Timeless Photo

It's a staple in many-a-family photo album. My parents have one of me. I now have one of my daughter.

Little girl with mommy's make-up on.

I don't know where I found my mother's lipstick, although I remember from the photo that it was a ghastly orange-ish color, very 70s. Laney found mine while rummaging through my make-up bag, which was left, rather stupidly, within her reach. It's too bad. I really loved that color. I think the color works for her skin, too, don'cha think?

Our first make-up conversation:

"What are you doing, Laney?"
"I'm pretty, Mommy!!"

I think we may be having the "less is more" conversation in our future.

Fight for treasure

I swore it would never happen to my kids. I wouldn't let it. I was not going to be one of those parents who bought way too many toys for their kids. They would appreciate the toys they had and be grateful for the gifts they got from friends and loved ones.

Yeah, right. My kids have way too much shit. Toys that end up strewn around the house on a daily basis -- played with and then tossed without care for the maid-servant, aka Mommy, to come and clean up later.

So many toys, in fact, that it's all become blah. They fight over other things, more important, more interesting things. This afternoon I had to break up a fight over, and I'm not kidding, toilet paper rolled into a ball.

Nicky discovered by getting this toilet paper wet and scrunching it up and letting it dry made a sort of ball. It's not a fun ball. You can throw it, but not very far. If it hits the ground too hard, it falls apart. It is a toilet-paper ball. However, it must be a hot commodity among two-year-olds, because Laney had to have it.

I came in to break up an all-out screaming, wrestling match between my kids. My oldest had wrestled his sister to the ground and was furiously trying to grab something out of her hand. She was wriggling underneath him, screaming at the top of her lungs, waving her hand desperately to keep him from getting it. It was a hard-fought battle, but in the end, Nicky prevailed. He took possession of the precious object.

He was a benevolent conquerer though. He agreed, after some nagging on my part, to go up and make his sister her very own wet wad of toilet paper just to keep the peace. He came back down with a ball 1/10 the size and even she knew she was being played for a fool. She wouldn't have it. Any girl who knows her worth will accept nothing less than a grape-sized toilet-paper ball.

Toy manufacturers might try to have me believe that kids want peek-a-boo blocks, dolls that pee, and wooden train tracks.

Peek-a-boo blocks, my ass. I know what my kids really want.

It's whatever the other one has.

My sofa is like a box of chocolates. . .

You never know what you're gonna find!

Let me just say, having kids is not for flaky people.

In fact, my husband's little swimmers could have thought of that before they barged in the door of my eggs. "Oh, no. It's HER! Look, we can't do this. It's not right. Have you seen her? This woman is a basket case. She rages around her place trying to find her glasses, her purse, pens, whatever was in her hand two minutes earlier. If she has kids, she'll never find anything ever again! This might well drive her over the edge." But did they stop? Did they give one single thought to my mental well-being?? Huh? Huh?! Of course not. They just charged on in. Twice. That's now THREE people in the house who have the put-things-in-random-places gene. Now finding anything is hopeless.


My mom (or my husband, or anyone who knows me well) will tell you that I can't find things because I wander around the house with something in my hand, put it down, forget where I put it, and only remember it when I want it later. They will tell you I simply don't put things back where they belong. Yeah, yeah. All I'm sayin' is that kids haven't helped matters.

The thing is that, before kids, I could usually go back in my head and think of when I had it last and run a mental image, "I was brushing my hair, the phone rang, I wandered around while talking, went to get myself something to drink, sat on the couch, oh, yeah. . .my brush is in the kitchen!"

I would say, 98 percent of the time, this worked for me. Only two percent of the time, did I go tearing through the house like a lunatic, completely unable to recall where something was, while getting angrier and angrier (and usually running later and later), until I began to foam at the mouth, half-convinced someone broke into my house, hid my keys and left.

I really have gotten better. I have a place for my keys. The kids can't reach it. That's where I put my keys, most of the time. However, it's a one-step-forward, two-steps-back kind of thing.

Lots of things still go missing. For example, the cordless telephone. I'll have a chat, leave it on the coffee table. In the past, it stayed on the coffee table until Seven found it and put it back on the charger. Sometimes he still has to do that. Sometimes I actually put it back myself.

