, especially a 19 month old who is teething, crabby as all hell, and ridiculously independent, along with a 3 1/2 year old who is as stubborn and willfull as me, and very articulate about her needs, no matter how crazy they may be.

And yes, yes, yes, I love them interminably.  They are my life, my humor, the stuff that makes life living and worthwhile.  That doesn’t mean that on days like today I don’t wish for a vacation from parenthood, or a very strong painkiller that renders me speechless, thoughtless, and very, very sleepy. 

Arden started swim lessons last week and continued them this week with me.  As I climbed into the pool with a trembling 19-month old child, I waited for her to start screaming.  It didn’t take long.  While the other parents happily played Ring Around the Rosy and Humpty Dumpty on the Wall, Arden screamed, kicked, fought me, and flailed.  I immediately became the bubonic plague during Puking Water and Snot Round 1.  Round 2 and 3 just put me over the edge.  I had to get her into this “elbow hold” where you pin their arms next to their body with your hands holding their arms together near the elbow. In theory, it’s supposed to give you “control” so that you can pull your baby through the water, flip her on her back, or help her swim without grabbing you.  In reality, Arden nearly kicked my ass, she was so strong.  It took every ounce of my strength and willpower to keep her in the hold and continue on with the class. Every time we made eye contact, she looked like a caged animal, terrorized and beyond fear.  The only thing she seemed to enjoy was floating on her back, the one thing that the teacher told us she wouldn’t like.  She nearly fell asleep when I had her on back.  She was entirely exhausted. 

She’s one of the older children in the class which just made me feel guilty.  I should have put her in the class last year. The 9 month olds are doing better than she is - they adapt to the water more quickly, learn the hold their breath more quickly, and don’t have near the amount of fear that Arden does.  It’s the perfect age to start, apparently.  I must have missed the book on that one. 

It was one of those agonizing periods where as a mother you realize that you must perservere, even against the wishes of your child, because you know it’s better for them if you do.  The instant gratification (and instinct, I might add), is to immediately remove your child from whatever situation is traumatizing them, wrap them in your arms, and comfort them.  In a way, this class is more for the parents than the children.  Nothing is harder than seeing fear in your baby’s eyes and firmly saying “1,2,3, you’re going under the water now . . . ” while pushing her squirming body under the water for the count of 5.  It’s totally unnatural and a little more than stressful.

HOWEVER.  We spent a lot of time at the pool since Friday, and Arden is over her fear of the water, and is actually enjoying the baby pool and not wanting to get out. She seems better when she falls down or gets a mouthful of water, and she was retrieving toys off the bottom.  Mike took her into the big pool with the rest of us today and she wasn’t screaming, so that’s a good sign. I didn’t try to put her under the water again or have her get the wall, because I felt like one trauma event for the weekend was enough.

Thankfully after swim lessons, we had tickets to see Sesame Street Live.  I don’t know who liked it more - Arden or Lily.  They both had a great time and danced like maniacs.  Lily got a small stuffed Cookie Monster and has been obsessively carrying it around with her since Saturday morning. 

Lily’s been a complete trip this weekend, saying some of the funniest stuff I’ve heard her say.  She was telling me that at school, she tells Marcus when he’s behaving badly, “Marcus, you BEHAVE!  Right now!  BEHAVE, MARCUS!”  She did this while waving her hand around and pointing her finger (a la Jennifer Yeager).  She looked like a mini-version of her teachers and had the tone of voice to match.  She also told me tonight that she was going to be a mommy someday and she was going to be exactly like me because I’m so “nice”.  It’s so cool that your own kids think you’re awesome because they don’t know what else to compare you to. 

My favorite Lily moment was last night, when she refused to eat her dinner.  Mike had purchased some yummy poundcake and I told her that she wasn’t getting any unless she ate.  She decided to test me, and finished her dinner without eating hardly anything on the plate.  Later she came in clutching her belly and told me, “Mama, my tummy is so empty, it hurts.”  I told her that she was welcome to have some fruit or cottage cheese or some leftover flank steak.  She told me, “My tummy won’t be empty when there’s cake in it . . . ” complete with a devilish smile.  I stifled my laughter and told her that there was no cake in her immediate future and she settled for a pear.  Ah, the joy of communication . . .

We’ve continued to work on the house little by little, including doing what we always do - spackling every freakin’ hole and repainting.  I really hope that the people we are buying from treat their houses the same we we’ve treated ours.  Moving into this particular house and cleaning up someone else’s disaster area was not fun, and I can only hope that the sellers won’t be the same.  I am aggravating with myself but as Mike said, it’s the right thing to do.  It really is. 

