My dad calls them The Oblivious and The Rude

Here's what I don't get: how can so many people in one place at one time a)be so oblivious or b)be so rude that I can't get my grocery shopping done?
The other day MrDartt and I went on two separate shopping trips. He and Big Boy went to the Home Depot and I took Little Boy to the grocery store.
It was my job to get food to feed the dads for Memorial Day.
I have to say that when I first approached the grocery store, a very nice man helped me detangle two shopping carts since my hands were full and I couldn't get them apart one-handed. So that was very nice. He was one polite person out of 853 I ran into inside the grocery store.
First, I went to produce to get salsa makings. My first mistake. I encountered two women in their 40s to 60s, shopping together. One was wearing one of those leather cowboy hats. I don't know if they were friends, sisters, a couple, what, but each had her own cart. They were examining the tomatoes. A box of 4 tomatoes was on sale for $1.50 or something. Good price, but these two women were standing there, blocking the entire walkway between the tomatoes and the next bin, and blocking the entire tomato display so no one else (including me) could get to the tomatoes. Remember these two women.
So then, I went to walk along the back of the store, to get to the next aisle. A man was standing at the deli counter and another customer was standing exactly next to him, so no one, including me, could get between them to walk from produce to the next aisle. So I excused myself and one of them moved. In the next aisle, I walked about halfway down, and two women were examining the canned fish. Their carts were side by side in the aisle so no one, including me, could walk past them to get through the aisle. As luck would have it, I, too, needed canned fish. MrDartt wanted it for a make-his-own pizza. But I couldn't even look at the canned fish.
Things went on like this. I wanted to go to the meat section to look at the ribs (baby back ribs: buy one get two free!). Sure enough, at the meat section I ran into the two women with the two carts and one cowboy hat. Blocking another aisle! They were standing between the cheese display and the rib display so once again, no one else could look at either display or walk past. Seriously.
Then I went to the dog food aisle and there were no big bags of dog food. Just not even there. A grandmother stopped to talk to Little Boy and tell me all about her own childbirth expriences and about her own grandchildren. That was okay until another lady came down the aisle and couldn't get past. I moved my cart so she could get through but she couldn't get past the grandmother's cart. I was embarrassed. The grandmother just ignored her so I said, "I think this woman is trying to get by." She just kept talking to Little Boy! Believe me, he's 8 months old. He's not much of a conversationalist.
Grandmother told me the big bags of dog food are at the front of the store, in front of the cash registers. So I went to the front of the store, and a cashier yelled at me, "You have to put your basket on THIS side!"
"Just getting dog food," I muttered.
Then, when I went to go through the line, the cashier grabbed the basket before I had a chance to grab Little Boy and sometime between that time and the time I finished paying, he'd spit out his pacifier and lost it.
When I finally got to the car I realized I forgot mushrooms but I drove to a different store to get them.
Is it like this everywhere? Or did I just get to the store at a bad time on a bad day with bad people?

Challenges from Big Boy

Big Boy notices everything.
He notices when I change the color of my toenail polish. He notices when I'm wearing my heart pajama bottoms and a blue tank top rather than the heart pajama bottoms and the proper heart pajama top. He notices when I put my hair up (and it's driven him to tantrums). He notices if I switch purses. He notices if I've put on mascara.
So I should not have been surprised this morning when we were watching Dora and he said, "Mommy, Dora is brown. Why Dora's brown, Mommy?"
But I WAS surprised!
I said, "Well, some people just have darker skin and some people have lighter skin."
He said, "We have lighter skin, Mommy. I wish I was brown like Dora."
"Well," I said, "You just have lighter skin and that's okay."
He said, "She has brown eyes. I wish I had brown eyes like Dora. You have green eyes, Mommy. I have blue eyes. I wish I had brown eyes like Dora."
"Well," I said, "Your eyes can see and that's important. It doesn't matter what color they are."
WHAT DO YOU SAY?
I'm finding, increasingly, that motherhood is requiring me to think a lot faster than I anticipated, and to question what I say more frequently.
I want to give Big Boy straight answers, but I don't want to say too much so he doesn't understand. But geez, he sure comes up with some challenging ones!

