What Price Peace (and Quiet)?

I'm trying to work, but both kids just came running into the room.

"Mama! Mama! Pixie wants a piece of chocoloate!" Princess screams.

Pixie dances around, something small and most likely chocolate clutched in her tiny hands.

I look at the pile of work on my desk and sigh. "Do you two know what *I* want?"

Pixie gets a funny look on her face as she cogitates this. "Um, world peace?"

"Exactly," I say. "When I get what I want, you can have what you want."

Princess bobs her head. Pixie keeps squealing and spinning in circles, smooshing chocolate in her hand.

"So does that mean we can have the chocolate?" Princess asks.

**If that's what it takes to get some peace and quiet...**

Play Dates and the Bad Mom

Am I a bad mom? I ask myself this question much as I'm sure every mom must ask it when a conflict arises between Mom giving the kids what they want versus doing Mom doing something for herself. In my case, what my kids, Princess specifically, are asking for lots of play dates. What I'm asking for is a couple of hours to myself every afternoon to do some work.

It's a sticky issue. There aren't a lot of little girls Princess' age in the neighborhood. Only two, to be exact. Everyone else is either a boy, and only wants to hang with other boys, or quite a few years older than Princess. Of the two little girls who are Princess' age, one is getting ready to leave for a cross-country trip this summer. The other lives within walking distance, but I'd have to walk over with Princess (no biggie, I can always use the exercise) AND... Pixie is not invited to go with her.

I hate that. As with Princess, there are only two children in the neighborhood around Pixie's age. One of them is sister to the girl who's about to leave on that cross-country trip, so she won't be around either. The other is allergic to just about everything under the sun, so arranging play dates requires a lot of pre-planning and logistical discussion (choosing a restaurant can we all eat at, scrubbing my kids down before going over to make sure they're allergen-free, etc.).

So essentially, Pixie is out of luck in the local friends department. I've made arrangements to have Princess' one little friend come over here a couple of mornings a week, to ensure that Pixie isn't left out when the girls play together, but even then it's a crap shoot they'll all get along. Every time this particular kid comes over, she has a nasty habit of dragging Princess into her room and slamming the door on Pixie, who then comes sobbing to me. I'm going to try to prevent that scenario from happening this summer by making the kids play outside all morning while I garden (and I've already told the other mom that's going to be the rule - girls stay outside!). Even so, I can't guarantee Pixie will included in the older girls' games.

All this means I'm not inclined to have Princess' friend over every day of the week (especially since she also annoys the hell out of me). In fact, I'm thinking along the lines of one or two mornings a week at most. Then I've got a standing agreement to meet with a friend of mine and her kids one morning a week. Patty's got two boys, one Princess' age and one Pixie's age. It's a bit of a drive to get together with them, but doable once a week. That gives us three mornings a week of play dates. And of course I've planned to take one day a week for day trips, just me and the girls, to the beach, the museum, Busch Gardens... I'm thinking that's pretty good right? Plenty of activity all summer and lots of play dates with other kids!

Except Princess keeps whining that she wants to see her one girlfriend every day, in the afternoon, either at her house, where Pixie is not invited to come play, or here, where I will be hard at work writing the next great American smut novel.

My plan was that I would devote the entire first half of the day to the girls - play dates, gardening, going to the pool, throwing water balloons, karate classes, arts and crafts, etc. Princess' little friend could come over during that time and join us for some outdoor fun. Then we'd come in for lunch and after lunch, when it's hot enough outside you could fry an egg on the front porch, the girls would go upstairs to their rooms and play together. Quietly. While I worked in the office for a few hours.

I thought that arrangement sounded quite fair. They'd get to see friends and have all the fun they wanted in the mornings, I'd get the work time I so desperately need in the afternoon. But when I discuss this with Princess, I get a lot of arguing about how it isn't fair, she never gets to see her friends often enough, she's bored, she's lonely, why can't she play outside by herself, she won't run out into the street, she won't let her sister run out into the street, the three girls could play very quietly in her room and no one would fight or set the house on fire while I was working, etc., etc., etc.

Am I wrong? Should I try to have Princess' friend over in the afternoons? Or have I set a reasonable schedule for all of us? I can't say. I will say I'm not budging from that schedule. No kidding, I have a novel to write this summer, and a website to massively update. I can't afford not to work those hours. Princess will get to see her friend once or twice a week, see some other kids once a week, and go on some fun trips every week. That's enough, right?

Now to figure out how to quit feeling like a bad mom every time she asks for a play date...

Pixie Turns Three!

Pixie turned 3 on Tuesday, and I'm very pleased to say we all survived the day. Here's a few pictures from the eventful day.

Pixie and her sister, Princess. They don't always get along this well, of course.

The Birthday Girl enjoys her favorite breakfast while watching Handy Manny.

The big present of the day was a doll house. To be specific, my old doll house from when I was a child. My mom provided all new furnishings. Both girls enjoyed it immensely.

Yep, someone's having a happy birthday!

The success of the doll house was a bit of a surprise. I had been planning for a while to give my old doll house to one of the girls. One of the moms on our street told me that during one play date, Pixie had been obsessed with the doll house they had there, so I decided she could have it for her birthday, and then share it with her sister (doll houses are more fun when you have someone to share them with). It is an old doll house. My grandmother gave it to me when I was about 6 or 7, as a Christmas present. She was the only grandparent I ever knew, my maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother and grandfather having died before I was a year old. I still remember the day I got it, and I held onto it for ever, keeping it tucked away in the closet. When I pulled it out to give to Pixie, it still had all the original furniture in it, wrapped in tissue paper. We pulled out each piece to look at before putting the new doll house furniture in. Once I had the girls upstairs happily playing with their new toy, I came downstairs and cried. That I really hadn't expected, but seeing that doll house got me thinking about my grandmother and how thrilled she would have been to see the kids playing with it. She died several years ago, long before Michael and I had kids.

