Happy Belated Thanksgiving. I've been on a bit of a hiatus, trying to mend the rest of my family and enjoy the holiday a bit. I've actually turned the computer off and re-focused on my house and home. I've been getting lots of inspiration and ideas about organizing and nesting, which is weird...like I'm ready to nest now that I've decided not to have any more children. So I've been purging toys and clutter and junk and my God, does it feel great!

We had a really nice Thanksgiving. I cooked and hosted, and it was both rewarding and exhausting. But what a feeling to look around our table in our last new home with four generations of our family, healthy, happy and together. I was so thrilled to be together and be home, and then the Eagles beat the pants off the Cardinals. Unexpected and wonderful, but so frustrating that they can't play with any consistency. Ah, but this is not a sports blog, so I will stop my Philly-bred rant there.

Elizabeth did bounce back from her stomach bug - finally - and is now eating like a piggy, playing, trying to walk, moving my kitchen chairs around. She's fine. I am so relieved. Erin also succumbed to the virus last Sunday night and the amount of "stuff" leaving her body, from both ends, was epic. Pete and I took turns sleeping on the floor of the bathroom with her. And we knew she was fine by 7:00 Monday morning when she used the "camp out" on the bathroom floor to incite both jealousy and rage in the heart of Meghan, who was thoroughly dejected that Erin had had such a fun night while she was left to sleep in her room alone. Only Erin could turn an event like a stomach virus (which rendered her exploding on the toilet from the back end while simultaneously holding a bucket in front of her to catch the projectile vomit) into an opportunity to make Meghan feel left out of something grand.

She's such a witch sometimes.

So she's been a royal pest, bored and disinterested with being home all the time. My only saving grace would be a full week of school this week. But alas, my hopes were dashed as I looked to the school district calendar on Friday night to see that she has only one full-day of school this week, and will be finished at 1:00 pm Tuesday through Friday. I almost cried. Pete has a three-day business trip to Massachusetts this week, so it will be a long one. I am bracing myself now.

Otherwise things are status quo. We had a nice weekend together and hope to do some holiday decorating today. No drama, no news...which I guess is good, but makes for really boring blogging. We did go to Haddonfield Friday night and waited in line to see Santa and give him our Christmas Wish Lists. What a beautiful night it was. The weather was perfect, the main street was lit with lights and luminaria, and Erin and Meghan could hardly contain their excitement. Lizzy was absolutely amazed by the lights and the music and all of the people. It was so sweet to see her all bundled in her shearling bunting, with eyes like saucers, amazed in that first Christmas sort of way, by all the activity surrounding her. And as we waited in line for Santa, a small, Mayberry-like orchestra began playing Christmas carols, one of which was "The Little Drummer Boy" - Meghan's favorite. She was so surprised by what she was hearing, and became so overwhelmed, she actually started to cry. "Happy tears, Mommy, not sad ones," she clarified the next day. She just stood listening with gigantic tears rolling down her face. Of course, I asked her what was wrong, why she was crying, and she said, through sobs, "I didn't know that they would play this. I just can't believe that they are playing it."

We all got very choked up, and it seemed like the entire holiday season, and what this one in particular means to us, could be encapsulated in that one little moment of overwhelmed, genuine, childlike joy. I think, in our own ways, none of us can quite believe what is going on around us this year. We are back home, and our children are healthy. We have our family and friends with us, and a happy marriage, and really, the rest of our lives ahead of us. And so I guess it's understandable how we all, even those of us who are four, are a little overcome with emotion after the ride we've been on in the last year. And why at nothing more than the sound of "The Little Drummer Boy" any one of us can come a little unglued.

And so I am off to do my food shopping and try to get a workout in before taking Erin to choir practice and getting the house gussied-up for the holidays. Happy Sunday!

My baby is so sick. And this picture isn't of her sick, it's of her sweet and healthy. I just needed to see a picture of her looking like this, so I thought I'd share it with you, too. She has not stopped the vomiting and other gross stuff for four days, and it has me so freaked out. She has lost over a pound since last week. We have fought so hard for every ounce on that little body of hers, so to know that eighteen ounces are gone angers me terribly. I called the pediatrician today to find out if whatever is going around is lasting this long in little ones and she said, "I don't understand what you are asking me." Really? Perhaps I phrased it in too challenging a fashion...