Defensive Driving School

This morning I had to attend defensive driving school.
I received a photo radar ticket when I was driving in Stupid Town, on Main Thoroughfare Road. I was traveling at 38 miles per hour in a 25-mph zone. I was late for my haircut. I always warn MrDartt when he's driving on Main Thoroughfare Road that there's ALWAYS a photo radar van on that road, so don't speed. So of course I was late for my haircut and I was passing someone who was going probably 30 miles per hour (the horror!). Right when I passed this other driver, FLASH! I knew I'd been got.
So anyway, I had to go to defensive driving school this morning. I had to be there at 8:10, and the class started at 8:30. First, MrDartt let me sleep in, and woke me up at 6:45 to feed Little Boy. At 7:05 or so I showered, dressed, drank coffee, all that good morning stuff. Then I cut up an apple to take with me and filled a bag with trail mix. MrDartt made me oatmeal, which I planned to eat in the car ("I don't like it when you eat oatmeal in the car," MrDartt said, as I was preparing to leave for defensive driving school).
As I'm about to run out of the house, MrDartt asks if I have my phone. Nope, it's in the hanging fruit basket with the squash (where Big Boy can't reach it).
Because I'd forgotten the address (which I'd written down somewhere), I'd looked up "State Defensive Driving School" in the phone book but didn't find it. I thought I'd be able to find it, because the guy who signed me up had told me there'd be a sandwich sign out there.
So I'm driving and I think, "I'd better count my money, to make sure that I have the cash" (it costs $175 and you have to pay cash or money order). Nope, I'm $15 short. So I'm going to have to stop at the ATM.
By now, it's already 8:05. So I go to the ATM and get $20 more, and then I head over to the street where the school is. Only, I can't find it. I'm driving back and forth along the road, not finding the school. So then I realized, maybe it's called "Stupid Town Defensive Driving School," so I call MrDartt and ask him to look it up in the phone book. He can't find it.
So I call information. I give the operator my city and state. I get disconnected. I try again, and they connect my call. I get disconnected.
I call the number directly. Straight to voicemail. MrDartt calls back and has found the address on his fancy phone. I found it. No sandwich sign. No cars. There's a sign on the double doors directing me to use the side door. I'm thinking maybe there's another parking area in front.
On the side door, there's a little handwritten sign that says, "Out of office. Call xxx-xxxx." So I call that number (it's the same one I'd called a few minutes before). Straight to voicemail, with a message that this guy can't get messages.
Then I realize, maybe defensive driving school is supposed to be next weekend.
But I can't find the paper where I wrote everything down.

RIP Ruby and the Barf

Warning: This post might gross you out.

I am pretty sure our bulimic cat, Ruby, is dead.

She has been missing for some time now, and since she's very dramatic about her food intake, that can only mean one thing: she's not coming back.

More than anything, I feel guilt that I am not very sad that she is not coming back. She was a nice enough cat, but she did not bring anything into my life except annoyance. Of course, I hope that she laid herself down and had a nice peaceful death and that she did not get eaten by a coyote (although spring has sprung here and that is semi-likely). I hope she did not have any fear or pain.

But she was so annoying! She meowed constantly, and then would climb in your lap and nurse on your shirt while kneading your tummy. She would arch up to be pet, but only wanted to be scratched on the neck. And if you did that too long, she'd shake her head and get slobber everywhere. And then there was the whole thing I mentioned before, in the Introductions post, that she did, where she'd cry and cry for food, then swallow it whole, then run somewhere and barf it up. So you'd always be walking along with bare feet in the dark when you found the barf. Even now, we find barf in weird places, all dried up.

So I don't think I'll miss her. It's one less mouth to feed, one less poop to scoop in the litter box (even though MrDartt mostly does that dirty work), and one less being's barf to clean up.

I feel terrible about times I kicked her off the carpet and onto the wood floor as she was getting ready to barf, sending her skidding across the hall, leaving a trail of barf on the floor.

Don't worry, I took her to the vet for this throwing up thing, and they said there was nothing wrong with her -- probably anxiety related. In a cat.

I noticed recently that she was getting skinny but I thought it's just because it's getting hot and she liked to be outside. I thought it could be age -- I've had her at least six years and don't know how old she was when I got her.

Isn't it horrible that I don't think I'll miss her, and that the only real reason I'm sad is because I feel bad for her that I don't think I'll miss her?

Rest In Peace, Ruby.

Hopefully cats don't barf in cat heaven.