Anyway, I wrapped up the old doll furniture and tucked it away in a box. I suppose I could have given Pixie the old furniture, but the old stuff is wood, and old, and I worry that it's not up to the strain of being played with by an enthusiastic three-year-old. Besides, Pixie's new furniture all matches. Still, my old stuff was pretty nice...

After Balticon, I Came Home To Blood...

I had the absolute best time at Balticon this weekend. I will give you the details later. Probably tomorrowish later. But right now, I want to share what awaited me when I got home this evening. (Be warned, this is a little gross.)

First, there was this in the kitchen...

...apparently caused by this blunt object...

...which landed on this little tootsie...

Apparently Pixie went into the pantry while no one was looking and grabbed a can of ice tea which she immediately dropped on her foot, rim first. While she screamed bloody murder, Princess ran and found the Hubster, who then spent several minutes chasing after a shrieking Pixie, then calming and staunching the flow of blood. She ran pretty far, so there was blood all over the kitchen floor, the living room carpet, and the love seat, the stairs and the kids bathroom. Hubster was wet vaccuuming the carpet and love seat when I got home. Princess gave me all the gory details... several times in a row.

It doesn't look like any permanent damage was done. Pixie was running around on it only a short while later. But we'll probably spend tomorrow at the doctor's office and I have no idea when I'll be able to get a shoe on that foot.

But anyway, I'm glad to be home, bloody sweet home, and I owe the Hubster so frikkin' much for letting me take this weekend off that it's not eve funny. Hope everyone made it home safe from Balticon, and had slightly less bloody surprises waiting for them when they walked in the door.

We Said What?

A random list of things said and/or overheard in la Casa de Madden today....

"Bad pony! Da pony spank me so I spank da pony!" ~ Pixie, while playing with My Pretty Pony

"Did the pony spank you or did you make the pony spank you?" ~ Helen, who can't believe she just said that

"Did Buddha die in Jamestown?" ~ Princess, in a conversation exploring religion and history

"Dere are volcanoes on da lunar surface!" ~ Pixie (after listening to a little too much Jimmy Buffet)

"But if I give the bank all my money, I'll never get it back!" ~ Princess, commenting on the current state of the economy and her allowance

Yeah, just another day of fun here at la Casa de Madden.

Things I While Cleaniing Pixie's Room

If you were following me on Twitter today, you might have noticed the list of things I posted as I shoveled out Pixie's room this afternoon. For a two-year-old, that kid owns a lot of crap. It's not my fault, I swear. I don't buy that much stuff for her or her sister. But my mother on the other hand... Grandmama is not happy that she lives so far away from the grandkids, and she compensates by sending them loads of packages full of toys and clothing, and she even sends the prizes she gets from kids' meals at the fast food joints she eats at (not kidding on this one; we currently have more Rally's toys than an actually Rally's restaurant has at any give time).

With the changing of the seasons, I had to clear out the old winter clothes from Pixie's closet and put in the stuff we saved from Princess' wardrobe. That's a huge headache for me. I know it saves a ton of money, but I have having to sort and store all that clothing. We simply don't have enough boxes for it all. And remember, my mom buys these kids clothing in BULK! We used to get a package a week, filled with little dresses and outfits, until I made her cut back.

Anyway, I decided to spend today cleaning out both kids' closets, only I got into Pixie's room and realized I also needed to sort through her toys and clean up a few messes, so I ended up only doing her room. And while I was cleaning and swapping out clothes, I found a few interesting things, like...

An old maternity top of mine. It's a lime green t-shirt from Old Navy. I owned several of them when I was pregnant with Pixie, and thought I had gotten rid of all but one, that one being the one I was wearing on the day I went into labor. I kept that one for sentimental reasons. Now that we're contemplating child #3, I wish I had kept them all.

The knitted yellow hat Pixie got at the hospital when she was born. It was the first article of clothing that kid ever wore, and it suited her. She had a touch of jaundice and was about as yellow as the hat. We had to lay her naked little butt on a blanket and scoot her from one sunny spot to another around the house for the first week she was home. She didn't like that, and she announced her displeasure with a lot of explosive, projectile poops.

Several small brushes and combs for baby hair. Neither of my girls had hair when they were born, so these have never really been used.

One pair of nursing pads. I used to own a ton of those things too, and will need to stock up for child #3. God I hated wearing those things, and I hated wearing nursing bras, but now I want all that stuff back!

My breast feeding log for Princess. I put Pixie's in the cedar chest in my bedroom. I didn't realize the notebook I'd used to record all of Princess' feedings was still in the dresser in the nursery. Now that really brings back some memories -- late nights, trying to stay awake, swollen boobs, falling asleep in the glider, twelve feedings or more a day, a lot of those feedings spent scribbling madly in a notebook or typing stories on a computer. And yes, I'll do it again gladly with child #3.

A dozen flannel baby blankets. Word of warning to new and expectant mom -- you cannot have enough flannel blankets. Between leaky diapers, spit up, and other mishaps, new babies go through about five a day. You will do laundry constantly! I never gave away any of the flannel blankies I got during Princess' first months, and I'm very glad I still have them. However, I did give away...

Cloth diapers used as burp clothes. That was stupid. The only thing we went through faster than the blankets was the burp clothes. I can still recall how they smelled, that slightly sour odor of spit up and the slightly sweet odor of fresh breast milk. I over-expressed with both kids, and stopped more than a few spray-a-thons by slapping a burp cloth over the offending boobie.

