The Universe: the ultimate provider

Haven't you ever heard that if you want or need something, you should just ask the universe, just put it out there, and you'll get it? Well, it's true. I know it sounds New Age and spiritual and kind of nebulous, but it's true. I'm a believer. Call it what you want -- God providing, the stars aligning, whatever.

Here's a good example, which happened to me yesterday. Over the weekend (that wasn't yesterday but it's the beginning of the story), MrDartt and I priced out some fencing because we want to make a dog run that will give the dogs shade and keep them away from the road, since Lola barks at every car that drives by going more than 10 miles per hour, as well as any people that walk by, as well as any horses people ride by, as well as any bunnies that hop by, as well as any birds that fly by. Anyway. we think moving them over to the side of the house might decrease her barking. And the amount of dog poopie in the front yard.

Sorry, got sidetracked. So the fencing, plus the stakes and the gate, were going to cost $300. So we put that project off for a while, since property taxes are due and we have a few medical bills to pay from Big Boy's ear tube surgery.

Then yesterday, I was driving home from music class playgroup and just a few houses down from my house on my street, I saw some big rolls of fencing on the ground outside someone's yard. They had signs on them that I couldn't read from the main road, so I turned off thinking, "No, this can't be. Too good to be true." Nope, it was true! The signs said, "Free Fencing." !!!

Since my mother-in-law is using our truck during her stay here and she was at her other son's house yesterday, I immediately called my nextdoor neighbor (my dad) and asked if we could borrow him and his truck. We got one big roll of fencing into the bed of his truck, but the second roll wouldn't fit. So I suggested tying it onto the truck and dragging it home (after all, it's only a few blocks). "And you call ME the redneck," he said. I didn't want to make two trips because Little Boy had been crying for the whole drive home, wanting his lunch. And I wanted to get the fencing right away for fear of someone else coming along and getting it.

But my dad, good sport and redneck that he is (just kidding, dad), did it. So I was very pleased with my find, and I was following him up our very bumpy dirt road, watching both rolls of fencing bounce, increasingly higher, as we made our way towards home. Suddenly, about 25 feet from my driveway, the roll in the back of the trunk bounced right out and the roll on the ground snagged on a spike in the road (why there's a spike in a dirt road, I have no idea), and both rolls broke free. My dad and I jumped out of our cars and loaded the big roll back into the truck and I dragged the little roll into my driveway.

And I forgot to mention that as we were loading the fencing, the man giving it away came out and said he also had a gate, more fencing and some stakes we could have. AWESOME!

So I saved us at least $275 -- we'll still have to buy some stakes and some doo dads to hook the fencing onto the stakes. I was so pleased with myself and with my find -- and with the universe!

This isn't the only time this kind of thing has happened. My mom has always told me that you should just relax and trust God, and things will work out for you. I don't think it's exclusively a religious thing -- this applies to everybody.

So the universe provided at 1 p.m. yesterday. But wait 'til you hear about the rest of my day. That'll have to wait until tomorrow's post.

Childhood

Sometimes I feel guilty about my childhood.
I'm always hearing about people's terrible childhoods, about the trauma they experienced because they had six toes or because their parents locked them in their bedrooms and fed them bread crumbs under the door. Or maybe because their parents made them play sports, particularly synchronized swimming, and they hated it.
Okay, so some people really did have hard childhoods -- and I don't want to take anything away from that. I was joking about the synchronized swimming.
But I had such a fun childhood.
We lived in a nice neighborhood, between two other families with kids our age. The kids would spend weekends walking riding bikes down to the market to get Koala soda or New York Seltzer. We'd run between houses, spending entire weekends barefoot, swinging on the neighbors' rope swing, building space ships and dressing our brothers up like girls.
(If I can find a picture I will definitely post it here just to embarrass my brothers who are now grown up and very manly. My youngest brother expressed grave concern yesterday when Big Boy asked, "Mommy, when I get bigger, can I borrow your skirt?" But he forgets that I have photographic evidence of him in pigtails wearing a dress, lipstick and blush. And high heels, I'm sure.)
Anyway, my parents gave us lots of opportunities to try new things. I played soccer and was always volunteering to come out to the sideline. My parents made me finish the season. I played baseball. I could run fast, but pretty much was terrible at baseball. My brothers played football and baseball. They both tried swimming but it didn't stick. They wrestled, too.
Primarily, I danced -- tap, jazz, and ballet. Now that I'm an adult, I realize how much my parents must have sacrificed to pay my monthly dues, pay for costumes, pay competition fees and pay for hotels during competitions. Not to mention the family time they sacrificed going on all the dance and sports trips.
I danced four or five days a week for most of my childhood and had strong friendships and lots of fun with the other dance kids. We always had a blast -- and I'm sure our moms did too -- on dance competition trips. I went with three other girls from my studio to Australia with a national performance team when I was 15.
In high school I became more involved with school friends, and did homecoming activities. I even was on the track team my senior year. My parents let me go to Hawaii with five girlfriends after graduation.
Thinking about it now, I can't believe some of the stuff my parents let me do. Galavanting off to Hawaii at 17 with five girlfriends!?!?! We were all straight-A students and pretty nerdy, I guess, but still...I cringe thinking about my kids, at 8 or 9 or 10 riding their bikes down to the market -- what if they get hit by a car? What if a bad guy gets them? What if they get bullied and another bigger kid steals their money and soda? What if they're drinking too much soda? What if they fall on their bikes? What if they don't know how to ride bikes?
All through childhood, I was a happy kid. I liked my parents (even if my dad was dorky and drove a red truck with a blue camper shell -- one time he drove into my high school to pick me up, and he was wearing a paper bag over his head with a smiley face cut out of it).
I just hope that when my two boys are older, they look back on their childhoods and remember them as fondly as I remember mine. I am grateful to my parents for encouraging us to try new things, to play hard, and to be independent.
I just hope I can do the same in the years to come.

