Mighty Hunters

This morning as I stumbled blearily from bed at Beanie's summons, I came about *this close* to stepping on a dead mouse that lay outside my bedroom door. Yeah, I was shocked too. At first I thought it had to be a cat toy, but thankfully we don't have any that are that realistic. Uck. I also thought, until this morning, that we had no mice other than our cat named Mouse.

As I've seen no trace of mice, I think this one must have been a "special" mouse who wandered in here by accident. This is a house full of cats, so the mouse couldn't have been in his right mind to come in here. A mouse with a death wish? A mouse on a suicide mission? Or just a really, really stupid mouse?

Then again, looking at my fat, lazy, prissy bunch of indoor cats, maybe the mouse (like me) thought there was no chance any of them were mighty hunters... And we were both unpleasantly surprised to learn otherwise - that's for sure!

All I can say is... thank God they didn't put it in bed with us. I repeat - thank God they didn't put it in bed with us! Every morning I wake up with cat toys in bed with me - offerings from my cat benefactors. Somehow they sensed I wouldn't appreciate a real dead animal in bed with me - lucky them. The word is now out in our house - the first cat who puts a dead animal in bed with me is going to be very, very sorry. I have access to a bathtub and know how to use it.

Quityerbitchin!

Pronounced "quit-cher-bitchin" but allfastandruntogetherlikethis.

Call me Pollyanna, but I like to look on the bright side. Look for the silver lining. See the glass as half full. Insert your favorite cliche' here. I find that life is just a whole heck of a lot easier if I keep focusing on the good stuff. Not in a stick your head in the sand kind of way - that usually ends in grabbing your ankles to kiss your butt goodbye when it catches up to you - but in a why be pissed off/upset/mopey and generally just really unpleasant to be around all the time? kind of way. (I know Grammar Police - this post is grammatically atrocious. Deal, you negative nancies!)

My life isn't perfect. Parts of my past could be turned into a Lifetime movie. I have my issues and definitely my moments of self-pity. It just seems like some people don't want to be happy. Ever. If you say it's a sunny day, they bring up melanoma statistics. If something bad happens to you, something worse (and way more dramatic) has happened to them. If life gives them lemons, they don't make lemonade, or even squirt lemon juice in their enemies' eyes - they squirt it in their own eyes so they have something new to complain about!

Me? I'm happy. I have an awesome, imperfectly wonderful life. And that's good enough for me.

In Case of Emergency

I'm learning new things about myself all the time (some good, some shall we say fall into the "needs improvement" category). One (good) new thing I've learned recently: I'm damn good in a crisis.

For example:

When the the Flood of 2011 occurred, I was able to joke about my new indoor swimming pool while rolling up my pants to wade in and deal with it. 

When Josie turned into the perpetual font of projectile vomit on our road trip, I only screamed the first time. Just a little.

When we got caught in a really bad storm on the return side of the same (eventful!) road trip, I kept it together even though being buried alive in storm debris is way high up there on my list of fears. Right up there with serial killers and spiders. (Side note: when spiders are involved, all bets are OFF. I am not good in that particular crisis. I turn into a babbling, squealing, hand flapping eejit and I can't help it.) While hiding in a Target fitting room with the hubs and Beanie, I prayed and sang silly songs for them and daydreamed a little bit about cool Target merchandise falling from the sky and everyone being so happy we all survived the storm that they let us keep whatever we wanted. It was a lovely dream, but alas, the storm blew over without "redistributing" any wealth. When they released us from the fitting rooms, I even had the wherewithal to spot a really cute (and much needed) sun hat for Beanie. There really IS always a silver lining to every storm cloud!

Unfortunately, life is chock full of crises - some little, some not so little, and some mind-blowing. My current crisis is a common and lingering one. How in the heck am I going to have the time to do everything I need and want to do? I could use a few more Me's to go around. For instance, as one Me writes this blog, another Me could be cleaning up the nasty hairball one of the cats just yakked on the carpet. And yet another could be dealing with the crisis du jour.

Sounds good to me.