In the toy department, I found some interesting odds and ends. Namely, I discovered that Pixie and Princess own enough Barbies and Little People to repopulate the entire world should the Apocalypse ever occur and we are all wiped out. Please for love of God, if you have any intentions of giving my children a gift, do NOT give them Barbies, Barbie clothing, or any Little People. We're full up.

In the Barbie basket, I did find a couple of badly tattooed dolls. Pixie loves to color on her dolls with magic marker, and unfortunately, even the washable stuff is permanent on Barbie dolls. She also got into her sister's Style and Curl Barbie head, and did a real number on that...

However, I noticed some of those markings are a little too well made, and I suspect Princess may have helped out with this makeover. I don't care though. This damned thing has been a thorn in my side since the day we got it, and I've been looking for an excuse to toss it. I keep finding all the little rhinestones and barrettes all over the house, and honestly, a six-year-old does not need to apply makeup to anything. Nor can she really style the hair. Except for the marker makeover, this thing has mostly sat on the floor and collected dust. So today it was, "Hasta la vista, you painted tart!"

Speaking of tarts, I also found this in Pixie's room...

Poor Steve. That dress really doesn't fit him. But at least he has pants. None of Pixie's other male dolls are that lucky. Most have a shirt, but no drawers, and some only get a pair of high heels.

Once I got past the toys, I was able to start moving boxes of clothing off the spare bed we keep in Pixie's room. That's when I discovered Pixie's latest adventures in art...

Yeah, it's marker. I spent so much time doing everything else today that I did not have time to scrub it yet, so I don't know if it's permanent or not. But I'm thinking either way, it's time to take away the markers from Pixie again.

At last I got to the closet, where I pulled out a ton of old winter clothing, all of it 2T. In addition to her sister's hand-me-downs, Pixie also got new clothing from Grandmama, so I had to do a culling of the clothes. Anything with a stain went, as well as anything I recalled Pixie would never wear. She's big on comfort, so if she wouldn't wear it, I doubt the next child will either. Then I got rid of a few things that were just ugly. Yeah, I'm picky, but with so many clothes to store, I needed to be. I got everything down to just three boxes, one of which was nothing but frilly little dresses Pixie will never wear again. I remember those dresses. Her sister wore them too. They were a big part of Princess' wardrobe when I was pregnant with her sister. I'm sad to see them go.

There were new dresses to put in though, lots of pretty, colorful summer dresses, enough to keep Pixie happy no matter how many times a day she tries to change clothes. As I put those in the closet, I cleared out some tchotchkies that were lying around on the top shelf -- wall plaques with Sweet Memories sayings and stuff like that. I know they were gifts and keepsakes, but I don't hang on to stuff like that, and never did put any of that stuff up in either child's room. So those went in the give-away bag. May they find a good home! Then I found the stuff I would keep no matter what -- the christening dresses my mom made for each girl; the matching blankets she crocheted for their baptisms; a doll with a crocheted witch's costume, also made by my mom; my old doll house, given to me by my grandmother when I was about Princess' age; a Gimbel's box full of Louis Marx Wild Animal toys, again a gift to me from my grandmother when I was very small. Those things stayed. Then while I was finishing putting stuff away, I found one last treasure.

A set of hospital bracelets. Two were mine. One was labeled, "Madden, BG... 2003."

Pixie turns three in a few more weeks. I looked at that tiny little bracelet, remembered how small she used to be, and I cried.

Made it damned hard to finish cleaning up, I tell you.

Funny How Things Change

Before I had kids, I used to go to the bookstore all the time. Seriously, I lived there. I even dreamed that I owned a house that was a bookstore, complete with a fancy cafe and all the cappuccino I could drink.

After having my first child, I quit going to bookstores for a while. It was just too hard. I couldn't browse for books while handling a screaming baby. It got a little easier as Cassie got older and developed an interest in books, but even then I frequently found myself trapped in the kids' section of the store, watching my daughter tear around the place and wishing I could somehow magically transport myself to the magazines, science fiction, mystery, non-fiction... Any part of the store that didn't involve Disney Princess books and Thomas the Tank Engine.

Now that Cassie is in kindergarten and Sam is almost ready for preschool, I'd begun to look forward to the day when I'd be able to hit the bookstore alone. I could browse for hours without listening to someone whine "I'm boooooored!" I could order a piece of cheesecake at the cafe and not worry about someone dropping it on the floor before I could get a bite. I could have coffee and not have to argue with a small tot over why they can't have another sip of my delicious and highly caffeinated beverage. Then came today.

I needed to get some gift cards for Cassie's teachers. The bookstore seemed like the best bet for a teacher gift. I grabbed my wallet, coat and keys and turned to Sam.

"Okay, let's go to the bookstore!"

"No! I don wanna go bookstore! I stay home with Dada!"

"Huh? Uh... I'm going to the bookstore, sweetie. You know, books? Thomas the Tank Engine? Disney Princess stories? Cookies and brownies and treats? Let's get your coat on, okay?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I stay HOME with DADA!"

I looked at my husband. He looked back at me and shrugged. "Go ahead. She can stay here with me."

So I went. And I hated it. I didn't have anyone to sit with me at the cafe. I didn't have anyone to chat with as I browsed for books. I didn't have anyone to ask if we could please buy a princess book. I was so damned lonely I almost cried.

Next time I go to the bookstore, Sam doesn't get a choice. That little fart is going with me. It's just no fun on my own anymore.

