Christmas Tally

I posted a Christmas wish list earlier. And I got nothing that I asked for, which is fine - most of those are small complaints and completely unfixable via Christmas. Nonetheless, it was a wonderful holiday. Of course, as a family, we also got a few extra unwanted and unanticipated happenings, which turned out to be quite funny, assuming you're as horrible a person as I am. Individually they're not funny, but when you look at them as a combined blob of events, well - you either have to laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh.

1. One kid with pinkeye (my nephew), because Christmas isn't Christmas without an urgent care visit.

2. Another kid with an elbow and wrist sprain (my other nephew) - and another urgent care visit.

3. Late night visits to the pharmacy (had go to out and get meds for my newphews while my sister and brother in law cared for them).

4. A kid with no pants (mine).

5. Same kid with no underwear and a penchant for going commando (again, mine).

6. At least two adults in tears (not me).

7. One adult throwing tantrums (again, not me...who knew?).

8. Four adults with infections (me, my sister, my husband and my mom) - thanks to my newphew and children.

9.Three sugar-crazed children (one with a new cavity...mine).

10. And a partridge in a pear tree. Okay, we didn't really get that one. But I'm glad because partridges poop and pear tree berries make for disgusting bird poop.

So there - I hope everyone and anyone who celebrates had a merry, merry Christmas, a happy Hanukkah, a lovely Kwanzaa or even just a nice day. Whoever you are, you deserve it.

How I know my husband gets me...

Our conversation:

Me: "Oh, God - I can't get Don't Cry for Me, Argentina out of my head! Make it stop!"

Him: "At least it's not Frozen: Let it go! Let it go! Don't hold it back anymore!"

Me: "I hate you."

Him: "And I love you." Then he starts humming Don't Cry for Me, Argentina again.

Dammit. It's moments like these that I remember why I love my husband. He's sadistic but shows it in small ways. It's the little things, after all.

Jinx!

I've noticed that often when I put something to paper (or blog, or e-mail or IM), my plans take a turn for the not happening or the exact opposite of what I'd hoped for. Today's race is a non-starter. We woke to one kid initially too tired (and too congested) to get out of bed. The other sounds suspiciously  like a barking seal. I'm only hoping she doesn't have whooping cough again or if she does, it'll be mild like last time since she's vaccinated.

Side note: we have a few anti-vaxxers in our daughter's preschool who are convinced that vaccinations are the work of the deebil. I agree we should all be informed as parents as to what is being injected into our kids' bodies, but for fuck's sake - if she has pertussis, this will be the second time. I know sometimes kids just get whatever disease they're vaccinated against, but those diseases can be eliminated if everyone is vaccinated - don't rely on others to avoid getting your own kid sick.

Anyway, Rags is now insisting he's good to race and is demanding to have a friend over later. I guess he's not that sick, but I don't want to risk illness before Christmas. Ahhh, parenthood. Completely inconvenient, exhausting and frustrating, but wonderful, rewarding and beautiful. It'll be the death of me, but totally worth it.

Run, run, run as fast as you can...

I'm running a 5K tomorrow for the first time in 4 years. It's going to be tough. I need to stop reminding myself that I've run marathons. I haven't run marathons in 10 years. I haven't run 3 miles at once in nearly that long, too.

That would tell most people that maybe they shouldn't do it. But. My son is coming with me. He's doing the kids' fun run and I want him to see me finish, even if I have to drag my sorry ass across the finish line on my knees.

This time tomorrow, I'm sure I'll be walking funny. And it'll be time to sign up for the next race; if my son likes the kids' run, I'll find one with a longer race than just 1/4 mile. He'll finish that in 3 minutes, I'm sure.

All I Want for Christmas

I cannot believe it's almost Christmas. Life is moving on and it's almost 2015. The kids have written their Christmas lists (of course they did it AFTER shopping had occurred) and the adults are avoiding giving gifts to other adults because it just stopped making sense years ago. If I were to write a Christmas list, though, here is what it would look like.

1. To have the right to remain silent. No, I'm not going to jail, but for Pete's sake, I'm tired of talking. I talk all day at work. I talk all evening when I come home. Then I tell my kids a story (which requires speaking) then talk to my husband after the kids go to bed. Sometimes I'll be half asleep and he crawls in bed and starts talking to me. Or my daughter will wobble into the room in the middle of the night or just before my alarm goes off to "chat." I'm. Done. Talking. But just for a little while.

2.  Not to be the complaint repository. A lot of management and parenting and being a spouse or even just a human being requires listening. A lot of it. It's not that I don't like to listen, because I do. But it would be awesome - just awesome, really - if a good 2/3s of what I listened to didn't involve talking someone off a ledge, soothing someone or reassuring them that yes, I would talk to the other party about it (see item 1) or coaching them on how to talk to the other party about an issue.

3. To watch episode 1 of the last season of Sherlock. Guess what I was doing when that was on? I was listening to someone complain. I need closure, dammit. Or opening. Something along those lines.

4. To not have to put anyone's clothing on for them for a solid week. Evelyn, I'm looking at you. I will never get your pants on just right. See item 2.

5. To go to the Grand Canyon. This is really the only thing I want that doesn't hinge entirely on someone else's restraint. But it does cost a buttload of money. I bring in a decent salary, but don't happen to have a buttload of anything but laundry hanging about. At least it's clean. Anyway, I'll get there someday. It probably won't be this year, but who knows? Stranger things have happened.

So, that's it. I could put world peace, improved race relations and elimination of socio-economc barriers to services and job opportunities. And I want those things dearly. Though I'm focusing on my more immediate surroundings for my Christmas list. And trying to avoid sounding like a Miss America contestant.

Reading hierarchy - yes, there is one and it is important

My husband makes fun of me...constantly. What I'm being made fun of will vary, though. Last night, he was getting his rocks off by mocking my reading hierarchy. My reading hierarchy is very important to me. Much like his habit of setting up a "nine day shirt cycle" (yes, I'm married to Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory...what?), I have a reading hierarchy, organized in order of importance. You'll notice that the more important said item is, the less enjoyable it is. It goes like this:

1. Stuff I have to read not to get fired: work reading. Includes legislation, subregulatory guidance, memos, notes, data review, criteria development, requirements documentation, etc. There's LOTS of it, so I have to manage this first.

2. Crap I have to read not to get arrested or default on anything: mail. I hate mail, but hey - sometimes I'm supposed to read it, like if it's from the IRS.

3. Stuff I have to read not to be reported to CPS, or that I should read because "that's what good parents do": report cards, homework, kids' tests, stuff from cub scouts, stuff from ballet class.

4. Things I should read because they're old and therefore somehow very important: classic literature.

5. Stuff I read because I like to pretend like I'm smart: news, news sites, rah-rah business books (7 Habits variety) and such.

6. Stuff I read because I enjoy feeling bad about myself, but sometimes they help me do something that makes me feel better: women's magazines, health magazines, books on clean eating.

7. Things I read because I'm trying to pretend like not everything I read is a bodice ripper, yet I actually want to enjoy what I'm reading: creepy fiction, fantasy (e.g., A Song of Ice and Fire), some non-fiction history, kids' books (I read these with my children, for Pete's sake - I wouldn't read Splat the Cat on my own! Really!).