My other kids have never had a stomach virus that lasted this long, especially the vomiting. Usually it's like twenty-four hours of hell and then it's over. Not this one. She does well for about twenty hours, and then explodes at both ends. It's terrifying me. I took her to the peds yesterday and they said if she is not better by Saturday then we should be worried. It's far from Saturday, and she actually looks a little perkier today, even enjoyed browsing through Target looking at the Christmas lights, so that I take as a good sign. She's also been awake more today than yesterday and hasn't been crying the whole time. Also a good sign. My neuroses are screaming today, so I'm sorry for this quivering nonsense. I am just scared that she won't be able to fight this.

How wrong is that? After everything she's fought through and all the odds she's beaten, I'm afraid that this virus will be too much for her? I need to remember that she is Elizabeth Josephine, a force with which all should reckon.

Deep breath. Let it go. She will be fine.

Other sweetness abounds in my house...Erin is singing in the children's choir at church and is learning "Do You Hear What I Hear" to sing at Christmas Eve mass. Erin learns best by teaching, so she is teaching Meghan with relentless fervor, how to sing this sweet carol, too. Well, I've been listening to the All Christmas All the Time radio station in my car, because it's my car and I'll do what I wanna' do. (That's for Pete who has a ban on Christmas music in the house until after Thanksgiving.) "Do You Hear What I Hear" just came on the radio, and Meghan sang every word right along with Vanessa Williams, and I drove along with tears in my eyes...it was the most beautiful version of that song I've ever heard.

I am embracing every moment I can with my kids...as much as possible. The emotion of the season is brimming within me, and I want to have as many happy memories as possible. So I'm trying to keep my perspective, not live in "last year" mode so much, and just enjoy these precious times. Lizzy will be one year in one month. And her first year will be behind her. Staggering. Meghan is blossoming like a crazy weed, right before my eyes. And Erin is becoming a young girl with every day that goes by, and I love seeing how this school year is already shaping her in positive ways. She was commended by her teacher for demonstrating "Tolerance" last week, one of many positive virtues they teach. So what if she's intolerant here? She's wowing them at school.

So I'm off to continue the Great Disinfect of '08 and continue to pray that my baby will snap out of this funk. Everything else is fine and dandy...and we saw our first snowflakes today. That was awesome!

One hundred and eighty degrees

Sorry it's been a while since I've posted...I've been in bed with a stomach flu that has now passed on to Lizzy. I'm not sure, at this point, which is more dangerous...the flu itself, or the absurd amount of Lysol I've been spraying on everything. God I hate stomach viruses. Puke is my worst nightmare. And I'm stuck in hell with this thing festering, waiting to strike the next member of my family. I hate puke, I hate puking, I hate cleaning puke off of beds, jammies and little kids. I despise everything about it. Not unlike all of you, I know...but I just absolutely hate it.

Prior to the flu from hell striking with brute force, I had been coming unglued. Like the days of old...hormonal, crying, panicky, just a general mess. Pondering a million different issues, and not knowing what was at the root of my whirlwind head. And since it is me, and I like to make things as unmanageable as possible, doesn't it make total sense that I would seize this time of emotional instability to enter, with Pete, into a discussion about the future of our family and whether or not we will have more children?

What the hell is wrong with me???????

I do this now? Last Friday night, to be exact. When I am a total emotional wreck, just having been told that Lizzy needs tubes for her ears, which will make this the seventh surgery I've endured with my children in my experience as a mother. Not to mention being totally stuck, mentally, in "last year at this time" mode, reliving every moment leading up to Lizzy's premature birth and subsequent removal from my presence for the first two months of her life. Her first birthday is on December 21, right around the corner, also the first day of winter, the same day that Pete and I got engaged, and she will be baptized on that day. I'm in the process of sending out the invites to her party, and asking people to please bring an ornament to hang on our "Lizzy Tree" so that she has ornaments of her own. All of these things, all added one on top of another, have put me in the aforementioned place of emotional wreckage. Yep, sounds like a great time to sit down and make some life-changing decisions. So why not talk about the future of my uterus and its usefulness right now? Seems as insane a time as any to do such a thing, and it wouldn't be me if I waited. So let's pile as much on as possible to make sure that when I finally go to Crazy, I go there with designer luggage and a lifetime pass.