Cartoon for 31 August 2008

My youngest has been on an inquisitive/destructive streak lately. She gets into my purse, Michael's briefcase, her sister's dresser, everything. She's just got to have what everyone else has, although she doesn't always understand what she's got. She even gets into my laptop. I caught her rearranging my e-mail earlier this week. She's a hazzard! But I love her.

My Child Understands Me

Yesterday during 'Quiet Time,' Cassie came into my room cradling something tiny in the palm of her hand. She handed it to me with great ceremony and said, "Mommy this is a dead bug. I found it for you, because I know you like to take pictures of bugs."

Then she handed me a dead housefly. I was so touched. I really do like to take pictures of bugs using the macro setting on my digital camera. I also take close up shots of tree bark, leaves, roots, rocks, peeling pain, rust stains, and other weird-ass things that I know will make great textures in my digital artwork.

I saved the fly. It's still somewhere on my desk. If I can find it among all the odds and ends, I'll pop it into the scanner and scan it at 200%. It was in pretty good shape. Cassie did a good job finding it.

And yes, I know. We're both freaks.

Oh Shit.

In honor of the late George Carlin, I flat out refuse to censor the title of this post, especially after what I had to deal with this afternoon.

It's summer camp week in the Madden household. I tell you, I had a time finding a summer camp for Cassie - not too many places take pre-K kids. Technically, my girl is old enough and way smart enough for any camp, but 99% of them insist that your child be finished with kindergarten before they'll accept them. Don't know why; maybe they're afraid the uncivilized little pre-K's will eat the post-K's alive.

So anyway, I found a camp at Virginia Living Museum and I signed Cassie up for it, completely forgetting that Cassie's pre-school graduation was the same week, so I had to go back and cancel that. I lost ten dollars on that, but fortunately the Norfolk Botanical Gardens also has a summer camp that costs ten dollars less than VLM and they had dates available at a time when our calendar was clear, so I signed Cassie up for that and now she's happily attending summer camp.

Unfortunately, Sam and I are attending with her. Cassie's camp lasts from 9 AM to noon, and Norfolk Botanical Gardens is just far enough away that I can't really justify dropping Cassie off and then going home, especially given how bad the traffic can be in that area. It has taken us anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour to get to camp, and if I were to drop Cassie off and go home, chances are really good that I'd have to turn around as soon as I got back just so I could pick her up again.
Now I know I could just leave Cassie at camp and go somewhere else in Norfolk, but really, my only options are to go shopping at the local stores because three hours isn't that much time for sight-seeing, and I don't want to go shopping because I'm already losing enough money as it is on gas and camp fees on this venture. Sooooo, everyday this week we arrive around 9 AM at the garden, I drop Cassie off with her class, and then I grab Sam and the stroller and I take off into the garden for a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour...

Huh? Where was I? Oh year, three hours in the Norfolk Botanical Garden. It's pretty much all outside, so you know what that means - no air conditioning. The temperatures have been in the nineties all week, and I'm thinking that between the heat and the exercise I get from lugging around Sam, her stroller and her snacks, I just might be another two pounds lighter come Friday. I know because this is just like Disney World all over again - heat + lots of walking + lugging around kids = negative weight gain. If I could patent this weight loss plan, I'd make a fortune. Oh wait, everybody already knows about the wonders of exercise, don't they?

So we're in the garden all day, hiking and sweating and practicing karate (which seems to only slightly scare the other visitors) because I have a review coming up tonight. Then around 11:45 I meet Cassie in the children's garden and we walk back to the car and head home. Now I know that after three hours in that kind of heat, doing that much walking, I am exhausted. And Sam and Cassie should be too. Should be. Cassie has been nodding off at the drop of a hat all through the day, so no problems there, but Sam?

Sam. I'm gonna kill that kid.

I put her down in her crib shortly after we got back today. I know she's tired. But did she go to sleep? No, she spent an hour or so singing in her crib. And doing other things.

Other things like pulling off her diaper and smearing herself, the crib, and all her toys with shit.

I discovered this activity when I passed by her room on the way to get myself a soda. The odor was overpowering, wafting out from under the door to permeate the hallway. I had to put Sam in the tub and scrub her from head to toe, then take all her bedding and crib toys and throw them in the washer. The room still smells like poop, which makes me wonder if I've missed a spot, but I searched and couldn't find anything. My luck, I'll step in it later tonight when I put Sam down for bed.

We have one more day of camp left, and then I'm praying that we go back to a quiet summer schedule - no more travel, no more unexpected trips, no more hours spent walking around in the heat just waiting to die. I want to stay home and work. Lord knows, I've got more to do than hours to do it in.

Better get crackin', I guess.

Terms Of Endearment And Other Weird Crap I Say To My Kids

I came up with some new lovey-dovey things to say to the kids. Earlier this week, I started telling Sam she smells like sunshine and kisses. She does, actually. She plays outside a lot so she smells like a warm, sunny day, and she's so soft and cuddly these days that I can't resist kissing her. So she smells like sunshine and kisses. Cassie smells a bit like her preschool most of her time, meaning she smells vaguely of the disinfectant they use to hose everything down. Man, all that disinfectant and Cass still brings home the creeping crud five times a year. But I didn't want to tell Cassie she smelled like disinfectant because that's no fun, so instead I told her...

"Honey, you smell like rainbows and fairy farts!"

You know that went over well.

An Obsession With Nipples

Maybe it's a breast feeding thing, but I've recently come to realize that both my children have an obsession with nipples. Well, not Cassie so much. She **had** an obsession with nipples when she was about Sam's age (almost two) but I think she eventually grew out of it. Sam, however, is in the full height of nipple obsession, which means it will be a while before I can take her bra shopping with me.