Have Baby, Will Travel

We went to Virginia to visit with the hub's family this weekend. It was a fun weekend full of learning experiences. Allow me to share:

1) My daughter is an exceptionally good traveler for being 14 mos old. She's patient, cheerful, easy-going - a dream traveling baby. Just don't let her fill up on milk and skip breakfast before starting out on an all-day drive. The start of a very long (hot, sunny) day in the car is not the ideal time to discover her ability to projectile vomit several feet or the copious amount of liquid her seemingly small tummy can hold. Three outfit changes later...

2) Never listen to a man when it comes to packing for a trip. The hubs always gives me a hard time about bringing too much stuff for short trips, but I like to plan for the unexpected - such as carsickness in a child who's never gotten carsick before and requires THREE OUTFIT CHANGES just on the drive to our destination. Unfortunately this time I had listened to him and didn't bring nearly as much as I normally would have - and therefore Josie almost ended up meeting some family members for the first time ever wearing a garbage bag (not really, but it sounds dramatic, doesn't it?)

3) When traveling with kids, even really good travelers, you can automatically add at least 2 hours to whatever time estimate Mapquest or the GPS gives you. In the days before Josie, we liked to pride ourselves on making "good time" on trips (meaning we stopped only for gas and played "bladder chicken" and treated the speed limit as more of a suggestion). Those days are over. Barf notwithstanding, diapers need changing and little tummies need filling and little bodies need a break from the confinement of car seats (especially car seats that smell like barf).

4) You really have to watch what you say around kids. Josie has a new word - barf. I told her she was cute even though she smelled like barf, and she promptly laughed and repeated, "barf". So ladylike. Which brings me to...

5) My little girl is not a prissy girly girl (thank God!) - at least not at this point. She spent the weekend crawling around in grass, mud, sand and dirt with her cousins out in the country - and could not have been happier. She ruined several more outfits and left a black ring in the tub after her bath, her knees are scraped up and her super sensitive skin is covered in a mystery rash and bug bites, but she had a blast that was worth it all. I'm utterly exhausted from chasing around behind her to prevent her from diving head first over 6 foot high walls and eating bugs and things of that sort - but that was worth it too.

6) As much as you adore your child, sometimes there is nothing.better.in.the.world than when Daddy takes them off to do something fun for a while and you get to put your feet up and read the newspaper and drink fruity wine coolers and eat cupcakes and not even have to talk. Which describes exactly what my fellow mom and cousin-in-law and I did with one lovely, decadent, kid-free afternoon while the dads and grandmas took the little ones on a hike. Pure bliss, I tell you. Pure bliss.

7) Men never listen. Somehow or another the hubs hurt his back. Maybe on that hike. Our hotel room had a jacuzzi in it - serendipitous, no? But the big doof didn't want to use it. He'd never been in one before in all of his 36 years and didn't see how it would help. I couldn't stress enough the powerful magic that is hot water propelled by jets, and finally convinced him to stop being a Mr. Tough Guy and give it a try. An hour later, pruney and blissed out, I had to convince him that he couldn't sleep in there due to drowning risks. Now, he's convinced we must buy one for our house. Hallelujah!

8) Traveling with a 14 month old is ridiculously exhausting and overwhelming and frankly, probably not really a sane thing to do - but we did it and we survived and we had enough fun to make it all worth it. Now if only I could get that smell out of the car and sleep til next week...

Cowardly Kindness

Today, while loading groceries into the back of my car, I was approached by a young woman pushing a little girl about Beanie's age in a stroller. She very politely asked me if I could spare a dollar because she was stranded there with her daughter, waiting for a friend to come pick them up, and she wanted to buy her some milk but was short on money. I promptly gave her a dollar and wished her good luck with everything, and off she went. Situations like this always leave me afterward with all these misgivings and doubts and guilt though.

Did I just get taken by a con artist with a really good sob story and even better "prop" (i.e. the little one with the big old eyes staring up at you)? Possibly. Maybe even probably. Is she really going to use that money to buy milk (or anything) for that baby girl? Hopefully, but it could as easily be for drugs or alcohol or anything. I will never know.

Should I have done more? Offered them a ride (I even had an open car seat as Beanie wasn't with me)? Given more money? Asked if I could help them in some other way? Given her some of the food I just bought but probably didn't need?