8. Things I read because it's a total escape (if you haven't noticed, I tend to read a bit): trashy romance, erotica.

The problem with #8 is it's amazing how truly painful it is to read a bad trashy romance. And while I'm dearly grateful to e-publishing for helping me get my own start as a smut-peddler, it's amazing how badly written a lot of the downloads from major electronic book sellers truly are.

If it's not poorly written sex scenes (the word sloshing and sex should never be in the same sentence, even if one of the characters is carrying around a bucket of water), it's reading about people you'd probably slap silly in real life. In other words, it's what made me start writing smut in the first place, only way more of it.

So there you have it. My reading hierarchy. Believe it or not, I DO work. I just needed a mental break. After putting in 60 hours this week, my brain is shot and I need to engage the reading hierarchy as soon as possible.

Because punching people is not an option

I've been working from home this week, partly because the Ferguson protests were close to my building, but mostly because I was supporting an audit. I don't understand how people work from home regularly. I used to do it and became a total hermit. Right now I can feel myself becoming an anti-social harridan. Mostly because listening to some of the people I work with and/or some of the people we work FOR makes me want to punch someone.

So, maybe that's why people work from home. Anyway, since I've already put in more than 40 hours this week and it's Thursday, I thought I'd come up with a list of healthy alternatives to not punching someone (since I can't right now anyway):

1. Find something hilarious - such as when I heard the Large, Important Government Agency I was talking to get kicked out of the room by someone apparently more important than them. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And if you work in government health care, there's precious little that's funny.

2. Dork out. I out-guidanced our auditor. And I was elated. I put myself on mute, screamed, "That's what I'm talkin' about, baby!" and danced around the room. Of course, this was after being on hold for 30 minutes while they tried to find legislation to disprove me.

3. Pace. One of the few things I like about working from home is that I can pace. I pace a lot. Since I"m on the phone for usually 6 hours a day at least, I've practically worn tracks into the carpets.

4. Add fun commentary to your official documentation. (But delete it before it goes to anyone)

5. Sit in a corner and rock. Ok, not super healthy, but still viable.

6. Drink an assload of coffee - until you shake. Then see how you react to e-mail. Hmmm. Maybe wouldn't have the intended effect of talking someone out of punching someone, though.

I can't think of many other alternatives. I could theoretically go for a walk. But it's cold outside. And I'm whiny. I think I'll go have coffee.

Show Stoppers

I was kissing my daughter good night last night when I ran into one of my children's famous conversation stoppers.

Me: "Wow, you look like Dora with that haircut!"

Her: "I hate Dora."

Me: "Well, it looks good. Do you like it?"

Her: "Yes. You smell like cheese." (Keep in mind I had just showered, so unless my soap is cheddar scented, I should've smelled like flowers.)

What the heck? I'm not even sure what to say to things like that. Kind of like when Rags said his dinner looked like gingivitis. Honestly, how do you respond to that? It brings any conversation to a screaming, screeching halt.

It surprised me so much it made me choke a little, then I had to leave for a minute because I was laughing so hard I was almost crying. And there you go: my boring Monday night. An opener to an equally boring Tuesday peppered by mild hysteria related to an audit I'm supporting from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. every day this week.

Thanksgiving

I try hard to avoid serious posts. Even when I'm complaining, I try to see the humor in what I'm complaining about. Because when all is said and done, most of our everyday annoyances are, to some extent, silly or at the very least learning experiences in which we can find some humor. Of course, there are exceptions.

This Thanksgiving was bittersweet. I'm thankful for my family and my friends, my safety and my health. Like everyone, I grieve for St. Louis and the events that have recently torn our city in two, highlighting the enormous divide within various parts of St. Louis.

The protests have died down for the most part, but they're still there. The weather has warmed for a couple of days, so doubtless there will be more - both protests and violence - over the weekend. Protesting is far more sustainable when you don't have to face the specter of frostbite.

This past week's events have been devastating and have interrupted the lives of thousands if not millions. I don't condone the looting and violence in any way, but St. Louis is a city divided and has been for a very long time. If you drive down Delmar, you'll see it. To the south of it, mansions in gracious, historic gated communities. To the north, vacant buildings once beautiful, desolate empty lots.

So yes, I'm thankful for my home, my health, my family. I'm also hopeful that these recent acts of violence and outrage stop and instead create something productive and healthy. Though the realist in me knows it's unlikely, the optimist hopes this produces something good. And I would like to be a part of it.

A special kind of dis-ease

The verdict from the grand jury was announced this evening. It was bad. Not as many people committing violence, but the few people that were violent were - and are - very violent indeed. Seeing the businesses burning, the unrest, the looting, the senseless violence in Ferguson is heartbreaking.

It's confusing as well. There is no black or white in this situation, no right answer when you ask the wrong question. What was decided was just based on the laws of our country; but the circumstances that created the situation to which the law was applied were not.

Rushing around after being evacuated from my work building (which is about a mile from where the "action" is occurring) to get my children, whose schools were closing early, made me feel sick, uneasy. The school across the street from my daughter's had closed because someone called in a bomb threat. The public school my son attends was closing early as well because of similar threats.

What good does burning a building do? Watching someone else's life go up in flames? Forcing local schools, government offices and businesses to close? I hope this is an opportunity to talk, and not an opportunity for a small, violent few to take away chances and choices from people who so desperately need them.

In short: this blows.

TGIF??

Today is Friday. Part of me wants to rejoice. Part of me wants to roll my eyes. Mostly because it's Thanksgiving. Here's a little secret: I hate Thanksgiving. And here's why:

1. It's a day of food. Which is nice, but that also means that you have to cook it. And cooking it takes hours.

2. I love to cook. But I hate turkey. So I'm putting in at least 4-5 hours of effort (excluding cleaning and socializing) to cook something I can't stand. Normally if we don't have family over, I'll spend a couple of hours making homemade orange chicken and fried rice. Oh, well - at least mom and the kids will be happy.

3. I hate to clean. My mom is coming over, so I have to clean the whole place until it's spotless. This is more difficult this year because sine we've had no basement floor since July, the basement is now spread out among my upper floor, which will make things not only harder to clean but also those things that are clean will look messy because of the fact that all this crap is up here and not down there. But hey - silver lining is that I have a clean house.

4. My mom is coming over. Okay, this isn't such a horrid thing. But. Mom at my house = the following annoyances: she's decided she doesn't feel like driving here. So I have to drive three hours to her house to get her and three hours back because she doesn't like driving anymore apparently. I will have to do that this Sunday to get her here. And next Sunday to get her back. She doesn't really care about my schedule so even though I had plans for the weekend, she has decided those are not important. Also, she's judgy. Super judgy and she will complain constantly about the fact that she won't have a door downstairs (we finished the floor in the guest room, but not the trim yet so no place to hang the door without the frame falling over), half my sink in the kitchen is cracked, so we have to use the other half (she doesn't seem to care that we both have jobs and I can't take hours and hours off work to shop, hire someone and hang out so they can replace the sink).