HELP! with texting!

At this point in my life, I'm starting to feel old.

I need help with my texting etiquette.

First of all, IS there texting etiquette? If not, there should be.

So here's what happened. My sister-in-law texted me yesterday. I was doing some data entry at work and didn't have time to respond right away. I cannot text and drive at the same time so I answered her when I got home. Then, I started cooking dinner, and since I'm not that tuned in to texting in general, I kept forgetting to check whether she'd texted me back. So it was a long time between texts. I started feeling guilty that it was taking me so long to respond.

The question that follows: What is an acceptable amount of time between receiving a text and responding to it?

Lately, MrDartt has been annoyed because if I'm not on the computer blogging or e-mailing, I'm on the phone (or so he says). But then if I get a text and answer it, I feel like that's just as rude -- you can't continue an in-person conversation with someone if you're reading a text message and then typing a response. Especially if you're a crappy phone typist like I am.

Therefore, my next question is: Isn't it rude to have a text conversation at the same time as you are having an in-person conversation? I think it is, but people do it all the time.

I have this one friend who abbreviates when she texts. I usually know what she's saying, but often have to work hard to figure it out.

Is there a texting abbreviation guideline handbook? If not, there should be. I may have just given away a million dollar idea.

Finally, I have this one friend who always texts. We're trying to schedule a dinner date and we're both busy, so it's like, "How about Wed.?" "Nope, have plans." "How about Tues.?" "Can't, have playgroup." And so on.

So when do you draw the line and just make a flippin' phone call?

I once received a text from a friend, asking me, "How was your Thanksgiving?"

Really? I'm supposed to give her a real answer through texting?

I guess I'm just supposed to say, "Good." Or, "Good turkey." Or, "Okay, with good dessert."

Final question: Is texting the downfall of real coversation? Doesn't anyone have time for real conversations any more?

I understand texting for a quick question, like, "Will you be home tomorrow so I can stop by and say hi?"

But if it's a replacement for real talking, I just plain don't like it. I guess I am getting old.

Potty Training

I’m not sure if I will make it through potty training. We just started, thinking Big Boy might be ready because he’s recently shown a lot of interest. He’s been waking up dry from naps. He knows before he goes.

Sometimes after he pees in the potty he wants to run around “naked,” which means he just wears a shirt. The other day he was “naked” and getting himself some water from the fridge. I saw that he was starting to make his pooping face so I asked if he had to go.
“I’m poopy, Mommy,” he said, freezing mid-water-dispensing at the fridge, spilling water on the floor.

So, thinking I was thinking fast, I quickly put the baby down and grabbed Big Boy’s hand, telling him this was a great time to go poop on the potty. So we rushed to his potty where he sat down and said he couldn’t do it and needed my help.

He never did poop in the potty but when I got back to the kitchen, I noticed a little turd on the floor.

“Is that my poopie, Mommy?”

“Yep!” (Remain calm. Pick up poopie with paper towel and carry to toilet to flush).

“What did you do with my poopie, Mommy?” (Near tears).

“I flushed it!”

Later, he wanted to pee on the potty. By the time I’d arrived there to monitor him, he’d removed the little shield thing from the potty and sprayed pee all over the floor and his pants and the bathroom rug. Remain calm. The books say you’re not supposed to say anything about pee or poop being yucky.

Remain calm.

“Well, looks like we need to leave that shield on there, huh?”

“Why’s that a shield, Mommy?”

“To keep your pee in the potty.”

“Why, Mommy?”

“So we don’t get pee on the floor.”

“Why we don’t get pee on the floor?”

“Because it’s … sticky!”

“Why’s it sticky, Mommy?”

On Marriage

Okay, I know MrDartt and I haven't been married very long (3.5 years), but still, you'd think it's been long enough for him to be smart enough to avoid putting his foot in his mouth repeatedly! How are those little piggies tasting, MrDartt?