Tomorrow we’ll head out to the new pool at Wyndham and see if people are friendly or stuck up.  Or a combo of both.  We’re supposed to tackle the attic tomorrow as well.  Good times! 

Happy Memorial Day everyone . . .

It was an interesting and productive weekend for the most part.  Friday night Mike and I had a “date”, since Mom and Dad were in our neck of the woods so we could leave early Saturday morning for the March of Dimes WalkAmerica event.  We tried to see Da Vinci Code but of course it was sold out.  It was weird to see protestors standing outside the movie theatre. I haven’t even read the book so I really have no idea what all the fuss is about.  I didn’t even know Catholics protested anything other than abortion, but apparently they do. Strangely, most of the protesters looked like they were in high school. 

We had a nice time and ended up at Poseidon.  If there ever was a chance to get Mike on a cruise, it’s been blown now by seeing that movie.  He picked it - not me. 

Saturday morning my mom, Lily and I hit the road around 7.30 and picked up Sara at Jennifer’s house.  We all caravaned to Williamsburg for the event.  The weather was gorgeous and the 5k course wound its way through the College of William and Mary, what I hope to be the future alma mater for Lily and Arden. I love the campus.  All of us completed the walk in good time, even my mother, who was convinced she wouldn’t make it due to her back surgery.  She had no problem completing the course.  Lily had a lot of fun too and bonded with Jennifer’s Uncle Phil, who basically is “Grandfather to the World” (Jennifer’s unofficial title is “Hostess to the World”, so I’m not surprised Uncle Phil has a similar role).  Lily even rode on his shoulders for some of the way and gave him a big sloppy kiss goodbye.  Awww.  Who wouldn’t love a Lily Kiss?

Speaking of Jennifer, we received a beautiful copper-roofed birdhouse for Christmas from the Yeagers last year.  A family of bluebirds made a nest in it almost immediately after we hung it, and we noticed a few weeks ago that the babies had hatched and were creating a noisy ruckus from their house every time their mother came near with various food items for them.  As I was cleaning the grill yesterday, I heard one of the babies chirping but not from the house.  Turns out he had gotten curious and while checking out the world from the peephole of his house, he had fallen out.  He could only fly a few inches off the ground and only for a few seconds at a time.  With Mike’s help I was able to capture him but we were unsuccessful in getting him back in his bird house.  In the meantime the mother kept dive-bombing me to show me her intense displeasure. 

We ate dinner and kept an eye on him.  He stayed right under the birdhouse and his mother occasionally hopped down to the ground and fed him.  We decided that if he was still there once the girls went to bed, we’d try one last time to get him back in the nest.  Around 7.30 we checked and he was still there, trying to fly and making a lot of noise.  I finally grabbed him as gently as I could and stuck his beak into the hole of the house, and he was in.  From what I can tell, they are all still there.  We think there are three or four of them and they look like they are within a few days of leaving the nest permanently.  That was my good deed for the weekend. 

I still felt like on Friday our karma or luck was way out of whack.  When the heating people showed up to assess our leaky, recalled gas furnace flue vent, they determined it wasn’t going to be covered by our homeowner’s warranty, even though the warranty company had assured it would be.  Three angry phone calls and one hour later, I had accepted the fact that we were going to be paying $1350 to get it fixed.  Later that evening I hopped on the internet trying to figure out who I could send a nasty note to (beside the Home Warranty company - I had already drafted that one).  Turns out the government is paying for part of the recall and all we’ll be responsible for is around $200-$230, which is the part that the original manufacturer used to pay.  They pulled out of the recall program in November, those irresponsible corporate poo-heads . . . They’ll be getting one of my letters, too.  I just think that if you manufacture a part that could potentially kill an entire family with carbon monoxide poisoning, you ought to make an effort to let the homeowners know it’s an issue.  We’ve lived in the house since ‘03 and never received anything about it.  Still, it made me very happy that our responsibility will be for a couple of hundred bucks as opposed to $1350. 

I took this as a sign to mean that our luck may be changing, and possibly nothing else in the next few weeks is going to blow up.  April and May has been a difficult month for many people I know.  I hope that things are going to mellow out a bit for all of us.  If not, then I hope I am able to deal better with whatever comes my way. 