Anyway, you can't stop time or control other people. And compared to what a lot of the world is dealing with, these are relatively minor problems. But I can complain about them. Because that is what blogging is for, apparently. You are welcome.

To prod or not to prod?

That is the question. The kids are at school and preschool, respectively. (Evelyn turned five yesterday(!) and of course must now bring sugary goodness - more of it - to her friends at preschool prior to indulging in more of it tomorrow.) My husband is...asleep. Somehow I knew this would happen if I didn't make him drive the kids to school. At the same time, I wanted some time to myself. The climbing wall opens in just over an hour and he may or may not want breakfast and a shower beforehand.

So that leaves me with my question: to prod, or not? I'm leaning toward prodding; otherwise we'll either meander toward lunch instead of the climbing wall, then my husband will be too lethargic to climb. Or we'll climb, but things will be cut short because we'll do it so late we'll run out of time or steam and will leave to pick up the kids.

One way or the other, any path with an acceptable result seems to lead to poking the living hell out of the man until he gets his butt out of bed. He's home for my birthday, dammit. I WILL have my climb.

First, I really want to do it. Second, I won't feel so bad tonight if I'm not disciplined enough to get my sorry, overstuffed, over-sugared-to-the-point-of-diabetic butt out for a run in the freezing cold or on the treadmill downstairs where I get to stare at the cabinets for an hour in a chilly garage. Did I mention I cannot wait until we're done with the floor downstairs?

Hey, there, 39

I didn't see you standing there. Today is my annual birthday post. As you might have guessed, I'm now 39, though if you ask my daughter, I'm 93 (which I hope is just her transposing numbers).

This year has been quieter than most. My mom is stable, we celebrated the coming of a new family member, my nephew Max. My daughter turns 5 tomorrow.

I still don't feel like an adult. At work, I'm always surprised people listen to me because I still feel like I'm in my teens. I'm hoping that if I don't tell myself I'm so close to 40, my body won't catch on. After all, if I'm old, I can't run 5Ks with my son. If I'm old, surely I wouldn't have built that giant playhouse out of boxes last night (complete with three windows and a door). No way would I still love my husband like I did the day I met him - probably more - and enjoy talking to him as much.

Nope, I'd be a crotchety old lady, stuck in my chair telling kids to get off my damn lawn. When I was little, I remember 26 being my magic number for "oldness." I'm not too worried about hitting 40. If I keep going like I am, I'll be fitter than I have been since I was 29 and happier and more confident of myself.


So, what am I doing to ring in the last year of my 30s? I'm spending today by myself, shopping for my daughter's birthday, which is tomorrow, then shopping for new running shoes for myself. Then I'll break them in with a trail run or I'll go for a swim at the Y before I spend the remainder of my afternoon looking at books, then going to parent-teacher conferences in the afternoon. My husband and I will spend the whole day with Evelyn tomorrow for her birthday just like we do with Rags - after all, how often can they say they get our undivided attention? Usually only when they've screwed up. Then the day after that, I'm going to a climbing wall with my husband. I'm petrified of heights, but mostly uncontained heights. I think I can handle this. And even if I'm not certain, I'll do it anyway. 

I'm starting to wonder if people don't tell other people their age because they can't quite believe it themselves. What makes people feel so young? I still can't put my finger on it. Is it knowing that there are things out there (lots of them) that we haven't done that scare us but there's still ample opportunity to push ourselves? Maybe it's that yawning knowledge that there's so much you don't know. Whatever it is, I'll take it. So here's to another year of not knowing what the heck I'm doing, to needing to know so much more, to pushing myself. Here's to another year of whatever it is that's going to happen. May it make me stronger, better and may I never stop being surprised by my own age.

Disappointing

This has been a very disappointing week. Congress was taken by the Republicans, who are now spouting a message of unity and bipartisanship after having spent years blocking as many Democratic policies as possible. I just hope they're sincere. But I'm fairly confident that they'll use this as an opportunity to forward whatever anti-women, xenophobic, big corporation agenda they have. Which blows. If they practiced what they preached and were more inclusive I would consider them as potentially vote-worthy. My problem is that I don't understand their logic.

Poor people don't deserve insurance - they need to get it themselves with no government help. Well, if you're poor, the last thing you can afford is health insurance, particularly if you're food insecure and not sure if you'll have a place to live if you commit the sin of taking care of yourself. There's no pulling yourself up by your bootstraps in a situation like that.

Women shouldn't be able to control their own bodies - instead, they should be controlled by a bunch of white male policy makers with no medical credentials. You know, to fix the problem of the single mother freeloading off the government, because that's incredibly common. Keep telling yourself that.

And somehow big business will take pity on the working class and...do what? Not screw them over? Not in this lifetime, and not without regulation.

Anyway, I'm disappointed and afraid of the next few years. I'm concerned that the quality of my children's education will suffer from an anti-science body of lawmakers as well.

So there was that. Then the middle of the week brought a large amount of layoffs at work, a few of which impacted our team. Since we are involved in government healthcare, which comes with non-negotiable deadlines and a heavy workload, we lost a smaller percentage than others, but losing people is always hard.

The thing is, from a management perspective, I totally get it. The way we practice business has been somewhat inefficient and we need to knock it off to be profitable. But from a personal perspective, it's unsettling, causes confusion and fear and it wasn't done well. Anyway, all in all a shitty week. I was glad last night to get home, play with my children and eat a meal with my husband, who I don't get to spend nearly enough time with.

Things about Me that Others Apparently Find Entertaining

I'm working from home today, so naturally I blog for a few minutes on the side. There's so much political nonsense going on at work, that all my meetings with real content have been rescheduled until next week. Damned restructuring. So, here's more fluff for your reading pleasure. Does anyone actually read this? Oh, well - since I always make fun of other things, here's what people make fun of me for:

1. My obnoxious need to text in full sentences with grammatically correct punctuation. I can't help myself - I don't mind the occasional slip. I make plenty of them. But a medium seemingly designed to encourage poor grammar drives me bathshit. Same for instant messaging.

2. My hair. It's wild and curly and sort of long-ish. Rags used to call me "Hair" when he was a toddler. Even at 8, he still runs his fingers through my hair sometimes when he's tired. Like my completely unpronounceable last name, it's a conversation piece.

3. My supposed freakouts. Apparently at work people think I'm incredibly calm. So when they're on calls with me and I say, "Geez - I sure was snotty," evidently I'm just being firm. I guess my screaming is all in my head. And on my blog.

4. My unfortunate habit of laughing hysterically in my sleep. My husband thinks I'm an axe murderer. So far he hasn't been proven right.

5. My dichotomous need for routine and spontaneity. I'll drop everything to take a weekend hiking trip. I've climbed the Incan trail before just for shits and giggles. But if you keep me from my morning cup of coffee, I will hurt you. Or wake me before or after my 5:30 to 6:30 a.m. window and heads will roll. I've been doing both (drinking coffee and waking up at that hour) since I was 8 or 9. I see no reason not to do either. My husband thinks it has to do with a caffeine addiction and martyr complex. But this is just how things should be.