Phones and Availability

When it was time for us to renew our mobile phone plans, MrDartt really wanted a "cool" phone. So he got a touch-screen phone that does all kinds of cool stuff. It surfs the Internet and has all kinds of other cool applications. When he got that phone, I also got a "cool" phone. It gives me my e-mail and lets me e-mail people back. We use it as the modem for our computer at home. It has a calendar (which I don't know how to use) and can store music (which I don't know how to do). It has a camera (which I always use by accident) and a voice-activiated dialing system (which turns itself on and then makes itself dial).
Anyway, my point (yes, I have one!) is that sometimes I feel addicted to my phone. I love to check my e-mail if I'm expecting something special, like when my friend just had a baby and she e-mailed baby pictures -- I could see them immediately on my phone and didn't have to wait until I got home and could see them on my computer.
But on the other hand, sometimes I feel kind of trapped by it. Because I know that if I ever respond to people's e-mails by phone, there's a little tagline at the bottom of my outgoing message that says something like, "Sent from my Alltel Blackberry." So THEN, people know that I have the capability to read and respond to e-mail from anywhere, and then they expect instant answers. But sometimes I'm playing with the kids or feeding the kids dinner or reading or something and I just don't want to check my e-mail or respond to anyone. And it takes me so long to type on the darn thing, it takes much longer to compose a message!
I suppose this is just an illustration of the benefits and drawbacks of technology -- yes, it's awesome to be able to look at baby pictures immediately, or to see that I do, in fact, have a new writing assignment from my editor. But sometimes it's not so awesome that people expect me to read and respond to their e-mails within a millisecond.
When it comes time to get new phones, I will see which side wins. Will I get a fancy phone with e-mail capability? Probably. But will I still wish for a regular old phone, whose capability stops at talking to other people? Probably.

Watching TV

Sometimes I wish we had DVR. Last night, I wanted to watch "Glee." It was the premier, and it started at 8 p.m. here. But I had a lot of work to do, and I didn't want to work and watch TV at the same time. My deadline for completing this particular assignment was today, so I coudln't put it off, either. If we had DVR, obviously, I could have recorded "Glee" on DVR. But we do not. Both of our VCRs are broken, so we have to hook our little teeny tiny TV/VCR combo up to the TV in our bedroom and record stuff that way.
I rarely record. And aside from financial reasons, that's a reason we don't have DVR. I feel like, if you don't have time to watch it, you don't have time to watch it. So if you can't find time to watch it when it comes on, when are you going to find time to watch it? MrDartt says that you can always watch it on the weekends or something, when there's nothing else on. But when do we have time to watch TV on the weekends? I'll tell you: we don't. At night, we watch rented movies we get from Netflix. And MrDartt goes through movie withdrawals if we don't watch movies. So if we replaced our movie-watching with DVR watching, then maybe we'd have time to watch recorded stuff.
I really want to watch "Glee." So now, since I recorded it with our mini TV/VCR combo, I have to find an hour to watch it. My problem is that I don't watch TV during the day, unless both boys are sleeping. But at this point, if both boys are sleeping, I'm working. And after they go to bed, I'm working. And then I have to go to sleep early because they get up early and if I don't go to sleep early I feel terrible all the next day. So when, oh when, will I find time to watch "Glee"? It's killing me! I want to watch it so bad. And now I have it recorded so I HAVE to watch it.
I almost wish I hadn't recorded it.
I think having DVR might kill me.
So maybe I'm glad we don't have it.
Hard to say.

Change

Isn't it interesting how much we change over time?
Of course, you change physically (I have a wrinkly forehead now, whereas I did not before, for example). But you change so much more, mentally.
For example, I found this little notebook in which a friend and I used to write notes back and forth to each other in high school. We talked about failed vocabulary tests (that was before we starting making "decorative" cheat sheets that we put in the front covers of those see-through binders -- sorry, Mrs. Giroux).
And we called our English class "Math, Art, History, English" class, until our teacher started making us guess what Latin roots meant -- then we called it, "Math, Art, History, English, Estimation" class.
Anyway, I was flipping through the little notebook and laughing at the funny things that concerned us in 11th grade.
"I'm getting used to the feeling of loneliness," my friend wrote after a boy she liked didn't like her back. Now, of course, she's happily married with two little munchkins. She has a ton of friends and a supportive family. She's not lonely these days.
And instead of discussing math and vocab tests and the whims of teenage boys, we discuss childrearing, discipline, quilting, and the whims of our adult husbands.
At dinner with three girlfriends over the weekend, one of them told us she went to visit some friends and saw their beautiful kitchen with beautiful pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, and she thought, "Oh, the things I could do in this kitchen." One of the friends reminded her that several years back, she'd been in the same kitchen and said something about never cooking. Now she cooks dinner for her family every night and was saying what a treat it would be for her husband to cook more.
I wonder if, 15 years from now, we'll look back on our current lives and think how silly our thoughts and concerns were. We'll just have to see. Makes me think maybe I shouldn't take stuff too seriously (not that it's okay for Big Boy to whack me in the face at playgroup, but not to get upset when I pack it up and head out early because he whacked me in the face -- after all, he hopefully will not be doing that 15 years from now. And if he is, he'll be in jail so it won't be my problem).
Just so you know, we finally called our English class "Old English Math Art History Religion Science" class. Poor Mrs. Giroux.
But who cares? I know a few Latin roots, even though I don't have the cheat sheets any more. And aren't Latin roots helpful in real life?