And that little girl... I am overcome with gratitude that MY little girl has a safe place to live, plenty of food to eat, good medical care when needed, tons of people who love her and protect her from harm, a whole lifetime of opportunity ahead of her. I pray I'm never in a position where I have to take her with me to ask for spare change to buy her milk. And I pray that little girl really got her milk, and a ride to a safe, cozy home full of people who love her.

I feel like a coward for not doing more, and a schmuck for possibly falling for a con, all at the same time. So, as I drove away, all I could do was pray for them. And wonder. And doubt. And hope - always that.

I Have Too Many Cats

I have too many cats. It's an inescapable fact that the cats in your household should never outnumber the humans - and ours have us beat 2:1. For those who don't calculate quickly in their heads, that means we have 6 of the little furry barbarians. I work at an animal hospital. I volunteer with a cat rescue. And I have a blinking neon sucker sign on my forehead. It's no excuse, but there it is.

Today, my personal overpopulation of felines caused me to wreck my car. I had been boarding them at work since the Great Flood of 2011. Last night the clean-up was finally done, so today I shoved gently placed the fur-butts into their plastic portable prisons cages and loaded them into the back of my car. Allow me to note here that I've been parking in the exact same spot at work everyday for 11 years now. In that 11 years, I don't think there has EVER been a vehicle parked behind me. Today, when my vision was severely impeded by cat carriers, and my sanity even more severely impacted by the piteous wailing coming from said carriers, I kinda forgot about the BIG BRIGHT RED TRUCK parked behind me. I didn't so much hit it - I just sort of sidled up a little too close to it like one of those mouth-breathers who don't know what a personal space bubble is do when they're standing behind you in the check-out line. It made a hideous screech-y sound (like I do to get rid of the mouth-breathers) and for a brief moment even the cats were quiet in that pregnant "oh shit" pause.

To say I wrecked my car was a bit of hyperbole (gotta do something to keep you interested, Dear Readers). I scuffed my car's shiny finish in a couple of small areas. The ginormous red truck was likewise scuffed, but the roofers it belonged to were pretty nice about it. It could be the $10,000 my boss is paying them for the new roof that made them so forgiving, but whatever it was, I'll take it. They used their sweaty roofer t-shirts to buff the evidence of my mishap out of the finish of the huge-gantic truck and I doubt anything more will need to be done. My ego is another matter. I had to talk to hottie manual laborers in sleeveless t-shirts with the Great Zit of 2011 growing out of my chin about the fact that I kinda forgot to look behind me before I backed up into the biggest brightest reddest truck ever. With 6 caterwauling cats in my car. Nah. I didn't look like a loon. Not. at. all.

On the way home, one of the cats decided it was a mighty fine time to take the stinkiest poo ever. It must have been an urgent need - otherwise why would you do that to yourself? You're then trapped in a small box with your own stinky offal. I was, unfortunately, trapped in an only slightly larger box with the stinky offal. It was cold, but I chose death by hypothermia over death by poop asphyxiation and opened all the windows. I turned up the radio and laughed my ass off. Because, really? What else was there to do at that point?

The Flood of 2011

I haven't posted in a while because it feels like I've been too busy to string two sentences together - let alone write a whole few paragraphs of my usual awesome cleverness (right?? ha!)

Lately we've been dealing with the joy of home ownership. Namely, we've been trying to keep our house 1) standing and 2) livable. First, the window wells started filling up with water, which then leaked into our basement. The floor was wet (and gross) but the water made its way to the floor drain and out of the house while we waited for a crew to come install some drains in the wells for us. Until, that is, the floor drain got clogged (probably by cat toys since we learned that for some reason it had no grate on it... oops.)

I came home from work to find my poor cats stranded on "high ground" (the Skittles table and workbench) unable to reach the stairs to escape or their litter boxes (which were floating... eww doesn't even begin to cover it.) There was about 3 or 4 inches of standing water in the basement, which to a cat constitutes a flood of epic, build-an-ark proportions. I of course had to wade in to rescue them. This is why even a fashionable woman (which I'm not) should own a pair of Crocs - they do have their uses. I wear mine in public too, but let's not get into that. Anyway. My cats reminded me of Hurricane Katrina survivors, waiting on their roofs for the rescue helicopter. Which made ME said rescue helicopter. Which meant that as soon as I was within leaping distance (pretty far for a thoroughly freaked out, wet, smelly cat) I was tackled. Little furry, wet and smelly spider monkeys with sharp claws clinging to me for dear life - it wasn't pretty. Especially when you figure in my literal "high waters", unshaved legs and the aforementioned (hot pink) Crocs.