So, as you know, my mother-in-law and her husband are in town. They arrived Friday, April 17, and were going to be at our house mid-morning. So, between Big Boy throwing up all day Tuesday and having diarrhea all day Wednesday and then taking Little Boy for his checkup Thursday, I was busy at home, and still did my best to pick up toys and keep up with dishes. I even mopped the floor (that's rare around here). The kitchen counter was empty (no piles).

MrDartt had a long week at work and got home late Thursday night. Friday morning when he woke up, I apparently "badgered" him about giving me compliments regarding all the cleaning I did, before he had time to wake up. So his response: "Well, does it really look that clean to you? Did you notice there's still cat throw up on the floor?"

Well, I noticed the cat throw up but the vacuum was broken (again), and I'd been cleaning up person throw up and leaky diapers all week.

Then, MrDartt's mom and her hubby stayed at my sister-in-law's most of the week, and arrived at our house Thursday morning. They spent the day with me and the boys because MrDartt was working. He made it home for dinner, which I'd cooked, and first thing when he sat down, said my sweet potatoes were "a little overcooked."

He claims he only said that so nobody else would think we thought the sweet potatoes were cooked just right. Ugh.

And don't worry -- I have no illusions -- I KNOW I do annoying stuff to MrDartt.

Here's what I want to know: How do couples survive marriage? How do marriages survive couples?

Here's some of how:

MrDartt does most of the cooking in our house, and most of the hand dishes. He works so hard to be a good father, to build our sons’ confidence and to provide them with a healthy home. He listens to my stories, remembers what my friends are doing and tells me whether my shoes match my outfit. He keeps the kids out of the bathroom while I shower. He needs me to find stuff in the pantry and refrigerator for him. He leaves half-full coffee cups on the kitchen counter, in reach of L (oh, wait, those last two are some of my pet peeves, right?).

Anyway, here's to marriage -- and surviving it!

Honesty

One of my college friends, EM, is due to have her second baby mid-May. Here's what I like about her: she's honest with herself -- and I think that makes for a very unique, interesting and funny person. And probably for her, better relationships because she doesn't kid herself about why she does things.

A most recent example: she wrote me an e-mail, and mentioned that she doesn't want to risk going to her mom's art show two weeks before baby's expected arrival date because the art show is 90 minutes from her home.

To quote EM:
"I'm just nervous because they say your second baby comes faster than the first and I so don't want to give birth in the car. Okay, mostly I just don't want to miss out on the epidural, who cares if it's in a car!"

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I don't think everyone is that honest. Let's face it: I definitely have made weird excuses for not doing stuff I should do, or for not calling someone I know I should call -- rather than just admit that I don't want to do it.

But not EM. So my lesson for today (not to you, just to myself) is to be honest. With myself and with everybody else. Let's just hope I don't meet up with anybody unsavory.

Listening

Do you ever feel like you're talking to someone, but she's not really listening?



You say, "We're going to go to the grocery store after I do the dishes," and she responds, "How was the grocery store?"



Or, you say, "I'm allergic to peanut butter," and she says, "I love peanut butter, too. Shall I send over some of my homemade peanut butter cookies?"



Or, you say, "Do you like doing laundry?" And she says, "Have you seen any good movies lately?"



You get the picture. I'm starting to wonder if I a)talk too much or b)am boring!



There's one other option. c) People just don't listen very well.



My mom has always told me that people live in their own worlds, and what's important to them might be totally different than what seems important to you. So if someone is very upset because her gallon of milk will not fit in her refrigerator door, don't yell, "I can't even afford a gallon of milk and my electricity has been shut off so a refrigerator won't do me any good anyway!" Just remember that to her, it is important that that gallon of milk fit in the refrigerator door.



I got sidetracked. Lately, I feel like one or two of my friends just don't listen. I don't think it's malicious. I think they're just wrapped up in their own stuff. Maybe she's scrubbing pots (because her kitchen must stay spotless) and didn't hear me say that I'm going to the grocery store later. Maybe her kids are screaming and she didn't hear me say I'm allergic to peanut butter.



So I'm trying to be a little less sensitive.



But you can't do to your adult friends what you do to your two-year-old. When Big Boy doesn't listen, I say something like, "I really need you to be a good listener."



Say that to your 30-year-old friends and they might not talk to you again.



If Big Boy is REALLY not listening, I sometimes ask him, "Where's your good listening?"



His latest: "It's in that big tree over there." Or, "I ate it." Or, "I threw it out the window."



This kid's just a toddler -- but I think he's onto something.

Remember how I said we live outside of town, and the closest grocery store is 15 minutes away? Well, the closest grocery store is in another small town -- let's call it Stupid Town. The problem with that town is that it has grown so fast, the brainpower of town planners hasn't been able to keep up.