Reading the Dictionary

My husband, as I write (type), is sitting on the couch reading the dictionary. Seriously.
I just asked him what a good topic would be for today's post and he said, insane children (Big Boy has been crying off and on, hitting constantly, and on time out all morning). Then he said, "Yep, 'bodhisattva' is in here."
I looked over and he was reading a dictionary.
I said, "There's my topic for today. I never thought I'd marry a man who sits on the couch reading a dictionary."
He said, "Have me smoking a cigar, too, or something. And don't make me look dumb. I'm sure everybody who saw 'Point Break' knew what 'bodhisattva' meant."
Earlier during the week, my husband was reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," and he saw the word "bodhisattva" in there, with an explanation of what it meant (by the way, it means, "one whose essence is enlightenment" according to Webster, and its roots relate to Buddha).
When he saw the word in the book, he got so excited that he ran up and told me a 20-year mystery was solved. When he originally saw Point Break, with Keanu Reeves, he didn't know what that word meant. He never looked it up and so earlier in the week, while reading Zen, he recognized the word, learned its meaning and was VERY excited.
I certainly didn't know what "bodhisattva" meant -- I'd never even seen the word.
I urge each of you to go out and use it today, in a sentence or two. See how many people know what it means.
And just like my husband said, "I can't believe any movie with Keanu Reeves would have word like that in it."
Go figure.

Customer Service

My mom's birthday and Mother's Day are periously close together.

This year, all us kids decided to get her a Nintendo Wii for both holidays. We don't usually combine the two but it gets difficult to think of something to get her and we thought if we all went in together this would give mom and dad something fun to do besides go to movies.

So, I was in charge of going to buy it. I stupidly went to KMart in Stupid Town. Every time I go there, about nineteen people are standing in the one open cashier line and about ten employees are wandering the store putting stuff away while the line extends.

I went to the electronics section where a gentleman was helping a young man and the young man's mother look at digital cameras. They were looking at a lot of cameras. I had big boy in a shopping cart and we walked up to the camera counter. The worker did not even acknowledge us for at least seven minutes. Then he said he'd be right with us. Then a teenaged boy came over and started butting in, asking the worker questions. Then the camera boy asked the worker questions. Then a teenaged girl came and asked the worker questions.

So finally, I said, "I just want to buy a Nintendo Wii, is there someone else I need to ask for help?"

"Oh!" He jumped as if he'd forgotten I was there and my question had startled him. He asked the camera boy and his mom if he could help me very quickly. So he put away the cameras and as he was walking over to help me, the teenaged girl from before cornered him and asked him a question. About a ten-dollar phone case. So what do you think he did?

I'll tell you.

He walked over with the teenage girl and helped her with phone cases for probably another five minutes. Then he walked back over to the camera counter and started talking to the interrupting teenaged boy about when he'd be working. The camera kid and his mom were still there. So I walked across the department, back to the camera counter and stood there for another three minutes before the worker asked me, "What did I forget?"

AHHHH! Are you kidding me?

So he forgot the $250 sale while he was busy helping to NOT make a $10 sale. The teenaged girl with the phone case didn't buy a thing.

He ended up being very nice and friendly after he finally got me the darn game and let me pay for it and get the heck out of there. But come on!

So for real this time, I will not be going back to KMart in Stupid Town. Ever. Again.

Mother's Day

Of course we just celebrated Mother's Day, and I can't let the holiday pass without a little post about Mother's Day. It's the journalist in me.


Here are some things I love about being a mother.


1. I love how it has made me understand and appreciate my own mother even more. I still tease her about the same old stuff (isn't that what kids do to parents?). But she's the first person I turn to for advice if MrDartt and I don't know what to do with Big Boy and his strange behavior. She can listen to me and my dumb stories without judging, and we have become friends as I've grown up and she's gotten cooler (you know what I mean -- she was always cool but my outlook has changed).


2. I love it when my baby sees me and smiles and his little legs kick and he is obviously very excited. What I love most about it is that babies' emotions are true emotions. They don't know how to fake a smile. So when he hasn't seen me all morning because I slept in and he's just now seeing me for the first time in hours, and he's grinning so big and making that happy squealing noise, it just melts my heart.