Both girls were breast fed. In fact, I just weaned Sam about two months ago. I had planned to let the little fart wean herself, but she had already passed the point that Cassie stopped (18 months) and was not really nursing any more so much as chewing my nipples to death. I think she saw that last before bedtime nursing as a delaying tactic. She would chaw away and rather than drift off to sleep, keep herself awake by thrashing around in my lap, occasionally bashing me in the head with her flailing arms and legs. I got tired of this after a while and decided that since she wasn't going to peaceably wean herself, I'd just have to do it for her and so I cut out that last nursing cold turkey.

Needless to say, what followed was a couple of weeks of Sam grabbing at my breasts right before bedtime, demanding to be fed. "Nurse! Nurse!" she'd scream. My solution was to hand her to Michael, who's nipples are too hairy for Sam to chew on. Mine however, are still fair game, and Sam takes every opportunity to point them out when she sees them. If she sees me in the bathtub, Sam will point and go, "Nipples. Nurse." That is the quickest way I know of for her to end my bath. I can't get dressed fast enough, especially if I see her jaws open up to clamp down on my recently reclaimed nipples. Not that I think it will hurt if she latches on -- god knows she killed off all the nerve endings in my nipples long ago -- but I honestly to feel like dealing with the thrashing and beating that came to accompany those last nursing sessions. I mean really, do I need to be beaten black and blue by my toddler?

Sam is also fascinated with her own nipples, much the way Cassie was at her age. She will pull off her shirt to show them off at odd occasions. Again, makes it a little hard to go out with her in public places. And she will point out nipples if she sees them anywhere she goes (like if she sees a shirtless man in a poster or advertisement). Cassie used to do this. I remember one time sitting in zen meditation at home, with my Buddha figurine on the floor in front of me. Cassie walked up to the figure, looked at it and then pointed at the bare side of its chest to proclaim, "Buddha! Nipple!" And that killed that afternoon's meditation, you can be sure.

Cassie is also the child who once ran through the bra section of a lingerie department in a J. C. Penny's, screamaing, "Boobies! Boobies!" as she snatched bras off the rack. To this day, I still cannot walk into J. C. Penny's.

But Sam's latest fascination is not with anything on my chest, but rather with the small brown mole on my left arm. I've had this mole for as long as I can remember, and both kids are obsessed with it, to the point of driving me crazy. They like to poke and prod at it, even though I've told them not to. Sam in particular likes to grab at it and shout out, "Nipple!" "No, no," I say. "That's a mole." "Nipple!" Sam insists. I live in fear of the day when she'll try to latch on. If you ever see me walking around with a toddler fastened onto my left elbow, you know what happened.

Baby Names

I have no idea what to write today, but since I actually have a few moments of free time, I thought I'd do a blog entry. So this is one that's been floating around in my brain for a while... all the nick names I've had for the kids.

Nick names for Cassie:

Cheeze Butt (because when she was an infant, her poop looked like pimento cheese, without the pimentoes)

Cassa-lassa

Sassy Cassie

Sassafrassa Cassa-lassa

Princess

Princess Bucket Head (because we had a toy bucket that we played with in the bathtub and sometimes I'd put it on her head and say it was a crown; it fit perfectly too)

Brownie (for her brown hair)

Little Miss Stinkpot (because she smells all stinky when she wakes up in the morning)

Booger Babe (for when she has a cold)

Farting Beauty from Patootie (because I got really tired of playing princesses one day and I needed something to break up the monotony)

Little Baby Screams-A-Lot (back when she had colic)

Nick names for Sam:

Sam I Am (a play on Samantha Ann)

Sammy Am (a play on Sam I Am)

Da Yellow Kid (she had jaundice when she was born)

Twinkie (again, refers to the jaundice and later on her blonde hair)

T. Willie Winky (a play on Twinkie)

Cuddle Bug (because she always liked to cuddle)

Bruiser (because she can also be a little thug)

Thuggie (see above)

Little Miss Piddly Farts (because I'm her mom and I can call her that)

Blondie (how did I get a kid with blonde hair?!)

Lumpkin (for those moments when she flings her self on the ground like a lump and refuses to move)

Chunky Baby (because she was so rolly-polly for so long)


There are plenty more nick names for the girls. I make up new ones all the time. It's a habit I get from my dad. He had quite a few for me and my sister - Rumpus McGoon (me) and Rumpus McBean (Carolyn), Helly Jelly Belly (me), Carolina Moon (Carolyn), etc., etc. I'll add more names to the girls' lists as I remember them.

Childhood Milestones

As of this date, Cassie can:

Tie her shoes.
Read simple words.
Swim half the length of the YMCA pool.

As of this date, Sam can:

Swear.
Rip the cover off one of my favorite books.
Poop on the carpet.

Which child do you think is most like Michael? Which child do you think is most like me?

Don't tell me your answers. I know where you live.

You Beast!

There's domestic trouble in the Madden household. Sam got into her sister's Disney Princess Barbie dolls with disturbing results. I found Belle and Prince Eric in the master bathroom together, naked. I was wondering who kept humming "Be My Guest." The Beast is going to be so pissed off when he finds out about this.

So I Fell Off The Blogosphere...

I'm not even sure if I'll get this entry written and posted, but I've been gone for more than two months, and I thought I should explain.
Hell with that. Explaining takes too long. Let me sum up.
My folks visited for the week of Halloween. Cassie refused to wear the Hermione Granger costume Grandma bought. Sam refused to wear anything.