After the cats were carried to safety and peeled from my flesh, I called a plumber to come out and snake the drain. The first one I called left me with a headache to rival my stinging cat scratches. Stupidity has a way of bringing on a throbbing behind my eyes that tempts me to gauge them out with dull pencils. But I digress.Our conversation went as follows:

Perky Lady Who Answered the Phone: How can I make you smile today?
Me: Well, since you asked, it would make me smile if the floor drain in my basement were unclogged ASAP so the water standing in my basement can drain.
Ms. Perky Pants: Okie dokie. But is there standing water in your basement?
Me: Yes...(thinking, didn't I just say that?) About 3 inches.
Not So Perky Anymore: Ohhhh... Well, the water will have to be drained before we can unclog the drain.
Me: Um. Okay. But the DRAIN is CLOGGED. Which is why the water is there. So... How do I drain the water when the drain is clogged? (At this point, I thought surely we were just having a misunderstanding. Alas, we were not.)
Ms. I Know This Sounds Stupid, But They Pay Me to Say It: Yeah, uh, well, you can suck it out with a shop-vac. (uncomfortable pause)
Me: A shop-vac? Do you know how many shop-vacs full fit in a basement? What about the whole water and electricity thing? Are you serious???
Ms. Apologetic/Sheepish/Wishing She Didn't Get My Call Now: Um, sorry. Our plumbers won't come in if there's standing water. Policy (mumble mumble) Sorry (mumble mumble) Hire someone (mumble mumble)
Me: Thanks anyway. I'm going to go find a dull pencil now. Goodbye.

So, I called Roto-Rooter. They sent someone out in under an hour, who sloshed right through my standing water and unclogged my drain. I wanted to hug him, but I'm pretty sure that would have been weird. I probably will hug the people I hire to clean the basement though. They'll need the reminder of their humanity after cleaning the dark, smelly, cat litter-y hell my basement has become. Did I mention litter boxes float (and unfortunately, not being designed to be seaworthy, capsize)? Eww.

On an up note though, the drains are now installed in the window wells, for $400 less than expected, and once the basement is cleaned it will actually be usable again. Maybe someday we can redo it as a playroom for the Bean.

I can't do a whole blog entry without mentioning the Bean, of course. She learned a new word the other day. Grass. Which unfortunately comes out, "ass". And she gets really, really excited about it because the kid LOVES being outside, in the "ass", er, grass. So she yells it, over and over and over. Yeah. Even on the worst days, I always have a reason to smile.

Mom's Night Out

Last night, I left my clingy little girl with her daddy for a few hours and got the heck outta Dodge. Leaving my house alone is now an art form in and of itself. She sees me pick up my purse and she knows something's up. She immediately makes a beeline for me. I don't want to just disappear on her, so I pick her up and kiss her goodbye and tell her I'll be back later. Then I pry her surprisingly strong little fingers from my shirt/hair/face and make myself just GO. It's like ripping off a band-aid - you've just got to do it and do it quick or it's a whole lot worse. That's what I tell myself anyway.

After that painful bit was over, I spent over an hour sitting in traffic on the highway trying to get down to the Museum Center for the Cleopatra exhibit. I hate being late for anything and I developed a strong urge to pee about halfway there, so I was kinda stressed by the time I hoofed (and huffed) it up that big old hill from the parking lot into Union Terminal. Luckily for me, only one other mom had made it there before me (and the bathrooms were fairly close to the entrance - whew!)

The rest of the night was up from there. The exhibit was really interesting. Seeing artifacts that are literally thousands of years old just lights up this history nerd's world. The huge seventeen foot statues gave me chills. And it was fun to laugh like schoolgirls with my mommy book club friends over the fact that Cleopatra married her 3 year old son and then cheated on him with Marc Antony. Twisted! Tee hee!