3. I love how my 2.5-year-old will chase me to the door, yelling, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" when I am leaving for work.


4. Most of the time, I love how my 2.5-year-old will imitate things his dad and I say or do. Not when he mutters, "God damn it," when his sandwich falls apart for the umpteenth time, or spits on the ground because he says that's what daddy does (although I'm not sure if he's really seen daddy do that), but when he says, "Mommy, do you have any idea where my book is?" Or when he says, "That was really nice of you to make me lunch, Mommy," or, "Ooh, nice pants, Mommy!" or "Those bracelets look really handsome on you, Mommy." And even cooler is when they come up with their own silly stuff -- tonight Big Boy didn't want his corn on the cob cooked. He took a bite of it raw, and said, "Yep, I like it fresh. I want to eat it fresh, Mommy."


5. I love that just because I'm a mother, I get a special day when my husband will fold laundry for me as a nice surprise.


Of course there are some drawbacks to motherhood -- you have to get up at least six times during each meal to get something for someone, and if someone wakes up crying in the middle of the night you can't just go back to sleep -- but come on, that stuff is tiny compared to watching your little boy use the hose to fill his watering can, all the while tipping his watering can so that it's emptying faster than he can fill it.


Even though I'm a couple days late (wouldn't fly in the daily newspaper biz), Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there whose kids like fresh corn and other weird stuff.

How Much Do You Know About What Your Spouse is Really Doing?

I know, I know, four years of marriage isn't that long, so I shouldn't be surprised that I'm still learning new things about him. MrDartt and I tied the knot almost four years ago, after having dated only five months. We met in the Costco parking lot (a story for another day).
Today, MrDartt got called in to work (it's one of his days off). He had to leave at 4 p.m. Of course, I had worked this morning, then MrDartt had a dentist appointment, and I had a TON of indoor stuff to do (paying bills, making phone calls, etc.). And of course the boys didn't want to sleep when MrDartt was gone. When he got home at 3 p.m., Big Boy just wanted to "play basketball," which really means he wanted to go outside and walk around on the hill and play in a big bush. And "go to work." And to the "hopsital" because "mommy's not feeling very well."
Sidetracked again.
So MrDartt told Big Boy he'd go outside with him. On his way out, MrDartt asked if I'd throw together a sandwich for him to take to lunch. I made a sandwich (MrDartt bought himself "luncheon loaf" and bought me real ham lunch meat because he knew I wouldn't eat the luncheon loaf). Then, I cut up some celery and put some peanut butter in a small container. Then, I threw in a yogurt. When I went to put a spoon in the front pouch of his lunch box, I found a seasoning shaker that MrDartt had filled with a mixture of salt and pepper.
I didn't even know he'd done that, and I just thought it was so cute!
My husband loves to salt and pepper. He believes that when you serve people food, you should have salt and pepper on the table in case they want it. He always wants it. He tastes his food before salting and peppering, don't worry -- he's not one of those people that salts and peppers with reckless abandon.
So today, while throwing together a quick lunch for my hubby, I learned something new about him. He carries a salt-and-pepper mixture with him to work. I can just see it now, him dipping a celery stick in peanut butter, then sprinkling a little salt-and-pepper on it. Or peeling off the yogurt lid and tossing in a little salt and pepper. Or perhaps he's salting and peppering his peanut butter and jelly. Now I know.