Arden has entered a happy phase, right around the time that Lily has regressed back to the horrible, screaming, Exorcist-child style temper tantrums.  We had 3 or 4 of them yesterday.  One of them was so volatile and loud that she actually fell fast asleep when she was able to calm down. It drained her energy.  When she doesn’t get her way, she falls apart.  However, now when she falls apart, she won’t move, and she holds up her arms and screams at the top of her lungs, “Mommy, CARRY ME!”  This happened as we were leaving the playground at Wyndham yesterday.  A family walked by us and the mother looked at Mike and said, “Come on, just give in!”  She was totally kidding and we all started laughing.  I offered to give her Lily for a special free price, but she wasn’t interested and said she’d had enough of her own.  I ended up dragging Lily into the car kicking and screaming. The entire way home she screamed in this horrible, hoarse voice, “CARRY CARRY CARRY ME HOLD ME HOLD ME MOMMY MOMMY HOLD ME HOLD ME HOLDMEHOLDMEHOLDME”.  I looked back at her and said to Mike, “Satan’s spawn is in the backseat with us.”  We cracked up. What else can you do at that point?  My only hope is that it truly is a phase, it will pass, and we can really laugh about it then.  It’s just frustrating to feel like you are done with the regular tantrums and find them coming back with a vengeance.  In terms of parenting, Mike and I do a lot wrong, but one thing we do right is that we are consistent and firm, and we never give in when we say we are going to do something.  So how come this isn’t working better???  Why does she still fight us, even though she knows she will not, nor has she ever, gotten her way when we’ve laid down the law on any particular issue?

Mom of course has a million reasons why - she’s tired, she misses her grandparents, she realizes it’s Sunday and she doesn’t want to go to school, she’s read Nietzsche and realizes the futility of the human race, etc.  I finally said, “Mom, she’s 3 1/2.  Maybe that’s the reason.”  I’m tired of trying to figure out the whys of Lily. I just want to know how to fix it. 

Lily started back at Morgan Swim School today in her second year of swim lessons.  She was less afraid and only cried for a few minutes during the lesson.  They don’t allow you to be in the area during the lesson, but I could hear her from outside the door.  I must have PMS or something because during the lesson, I read some of the articles about the school and one of them made me cry.  Basically it was about a parent who’s 2 1/2 year old drowned, and how when she had her second and third child, she was determined to make swimming as important as potty training.  The woman who runs the school is tough as nails - her nickname is the “Swim Nazi”, she has 11 kids, and has home schooled all of them - but her approach works and Lily has done very well there.  She was already back in the water tonight, picking up where she left off.  By the end of the summer last year she was swimming a few feet at a time under water. Most importantly, if she were to fall into a pool, she could swim to the pool edge and pull herself out.  It was pretty amazing to see a 2 year old be able to save herself from drowning. 

I’ve been spending my evenings online at DirectBuy trying to research the items we need to purchase for the new house.  In my usual anal retentive form I have a humungous spreadsheet of everything we need to do and buy on it, as well as a word document with pictures of all the items I’ve picked out so that Mike can look through them and say no to the ones he doesn’t like.  My theory is that the half day we take off to spend at DirectBuy ordering the stuff will be much faster and more organized.  I’ll let you know if my theory works.

We had a mellow weekend which was nice after two weeks in a row of constant house showings and open houses.  We messed up the house, threw dirty laundry around, and brazenly allowed the girls to leave their toys around on the floor.  We’re wild, I’ll tell you.  We had a good time at the park on Saturday.  Arden isn’t into the swings but enjoyed learning to slide and attempting to follow Lily around.  Lily loved the tire swing until she forgot to hang on and went flying off it, landing on her side and scraping up her chin.  She cried for a few moments and got over it. She’s pretty tough.  Arden, on the other hand . . .

During “naptime” yesterday, Mike went up to Lily’s room to see if he could get her to sleep.  She asked him which Care Bear he’d like to cuddle with.  He told her the red one.  She smiled at him, tucked the purple one into the crook of his arm, and said, “Um, you can have DIS one.  I have the red one.”  He cracked up.  They spent the rest of naptime making the Care Bears hair into mohawks, slicks, and Einsteins.  I think Mike had a better time at the beauty parlor than even Lily. It was pretty cute.

We are convinced that Arden is going to be a dancer.  I’ll try to capture more of her insanity the next time she’s doing it.  She even dances now when Lily is screaming the ABC song at the top of her lungs.  It’s not melodic, but that doesn’t seem to bother Arden much. 

The morning started off with a temper tantrum on Lily’s part. I was home this afternoon waiting on some movers to give us a quote, and turned on Dr. Phil.  It was entirely disturbing, featuring this mother who went completely ballistic with her children. She was a stay at home mom and literally cussed her children out, beat them about the head, slapped and shoved them, and used a stick occasionally to beat them when they were really bad.  She was a screamer, too.  I resolved once again to try not to yell at the girls.  I’m not saying I’ve got rage problems like that woman, but Dr. Phil’s point was that all mothers could see a bit of themselves in her.  She’s just a very extreme example.  So I took a lot of deep breaths tonight when Lily mouthed off or threw her toothbrush at me and tried to be calm and very, very firm, instead of very, very loud.