For one thing, there's a main thoroughfare -- let's call it Main Thoroughfare Road -- and it previously was a residential street. Now it's one way to get from one side of town to the other. So the town planners decided to re-do the entire street. They widened it, put sidewalks on it, put up new, easy-to-read street signs -- it looks very nice. But the speed limit is still 25 miles per hour. And there are NO LEFT TURN lanes. Seriously, thousands of people use this road every hour and not a one can turn left to save his own life. So of course, traffic is constantly blocked in the left lane. And there's ALWAYS a photo radar van on this road, which I of course forgot a couple months ago, resulting in a speeding ticket.

So yesterday, we had to leave playgroup early because Big Boy threw a fit because I wouldn't let him have carrot cake. So his fit continues in the car. We're in Stupid Town, and I want to get home and feed Big Boy lunch and put him to bed for a nap. So I think I'm being clever and will take Main Thoroughfare Road through town. I know I have to turn on another road -- Roundup -- to get to Main Thoroughfare. So I turn on it, and I'm thinking, this doesn't seem to be going the right direction. Of course it's a winding road, and there's nowhere safe to turn around. So I keep going. Pretty soon I'm positive I'm going the wrong way. And I can't get back to ANY main road, so that I can find the right Roundup.

So we're driving and Big Boy is screaming and crying, "I want my flip flops on, I don't want my flipflops on, I'm hungry, I don't want lunch, I want cake, I want to go back to playgroup, I don't want to go back to playgroup, I want to go home, I don't like our house, our house is yucky, I want lunch, I don't want to wear shorts, I want my jeans, I want my shorts, I want my flip flops on, take my flip flops off."

And I'm driving. And driving. And driving. I'm passing streets like Donkey Drive, Wagon Wheel Way, Flapjack Road (that's a real one), Bob Road (seriously). I'm driving. And still, we're winding around in every direction. The main road is visible, but the only way to get to it is to drive through a dry grassy field. Finally, after about 20 minutes, I get back to where I started. And now we still have a 20-minute drive home.

And when I'm finally driving home, I see about three more Roundup Roads that start and end haphazardly all over town. Seriously. Half the roads in Stupid Town don't go through -- they start and stop here and there. And you never get anywhere!

"I don't want lunch. I want cake. I'm hungry. Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! I want my flip flops! I don't want to wear shorts. I don't want to eat lunch. I want lunch. I don't want peanut butter and jelly. I want peanut butter and jelly."

My next door neighbors

Okay, now that you've been reading for about a week, I feel obligated to share one more little fact that I didn't share on Day One.

I live next door to my parents.

"Geez," you're thinking, "how did that happen?"

Well, I'll tell you: my dad is a builder. He bought two vacant sites in the town where we currently live. On one, we built our house, and on the adjacent one, he built another house. All along my parents joked that they were going to move in next to us. Dad bought another vacant site in a city nearby (about a half-hour from here). Several years ago, he and my mom moved into the house in a nearby city. Then the real estate market took a dive, as everybody knows, and my parents decided that the house they were living in was more likely to sell than the house next door to us (we live in a more rural area). So -- no joke -- they moved in next door!

Most people would cringe at this thought -- and I did, too, admittedly. I mean, who wants to live next to their parents? RIGHT next to their parents? But actually, it's been pretty awesome. Talk about borrowing a cup of sugar from your neighbors! I've borrowed coffee, sugar, bread, dog food, the fax machine, almost everything. As I said, we live in kind of a rural area -- the nearest grocery store is 15 minutes away. My mom works in town so she usually calls if she stops by the grocery store on the way home, and asks if I need anything. When the boys have been sick, she'll offer to pick up prescriptions on the way home so I don't have to take the kids back out. If Big Boy wants to visit grandma and grandpa, we can run up there and I can leave him there for a while. They can run down for dinner if MrDartt works late and I want the company. They respect our privacy and have been a huge help.

There are a couple of drawbacks. My dad thinks it's funny when his dog comes into our yard and poops. Never mind that we have two big (well, one medium and one huge) dogs and two big dogs' poops to clean up already. Also, something happened recently that caused my dad to believe that our house might one day be attacked. So, he has mounted two huge lights on his deck, overlooking our yard so that in the event that bad guys attack our house, he can illuminate our entire front yard and who knows what else. I'm not sure what is supposed to happen after that. Maybe he pushes a button and sniper rifles come out of the turrets -- I'm not sure. But in the event that our house is attacked and it's nighttime, I'm supposed to call him; that is, after I've called the police, activated MrDartt's emergency response plan and mopped the floor so nobody knows how dirty it really is. When I call dad, he will illuminate. Awesome.

Friends are the BEST!

When Big Boy was about six months old, I joined a club, MOMS Club (stands for Moms Offering Moms Support). During the past two years, it's been a lifesaver, childsaver and husbandsaver.

And it's all because of the friends I've made there.

Some sample conversations:
"Oh, your kid beats on you, too?"
"Your husband needs 12 hours of sleep to function, too?"
"What do you do to discipline your kid, instead of screaming?"
"You have to run around the house cleaning before anyone other than family comes over, too?"