After the exhibit, I had pangs of guilt and almost didn't go to dinner because if I left right then, I could get home on time to put the Bean to bed. I thought about it really hard, then decided it's important for her to learn to do these things with her daddy. Plus, I really wanted to go for totally non-Egyptian burritos with my friends. And I deserved it. Repeated until I believed it (mostly).

I'm really glad I went. Hothead Burritos are pretty good, although I think my burrito heart still belongs to Chipotle. More importantly, I got to spend more time with some really cool ladies. I got to laugh and talk about adorable and frustrating moments with people who really understand and laugh some more. I think I made a college kid who sat behind us blush with my choice of conversation topic at one point. It was a good time. And they have queso dip, quite possibly my favorite food.

On the way home, I got a little bit lost. That's what I get for thinking I know better than the GPS, I guess (you rarely, rarely do, FYI - they've got satellites and tech-y spac-y super-spy-y stuff on their side). Anyway. The drive home was good, quiet, thoughtful time for me. I went through my usual post-social-event panicky moments, wondering if I talked too much, if I said stupid things, if in general I looked/acted/sounded like the socially-challenged person I really am, but am trying not to be forever and ever. In this case especially, I even wondered if I was standing inadvertently in that special acoustic spot in Union Terminal, where what you say, even if you whisper, can be heard across that huge rotunda. If I was, ALLLL those people might have heard me make a fool of myself. Yeah, this really is how my brain works.

I got over the panic. I had fun and I decided to let it just be what it was - a good experience - without trying to dissect it and analyze it. I can't wait for next month's book club meeting, and my next Mom's Night Out. I was kind of glad Josie woke up soon after I got home though, so I could tuck her back in and give her a kiss. I missed that little booger.

Clingy McClingerson

The other day, I was reading while Josie played in the living room (aka toy pit/only completely childproofed room in the house). Next thing I know, I feel her pull herself up on my leg. I look down just as she hugs my leg and says, "Mama" in her sweet little voice. I swear, you'd have to be pure evil if that wouldn't just melt your heart like butter. I picked her up and cuddled her until she squirmed and gave me a glimpse of what the years to come will surely bring - a time when being cuddled by Mama isn't top of her list for ways to pass her time. Times when she's too busy, or too "grown up", or too busy hating my guts and slamming doors and breaking my heart.

Being Josie's number one absolute favorite person in the universe/BFF, as I can proudly claim to be these days, has its drawbacks, sure. It's really difficult to get much done with a Velcro almost-toddler attached to some part of you. The whining and clinging can be trying on the patience to say the least, and sometimes when she goes to bed I sigh with relief just to have my own personal space bubble back for a few hours. Even the people she loves the most other than me - her daddy and grandparents - aren't satisfactory substitutes if I'm around. It's hard. It's exhausting, actually, and some days I just don't feel up to it. Who knew being adored was so difficult??

On the other hand though, it's awesome. Her face absolutely lights up whenever she sees me, even if I've been gone 30 seconds. She does this adorable super-fast crawl across the room to reach me, then headbutts my calves by way of greeting before climbing up into my arms. Her little hands (she's still so little, even if she's growing up!) cling to my shirt and she buries her face in my neck and in those moments all is perfectly and totally right with the world. Even if sometimes I swear she only wanted to wipe her nose on me - I'll take it.

I'll take all of it. Someday she won't need me anymore - and I'll try to remember that all my hard work raising her is to get her to just that place of not needing me. Hopefully all that independence won't come too soon. And hopefully even if she doesn't need me anymore, she'll still want old Mom around.

One

How can so many long days go by so quickly?

On the 23rd of March, Josie turned a year old. Everything I can say about how I'm feeling sounds like a sappy cliche', so I'm not even going to try.

Her party was so perfect. Josie has so many people who love her and came to celebrate her first year with us. When everyone started singing Happy Birthday to her, I got all weepy not just because my little girl is growing up, but because she is blessed with so many people who love her. We may not be able to give her all the material things we wish we could, but we are surrounding her with some really amazing people. I know she will be loved and encouraged, and will learn so much from all of you wonderful folks!