Marriage comparisons

It's so funny the differences between couples.
For example, one of my friends was saying the other night that she does not like doing laundry. If the hamper starts getting full, her husband says, "The hamper's starting to get a little full," and she says, "If you want the laundry done, do it yourself." That's a slightly simplied paraphrase of the conversation as she explained it.
My husband, on the other hand, won't tell me he's running out of socks until he's wearing the very last pair (the green ones with beer mugs, which my mom got him for St. Patrick's Day one year). And then he'll very gently say, "Do you think you could do some whites? I don't have any socks left." And then I have to do them right away because he's out of socks. I've finally convinced him to let me know ahead of time before he runs out of socks, but he feels guilty. Laundry is a chore that I don't mind, though. Just don't ask me to iron.
Another example: both my husband and the husband of one of my friends must get at least 16 hours of sleep per night (yes, it's an exaggeration, I admit, but it sometimes seems like it). She once said, "That is just something that makes our marriage work." MrDartt doesn't feel like he sleeps very well so he usually stays in bed for two or so hours after the kids and I get up.
On the other hand, another couple we know takes turns "sleeping in," which means they stay in bed for 15 minutes after the kids get up.
My point (yes, I have one!) is that couples just have to do what works for them. What works for one couple may not work for another. What seems totally normal to one may seem awful to another. But I have to remember not to judge my friends' relationships just because they're different from mine.
I have one friend who's always telling me that my husband should help me more, should do something every day to give me a break (that's what her husband does), should suck it up and give the kids their baths even though it kills his back to sit on the bathroom floor. Sometimes I feel like she just doesn't get that our relationship works the way it works.
We do things differently than they do -- and I'm not sure I would enjoy a marriage like theirs. She makes it clear that she wouldn't enjoy one like mine.
But let's not judge -- let's remember that every couple makes it work. I'm not talking about husbands beating their wives (that's not a good way to make it work), or wives yelling at their husbands constantly (nobody likes a screamer). I'm just saying that if two people are happy, and they're just doing what makes their marriage work. Leave them alone! Let them be happy, just the way they are.

What They Deserve

You know those people who, from your point of view, seem like they have everything, or at least have it pretty good, but still they complain about their lives being hard?
"We just won the lottery and my husband just got promoted and we paid off our million dollar house and my kid is in advanced fingerpainting at his preschool, but I'm just so disappointed because our housekeeper called in sick today and I have to fold some laundry."
Well, this post is about one of my closest friends who is NOT like that. She works so hard and is experiencing some awesome success. I feel like she totally deserves it. She has her own clothing line and it's been featured in People magazine several times, as well as on the Today Show.
We've known each other for 10 years now. We lived together in the dorms and then in an apartment in college. Aside from being an awesome artist and a VERY hard worker (I feel like she slept only a few hours each night during the week in college), she has been nothing but an excellent friend to me throughout the time we've known each other. I know she would do anything she could to help me, and I hope she knows I would do the same. She's one of those people who knows exactly the right gift to get someone, or exactly the right special treat to choose to make someone's day.
Anyway, the point is that even though she's faced some difficulties in her life, she doesn't complain or whine about them. She just keeps working so hard, being a giving, loving wife and friend, sister and daughter, and she is succeeding. And I am just so proud of her, and so proud to be her friend.
And it is so nice to see this success come to someone who has worked and worked for it.
So next time you hear someone saying, "We are so broke right now but we have gone on 12 vacations in the past year and we have to go on another one next weekend," just remember, there are some people out there who ARE getting what they really deserve.

A Dance Party

Big Boy and I (and the giraffe) just finished having a dance party. Awesome 80s music, rocking out. Seriously.
Even though I was a dancer throughout my childhood, I never felt comfortable dancing at school dances. I'd dance with my friends but usually it was totally goofing off. I felt comfortable enough if I had something coreographed but you don't typically go to social dances and perform choreography. And if you do, you're a big dork.
So this morning, we opened a CD Big Boy got in a Happy Meal (yes, I fed him McDonald's for lunch the other day so I could get through Wal-Mart while he ate his chicken nuggets -- kept him in the basket happily, with his mouth and hands full -- no yelling and no hitting mommy). We put it on, and it's a bunch of songs from my childhood. We started dancing and it was SO fun! I was swinging my hair, throwing my head back, shaking my bootie (as Big Boy instructed), and not a care in the world.
I never did that when I was in high school. Or when I'd go to clubs in college. Maybe a little when I was single and went dancing with groups of girls after college, but still, I'd be looking around, making sure nobody noticed how stupid I looked.
But this morning, with only my two-year-old as an audience, I was having a blast! My point is that I wish I could be this uninhibited all the time. I wish I could go to the grocery store without mascara on, or sing at the top of my lungs in the drive through line when my windows are rolled down.
For now, I'll have to content myself with being uninhibited around my family. Because soon enough, my boys will be kids rather than a baby and a toddler, and they'll think I'm goofy.
Or maybe, just maybe, they'll think I'm cool.

Spring -- time to garden and work hard!