Although my husband probably would tell you that I'm already crazy, I would definitely be insane if I hadn't joined this moms club. This past July, I joined the MOMS Club board. I'm the secretary, so I write the newsletter. But the best part is that once a month, we have an official board meeting. We get together at someone's house for dinner (hosts rotate), and plan the next month's calendar, discuss business, and talk.

We talk about religion, kids, husbands, pets, work, education, finances, gardening, even our crazy college years. My favorite part, though, is that we laugh.

MB's house has a long driveway, which you have to back down since you can't turn around at the top. The first time we met there for dinner, four of us had to back down. I had SJ in my car, since we'd carpooled. LS was in front of us and had to back down, go forward, turn, back down, turn, go forward, turn, back down -- it was so funny and SJ and I were laughing so hard that I couldn't back down, either. And of course you have to turn just so at the bottom of the driveway -- no, really, you do. So I'm backing down, turning, going forward, backing down, turning, turning, going forward, turning. We're cracking up, and it's making it harder and harder for me to get out. Of course we all got out.

After that, we teased poor LS to no end, but she's a good sport. The next time we met at MB's house, she parked on the street and walked down the darn driveway. I had to back down, turn, go forward, turn, back down, turn...

I always feel so refreshed after meeting with the board -- our meetings are probably 60 percent fun and 40 percent business. I just think this illustrates the importance of having friends and of being able to share with them -- whether you're trading stories about kids throwing tantrums, saving money on groceries, how you've been neglecting your hair, or how your dinner turned out totally crappy the other night but your nice husband ate it anyway.

I am so grateful for my MOMS Club friends and ALL my friends -- especially as they've kept me from totally going over the edge.

Big Boy, the wallflower -- yeah, right!

My mother-in-law and her husband came into town yesterday from Alaska. We don't get to see them as often as we like (no, I'm serious, I really like them both), and I was worried about Big Boy's reaction to them, since the last time he saw grandma was a year ago and a year's a long time in a two-year-old's life.

So I really talked up their visit in the days leading up to their arrival. Turns out I had no cause to worry. Right when they got to our house, he took grandma downstairs to show her the bed she'd be sleeping in. He told her she was tired, so she laid down and he covered her up.

Then last night at dinner, Big Boy finished eating before we did, so we let him down from his high chair and he decided he wanted some undies (long story short: he REALLY wanted pull-up diapers and we got them on the condition that he had to go potty in the big boy potty, which lasted about two days so we put him back in regular diapers). So we still had one pull-up diaper in the car in the diaper bag.

He ran out to the garage while all the adults were still eating, and ran back into the dining room, yanked his pants down, tore off the tabs on the diaper, and flung the diaper off. Then he ran around the house with just his shirt on, until he decided to put on his undies. Later, my niece was opening some birthday presents and he took a pack of hairties she'd gotten and started taking one off the package. MrDartt told him those were his cousin's, and he tossed them aside, grabbed a stuffed bunny and started hitting our eight-year-old nephew with it (they'd been wrestling all night, so I guess Big Boy was wound up). I got up to take the bunny from Big Boy, and he quickly stuffed it under his shirt. As grandma's husband pointed out, it's hard to discipline when everyone, including mom, is laughing. But I held it together and put the bunny in toy timeout with the fan Big Boy had used earlier to hit Little Boy in the head.

And to think I'd been worried that he'd turn into a wallflower and not want anything to do with anyone. Ha!

Throughout the night, Big Boy had been asking, "Should we have cake now?" FINALLY, after presents, Big Boy went to ask grandma and Papa R if we could have cake. They said okay, so he went to ask Aunt L and Uncle S. Uncle S said he had to have a hug first. Then grandma and Papa R said they needed hugs too. So then Big Boy ran over to Uncle B and said, "Should we have cake?" and flung his arms around him before planting a kiss on his lips -- kid learns fast, I guess. Or kid really wanted cake.

Anyway, it was a fun night. And grandma and Aunt L did the dishes. Awesome.

Big Boy is feeling lots better today -- I can tell because he's in a nasty mood. I went to give him a kiss this morning and he grabbed my face and dug his thumb nail into my eye.

Now that his health crisis is over, I feel the need to discuss the deplorable state of telephone manners today.

I'm not talking about the people in the movie theater who, when a character comes into a room, gasp and then loud-whisper, "She just came into the room." I'm not talking about the people at the grocery store who park their cart on one side of the aisle and then stand between the cart and the olives, studying the olives for five minutes and therefore blocking the entire aisle for five minutes.

I am talking about people who either get paid to answer the phone and then act like you're inconveniencing them when you call, or people who call you and want something from you, but act as if you called them at a bad time.

Two examples:

A few days ago, I was returning a call from my Big Brothers Big Sisters match advisor. She'd called the day before. The receptionist answered the phone, and I asked for my advisor.

"Mmm, I don't think she's here. Let me check. Nope, she's not here."