As if some little biological alarm clock went off in her brain, the week after her birthday was filled with new achievements for our little Bean. She went from crawling to cruising, and suddenly she has a whole vocabulary. She says Mama (finally!) instead of mamamamama and Daddy instead of dadadada. She also says doggy, kitty cat (of course - she IS my kid!), Puppy (her stuffed dog), yes, this, that, Brice (her cousin), Pop (Geoff's dad/her grandpa), hi, bye. Oh, and she sings E-I-E-I-O whenever she hears Old McDonald - though most of the time she leaves off the O and just repeats E-I-E-I over and over. She can point to her head and her nose and her feet - and can say head too. I'm babbling now - but I'm just so proud of everything she's learning. Sappy but true, she amazes me every single day.

So, her first year is behind us, and we're on to year two. I can't imagine loving her more, and yet everyday somehow I do. I can't wait to see who she becomes and what she does with her life - but I'm trying my best to enjoy every moment along the way. Even the longest of the long days.

Bittersweet

As a new mom, if there's one thing I've learned it's that your child will rarely do things the way you expect. You pretty much get that memo the first time they poop mid-newborn-diaper-change and you wonder HOW something so small can shoot poop like that??What you expected? Not so much.

I expected that after happily breastfeeding for 9 months, Josie would happily continue until I decided to wean her. I expected there to be an epic battle at that time as well. Tears would be shed by both of us. There would be sleepless nights. Wailing and gnashing of teeth and all that.

Then somewhere around the 10 month mark, she seemed to lose interest in nursing. I thought it was a phase. Teething. Distractions. I tried all the tricks to get her interested again and none of them worked. She would literally push the breast away and scream, or worse, BITE ME. Yeah, that wasn't cool. Not cool at all. I kept trying though. "They" all say a baby won't self-wean before a year. "They" also said I should go topless and bra-less around my house all day so she could nurse "here and there, whenever she felt like it". Um, no. I have windows and neighbors. And frankly, that just made me feel like Bessie the old milk cow with her udders just flopping in the breeze, available for milking whenever and wherever. I've decided to stop listening to the mysterious, all-knowing "they" that populates the internet and especially likes to give advice on parenting.

So, quietly and with no fuss (at least not from Josie - her mom is another story) Josie has weaned from breastfeeding almost completely now at 11 months. I'm thankful it was so painless, but it's bittersweet all the same. An era of our mommy-daughter relationship has come to an end. A really cool thing my body was able to do - providing nourishment for a whole other person - is ending too. I'm losing my membership to the exclusive boob juice club. It's no longer even marginally acceptable for me to whip out a boob in public. But mostly... My baby isn't quite so much a baby anymore! Already she doesn't need me quite as much! How did this happen?

I'm not quite sure how days can pass so slowly, and yet the months and years just seem to fly right by. It's one of the great mysteries of life, one way too deep for me to ever grasp.

The next surprise Josie had in store for me? A milk allergy! Her pediatrician said she could have regular whole milk instead of formula, so we tried it. She didn't hate it like I was afraid she would. Unfortunately, her little body didn't feel the same way about it. She broke out in a rash on her face and puked it back up about 10 minutes later. A second attempt, just to make sure the first time wasn't a fluke, garnered the same results. So while I expected to be buying a gallon of whole milk for a couple bucks a week,  instead I'm buying goat's milk by the quart at $3.50 a pop. Yeee-ouch. The other alternative was soy milk, but apparently that will cause her to grow boobs when she's three or something (according to "them" again), so we're going with the milk from the golden goat's teat. (At that price, it's gotta be golden, right??)

As for me? My boobs are my own again, but already I miss that special, quiet, connected time during nursing. Another reminder to live in the moment and cherish every single one as they pass.

Bored

I don't believe in boredom. I'm mom to a "Little Miss Independent" 11-month-old speed-crawler who's apparently determined to give herself at-home shock therapy (meaning she won't leave the damn electrical outlets alone and has already figured out how to remove those little cover thingies too - which then just become a hazard of their own because she tries to choke on them which is simply AWESOME!) That was a heck of a run-on sentence, but it conveys my state of mind well so I'm leaving it alone. Anywho... I also work full-time if you count both jobs. And if you read my last post, you know I'm all about the multi-tasking and keeping busy.

I don't believe in boredom, but today it occurred to me that this feeling I've been having, this nagging sensation that's almost like anxiety, but not quite... Almost exhaustion, but nope, that's not it either... IS BOREDOM! I have plenty of STUFF to do, and plenty to keep me busy, but my BRAIN is like, screaming... "Stimulate me! Quit Facebook stalking people who have cool things to do and go do something cool so people can stalk you!" Er. Uh. Something like that anyway.