The ironic (if that's even the right word, impressive vocabulary escapes me now) thing is that when we had our talk, I made such logical, convincing, frighteningly rational arguments for "calling it a day" in the baby-making department, I don't think I could ever turn around and change my mind. Up until last week, I saw no definite end in sight to my wanting to have at least one more baby. I even blogged about it for heaven's sake -- very recently. But then, a lightning bolt hit me on Friday and I suddenly wanted to move past this phase...and was rendered paralyzed with fear about the possibility of having another baby with problems like Lizzy. So I asked him for "the talk." I made so much sense...and Pete was so relieved to hear me making sense. He's always really practical. It's annoying. I'm always really emotional, and make bad decisions because of it. It's annoying, too. But when we talked on Friday, we were on the same page. And now it really seems that the decision has been made to be done and move ahead with our lives from this point and get out of baby mode forever.

That is sort of scaring the ever-living shit out of me. Because if I'm not having babies, then what do I do? Go to work? Get a job? Doing what? I quit student teaching, so I don't have a teaching certificate from my undergrad degree. I quit law school, so I don't have a J.D. Having babies and staying home with them is the only thing that I've ever done and not given up on and been a little bit good at. I've always been a quitter...until I had babies.

I guess this is just one of many soul-searching, existential questions we happen upon in life. And what am I so drama about, anyway? I have three kids. Three. It's not like they won't need me anymore, like I'll stop being their mom and having a gazillion things to do with and for them, just because I'm not adding anymore of them to the house. Lord knows, my plate is full. Three children is a lot to keep up with...and the more you have, the harder it is to truly keep up with them. To tune into each one, to make sure that you are hearing their voices and all things, big and little, that they are trying to tell you. But as I've talked about before, it's hard for me to think about never having another chance to give birth, and never having another chance to nurse a baby. To know that I will never be pregnant again, never go for another ultrasound, never hear a heart beating inside my body that is not my own. These reasons do not make a strong, logical argument for child-bearing. At all. And this much I know to be true. But they do remain, and it's been hard to let them go and ignore them. Until Friday, when I realized all those reasons are about me. And nothing more.

I guess what it boils down to, and what my epiphany is ultimately all about is that I gave birth to a baby with a life-threatening birth defect...and no one knows why it happened or what I might be able to do to prevent it from happening again. How could I ever go through another pregnancy with the expectation of happiness and enjoyment, knowing that I would be a nervous wreck the entire time, so afraid that something terrible would happen again? And how could I live in that state of fear and expect that I could be a good mother to the three who are here, needing me so very, very much? Not to mention being totally unable to focus on my relationship with Pete, which has always been the root system to this family.

And so, with that one hundred and eighty degree turn, I believe we may have officially closed another chapter in our lives together, and opened the next one. I'm not sad. I'm not unsure (today) or wavering. I'm even a little bit excited to get to know me as me, and not as everyone elses "something" or "someone." It's so easy to lose our identities while we mother and keep house. And while it is the most rewarding experience, there are other experiences out there waiting for me. Continuing to travel along this path to find out what's in store us the point of it all...and I'm actually excited to see what else life has in store for me. It hasn't disappointed up to this point. I don't think it will start doing so now.

For anyone whom I offended through my rant of last week, I do apologize. There was a lot of fluff and spouting (it's the Irish in me) and there should've been a lot more, "think before you speak" going on. After being unkindly blase and heartless about our situation with Carlos, it looks as if the time is coming that we will say goodbye. And I am crying in my kitchen, suddenly overcome by emotion.

My husband and Carlos have been together longer than we have been a couple, which is over 10 years. They've traveled all over the country together, on plane and automobile. They've climbed up and down mountains, gone fishing and camping, and rarely been apart since Pete rescued him in 1996. Carlos was one of a litter of puppies who had been abused and found in a basement, then taken to the rescue shelter. Pete took him and loved him and turned him into the best dog I've ever known. He played Frisbee and catch with such a relentless passion, it is probably the way that most people will remember him. For that, and the way he loved Pete, unconditionally, and in spite of others.