6. I am a huge conspiracy theorist at work. I always assume that we're about to reorg. And I'm always right.

7. My curiosity about celebrity. I don't want to like celebrities. I don't want to be a fan girl. But I can't help but be curious. If you're famous, how in control are you of your own life? You have someone constantly managing your schedule for you, so I'm assuming that means you have someone else deciding when you wake up in the morning, when you get your hair done, when you eat and what you eat and how much you exercise. They tell you where to go, how long to stay there and what to say. If you are offensive, there's someone to make you back down. I've never been particularly famous, but I've been a media spokesperson and have been "press-handled" before. I can't imagine what it would be like to have that all the time. When you become famous, are you a person or a brand? My husband makes fun of me for this - he tells me if I were worth $100 million, I wouldn't care. 

8. I'm still kind of afraid of the dark, and after watching a scary movie or reading a scary book have no qualms about racing from the bathroom to the bed, touching the floor as little as possible so the monsters don't get me. Luckily my husband sleeps more heavily than I do. 

9. I'm easily entertained. Way too easily. This is something my husband seems to both love about me and that makes him scratch his head. It sure the heck makes working with the federal government easier. Same for the occasional child-related bathroom accident. If I can't snicker (much, much later after I'm done swearing under my breath (well out of my child's hearing)) about getting my feet peed on for the nth time, I would lead a very miserable life.

10. I make myself laugh, probably way more than is necessary. It's not because I'm super hilarious to anyone else. Just myself. And I like it that way. 

Oh, well. For those of you still reading, congratulations - I'm done! For today. 

Time for Truth, Time for Lies

As a parent, I know that there is a good time to tell your kid the full unvarnished truth (most of the time, as long as it's age appropriate) and also a good time to lie, lie, lie. I know this yet, last night I committed a sitcom-worthy sin: I didn't lie when I should've.

It started out innocently enough. My son, snuggled in his bed, me sitting next to the bed on the floor chatting with him about Halloween. Then we started talking about holidays after Halloween and Day of the Dead came up. Then things went south.

"Mom, tell me about Day of the Dead. What's that all about?"

"Well," says I, "some people think that on November 1st, the souls of your dead friends and family come back to walk the earth. Some people even set out food and drinks so they can hang out together."

The second this comes out of my mouth, I'm thinking, Why? Why would you tell him the truth, just before bedtime? If you want to put the icing on the cake, you'll say, "Sleep tight, don't let the dead people bite," then leave him alone in the dark.

Not surprisingly, he said in a small voice, "Um, I'm kinda freaked out right now, Mom."

"I'm sorry, babe. That doesn't really happen." Yeah, right - the damage is already done.

"Can I have some water?"

"Of course you can. Just a sec."

"Can I come with you?" he asks. "And can you carry me?"

So, before I know it, my big mouth and my guilt have my over a barrel and I'm traipsing around the house with an eight year old in my arms.

Lesson learned: tell kids the truth. Unless it's bed time. 

Which is more disturbing?

So, I had a weird thing happen, and I'm not really sure what to think about it. Or rather, my daughter and another kid had a weird thing happen. Kind of.

My daughter, who is four, was playing with a little boy at preschool. Said little boy tells her to drop her drawers and show him her girly bits (what? it feels weird to say genitals or vagina on a blog - but there, I just did). Anyway, she says, "Are you crazy?! I'm not doing that!" then goes to tell the teacher. The boy is pulled aside, parents talked to, etc. Apparently the kid had done this to a few of the other girls, too, though they hadn't refused and hadn't told.

Anyway, the teacher pulls me aside to tell me this in this quiet voice like she's waiting for me to just flip out and withdraw my daughter from school immediately. My first reaction was, "Wow, I'm so glad I had that talk with my daughter. I'm proud of her for standing her ground." Then I went to, "Ew. That's totally inappropriate. What could've been going through that kid's head?" After asking a few more questions, I was relatively comfortable - if not mildly squicked out - by the situation, so I took off.

Then I called my husband, kind of expecting him to freak out. To my astonishment, he said, "So, what? I mean, he didn't touch her, right? She didn't touch him? Unless it was weird and sexual or the kid just does it over and over and over or gets aggressive, it's inappropriate but not unusual. They're four." Yeah, yeah they are four. Damn it, I hate it when he makes sense.

So I moved on. Then the teacher pulls me aside this week to tell me in that weird, quiet voice that the child has been withdrawn from the school and his parents are "seeking treatment for him." Wait, what?

I don't normally wish a problem on anyone. But a part of me can't help but hope that this kid isn't being withdrawn from preschool and "treated" just because of this incident. Part of me hopes there's a bigger problem, because it sure seems weird to treat a four year old for something like this.

I'm sure if I were one of the parents put into the uncomfortable position of having to explain to their four year old daughter that they shouldn't have lifted up their skirt to anyone for any reason, I might be ticked off and demanding some sort of action. But thinking back to my son at that age, I'm not sure which would've been more disturbing: the thought of him telling another kid to show him the goods or the thought of him being treated for it as though it were a psychological problem. There's gotta be way more that I don't know (that's none of my damn business), but still. I didn't really go down that "sexual deviant" path in my head or think anything else about it until I was told the kid was being treated.

Things I only tell my blog

1. I don't like being called cookie under any circumstances. Someone at work called me cookie today. I almost punched him.

2. In fact, I fantasize about punching a lot of people. It's probably not healthy.

3. My running playlist includes Megan Trainor's All About that Bass. I love it.

4. I'm way more perverse than most people realize (yes, that perverse).

5. And a lot more egotistical.

6. I used to get permanents until 5th grade, when I got one and it apparently stayed. For the rest of my life.

7. I've run three marathons. I now don't like to run that much. It's just more efficient as a calorie burner. If I could, I'd walk, but I don't have the time to walk as much as I'd need to in order to burn the same amount of calories.

8. I swear like a sailor. Unless I'm around my kids. Then I just want to swear like a sailor. I swear in the car a LOT, though.

9. I don't listen to most of the meetings I have at work. I can't. I'm usually double, triple and even quadruple or quintuple booked, which is why I ask for suggestions and go with others' recommendations. I'm not a good manager, I just don't have time to pay attention.

10. My family irritates the bejeezus out of me. I love them dearly and would never not have them, but they hunt me down - ALL of them (husband included) - and won't. Stop. Talking. Ever. Thank goodness I love them so much.

The sight and taste of sound

And here's where things get weird. I was talking to my daughter this morning, who told me that me playing the piano tasted like candy. Normally that'd be just one of those weird things kids say, that you would dismiss. She's four after all and it might mean nothing. But, one thing I've experienced all my life that I only recently realized was a tad abnormal (recent in relative terms - more like my 20s) was that I taste words and some sounds have a visual personality. So if she says it tastes like candy, I take that to mean it literally tastes like candy.

My doctor says my "condition" is probably related to my epilepsy. Apparently people with seizure disorders or brain abnormalities are more likely to have synesthesia. Though no one really knows what causes it. Scientists think it could be that those connections that are normally pared away in infancy - those that essentially combine most senses into a big blob until your brain learns to differentiate - may not necessarily have all been specialized in people with synesthesia, which wraps certain sensations into one big bag of sense-related fun.