Other times it ends up in the couch cushions. . .right next to the remote control, missing puzzle pieces, popcorn kernels, missing toy cars, one-legged Power Rangers, barrettes, my hair brush, coins, crumbs, pens and a multitude of other things I'm trying to find.

I put things in random places, yes, but I can trace my steps. It's harder to trace my kids' steps or even their logic. Why again is the rice scoop under the couch cushion?

Happy Chinese New Year

February 7, 2008 is the Chinese New Year. It's very convenient for those of us who have already failed our Jan. 1 New Year's Resolutions to start anew. Second chances are great, so here's to Round 2 of making resolutions we won't keep!

My resolutions are:

1. Will learn to cross-country ski. I will learn to at least make one run while spending more time on the skis than on my ass.

2. Will have accomplished one household task before the kids are awake in the morning. Will wake up five minutes before the kids do.

3. Will start a blog. Yay! I've kept this one! I'm cheating a little as it's a holdover from Jan. 1. . .

4. Will post regularly to said blog. Uh- oh.

5. Will be in bed by 11 p.m. every night. Sad, pathetic people set their own bedtimes. I am one of them. No hiding it now. I just want to get up and not feel tired all of the time.

6. Will send birthday greetings on time. (Have already failed miserably for this after Jan. 1, but seriously, why are half of my friends born in January? After Christmas is really not a good time for me. From now on, I will not make friends who are born earlier than March 1.)

7. Will learn to love accept my body as it is. This is a bit of a joke, considering that I was always trying to lose five/ten pounds, even in the days I could sport a bikini with a reasonable amount of confidence. It's not going to get any better so I might as well learn to love what I have now! My biggest fear now is that if I actually lose ten pounds, my boobs will deflate and hang right over my very attractive muffin-top. Yum! Seven is a very lucky man.

And in honor of the Chinese New Year, did you know. . .
I love this kind of stuff!

2008 is the Year of the Rat. The Rat year is the first year in the Chinese zodiac.

Year of the Rat is a good year to start something new. Things that you start this year should stand the test of time.

Rat people are quick-witted, intelligent and charming. They are compatible with Dragon, Monkey and Ox.

Once upon a time the emporer held a race to cross a great river. All of the animals were invited to enter. The twelve that finished first had a year named after them. The ox, big and strong, plowed slowly and steadily through the current. Being kind, and apparently not so bright, the ox let the rat and the cat sit on his back to get across. Right at the end, the rat pushed the cat into the water (nice fellow), jumped to land first and won the race. That's why he is first in the Zodiac.

Want to know what happens next? Tune in next year! Or google it. Your choice.

Playing with Dolls

I have spent most of my adult life convinced that the differences between male and female behavior are largely due to social conditioning rather than biological impulse. I have begun to rethink that since having my kids.

Taking playing with dolls, for instance.

Nicky has never been interested in baby dolls. Once, when we were in a department store, he saw a baby doll laying in a stroller. I think it freaked him out. It looked like a baby, but there was something frightening about those vacant, staring eyes. He studied it for a little and then went up and smacked it in the face. Aside from that, I don't know that he's really ever paid attention to dolls.

Laney, on the other hand, has always been very interested in baby dolls. We bought her one shortly after her first birthday and she, baby, and a stuffed duck called gakk-gakk were inseperable. She carried baby and gakk-gakk everywhere. They brought out her inner-Mommy. She cuddled them at night and wrapped them in blankets to keep them warm. When baby fell on her little head, Laney kissed her booboos away. When we go out, she's concerned that baby have a hat on so she doesn't get cold, and sometimes she drops her off with me to "baby-sit". Baby needs to be cared for while she is chasing Nicky around the house.

I've heard Nicky play with baby once.

"Look, Laney," he shouted as he hurled baby down the stairs. "Your baby can fly!"

Thunk, thunk, thunk, plonk! Poor baby landed in a little heap on the floor while her towel 'cape' landed on top of her.

Let's hope that's not his inner-Daddy coming to the fore.

Social conditioning or biology? You be the judge.

Laney and Baby