When I went out to Summit County, CO to visit Pete in August of 1997, Carlos was none too pleased with my presence. He lost his shotgun post in the car and his sleeping post, as well, and while he did go everywhere with us, he hated sharing Pete. And has ever since, which is why we've had such a love-hate relationship. Every time we'd get out of the car and leave Carlos, we'd come back to find a huge deposit of poop on the passenger seat. Even then, he could use his excrement as a weapon. But I loved and love Carlos, as he was my baby before we had kids. We'd spend lots of time together...and when we got Seamus, another shelter dog, in 1999, Carlos had a friend for life. And after Pete, I worry about what Seamus will do without his best friend.

About three years ago, he suddenly became blind and started having accidents. He was diagnosed with diabetes and was so sick. Since then, we've given him two shots of insulin every day and fed him on a strict regimen. We have truly done our best, but are admittedly restrained by finances in terms of what we can continue to do for him. I've been running out of steam - big time - trying to care for him and clean up after him, while maintaining a somewhat smooth-running household. And it is hard to do that with another dog and three children.

So Pete is finally, I think, starting to deal with the inevitable and the fact that it is closer than he once hoped. And I feel horrible for him. Because saying good bye to this dog will be like saying good bye to his best friend, and the most constant, loyal companion he's ever known. I feel like a total shithead for having gotten so angry lately, and told him so yesterday. I guess I've just needed to vent, thinking that putting him down wasn't going to happen anytime soon, so I had to get out my frustration at the circumstances. But now I know that sometime soon, we will be making a very difficult decision, and I will feel regretful for having shot off my big mouth with unkind words and lack of patience and love. And while I've given him his shots, and fed him and cleaned up after him, I have done it begrudgingly many times, especially lately. And for that I am truly sorry. To him and to my kids, who I've taught to be unkind and impatient where ailing animals are concerned. It's shameful.

I don't know when this whole thing will happen, because I still don't know how you go about making this decision with any degree of certainty that you are doing what's right...what are the factors you evaluate? Why can't there be an objective test, like if you answer "yes" to three out of five questions, you get your answer as to what you are supposed to do? In any event, I am committed to being more patient for the remainder of his life with us, because he and Pete both deserve that. And so do my kids. God, I've been such a shit lately. A sadly selfish shithead. Hopefully, things will take whatever course they are fated to take and we'll know what's right as the moments, tough as they may be, come and go.

Short and sweet.

Everyone went back to school today. They are tired tonight. I went to Wegman's with only Lizzy in tow.

I am happy about these facts.

The dog peed on the floor again last night. The Eagles lost.

Those things sucked.

I need to pick paint for my bathroom. Pete made serious headway on the renovation project yesterday, so painting and finishing touches will start soon. Yippee!

I ate a couple of cookies yesterday at a family party and messed up my diet. I was doing really well and am now afraid to get on the scale and witness the damage I did.

That's all I have for tonight. Perhaps inspiration will strike me as I get caught up on sleep. I am really, really tired.

It's Saturday again...and it's really no different than any other day of the week. But there's a certain stigma to it being "the weekend" that gives me hope for relaxation and recharging. This is just plain stupid, really, because it's actually more exhausting with all the togetherness. I always wind up being strangely relieved when Monday, and our routines, roll around again.

So after I posted my rant on Thursday, things got really funny. I fed the dogs, and Carlos stood there after having finished his delectable bowl of kibble and proceeded to pee all over the kitchen floor...AGAIN! So I mopped the floors for the second time that day, only this time all the kids were awake and Lizzy was trying to crawl through the pee. That was fun.

It was actually a markedly improved day, as the kids and I made cookies and then Jaclyn and her kids came over at lunchtime and spent the afternoon with us. All the kids played so nicely together and it was such a relief. It made me to grateful to be back here in New Jersey and have my dear friend so close by. I know that years from now we will look back on the times when our children were young together and revel in how lucky we were to not only be there to watch and take part in their childhoods, but to be there together, and be totally spoiled by rainy Thursday afternoons where we could lift each others' burdens and make the time go by a little more quickly. Just not too quickly.