That was it.

"Okay," I said, "do you take messages over there, or should I just call back and hope she's around?"

Before I had Big Boy, I was a reporter at a daily newspaper. One day, my phone rang and I answered it (don't worry, this story does get better). Here's what I heard.

Chew. Chew. Swallow. "Hi. Is this MrsDartt?"

"Yes," I answered.

Lip-smack. "Hi, this is RudeCaller from College and I am not sure ..." Chew. Swallow. "If I've called the right person. But we're starting a ... " Rustle (is she wiping off the phone? I don't know). "Women's resource center downtown and wondered if you wanted to cover it."

I asked her if she had some more information, like what kinds of resources, for what kinds of women (is this for women in general, homeless women, abused women, single mothers, young women, old women, wrinkled women, women who talk with their mouths full, etc.). I asked when it might open, where it would be, if she had any pictures to create a visual, if the center had a name ...

And you know what? She didn't have answers to any of these questions. She basically rustled, chewed, swallowed, and talked with her mouth full to tell me that she didn't know anything about the center she wanted me to write about. And she was the spokesperson for this group. Her not having the information would have just been funny if it hadn't been for the eating thing.

These phone conversations actually occurred. I didn't make them up!

So I want to know what has happened in America today (or is it just the town where I live?). I want to know when it became okay for someone to not take a message or at least recommend a better time to call back. Or when it became polite to talk with your mouth full during a business phone call. Any ideas? Is it just me?

Four to Seven Kids? No WAY!

Okay, can I please change the answers I provided for the quiz, "How Many Kids Should You Have?" on Facebook?

Some of the questions related to my handling of bodily fluids, my need for sleep, and my tolerance of outhouse smells. My answers to those questions determined that I should have four to seven kids. I've always wanted a handful but I am reevaluating.

Let me just start out by saying that I am a very olfactory person. I smell everything. Smells trigger memories, and they also trigger some strong physical reactions (did I mention that I have an overactive gag reflex?).

Yesterday when Big Boy woke up from his shorter-than-usual nap, he threw up his lunch on the carpet. Fresh watermelon, green beans, and pb&j. And five jelly beans, which we counted out after he ate his whole sandwich. So while I cleaned that up, and spot-shampooed the carpet, I called my husband to let him know Big Boy wasn't feeling well. "I'm having a hard time not gagging," I reported. "And what did you say about bodily fluids on that quiz?" he joked. I gave Big Boy some soda to settle his stomach and keep him hydrated.

Then we drove quickly to the post office to mail a letter that had to go out yesterday. Big Boy projectile-vomited his soda and a few sandwich remnants all over himself and his carseat. So I sprayed out the carseat with the hose and put the cover in the washer.

Then he wanted more soda and I was thinking that he might be able to just keep a little down. So I gave him that, and when we walked outside to meet my parents in the driveway (they were dropping off some Gatorade and saltine crackers for him), he threw up all over my arm and the garage floor. Totally gross.

I promise this is going somewhere.

So, I put Big Boy to bed by 7 p.m. He woke up once at midnight and threw up a tiny bit on the towel I'd put over his pillow. Then he woke up at 4:45 a.m. and wanted to be up. I got him back to bed by 5:30 a.m., and Little Boy woke up at 5:40 (he'd been in bed since 6 p.m. yesterday because he was so crabby it was all I could do with him!).

When Big Boy woke back up at 6:30, he was thirsty so I gave him a little Gatorade and a few saltine crackers. He was sitting on the stool at the bar, and he announced, "I'm poopy." Sure enough, it had leaked onto the stool cushion. So I changed his diaper. A few minutes later, he said, "I'm poopy again." So I changed his diaper again. The whole house stinks. It's too cold to run the ceiling fan so I lit a scented candle.

Now, it's only 8:30 a.m. and I feel tired and quite queasy. I want to revise my answers to the "How Many Kids Should You Have?" Quiz to reflect that I CANNOT tolerate the smell of an outhouse (I'm pretty sure that's how I answered anyway), I gag when changing the very poopy diaper on a sick boy (or when cleaning up warm throw up), and I want to sleep past 4:45 a.m.

But here's the best part: yesterday, after I cleaned up Big Boy's first throw up from the living room carpet, he asked me where his throw up was.

"I cleaned it up," I said.
He replied, "Oh, THANK you, Mommy. Thank you for cleaning up my throw up."

today's mission: act like a kid

I love holidays. Of course, you get all the good stuff on holidays, like food, candy, dessert, wine, more food, more wine. But what I really love is that holidays give you time to get together with a bunch of adults and act like a bunch of kids.

This Saturday, my clever mother planned an Easter scavenger hunt. Teams comprised my sister-in-law, my youngest brother's girlfriend and myself against my two brothers and my husband.

The girls wanted to win so bad! We had to run all over town, taking pictures here and videos there (yes, that was us singing "God Bless America" next to the statue downtown). We had to collect wrapped toothpicks and road apples (I'm pretty sure that was my dad's idea).