I've been working like crazy on my podcast, Heat Flash. Several of the stories have shown up on the ERWA's story galleries, so I know the writing is good. I wonder if the podcast is good too.
Sam, Cassie and I keep giving each other some sort of near-lethal upper-respiratory infection. I'm on antibiotics right now, and am so fed up with being sick I'm just blowing off the whole week. I'm doing the work I have to do, but have opted to skip going to karate and the gym and doing anything else. Did I mention that I have a pinched nerve in my neck as well?

I've decided getting up at 4AM in the morning is not feasible at this time. Yeah, I get a lot of work done, but it's almost like being in an entirely different time zone from the rest of the family. Nobody else wakes up that early, and nobody else goes to bed as early as I need to in order to get up the next morning. So I haven't been seeing Michael at all. Plus, with being sick so much, I've gotten out of the habit. I'm resetting my clock for a more reasonable time, still letting me get up early enough to work on the podcast before the kids wake up, but not so early that I might as well be in Englad, you know?

Michael cleaned the office over the garage, which means there's now room enough for both of us in there. It looks very nice, and I am actually considering moving back in. The biggest problem I have with it though is that my computer in there runs on Windows 2000, and some of my software doesn't work on an OS that old. So I need to update my OS. Plus, that computer doesn't have a DVD drive, which means it can't read any of the disks I've stored all my old files on. Michael is toying with the idea of building me a new computer. He bought a $100 case for $10 the other night. I only hope he doesn't junk up the office again in the process. That would kind of defeat the purpose, you see.

Sam is running, playing, laughing, giggling, and dancing all the time. She climbs on everything, including the coffee table, and gets into everything, like Michael's papers in the roll top desk. The roll top broke, with the top half disappearing into the back of the desk. We keep the bottom half down, but Sam has figured out how to pull out the chair, climb onto it, and reach over the remaining roll top to get Michael's papers. Not good. Kid's too damn clever for her own good.

Cassie is growing like a weed. In fact, I'd almost say she's freakishly tall. She's doing pretty good in preschool, and in karate class too. She keeps begging me to get her sparring gear so she can join the Power Kids class. So guess what she's getting for Christmas? Don't tell her though. I'm having a hard time imagining my freakishly tall four-year-old sparring with the older kids. My baby's growing up so fast!

John turned 40 the other day. Ha ha! You're older than dirt John! I just had to say that.

And I've got a ton of work to do. E-book covers, podcasting, stories to write, a book to outline, an image to finish up for a contest. Baby is screaming right now, so I'll wrap this up.

Hope I don't fall off the blogosphere again.

How Not To Enjoy Blow-Off Day

Michael's been away on a business trip all week, so you know what that means. After a week of struggling with two kids on my own, Friday arrives and with it comes Blow Off Day, the day where I do absolutely nothing but what I want to do, outside of taking care of the kids.

It should have been a breeze. My plan was to get up extra early and blow some fun time on computer graphics. Then I would wake up Cassie, get her dressed and fed and dropped off at preschool. Then Sam and I would head out for a nice lazy walk. Then we would head out for the morning. First stop, the hospital to pick up copies of my last mammogram (yep, coming up on time to get the boobs ironed out). Second stop, Barnes and Nobles because I have a coupon burning a hole in my pocket. I thought we might look through some manga and cook books and whatever else caught my eye. I'd have a frou-frou coffee with extra whipped cream (the baristas always give me extra whipped cream when they see Sam because they think she's so cute). Then I'd hit the toy store and pick up a small gift for the party Cassie is going to tomorrow. All of that would be followed by a trip home, during which Sam would fall soundly asleep. I'd carry her to her crib, lay her down, and sneak off to do some more fun stuff on my computer. I'd pick Cassie up from preschool around 4 PM. At home, the kids could enjoy cartoons while I whipped together a quick dinner. We'd eat, pop in a movie (we only watch TV on Fridays and Saturdays around here, so yeah, Friday is a big day for the boob tube), and head up for bath and bed around 7 PM. After stories, both kids would be in bed by 8 PM, 8:30 PM tops, and I would have the rest of the evening to myself.

Yeah, that was how the plan was supposed to work. Here's what really happened.

I got up early, just like I planned and spent some quality time with my graphics programs. I put together a really nice graphic for the podcast I'm starting up next month. I puttered away on my laptop happily until 6:25 AM, and then went to wake up Cassie to get her ready for school.

Only to discover that her right eye was glued shut by greenish-yellow goop. Twenty minutes later, when I had finally soaked away the last of the super-goop, I discovered my child had pink eye.

You know that put a kink in my plans.

I can't take Cassie to preschool when she's got pink eye, so I called the school to let them know she'd be staying home today. No biggie, I can still enjoy Blow Off Day with both kids. Of course, I'd have to take Cassie to the doctor, and to do that I'd have to make an appointment...

Since the doctor's office doesn't open until 9 AM, I had to delay my walk. I let Cassie watch some TV while she ate a waffle and I went back to work on my computer graphic. It was really turning out beautifully. I decided to let Sam sleep, since we weren't going anywhere until after I called the doctor. When she finally woke up around 8 AM, I pried myself away from my graphics program and fed her breakfast. Then I let her wander around the living room, destroying everything she could get her hands on while I went back to my computer graphic. Cassie continued to nibble at her waffle and watch the Wiggles with one eye glued shut again.

At 9 AM, I made the call to the doctor's office and spent fifteen minutes on hold. When I got through, I was told I could have an appointment that afternoon at 2:30 PM. Great. That would be right smack-dab in the middle of Sam's nap. But Cassie has pink eye so I had to take it. I hung up the phone and started herding kids upstairs to get dressed. The afternoon was shot but I could still make it to Barnes and Nobles and enjoy browsing through books.