I need a hobby, a pastime, a PASSION. And I'm open to suggestions.

Multi-Tasking

I think I've forgotten how to do just one thing at a time. Seriously. Last night, I realized this as I was taking a shower and cleaning the shower stall at the same time. (Works nicely, by the way. You're all wet anyway, the shower is all wet - just make sure you don't accidentally mix up the mold and mildew killer with your body wash and you're good to go.)

I get dressed while feeding the Bean her breakfast. I clean the basement whenever I go down to do a load of laundry. I sweep the kitchen floor while cooking dinner. You get the idea.

And all of this is great and productive and good time-management etc. BUT (you knew a but was coming) it can be taken too far. If anyone is going to take a good idea and run with it right into speeding traffic, it's gonna be me. Some guidelines so the same doesn't happen to you, fellow multi-taskers:

1) Nothing else should be done while cleaning the toilet. Nothing. Trust me on this. Or while using it, for that matter. Some things are just sacred.

2) I never "waste" a trip upstairs by not carrying something with me that needs to go up there. It's like, TEN steps or something. That's a lot. BUT don't get carried away. It's also a long way to fall if you're carrying so much you can't see your feet.

3) You cannot do ANYTHING with a cat while you have a vacuum running. Just don't bother trying. You will get hurt. Especially if you get the brilliant idea to vacuum the cat (thereby taking care of the shedding problem at the source, instead of after the fact!) Great in theory, but don't bother trying to put it into practice.

4) Water and electricity don't play nicely together. Fo realz. Nuf said.

5) God gave us two hands for a reason. Our one brain can only go in so many directions at once. Which is why, when we try to do too much at once, we forget things like the whole water/electricity thing in #4.

Be careful out there!

Happy New Year to You Too!

So, 2011 hasn't so much been "my year" so far. Thus the lack of posts here.

Josie got sick. Major exploding poopy diaper sick that turned out to be rotavirus. Ah, I long for the days of blissful ignorance when I had never heard of such a thing as rotavirus. It was bad. Bad bad. TWELVE outfit changes in one day bad. Some things in our home will never be the same bad. Runny poop sample collecting bad. And then, poof! She was better.

...and...

I got it! So, while she was ready to PLAY, I felt like curling up in a ball and dying. I laid on the floor and let her climb all over me - mommy's dying body doubles as jungle gym. Who knew?

...and then...

I fell while carrying her into the house. Not due to ice or anything really other than my own stupendiferous grace. I should have been a dancer. Or maybe a high-wire walking acrobat. Yeah. Anyway, it scared her really bad and I felt terrible. She cried in that heartbreaking way where they can't catch their breath and big fat tears roll down their cheeks and all of it seems to just scream, "Bad Mommy! Bad! You fail!" Not to mention I removed several layers of skin from my hand and my knee swelled to roughly 3 times its normal size.
None of which I even noticed until much later because I was so worried I had damaged the Bean.

...and then...

She came down with a fever the day after the fall. She was cranky and exhausted and I was of course convinced that she had broken something when we fell and that I really was the World's Worst Mother. I took her to the doctor, which in retrospect was probably a little hasty for a low-grade fever. I'm pretty sure Josie's chart now has a big red flag on it that says something along the lines of, "crazy, paranoid mom alert." I work in a sector of the medical field (veterinary medicine anyway) - I know those nice, smiling ladies at the pediatrician's office were snickering at me behind my back. I'm okay with that - I've been on the other side of the desk plenty of times. The doctor didn't think there was anything terribly wrong with her - probably a virus - but she made sure to fill my worried little mind with all kinds of scary thoughts like urinary tract infections and hip synovitis (or something like that), thereby ensuring I slept little the rest of the week and spent entirely too much time on websites like WebMD. I swear there's a gerbil hopped up on goofballs running on a wheel inside my brain, yelling out random things for me to obsess over. Picture it. You probably have one too. Little bastards.

A week later, and I think we're all going to survive. Maybe. Except the gerbil. I'm going to figure out how to feed him to the cats.