As I had mentioned on Thursday in my epic, mommy-sized temper tantrum, I was supposed to go have a drink with my friend Melissa that night, which I did and it was really nice. And you will be happy to know that I didn't actually have to mainline the wine when I got there. I arrived very relaxed after Pete had come back home safely, we had shared a nice dinner together and put the kids to bed without incident. So my Thursday night was a blast, which it needed to be after my Wednesday night was such a disaster. And then the most...

Oh. My. God.

Carlos just peed on my carpet. He just got up and peed all over the carpet. I am sitting here typing and I just heard it happening. I ran and dragged him outside to finish what he had started and Pete's cleaning the carpet after bolting down the stairs. I guess he heard me swearing. I can't give anymore face time to the dog right now. Back to pick up where the ellipses left off.

...amazing thing happened. We are often joined on Friday nights by Jaclyn, Brian and their kids for a take out meal of Sushi. It's been a tradition since we were all kid-less, and now that we are back in the area and live around the corner from each other, it's nearly a guarantee that Friday nights are nights we share with them, and last night was no different. We had great sushi, the kids were playing again, and then my new friend Melissa sent me a text message. I texted back, took a chance and asked them to come by...and they did! So our group of four adults became a group of six, and they added their two kids to the mix. They also live right in our neighborhood, and our kids will all go to the same school together. As a matter of fact, their son and Erin are in first grade together and in the same gym class, so for Erin to have a friend over her same age was wonderful. They got to know each other a little better, and as they left, Erin said, dreamily, "Mommy, I can't WAIT for gym on Monday. It is my new favorite time at school!" So stinking cute.

I love making new friends and introducing people to each other. And I love it when it works. You know how sometimes people come together and you can just see things fizzle out before they even get started? That bums me out so much because I am usually the person who orchestrates it and if one of my "set-ups" fizzles, it is something that sits with me as a personal failure. But when we all came together last night, it was easy and casual and comfortable. We all laughed and commiserated about the similarities in our kids and the challenges of raising them, and it was just fun to see the kids have an impromptu playdate on a Friday night. I wouldn't be surprised if we got together again and I'm hopeful that it may be, as Bogart once said, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

On to a Saturday of grocery and birthday gift shopping, and seeing my brother who is home for the weekend from Camp Lejeune, NC for a friend's wedding. I haven't seen him since September, and the girls don't even know that he's around. I left it as a surprise. Oh, the squeals I will hear in a couple of hours! They adore their Uncle Kevin...and I adore the fact that he'll play with them and chase them and wear them out for a little while. Oh, and I just remembered that I will be joining my friends Claire and Kim for pedicures at Claire's tonight!

Now I'm excited.

What a shitty day...

And that gives you all fair warning that this post contains explicit language and topics (namely, uncontrollable crying in front of kids and mean thoughts toward animals), and will curl your hair, so if you're not into that kind of thing, I'd leave the site now. I actually thought to myself yesterday, "I will never really be a writer because I hold too much back. I'm worried about what my family members will think of me, of my word choices, about my topics, when they read what I write." But I'm over it. I am holding nothing back this morning.

For those of you who are fearless, read on.

So yesterday started at 4 am, and I was pumped and ready to face the day knowing that history had changed course and I had a renewed sense of hope and faith in our country. I didn't realize that that hope and faith should not have been applied to my kids (#1 and #2), because they had apparently decided in their angelic, restful slumber to attempt to ruin me yesterday. They damn near succeeded.

Erin claimed at 7 am that she was sick. She had been sneezing and coughing the night before and I thought..."Aha!! The reason for her bitchy, nasty, horrible behavior yesterday! She's sick!" So here I am all happy and "OK, you can take it easy today."

Sucker!

She is not sick, even a little bit. Played me like the chump that I am. So now I had a not-sick, overly-rambunctious Erin home when she needed to be at school so someone would wear her ass out. And Meghan is off ALL WEEK LONG, so she's ready to lose her cotton-pickin' mind. The two of them were tearing around my house like caged animals on the heels of release, and would not listen or slow down for a moment. The baby got smushed into the rug or hardwood floor I don't know how many times, and then the smusher, which ever one of them it was, would yell at me that it wasn't their fault and I should not have put the baby there. Irrational, and rude, yes. But Pete was away, I knew it was going to be a long day because I had woken up at such a beastly hour, so I tried desperately NOT to lose my cool and just walked away from things that weren't that important. I kept the baby away from them as best I could.