Yesterday, we spent the better part of the day relocating our garden (it's an above-ground garden, so we had to move the wood frame, all the dirt and a few plants like asparagus, chives, and cilantro). Last summer, I was pregnant, so I didn't participate in the manual labor too much. This summer, it's not so lucky. I don't like manual labor. I kept telling MrDartt, "This is hard. This isn't that much fun."
I was kind of joking because probably not that many people really enjoy shoveling, moving wheelbarrows, dumping wheelbarrows, digging rows in a garden, and dodging a two-year-old's hose spray. But I know it's stuff we have to do if we want a garden this year. And I do. It's such fun to go out to the front yard and get a huge zucchini to stuff for dinner, or a juicy watermelon to tear into over lunch.
Anyway, we had to move the garden so we can put the dog pen in a shady spot, and it was very important to MrDartt that we put the garden parallel to the propane tank. He is convinced that the propane company people spent two weeks deciding on the most inconvenient and ugly place to put the propane tank. So he did not want the garden placed haphazardly in relation to the propane tank. That tank is ugly, and having the garden placed hapazardly would make it even uglier.
We shoveled, wheelbarrowed, dumped, raked, shoveled some more. We planted, sprayed, raked, sprayed some more.
And at the end of the day, I felt so good, because moving that garden was a big project. Now we're all ready to get our new fruits and veggies planted. My muscles are tired, I got a nasty sunburn, and I broke several fingernails. But I feel good.
I admit that I would feel even better if my muscles were not sore and tired, I was not sunburned, and my fingernails were intact -- and the garden was already moved. But all in all, it was a good, productive day, despite the hard work.
I can't wait 'til summer, when we get to harvest!

Annoying Cute Kid stories...sorry!

It's so funny what a parent finds endearing about her own children. And probably kind of weird.
Example: the other morning when Big Boy got up, he came out of his bedroom (I heard his door close) and he was calling me. I walked to the top of the stairs -- his room is downstairs -- and he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his giraffe and elephan-ant, wearing his sunglasses. He had this little sneer on his face, where his lips are kind of pursed but one side of his upper lip is up. He has that little sneer every time he wears his sunglasses, I think, to hold them on. Think Sylvester Stallone, three feet tall, with spiky strawberry blond hair, Superman pajamas, a huge stuffed elephant and a swaddled giraffe (yes, ever since we had Little Boy, the giraffe must be swaddled full-time). I saw my little boy down there, and he was just so cute, tears sprung to my eyes and I just wanted to run down and squeeze him.
Here's another one. The pediatrician told me to start letting Little Boy eat Cheerios. So since I'm a paranoid freak about choking, I give him half-Cheerios. He has finally learned to pick them up off his high chair tray, and knows they're supposed to go in his mouth, but can't figure out how to do that. So he picks them up and puts his whole little fist in his mouth. Then he sits there, fist in mouth, ears sticking out, looking at me like, "Now what?" It's just so cute!
Here's another one. (I know I'm doing that thing moms do where they talk about how darn cute their kids are, and I apologize, but they ARE!) The other night before bed, Big Boy wanted to read this one book, "The Word Book" that has all these pictures in it. Naturally, they're pictures of things a kid should know about, like "door," "potty," "soap," "house," etc. He calls it "The Potty Book." When we read it, I make up stories depending on the words/pictures on the page, so I'll talk about how Big Boy went to the park and saw his friends there and they looked at the pond and there was a duck on the pond and they fed the duck some bread but the duck wanted their soda or whatever. Anyway, he loves reading that book. So he wanted to keep reading it, and I said we were done reading but we could read more in the morning. So he pointed out all the pictures on the cover that he wanted to read about in the morning. He went to bed. The next morning, I hear his door open, and then I hear all this thumping. Then he starts crying. Then he's yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! I need help!" So I go downstairs and he's crying, trying to get through the door with his huge elephant, his giraffe, and that darn book, all of which he's dropped on the floor. First I hug him and say, "It's okay, I'll help you. That's a lot to carry." Then we gather up the stuff and I carry him upstairs to the couch. I just thought it was so cute that he remembered we were going to read that book, and then he remembered which order he wanted to read the stories in.
Last example: I took both boys to Home Depot yesterday because I wanted to buy some flowers. Spring Fever and all that. Since MrDartt wasn't there (driving his mom and her hubby to the airport), I put both boys in the seat of one of those car carts they have. Little Boy has never sat in one of those before; usually he's just getting carried or is in his infant carrier. So he's sitting there, all proud, with his hands on the steering wheel. Then he's getting bored, so he's reaching over and touching Big Boy. He's touching Big Boy's shirt, his seatbelt, his steering wheel. Then he's reaching down to touch Big Boy's leg, to grab onto his pants, whatever. Then, suddenly, he turns around, looks at me, and bursts into tears. Guess he wasn't ready for the big time. So I carried him the rest of the way and pushed that darn car cart (it's HUGE!) with one hand. Normally I run the hard line and the kids stay in the cart or their seats while we're shopping (give an inch, they take a mile, right?). But Little Boy was just so cute, I couldn't resist.
Okay, that's it for now. I'll give you a break from my cute kid stories.