Anyway, I don't mind if my daughter has synesthesia, but it worries me because anything that remotely suggests "brain anomaly" gives me the heebie jeebies, especially in my kids. That said, I wouldn't take away my own abnormalities for anything. It can be really pleasant.

Because I can't do things the easy way, the type of synesthesia I have is rare, or at least that's what my doctor says. Evidently lots of people have some type of synesthesia but it's usually more related to numbers having colors and personalities. I taste words and sounds and even see some sounds. Not all of them, but some of them have a really, really distinct flavor or sensation on my tongue.

For example, someone I used to work with had a voice that tasted of fresh cherries, especially when she said, "Solution." It was distracting enough I often communicated with her via instant message - there's nothing so off-putting at work as informing someone that you can't talk to them because their voice is just too delicious, bright and tart.

Or deeper, darker voices - like whoever played Scar in the Lion King, or Benjamin Cumberbatch when his character gets pissed. They taste like dark chocolate, disturbing at first, a jolt of bitter then smooth. There's nothing like watching TV, anticipating someone being pissed off. My husband tastes slightly like that, too.

Then there are the sounds that make pictures. The claaaack of castanets during Flamenco music - it's a big, fat, cartoonish black spider in a giant web, hair abdomen and all. Not scary, not ugly. It just is.

I'm not sure whether to wish that on my children or not. It definitely makes some of your experiences far, far richer, but it can be distracting, especially when watching horror movies. One thing about it is that you can literally feel your skin crawl sometimes if you read or hear something horrific enough. Reading the description of The Human Centipede put the taste of blood, antisceptic and filth in the back of my throat for almost two weeks afterwards, and makes my skin crawl even now. So, there you have it. This is just one more thing that makes me...me. And maybe my children themselves.

Ticked

My son has a tic. It started out around age 5 with some heavy blinking. Then it became throat clearing. Then it switched to his fingers and now it's back around the nose and mouth. It comes and goes, usually based on stress and it's also much more common during fall and winter (probably coinciding with school - stress - and the fact that waking is far harder for him when it's still dark outside).

It has reared its ugly head once again. This time it's the mouth, nose and eyebrows. He can control it if he wants to, but it's uncomfortable. Saying something doesn't make it better - it just makes him feel stupid and try to hide his face. Trying to get him to relax doesn't help - he knows what we're doing. I said something about it this evening as I was putting him to bed. We were cuddling and I could feel his face tic-ing against my arm. So he pulled the covers over his head so I wouldn't see.

I guess I'll have to shut up and back off. Funny how half of parenthood seems to be "shut up and back off." The other half is sitting around, having backed off, wondering if you should've hovered more. One way or the other, I'm probably doing something wrong. Hopefully I'm doing other things right.

This is how you find me?

So, I was digging around on my blog, trying to figure out why the hell people read this shit. It's a lot of complaining. But apparently I've thrown some true gems in here.

The search terms people tend to find me with are as follows:

can heat rash spread
does heat rash spread
panties under dress
panties under sun dress
hiddenchicken.blogspot.com


So people are apparently looking for me - in some cases specifically for me - but they're looking for me to learn about heat rash and panties. And...there you go.

And that is how a mind is lost.

If you've never had the pleasure of sitting through a health plan audit for a plan contracted with the federal government, please don't bother. Really. It sucks. But I haven't decided what sucks more: the audit or the fact that I know enough to be required on the audit the whole damn time.
I keep telling myself it's just a few days, no big deal. But it's just a few days of 14-hour long workdays, explaining multiple claims universes claim by claim - why this claim rejected that way or this way, what logic was built in, justifying it with supporting legislation then walking down through all the calculations. And it would've been nice of someone to tell me I'm apparently running the show.

By the time I got home this evening at 9:30, my brain was so addled, I actually understood what my daughter was talking about when she got up sleep-talking about the shape of bread.

The Sweetest Thing

So I promised earlier that I'd have a positive post since I'm usually snotty and cranky. This blog tends to be an outlet for my annoyances. But, instead of telling you what makes me want to poke my eyes out, here's what has been making me happy:

1. My kids have built a ridiculously elaborate pillow fort. They're in it right now while I pretend not to notice that they've found the Capri Sun and fruit snacks. I'm probably a bad person for looking the other way, but I love it when they unite.

2. My job is two parts crappy and three parts a big Rubix cube. That's why I keep doing it. I complain (especially since I get to support an audit next week on Hawaii time - from 2 p.m. to 10 p.m. CST), but I love that I know what I'm talking about and that when I don't, I can learn.

3. I have money. Not much money, but I know I'm lucky to have what I do. I worked really, really hard for it and it's satisfying and a great relief that my work has been fruitful.

4. Even though I have a mysterious seizure disorder, I am so very fortunate that it's manageable. It's my Achilles' heel, but it doesn't stop me, thanks to modern pharmaceuticals.

5. My wonderful friends and family are my constants, my touchstones, and I am so happy to have them.

So there. A positive post, with somewhat limited snark. See? Proof positive that I can do anything!

A few things about managing people I struggle with

I manage people. Not a lot of people. But I do manage a few. Given the sheer size of the company I work for, that doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. But it does affect my stress levels. And here's how (because you care, right??):

1. Reminding people that, yes, they are actually required to work standard office hours (no, you cannot start the workday on Fridays after noon and yes, I do expect to see you online, even if you are virtual; and do I really need to tell you that?).  I don't understand why timeliness is almost always the biggest issue in a workplace - you'd imagine that common sense would dictate that you either do your stuff on time or tell someone why you can't, but apparently common sense is not common.

2. Some people are treated differently than others. It's usually because some people are also more trustworthy than others (see above). Despite #1, I really don't care if you leave a half hour or so early three times a week as long as I know you'll make it up later. But don't try to BS me by telling me, "It all works out." I'm not super great at math, but I can add and subtract.

3. I will support you by getting obstacles out of your way and telling people when they're asking too much of people on my team. Removing roadblocks does not equal me doing your job.

4. I hate having "the talk" with you. I'm by nature a non-confrontational person and I don't like being put in a spot where I have to reinforce things that I think are obvious. I need you to do work, and if you can't work, I need to know why because I might be able to help. Deadlines provided by the government aren't guidelines. 

5. If you can't meet the above-referenced deadlines, you only get half the shit I do. I'm the sorry messenger who gets screamed at by clients on your behalf, may have to explain your actions to the federal government and gets to hear from management. What's somewhat sad is that I only get half the beating my supervisor does. And she probably only gets half of what her boss does. So do your work and we can all get by unscathed.

Next time I promise to be more positive. I really, really do. But having had "the talk" with someone last week and this week already, I'm a tad annoyed.

Kids' shows that make me want to poke my eyes out

There are a few shows that make me want to injure someone or make me think, "Hmmm, this is what dropping acid must feel like." And they're mostly current kids' shows:

1. Mickey Mouse Club House: this show is insane. I hate the characters and they come up with the stupidest solutions to ridiculous problems.

2. The Wiggles: thank goodness this is only on at like 4:30 in the morning. My kids sleep later than that now, but this show makes me feel like I've got to be doing drugs.