But in the midst of this insanity, Elizabeth decided that there is not a toy in the house, no matter how magical and mystical its blinking lights and singing songs claim to be, that is more intriguing to her than the contents of my kitchen cabinets. Namely the cabinet that contains my cleaning products. I turn my back for a millisecond (literally, and yes, I know that's all it takes), and there she is sucking on a latex cleaning glove.

Oh. My. God.

I almost had to throw up a little.

I decided, "That's IT! I am installing those cabinets locks once and for all." This effort required the use of a drill. I can probably just stop this portion of the story there. Needless to say, the locks were not installed. And I'm happy to report that I stopped before I cracked the entire door front. I tried. And then...I stopped. And as I stopped I looked up to see my ten-month-old, turning my kitchen table chairs into walkers for herself, pushing them across the floor and padding along behind them. No ten-month-old should be able to do this. But here she is, Miss NICU-Premie herself, making a mockery out of any and all prediction that she would sustain developmental delays. She's moving furniture, for Christ's sake.

Then came dinner. I made mashed potatoes for them, a homemade butternut squash baby-food concoction for Liz (which, by the way, she hated. She ate a container of pre-fab Gerber instead. Clearly, a wasted effort), broccoli with light cheddar cheese and sauteed chicken. It doesn't get much healthier than that, particularly when you consider the fact that when Pete is away, I make a concerted effort NOT to cook more than is absolutely necessary. We usually have chicken fingers or grilled cheese. But I'm trying to revamp everyones diet, so I really went all out.

Those little beasts tortured me. Instead of eating, they went into a giggle-fit when Meghan decided that it would be more fun to infuriate me than to actually eat, and took a chicken tender, stuck into her mouth sideways and turned it into her smile. This sent Erin right over the edge into a fit of convulsionary laughter the likes of which I've never seen. And I know you are sitting there laughing your ass off right now at the thought of it. Well guess what? It's only that funny when it's happening at someone elses dinner table. I suddenly understood why my mother, on nights when my brother and I were behaving so badly at the dinner table, would simply pick up her plate, walk upstairs, and close her door. She had peace. She had quiet. She had all the reason in the world. Mom, I'm so sorry.

So I ignored them. I finished feeding Lizzy, then I gathered up their plates and cleared the table without a word. Thinking, in my typical Irish-Italian way, "You mess with the bull, you get the horns!" If they weren't going to eat, then dinner was over. They could go to bed hungry. Meghan proceeded to follow me into the kitchen, in her typical Irish-Italian-Lithuanian way, whining for dessert.

WHAT?????

I ignored her again and went about my clean-up. Apparently, she wanted to up the ante to get my attention, so she went into the playroom, got up on the little table we have in there, and started stomping on it as loud as she could and then jumped off with the loudest landing she could muster. I called Pete. I didn't know what to do. He was no help. (Sorry, babe, no offense.)

So I flipped. I picked her up and carried her upstairs to her room where I proceeded to freak out at my two oldest kids (because Erin followed me up to see what would happen)in a biblical way. I kept asking myself, silent-monologue-style, would anyone else have a different way to deal with this. Would this episode (which my words here do not do justice) have not turned Gandhi into a mass murderer? Of course it would have! I lit into them about wasting food, which is a waste of Daddy's hard-earned money. I let loose a litany about how hard I work every day to take care of them. Oh dear Lord, the Irish-Catholic guilt I laid upon them. And I thought of my best friend Erin's mom, who I love like my own, who has said, "Guilt is a good thing." Granted I've spent my adult like trying to get out from under the guilt of my forefathers (and mothers), but I now see that without it, children apparently do not develop a moral compass or remorse of their own. At least mine don't. So I laid it on.

I did not physically harm them. I can say that much. Emotionally, I didn't scar them for life. But I do hope that I got through to them. Erin snapped out of it and started acting like a trained Westminster show dog immediately. Which only pissed me off more because that tells me that she's capable of good, cooperative, complaint behavior. She just rations it out. After I started crying (yes, I broke down and bawled in front of my kids), I thought that Meghan started to get it. But then the little devil followed me back into the kitchen and yells, "AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN FEED ME DINNER!!!!!"