Unfortunately, we didn't exactly hustle. For various reasons, we didn't make it out of the house until 10:30 AM. No problem, though, I could still get in a short trip before lunch, and then put Sam down for a short nap so I could have some quiet time. Cassie could read in her room while I went back to work on my graphics. Right before we hit the parking lot of B&N, I remembered I was supposed to pick up my mammogram films, so I had to keep going and circle around to the hospital. Not a huge trip, but it did eat away that much more time from my book browsing.
At this point, Cassie started complaining of being hungry. "We'll get something to eat at the book store," I said, envisioning us all smiling as we shared a cheese-stuffed herb pretzel and I happily sipped my frou-frou coffee. "But I don't want to eat at the book store, Mommy. I want to eat at Wendy's."

"Wendy's?"

"It's my favoritest place in the whole world!"

We debated the advantages of the B&N café versus Wendy's all the way through the hospital and back out again. We were still debating it as we headed into the bookstore. Sam started to fuss. I gamely tried to pick out a cook book while Cassie went on and on about Wendy's and Sam's complaints about being stuck in the stroller grew louder. Then Cassie said she really needed to go to the children's section of the bookstore, so we went. I thought maybe the kids would get engrossed with the train table and I'd get to look at the cookbooks I'd picked out at random. Instead, I spent most of my time chasing after Sam as she ran amok in the kid's section, yanking books and toys off the shelves. We didn't stay very long (although somehow I did manage to pick out one cookbook and use my coupon; I hope I bought a good book...).

Upon leaving the bookstore, Cassie immediately announced that it was now time to go to Wendy's. Since I obviously wasn't getting any frou-frou coffee now anyway, I relented. It was close to home, so why not. We headed back across town, found the Wendy's and I enjoyed what had to be the absolute cheapest meal of my life. I can't really eat the food at Wendy's - the burgers give me heartburn - so all I ever get is the baked potato and chili from the value menu. Cassie and Sam seemed to enjoy their meals though, so at least someone was happy with the cuisine.

After lunch, we went home and played outside for a while. Sam was thrilled with this. She'd had enough of the car for the day and was anxious to stretch her fat little legs. Too bad we only had 30 minutes before we had to head out for Cassie's doctor's appointment. Oh, the screaming we had when I put Sam back into her car seat. And the thrashing too. Kid nearly knocked me on my butt in the driveway. Somehow, I managed to get her strapped in and we all took off again. Sam's screaming sounds a lot like a police siren, so we made good time as other cars pulled off the road ahead of us.

We spent an hour and a half at the doctor's office, most of that in the waiting room. I had expected to spend much longer there, but I guess they were having a quiet day. My diagnosis of pink eye was confirmed and the physician's assistant prescribed an antibiotic. It was at this point I remembered that I still had to get a toy for the party Cassie is going to tomorrow. Naturally, the toy store is on the exact opposite end of town from our pharmacy. Could the doctor's office call in the prescription for me, so I could pick it up on my way home? Of course they could! Thinking I had just made life easier on myself, I took the kids back out to the car and headed for the toy store.

By now, Sam was getting seriously pissed. She'd missed her nap and had been stuck in the car seat most of the day. When she wasn't in the car seat, she was in my arms to prevent her from trashing whatever location we happened to be visiting at the time. She screamed all the way over to the toy store and...

Fell asleep. I had to carry that little lump all through the toy store, and man was she heavy. I also had to argue with Cassie over what to get her little friend for the birthday party. Personally, I can only afford to spend so much on birthday gifts, especially since all of Cassie's classmates seem intent on inviting everyone in the class whenever a birthday rolls around. The present buying thing gets expensive, you know?

Cassie eventually found a toy horse set that fell within my price range. After paying for it, we headed off to the pharmacy. I had this plan (again with the plans; you think I'd learn by now) to pick up Cassie's prescription, rush home, turn on the cartoons, and whip together a quick dinner just like I'd planned. We'd all relax after running around all day and maybe even have time to play.

That plan went to hell in a hand basket when I got to the pharmacy and was told I'd have to wait another 30 minutes to get my prescription. It had been called in, but they were busy, so that was that. It turned out to be an hour long wait in the end, during which time I once again chased both kids around the store, trying to prevent them from breaking anything. Cassie started to complain about being hungry again, so I bought a ginger ale and a granola bar and the three of us split that while we waited. When we finally got the prescription, we headed home. By now Sam was furious about being stuffed in the car seat again, and not only did regular cars pull over as we drove, but so did a police car as well. At least we made good time on the drive.

Well, I did manage to get dinner out quickly. I had cooked chicken stew the day before, so all I had to do was heat it up again and serve it. Neither Sam nor Cassie wanted the stew though, and that started the nightly food wars up again. I did cave to Sam and let her have some baby raviolis, but only because they're so easy to fix. With Cassie, I finally had to turn off the TV and tell her no more cartoons until she'd eaten her dinner.

"How many bites?" she asked me.

"All of it," I said.

"But how many bites is that?"

"All of it means you eat every bit of food on that plate, young lady."

"But I can't do that! I don't want stew!"

"Well too bad, because I'm not cooking you anything else. You either eat the stew or you go to bed. TV is not coming on until you've cleared your plate."

And so on and so on... That particular argument lasted for over half an hour. I let Cassie sit at the table and whine over her stew while I finished eating and then went on to do my evening chores. I told her once I was done with the chores, her plate was going away and she was going to bed. Did she listen? Did she even attempt to finish her stew? Nooooooooooo. She sat and whined and cried and pouted and then threw a screaming fit when I finally came for her plate. Oh well.