After my parents privately tallied the results, they suggested a tie-breaker. My brothers and I knew that meant somebody had won, but just by a hair. After the points were cast appropriately (the boys didn't get credit for the video of a live owl -- they'd downloaded it off the internet on a phone; the girls didn't get credit for a picture of a wrecked car -- it wasn't very wrecked and the girls were not in the picture), I decided to review the points myself.

Alas, I found out that the boys had won -- but by one measley point. But a point is a point. I looked at my dad a few times, and he looked at me, and I knew he was waiting for me to concede. So I did. No tie-breaker after all. But next time, the girls will prevail.

Then we had an egg hunt in my parents' house (it rained all day!). I of course found only one egg, before someone helped me find a second one.

My mom said, "I'm suprised your brother has only found one egg."
I said, "Aren't you surprised I've only found one egg?"
She said, "No, he's a better looker than you are."

So it wasn't totally like being a kid -- when we were kids, my mom never would have admitted that she thinks my brother's a better looker than I am. But I guess you can't really go back.

We had so much fun that evening, and I propose that every adult take a little time each day to act like a kid. You don't have to go on a scavenger hunt and get a photo of yourself standing on your head at Big O Tires, but do something fun, just because! And remember, winning isn't everything. (Yeah, right.)

Big Boy's Pocket

Today, two things happened: Big Boy put his own socks on for the first time – yippee! – and later, in the car, he told me he had time in his pocket.

The quick consecutive occurrence of these two things got me thinking. I often feel rushed and frazzled as I move through each day. I’m a regular laundry-washing-and-folding conveyer belt, carpet vacuumer and a toy picker-upper. I’m scheduling appointments while I’m scribbling bill payments. I’m nursing an infant while making pb and j for a toddler.

So today, after Big Boy had finally succeeded in getting his socks on, we were driving (in a rush) to the grocery store. He spotted a restaurant that has an indoor play area and asked if we could go there.

I told him, “Maybe later, if we have time.” He squirmed around in his seat, digging his hand into his pocket, and then pulled out something neither of us could see.
“I have time, Mommy,” he said, holding his hand up for me to see. “Right here! We can go! I have time!”

For some reason, I suddenly felt very sad. Nobody can just pull time out of his pocket. So while I’m rushing to and fro, trying to keep the house clean and the laundry done, my little boy is learning to put on his socks and make a very tall block tower.

But I can’t get this time back. He’ll never be 2 again, struggling to get his shirt on right and his undies on frontwards, and rejoicing in getting his sock on over that darn pinky toe. Sure, 10 years from now, he will have different challenges and successes. But he’ll be in school and at sports practice and I won’t have a front row seat to these things that happen in his life.

So I have resolved to spend more time focusing on my boys and the little, yet amazing things they accomplish each day, whether it’s getting socks on or sitting up. That other stuff can wait (as long as we have clean underwear). And when somebody figures out how to get more time, I just might start to worry about the dishes.

houseplants and other unsavory characters

Okay, I know I said I wouldn't do this, but I need help -- and the best way to get help is to ask, right? I'm introducing you to some of my houseplants.

Check out my ficus tree! A friend gave it to us two years ago, since she was moving and couldn't take it with her. At the time it was shedding or molting or whatever trees do when they drop leaves, so we attributed its ratty appearance to that. Only it's never really started looking better. I did some internet research about caring for ficus trees, and basically ficus trees don't like anything. To paraphrase an article I read, "For optimum ficus tree health, don't overwater, underwater, move, prune, touch, breathe on or look at a ficus tree."

So I put it in a spot where it gets lots of indirect light. Some spots on the tree look great but mostly it looks terrible and I don't know what to do. Any suggestions?

Two of my cacti have shriveled up, despite my attempts not to overwater or underlight them. I thought you couldn't kill a cactus...I suspect this problem could be light-related but have given up because I'm pretty sure those guys are dead. I have started replacing dead houseplants with fake houseplants -- like the herb garden I planted under a grow light in my kitchen. Now they're plastic and they look pretty but don't taste very good.

So those are my houseplants. Don't worry, some of them are healthy and thriving. And so are my children.

On to the pets:

Let me preface this with the fact that I don't think I'm a pet person any more.

Izzy, one of the cats, is perhaps the least annoying pet, except that she's a scratcher. She doesn't scratch humans and she is very tolerant of Big Boy, but our door jambs look like one of our cactus plants has mutated, has legs, and can't fit through doorways. Since the birth of Little Boy, Izzy has taken to sleeping on my pillow, which is somewhat endearing but mostly annoying. Her history: My dad found her at one of his job sites (he builds houses), living in a cardboard box.

Ruby, the other cat, has an eating disorder. I am not joking or making light of eating disorders. Ruby is always hungry, even when her bowl is full. She meows constantly. She binges on food and then throws up. Constantly. I have had her evaluated by two veterinarians but she doesn't seem to be unhealthy (except for the constant puking, right?). This brings me to Lola.