3. Sponge Bob Square Pants: oh, God, I want this guy to shut up. So. Badly.

4. Dora the Explorer: too sugary sweet with insanely simplistic songs and completely oddball problems. Make it stop!

5. Sofia the First: the main character is way too nice. I would've slapped to shit out of that step-sister two seconds after I met her.

I realize that the entire above commentary makes me sound like an old fogey. I'm only 38, but I'm about two steps away from a hose and black socks with sandals yelling, "Damn kids! Get off my lawn!"

Sweet Nothing

Nine months of work. Regulation review, requirements development, testing and validation, debates with the legal team, mitigation and client conversations and...nothing. Nothing happened but what was supposed to happen. There's still the weekend to get through, still a few days of waking at 4:30 a.m. for confirmation. But the release went in. It went in successfully. And so far, nothing happened.

Waiting to exhale

I can't wait until tomorrow happens so I can breathe normally again. Our business's largest software release goes in at midnight and guess who's the owner? Hint: she's got two thumbs and is turning blue. It'll either be the claims apocalypse of 2014 or nothing will happen. Nothing = success!

Crisis of Faith

If you know me, you probably know I was raised Methodist and Jewish. My husband? Hindu and, in his teenaged years, half of his family decided to become Buddhist. The result of these mixed marriages were one somewhat spiritual agnostic (me) and a very staunch atheist (my husband).

This has never been a problem, until my son started elementary school. As my son has come home with questions spawned from a friend's visit to church, we've covered a smattering of religion and God with our eldest, though probably not as much as we should have. In my defense, do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it is to cover four religions? It's tough enough during winter holidays (which reminds me that I haven't given as many details about why Christmas is Christmas and Hanukkah isn't). Then when you get to explaining Easter and Passover, then move on to Diwali, Holi and a few of the other ones, the point gets kind of lost. And that doesn't even cover the more minor Hindu holidays and rituals.

Sometimes I wish I were devout about something if only to give him more comforting information than, "Well, some people believe..." or "Here's what I think." I wish I knew and could tell him with absolute certainty what was or wasn't out there and if it mattered. On the reverse, I wish my husband weren't so convinced there was nothing out there, because that would make my job a lot easier sometimes, though possibly less entertaining.

Yes, it's all about me.

But did you know that it once took me an hour to convince my husband to let our son go to day camp at the YMCA because he was certain he'd be converted to Christianity? Or that I had to prep him in advance on Cub Scout materials so he wouldn't decide that membership was a heinous ploy to foist religion on young boys? If I didn't love the man so much and he weren't so damn cute, I'd smack him upside the head with a Bible. Thankfully, even though he's a tad unreasonable he can be talked down.

Ah, the joys of living in a multi-cultural, mixed-race marriage. What's funny is that, over and above the obvious (diversity, cultural awareness, etc.), one of the many benefits to living in our family is that it makes demonstrating genetic variation really easy.

Right to be annoyed

So, yesterday afternoon, I had my hands full. I had just gotten back from working and picking up the kids, then was trying to make dinner, manage my son's homework and dodge my daughter's sticky fingers at the same time while also trying to plan the rest of the evening. Finally, I handed my daughter a ball of pizza dough to help. The dough was too sticky for her preferences, so she decided she wanted to wash her hands. Awesome. But while washing her hands, she realized she had to pee. Really bad. So I told her to stop washing and run to the bathroom. She did.

Probably not shocking, though, was the subsequent, "Mommy, I peed!" I tried not to understand. "Great," said I. "No, I peed on the floor!" she yelled. In my head, I'm thinking, Well, shit. I've got my hands covered to the elbow in dough, homework to help with, dinner to make, a promise to keep (I had promised to take my son out to ride his bike) and now pee to clean up. But it's ok. Don't get mad. It's ok - you don't want to upset her.

So I make my way to the bathroom. There is a huge puddle from the toilet to the door, six feet away. My daughter's socks are soaking wet, her undies are splooshy and she's got her skirt over her head. And she's laughing. Goddammit, why is she laughing?

So I sigh and paste a smile on my face. "Ok," I say cheerfully, let's get this clean!" She continues to giggle. I get madder and madder. And feel guiltier and guiltier. All that I've read teaches me to be calm about this. Don't make the kid feel bad. Don't hurt their self esteem. Be cheerful. Be reassuring. But I'm cleaning up pee, dammit.

So I give into an irritated, "Jeez, Evelyn! Next time listen to your body if you have to go." I emit loud sighs of annoyance, my annoyance and guilt escalating with each giggle she emits and each step she tries to take onto the carpet. Finally, I snap, "Take your clothes off! We need to clean you up!" She starts crying. Instant remorse. I start mentally beating myself up.

Then I think, Wait a stinking minute. I'm cleaning up human waste. I know it's my daughter and I shouldn't berate her, but wouldn't anyone find it somewhat distasteful to have to clean up someone else's urine?

So here's the thing (and the point to all of this): I'm coming to believe that while children's egos are fragile, they're less so than we think. And the last thing I want is a child who can't handle someone feeling real feelings. And darnit, I don't want to feel guilty when I get annoyed over something that's actually annoying. Do I feel bad for snapping at my kid? Of course. But I don't feel bad for being annoyed.

The idea of motherhood has morphed into this rosy, golden-hued (hah!) image of serenity and joy where you magically remain calm no matter what in order to create happy, self actualized geniuses who have never been told - quite directly - that they messed up. Those books say that they shouldn't have to deal with others' negative emotions because you've got to protect that self esteem.

No one who writes child-rearing books tells you that sometimes you can't even finish a coherent thought because too damn many people are talking to you and too damn many things are happening all at once. Or that sometimes you either want to punch a wall, scream or curl into a ball and rock. Or all three. Or that sometimes you might actually scream or curl into a ball and that that's ok.

I don't think it's ok to make a child or anyone else to feel like crap. But I also don't feel that it's fair to force myself to act like a cheerful Stepford mom all of the time and to feel bad when I just can't. Yes, this whole post is one big "duh" moment. But still. Having had two children, it's annoying that I can internalize this only when my youngest is almost five. But at least I internalized it sometime.

Long Time, No Bloggy #2

I haven't written in a while, obviously. Did you miss me?

There's been a lot going on. I've been traveling almost constantly during the week the past two weeks. Before that started, we found we had asbestos in more or less our entire basement floor and had to have it all ripped out. We're in the process now of patching it up so we can lay a new floor.

Work has been insane and exhausting. The kids started school again, our sink developed a crack that we're doing research to fix and my car's A/C died. Usual aggravating things that all tend to happen at once.

All the while, the world has gone around. Good things have happened and horrible things, too, that make our problems seem very small. Mike Brown was shot just two miles from my work, resulting in days and nights of riots and looting.

What a mockery of justice. And just when it seems things are calming down, the riots and looting begin again. I have no context for this. I'm not a minority, except when I visit my husband's family. I don't know what true injustice feels like. But I do know that, regardless of what he did or didn't do, what happened to that kid was wrong. What a horrible situation. And in this political and social climate, it will take decades for anything to change, assuming it does.