Cassie did calm down in time to get a bedtime story. Sam sat through one board book and then tried to mug me for breast milk. I made her wait while I read to Cassie. Then we did our usual bedtime routine of rounding up monsters (we give them to Cassie to eat before she goes to sleep) and saying good night. Well, I said good night. Cassie said, "Mommy, I need someone to stay with me tonight!" This is her latest delaying technique. I always answer with, "I'll be right down the hallway if you need me. Good night sweetie." Then I walk out of the room. We've done this often enough lately that Cassie no longer cries when I leave.

After getting Cassie down, I tried to nurse Sam. She was more interested in chewing on my nipple than in nursing, so she went to bed early too. She screamed all the while as I worked on this blog entry, but now she's quiet. It's 8:30 PM. I finally have the house to myself. I'm dead tired and the only thing I got done that I had planned to do was my graphic for my podcast. Everything else just got derailed. I'm so pissed. I hate it when Blow Off Day gets screwed like that. Maybe I should try again next Friday. We'll see.

Anyway, Michael will be home later tonight. Once he's home, he gets the girls all weekend. I'm going to be busy working at Fantasci 6 this weekend, handing out brochures and promotional materials for EPIC. Should be fun.

Conversations with Cassandra

This morning, Sunday, around 10:30 AM. I'm upstairs checking e-mail. Sam is playing in her room. Michael and Cassie have just returned from church. Cassie comes running upstairs...

Cassie: "Mommy! We're home!"

Cassie bounds into the room.

Me: "Hey, sweetie. How was your first day of Bible school?"

Cassie, flinging her arms wide: "Excommunicated!"

Me: "What?"

Cassie, huge grin on her face: "I got excommunicated!"

Me, wondering who put her up to this: "Why were you excommunicated?"

Cassie, now laughing: "For asking questions!"

Me, shouting downstairs: "Michael! Get up here..."

The funny thing is, Michael told Cassie to tell me she was excommunicated, but he didn't tell her to tell me she was excommunicated for asking questions. When he heard about that, he fell over laughing.

 

Say What?

Now that Sam is almost 16 months old, it seems she's learning new words every day. At least I think they're words. It's hard to tell. She points at something and babbles, and somewhere in there is something that sounds like a word, so I guess that's what's going on. Here's a lexicon of what I think she's saying:

Ma-Ma - Mama (naturally)

Da-Da - Daddy (of course)

See-See - Sissy, or Cassie, her sister

Bee-Bee - depending on the context, this could mean 'Baby,' 'BJ' (the name of one of our cats), or 'kitty.' Sometimes it also means 'dog.'

Shoo! - shoe; also sock, apparently. Always said with emphasis

Shoo! - juice; may sound like shoe or sock, but if she's pointing at the fridge or table instead of a smelly sneaker or a foot, it's definitely juice

Sa - Sam (I think; this one is very new)

Bbbbbppppttzzz! - a complex statement, usually accompanied by flying spittle; means, "I have pooped my diaper"

Ma! Ma! - when accompanied by a banging of Sam's head on my chest it means "I! WANT! BREAST MILK!!"

Uh-Oh - "I have entered Sissy's room and knocked something breakable off of her dresser. Do you think she'll notice?"

Noooooooooooooooo! - means "I don't want to... take a bath, change my diaper, take a nap, give back Sissy's favorite toy, spit out the cat food I just ate!"; usually followed by the pitter patter of tiny feet fleeing the room.

So much for communicating with Sam. Cassie, of course, has learned a new language that no one else but she understands. We're calling it "Whinese." A conversation in Whinese sounds something like this:

Cassie: "Mooooooooommmmmmmyyyyyy! Iiiiiiiah wa-wa-wa-want miiiiiiiiiiilk!"

Me: "Huh?"

Cassie: "Iiii-aaaaah-iiii-aaah-uuuuuhh wa-wa-wa-wa-want miiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaeeeeeelk!"

Me: "What on earth are you saying? Stand up straight and speak clearly, please honey?"

Cassie: "Waaaaaaah! Waaaaaaah! You-ou-ou-ou ma-ma-maaaaaaaaaaaake meeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiieeee unha-ha-happyyyyyyyyy! Waaaaaaah! Mooooooommmmmmmmmmyyyyyy i-i-i-i-is so-so-so-so meeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaan!"

Me: "Oh for pete's sake, could you just speak English please?"

If anybody can figure out what it is either of my kids are saying, please let me know. Meanwhile, I'm going to start answering in pig Latin. Hey, if I can't understand them, why should they understand me?

Who Is Harold Rockin'?

Cassie has come up with a new nick name for Sam. It's Harold Rockin'. I have no clue why she calls Sam this, but she does. For those of you who don't know, Sam is short for Samantha so the name Harold Rockin' really confounds me. The first time I heard Cassie use that nick name was a couple months ago. It was right after I had applied some sunblock to Sam. Sam has this very fine blonde hair and she hates to wear hats so to protect her scalp from burning, I doused her head with sunblock and worked it into her hair. The end result was this wild, crazy hair style, sort of like Albert Einstein on a bad hair day. Cassie took one look at Sam and shrieked, "That's Harold Rockin'!" Then she collapsed in a fit of laughter. Sam has been Harold Rockin' ever since.

I've tried asking Cassie where she got the name Harold Rockin' from. Is it a cartoon character? No. An imaginary friend? No. Is it the name of one her friends at preschool? No again. Best I can figure, Cassie just came up with the name on her own, and she uses it every time Sam's hair gets wild. Whether it be spikey with sunblock or tousled from the tub, wild hair gets Sam dubbed Harold Rockin'.

Maybe he's a rock star? Who knows.

 

Harold Rockin' and her sister Cassandra Jane.