The Universe: providing character building

After the universe provided some fencing for me on Thursday afternoon, it provided some character building exercises on Thursday evening.

When I spotted the fencing, I was on my way home from music playgroup and a trip to the grocery store. I'd bought supplies to make green enchiladas from scratch.

I got the boys fed and down for naps by 1:40 p.m., and thought, "I'm going to eat lunch and then start making my enchiladas while they sleep."

Ready to relax, I ate some spaghetti while reading my romance novel. I finished lunch and started chopping. I chopped tomatillos, onions, garlic, jalapenos. I cooked chicken. My good mood had carried over from my fencing find. It was a very pleasant afternoon. Then the boys woke up.

First, Little Boy insisted on being held. Big Boy was still sleeping, so I held Little Boy so he wouldn't wake Big Boy. I also was trying to finish cooking chicken and then shred it. That's hard, one-handed. Then, Big Boy woke up. He wanted to watch a movie, so I let him so I could cook. But Little Boy was fussing and fussing and fussing, so I was having a hard time cooking. I put him in the front pack and then had to fight against him grabbing for the knife, the cheese, the tortilla wrapper, you name it. I still had cheese to shred, and roasted vegetables to puree to make the sauce. I still had to fill the enchiladas and roll them up in the pans. I started the rice.

Big Boy decided he wanted a snack. He came to sit on the barstool while I was cooking. Then he stood up on the barstool, and said, "I am not going to sit down, yet." I said, "Why not?" He said, "Because I'm poopin'. I can't poop while I'm sitting down." I said, "Oh, too squishy on your bottom?" He said, "Yeah. I'm just going to sit on my knees for now."

I finished making the sauce and took Big Boy downstairs to the diaper changing station. I pulled off his pants, and dragged poopies down the front of his left leg. I cringed. I took off his diaper. Never, NEVER have I seen such a huge poopie. "Wow," I said, "This is a HUGE poopie!" He said, "Wow! I'm gonna have to show THIS one to grandma!" I got him cleaned up and put a clean diaper on him. All this time, Little Boy was screaming and screaming, laying on the futon. Big Boy wanted to put sweatpants on, but of course did not want my help. So we carried his sweatpants upstairs. On the way upstairs, though, he said, "What's this poopie doing on the stairs?"

Yes, his poopie had come out of his diaper on the way downstairs. And he found two more poopies in the hallway. "Are these cat poopies?" "No, they're Logan poopies." "Whoa, that was a HUGE poopie."

Big Boy decided he was ready for dinner -- and of course my enchiladas were taking WAY longer than I anticipated. He wanted frozen spinach so he got back on the barstool and started eating frozen spinach. He got down and took off his diaper. "I want to eat naked," he said. Climbed back on the barstool. Dropped spinach all over the floor and all over the kitchen counter. Asked for shredded cheese. "The cheese is getting on my pee pee," he said, adding, "Silly cheese." Cheese everywhere.

Funny smell. Rice burning. Totally hard and stuck to pot. I swear I followed directions. LittleBoy screaming. Rice pot in sink, filled with water. Filling enchiladas. Running out of chicken. Thawing out beef. Beef leaking beef juice all over microwave. Little Boy screaming. Big Boy wanting hot dog. Heating up hot dog. Hot dog too hot. Big Boy spitting it out. Big Boy eating spinach. Uh oh, Big Boy spitting spinach on counter. Hot dog and spinach in garbage ("We don't spit our food out. You must not be hungry."). Big Boy crying.

Enchiladas filled up. In pans. In oven. Bath time. Little Boy tipping over. Face in water. No reaction (thank goodness). Time to get out (thank goodness). Little Boy in bed (thank goodness). Fighting with Big Boy to get jammies on ("I'm struggling with my jammies," he said, because he read in his Curious George book about the ostrich struggling with the bugle he swallowed). Reading books with Big Boy. Big Boy in bed (THANK GOODNESS!).

Enchiladas done. Don't even want the damn enchiladas. Kitchen a disaster. Disaster. Eight loads of laundry done and waiting to be folded.

I don't know how some stay-at-home spouses do it. They spend all day with the kids and then manage to have dinner on the table when their spouses come home from work. They have kids screaming, pooping, spitting, eating, wanting milk, wanting dinner, wanting attention, wanting food. It's amazing. This is why we usually eat leftovers during the week. MrDartt isn't usually home for dinner and it's just too darn character building to cook every night.