Lola is one of our canines. She has only two positive characteristics: she eats Ruby's throw up if she gets into the house and notices a pile I have missed. Also, she is very nice to both boys she lets them do almost anything to her. I insisted on getting her as an outside dog so she could protect us! This was all my idea. You see, thieves broke into my husband's truck two years ago, in our driveway. They made off with a lot of loot. It freaked me out. Enter Lola. She's hairy and she barks all the time. She barks at cars driving by. She barks at other dogs barking. She barks at spiders in the yard. Sometimes she barks at nothing. She also eats various parts of our irrigation system. Her existence, as it relates to our household, has caused some tension between MrsDartt and MrDartt. Quite a bit of tension.

Then there's Louie. When I adopted him as a roommate after buying my first house, he was the perfect dog. He was a little shy, but he did pretty much everything right (except for eating my couch cushions). Now, though, he's grown more and more skittish. If we open the front door too fast, his feet go a million miles an hour as he scrambles to get outside, all the while clacking on the wood floor, causing quite a ruckus. He won't walk through the kitchen, so if you get stuck between Louie and the side of the counter you have to pass to get into the kitchen, his feet go a million miles an hour as he scrambles to get out of your way. The clacking drives MrDartt crazy. MrsDartt, too, actually.

Now you know everybody in our household. We will not be adding any living beings, plant or animal (including human) for a while.

main players -- human

Four humans, two canines and two felines live in our house. And various houseplants in varying stages of the life cycle. I thought you should know more about all of us (except the houseplants -- I'm kind of embarrassed to elaborate):

First, the humans:

There’s me, Mrs. Dartt. I’m a 20-something (almost 30!) wife, mother, writer and optimist who likes pretty much everybody but also has quite a list of pet peeves.

Then there’s Mr. Dartt. He’s a 30-something husband, dad, hard worker and pessimist who is surprised when things turn out well and is grudgingly accepting optimism as a good lifestyle.

Our two children, Big Boy and Little Boy, are 2.5 years old and seven months old, respectively.

Big Boy is a rambunctious, ever-moving firecracker who enjoys going down slides, singing and running on the treadmill (he only got to do it once under Mr. Dartt’s supervision before Mrs. Dartt found out about it and laid down the law – what a party pooper, right?). He loves Curious George books. He talks nonstop and has only recently discovered that he likes to sing.

Little Boy is relaxed, smiley and cuddly (all unlike his big brother). He spits up constantly but seems to enjoy it. He also bursts into tears when certain friends and family members speak to him. I'm hoping this is just a phase and that he will not continue to do this throughout his life. I hope he outgrows it before a girl he is dating when he's a teenager brings him home to meet her parents. "Hello, Little Boy, nice to meet you." (Eyes squint shut, mouth opens and screams ensue.)

Check in later for introductions to the canines and felines.

Hope everybody is having a wonderful day -- and looking forward to a relaxing weekend!

Introductions

Welcome to my blog, DarttBoard. Thanks for stopping by! I hope that you will find something you can relate to, or at least something you can enjoy, in reading snippets from my life, my experiences and my thoughts …

Here are just a few things I think you should know about me before we get started:

One. I love being a mother. Love it. Even when my two year old asks for blue milk and then refuses to drink it because it’s blue. And then throws his sippy cup on the floor because he wants regular milk, and blue milk is not his favorite any more. And then cries when I put the blue milk in the refrigerator because he wants blue milk and he is so thirsty.

Two. I love my husband so much … and I know I don't express it often enough or well enough. I rely on him more than he probably knows.

Three. I am addicted to saving money.

Four. I almost always smell like spit up.

Five. My forehead is so wrinkly that I had to cut bangs. Every time I cut bangs, I hate them, because they never look right. But vanity won out. Bad bangs beat wrinkles, I guess.

Six. I am not a very good housekeeper. I avoid hand-washing dishes, and I don’t iron. I do pick up toys and wash and fold laundry.

Seven. I kill houseplants. I don’t sneak up on them in the dark with a weapon, but I slowly overwater or underlight them to death, or expose them to a toddler’s deadly whims. It's a wonder I've kept two human children alive.

Eight. I drive a Volvo. This has many implications, I know. But the worst is that I am a hypocrite. Throughout my young driving years, I constantly made fun of Volvo drivers for driving the speed limit. And now I’ve joined them, driving the speed limit. Most of the time.

Nine. My sophomore year in high school, my graduating class' homecoming theme was Peter Pan, and our float was a pirate ship. During halftime at the homecoming game, as I rode in our float around the football field, I mooned the oppsoing team's spectators through a porthole.

Ten. Last night I ate two (yes, TWO) pieces of chocolate cake.



That's it for now. I hope you will check back often and share your own thoughts, feelings, advice, pet peeves and secrets!