Frogs Gone Wild

On Friday, we took Rags to his end of the season baseball team pool party. It was a ton of fun - 20 kids (teammates and siblings), swimming and shrieking like lunatics, eating too much sugar, watching movies pool side and each with their very own frog. Wait, what?

Turns out that frogs grow in abundance in our subdivision and my son's teammates'. As the movie was being set up (which was cool as all get-out since I'd never seen a giant inflatable movie screen), we noticed that it was so noisy we couldn't really hear the movie. Turns out that there were about 5 frogs hiding behind the outside clock. One of the parents walked over and grabbed them and went to set them free - or at least out of the way - and jokingly put one on her son's shoulder. That started a revolution.

Before long, all 15 teammates and the 5 siblings were running around with frogs. Frogs were everywhere. Hopping on the adults, on tables, on the ground, crawling up kids' backs, being fished out of the pool. It was a regular PETA nightmare.

That said, I'm happy to say that there were no frogs injured in the making of this post. 

Tapped?

I haven't written in a while because I'm kinda tapped out. I've stop-started a few posts (like the one I just deleted), had some ideas for things I wanted to babble idly about, but the world has been spinning so fast at work especially that every time I step off I want to collapse. I guess working 14 hour days will do that to you. But I shouldn't complain - could be worse.

We did take the kids on a vacation recently to a local lodge sponsored by the YMCA. It was actually very cool. More than I wanted to spend, but close and included all the stuff we wanted to do (kayaking, canoeing, swimming, horseback riding, pontooning and a few other things).

What was interesting (or maybe not) was that, despite having been to Disney World, the kids seemed to enjoy themselves a heck of a lot more at this place. But maybe that's not so surprising. There were other kids there to hang out with, the place had no televisions, so limited distractions, and more active stuff to do that didn't involve standing in a line, then looking at things.

It may also have helped that Rags kicked his dad's butt the first time he even attempted to play chess, then proceeded to repeat it over again, and then another couple of times only with checkers. Yeah, that was satisfying. 

Duty

I was at Jury Duty today. I didn't wind up being selected, though I was on a panel. Sitting through the whole process - being called, then being culled - was odd and strangely concerning. I learned that a) I really don't want to be responsible for determining someone else's fate - someone I've never met and with whose circumstances I am completely unfamiliar. Not only do I not want to do that. I don't feel I deserve to do so.

b) I'm a heck of a lot less impartial than I purport to be. It was a criminal trial and the jury selection portion involved answering a lot of questions about domestic violence, abuse and divorce, all of which are issues I've been unfortunate enough to experience firsthand.

And c) I don't think anyone else is able to be truly impartial, either. I guess some people are just more impartial than others.

This post brought to you by Captain Obvious and the number 6.

Dear Supreme Court,

I am very disappointed in the choices you've made recently. As I would say to my children, I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at your choices. I find it baffling that you feel it acceptable for a corporation to have a religious leaning when said corporation is not a religious institution. I also find it baffling that you believe it appropriate to allow employers to determine their employee's access to contraception. Furthermore, I disagree that it's appropriate to remove the so-called abortion buffer zone around abortion clinics.

While you may feel that the choices you've made this last week are appropriate, I strongly, strongly disagree. They make me fear not only for my ability to make choices in a medical setting with a healthcare professional, they make me concerned for my daughter's ability to do so, my family's ability to do so and many others' ability to do so. You say that the government does not belong in private choices. So, what your recent decision has told me is that, while the government cannot be involved in my private choices, you're fine with other people - including my employer and complete strangers who are not medical professionals - being involved in said private choices.

Obamacare is bad because it impedes individual choice. Unless it allows individual choice, then it's bad. Freedom to choose is important in this country. Unless someone doesn't like the choice I'm making, may make or could be forced to make by circumstances, then my freedom to choose goes away.

I wish I could make a more intelligent-sounding argument. A more sound, legal, professional rationale for why I believe these choices are a mountain of garbage that makes me afraid and ashamed of my country. But, given how close to home these issues are, that's tough.

That is all. Now, go sit in a corner and think about what you've done. And pray for those of us who have to live with it.

Love,
Me

Thomas English Muffins, You're Either Smart or Clueless

I have a disgusting, perverted mind. So, like any disgusting and perverted mind would, when I read something about "nooks and crannies" on food packaging (or really any packaging), my mind immediately goes right into the gutter. Which is why I think that the people behind Thomas English Muffins are probably the smartest people alive. Because they make their muffins so damn memorable in addition to delicious. See? I did it again. 

It's sad that that was my most coherent thought yet today. By way of first-world, not-super-serious problems, my daughter and son have spent the day being by turns weird and cranky, then my daughter turned infectious. As luck would have it, she has a skin infection. In her nose. At least she lets me clean in there - it's tough enough shoving a Q-tip up someone else's nose. Doing it while they're squirming around doesn't help. So that's good.

Then just as I was putting the kids to bed, my husband calls me to the basement where apparently our house's main drain has backed up. Kind of. It's not an emergency, but annoying nonetheless. Then I remembered that I have a 7:30 meeting, so had to get online to do some work, get slammed by an audit I missed since I try not to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and now here I sit, snickering like a teenager at the thought of nooks and crannies. You're welcome.

My horoscope is now telling me what to make for dinner?

On a completely frivolous note, I just checked my horoscope. I'm curious and bored. I was told to take a few hours off work (by my boss) because a lot of our team, self included, is completely burned out from working 12 and 14 hour days lately - and it's only going to get worse since I'll temporarily be taking over for my boss when she has her baby. It "helped" that I feel kinda sick and apparently sound like living death.  Whatever.

Anyway, I checked my horoscope out of curiosity and it advised that I should avoid spending a lot of money and, while I'm at it, I should make chicken cacciatore. Ummm, what?

I can totally get behind saving money at any time, but am a little surprised by the recommendation that I ought to cook some chicken.

Horoscopes must have changed in the last few years since last I checked mine.

Medicare, the Musical

Because sometimes my brain just comes to a screeching halt after a full day of Medicare, I thought that today’s blog could be done with song (albeit done badly). Imagine the following set to the melody “O Tanenbaum.” That’s right. You’ve got it…

Medicare, A Song, by HiddenChicken

O Medicare, O Medicare

How doth thou suck so greatly?

O Medicare, O Medicare

Your laws are garbage lately!

You give me work

When I need it

Though your Rule

Is full of shit.

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Does this make sense to anyone?

No one’s this thick

Even when they try

The Final Rule makes me want

To poke out an eye

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Just go to single payer.

If what you want

Is better care,

Efficiencies,

No sucking air,

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Suck it up and do it.

Do it yourself

Under single payer

It’s less complex

With fewer (ok, no other) players

O Medicare, O Medicare,

Get your shit together.

Ok, so that totally sucked. But writing it was entertaining. Not sure it was as fun for you to read it.

Aggravation Station

Otherwise known as family fatigue. I'm going to complain. And it's going to sound whiny and horrible and incredibly stupid. But sometimes you just gotta do it.

My family is starting to remind me of quacking ducklings. Only instead of saying quack, they say, "Mom" or "Andi." Constantly. And it's driving me crazy. I wake up extra early to get some quiet time, maybe to run or do some research, and inevitably one of them hears me and gets up to hang out with me. Lovely. I'm happy to give them a few extra cuddles, but some day I want to reclaim my lap, or at least my lap at 5:30 a.m. 

Anyway, I hold my children, I shower, I feed my children while they irritate the shit out of each other at the breakfast table. Then I take off early for work, my husband drops the kids off. Inevitably I get a call. "Is Ragsy's lunch packed? Does he need to wear his swimsuit? Now or later? What are they doing today? Does Evelyn need a swimsuit? What are they doing today? Did you drop off the check? We need to do X, Y, Z (code for I need to do X, Y, Z)." Then I go into meetings, usually double or triple booked until 4:30, when I go pick up the kids. More calls on the way there, sometimes from my husband. I get the kids in the car. They argue.

I take them to the activity of the day. The one not involved in said activity sits with me and talks, gets bored, tries to climb on me, plays with a friend, comes back, climbs on me some more. I get them into the car, they argue, then we get home. "When is dinner? What are we having? Where are we eating it? Why can't we have something else? Why do I need to shower? Can I play? What should I play? Can I have a friend over? When do I get a friend over? Mom, what are you doing? Can I do that, too?"

Kids arguing about going to bed. Kids arguing with my husband. My husband complaining about them arguing to me while they're arguing. Kids arguing in bed with me, with each other, over who I'm putting to bed. Finally they're in bed. My husband then complains about the kids who were arguing and complaining. He asks, "What are we going to do now? Did you eat dinner? What did you have? Is there more? Can I have some? When do I get some? Why are you going running? You didn't get to do it this morning? Why do you wake up at 5:30 if you don't run in the morning? Well, why can't you just send the kids back to bed?"

This must be one reason people meditate. To avoid becoming homicidal, annoyance-filled rage bags. The big things will really piss you off and make you crazy in an instant. The little things erode your sanity more slowly.

Being a Tooth Fairy Is Dangerous

I posted about this on Facebook, but since I can't keep my mouth shut about things I think are funny, I thought I'd share here, too.

So, a few days ago my son lost a tooth. When I attempted to play Tooth Fairy, I nearly killed myself. Apparently Rags had told his sister that he suspected it might be the parents leaving the money and taking the teeth, so he decided to booby trap his bed. And by booby trap, I mean he set up a homemade trip wire, some cans and a motion detector from his Spy Gear collection.

I almost inadvertently smacked him in the head taking that damn tooth. Luckily he did not wake up. But I think this Tooth Fairy isn't long for this world, or my son's world anyway.

Race

One of the most disappointing things I ever heard my daughter say was last night when she whispered, "Mommy, I wish I were white like my friend Claire." Well, shit. I would rather that she started swearing like a sailor. It's easy to teach someone not to curse, not so easy to teach a child to like herself the way she is, especially when it's something she can't change, like her skin color.

Her brother never really went through this, at least not so young. He was aware that his skin tone was different from his friends', but for him that just led to observations and questions without judgment. "Mom, do white people float?" and other gems, such as, "Mom, why are you undercooked?" (Yes, white people float and I am not undercooked, darnit - just pink!)

I always consider both my kids the best of me and my husband. Their skin is a combination of ours - my son's is more tawny and my daughter's is more iced mocha. My son is my wonderful, literal mad scientist, who will find a way to build anything whether he actually has the materials or not (I don't know many kids who managed to build a trebouchet out of a tree at age 5, but the desire to fling himself into the next neighborhood was just too strong) and who loves math because there's always an answer.

My daughter is my overachiever who gets to the heart of things even when you omit age-inappropriate commentary, who taught herself to read early because she didn't feel like waiting for her turn at bedtime and decided one day last week that it was time for her to tie her own shoes and actually managed to do it. She also cares a hell of a lot more about what people think of her. She's me, only way smarter.

I tell her that her skin color is beautiful, whether she's white or brown or bright green. But I can tell she's not convinced. And it sucks, sucks, sucks. Hopefully she'll internalize it. Half her family is either the deep mahogany of Southern India or slightly fairer latte of the North. The other half is shades of ivory and alabaster with freckles tossed in for good measure. But whether we're dark, light or somewhere in between, we are who we are. I wouldn't change any of us for a second (though it'd be nice if she stopped scaring the bejeezus out of me at 2 a.m.).

Fail

Remember how I was going to go running at 5:15 this morning? About that. Easier said than done when a 4 year old wakes you up to chat. Four times.

What's sad is how flipping freaked out I was the first time. When my daughter wears her hair down, she looks like the girl from The Ring if it's all in her face. It didn't help that she was hissing, "I need to potty," which sounds a hell of a lot like, "I need bodies," when you're dead asleep at 2 a.m.

So, I got her her bodies (or plopped her down on the toilet - can't remember which one because I was tired), put her to bed and went to sleep.

So she did what any rational person would do and woke me a half hour later to inform me that there were now tigers in her room. Darned tigers. They visit way too often. The tigers and the puppies in the wall seem to be our most frequent nocturnal visitors, at least in Evelyn's room. Rags has Death Gerbils. I like the tigers better. Less weird.

So I staggered back to her bedroom, demanded the tigers hie themselves off somewhere else and put her back to bed and staggered right back.  My husband was on my pillow so of course I had to roll him off. A few more grunts, a snort and all was peaceful again.

Another half hour goes by. At 3 a.m., she serenades me with, "Let It Go" from Frozen. After we watched the movie at least 6 or 7 times on the way to India and back and I was stupid enough to buy her the soundtrack, I kind of really absolutely loathe that song. Just a little. Mostly because it gets stuck in my head while I'm at work. Disney and Medicare don't exactly go together.  

3:30 a.m. and Evelyn shows up again, this time to ask how I'm doing. Which apparently startled my husband, who was lying close enough that when he jerked in surprise, he slammed his knee into my bottom, nearly sending me into the headboard. It's inappropriate to tell a four year old your ass hurts (in fact, it's inappropriate to say ass to a 4 year old one way or the other), so I didn't say that. I put her back to bed instead.

By the time my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m., I'm not sure I could've gotten out of bed even if the chick from The Ring, the tigers, puppies, Death Hamsters and Elsa had climbed in, too. So I reset it to 6 a.m. and slept in instead. Ta-dah!

Why I shouldn’t go running at 7 a.m.

I got up at 6:30 this morning and was out at the park on a two hour trail run (waddle?) by 7. My husband tells me I shouldn’t do that, because the energy I get from doing so results in conversations like this, which happened as we were eating dinner:

Me: Hmmm, taking a bite of fresh cherry makes this brie taste that much more stinky. Yet compelling. Like watching the Kardashians.

Husband: Wait, what?

Me: Yep. Hey, do you think if I worked out enough my ass would be as strong as a nutcracker? If that happens, you’d better be careful when I make candied pecans.

Husband: Are you saying that you’d have a buttcracker?

Me: Maybe. Hey. That reminds me, I need to do laundry.

Husband: Andi, how the hell did you get from cherries to Kardashians to buttcrackers to laundry all in under two minutes?

Me: I’m just that awesome.

Husband: Please never run in the morning again. 

Me: I wonder what will happen when I get up tomorrow at 5:15 to run?