Oh. My. God.

"AND I WANT DESSERT!!!!!!!" she says.

Oh. My. God.

Then Erin chimes in with, "Where did you learn to cry?"

(Pause for laughter.)

Fast-forward to bedtime. I got them all to bed. That's all I can say about that. It was a minor miracle. I bathed all three of them in the same tub. I know, so gross, but it was the best I could do at that point. And I got all of them to bed. Then I realized that it was pouring and I had to take the dogs and the trash out. Meghan was back downstairs at 9:00 to tell me that she had the itchies. I did get a couple of extra minutes to just hug her on the couch and snuggle before I tucked her back in...and that was a nicer way to end the day. For both of us.

Then today began at 5:00 am with the clip-clop of untended dog toenails through my front hallway. This could only mean one thing...that goddamn dog (Carlos) needs to go out. I quickly grabbed a sweatshirt, ran downstairs to get him out and he stopped dead in his tracks. Wouldn't move another inch.

And that's when I saw it...

(Allow me to digress momentarily about my theory. Carlos, lately, has had a renewed spring in his step. Oh sure, he's still bouncing off the furniture like the Pinball Wizard, trying to navigate his way through the house, but he's been spry. This has happened before. Many, many times. The dog will not die. My theory is that he won't die because he has been put here to punish me. Does it get anymore narcissistic than that? A therapist would have a field day with me. He has been put here to make my life difficult and miserable when Pete travels, because I don't have enough to do. When Pete's here, he's fine. When Pete leaves, he turns on the works. Ok, back to the story.)

That goddamn dog left a huge pile of crap in the middle of the kitchen, right next to a sea of disgusting pee. That's why he wouldn't move another inch toward the door. He knew he'd step in it if he did, and also he knew it was dark, the blind bastard, and he also knew that I would step in it, at least the pee, because he deliberately peed right where the night light would not illuminate the puddle. So my day today began with a nice walk outside in more rain and gusting wind with this dog who will not die, and scrubbing and sanitizing my kitchen floors. Again.

It's only 6:30 and Meghan is already awake. And I've not veered off my diet in three full days (an accomplishment), but I love to eat when I'm stressed. It adds a whole new dynamic of guilt and low self-esteem to my day. I simply can't do it because I'm doing well and I don't want to blow my efforts with one bite of candy. Halloween candy. Snickers. And Twix. And anything and everything chocolate, sitting in bags on top of my fridge. Right there. An arm's reach away. No. No. NO. (Note to self: pitch all chocolate and leave only gross chewy candy for kids later today.)

(Did I mention that NO ONE HAS SCHOOL NOW UNTIL MONDAY???????????)

Thankfully, Pete will be home this afternoon and I am going to my girlfriend's house tonight for chit chat and a glass of wine. So I will set my sights on a better day. I don't know what I'm going to do with all of us today. The weather sucks, and I don't have money to schlep them to a play place. So it will just have to be a better day. Otherwise, my new friend, to whose house I'm going this evening, will have me walk into her home, to which I've never been before, uncork the wine and start an IV drip of the contents of the bottle right there in the middle of her kitchen.

Wednesday morning...early, early morning

Today marks the beginning of a new era in our history, as does the day after any election. I will now say that I am elated about the victory that took place last night for Barack Obama and, in my humble opinion, for America. It says so many things about where we are as a country...but most of all it proves that this country is capable of great recovery, as we look to the future with our first African-American President of the United States. I hope and pray for his safety and that he is able to do all that he promised to pull this country out of the depths after eight years under W. And I love that people actually voted. Regardless of your political views, the 2000 election put a bad taste in so many mouths about the legitimacy of our voting process. But so many voters put the past behind them and went to the polls to make sure that it didn't happen again. I am so filled with pride and hope for a better future.

I will no longer speak of politics.

My kids made me totally crazy yesterday, and I can only hope in some sadistic way, that they are getting sick. That way there would be an explanation for the insanity and how evil the older two were. The only word I can find to accurately describe their behavior and treatment of those around them was MEAN! I have not been losing my cool as much lately, but I guess yesterday I had a lot on my mind and was stupidly anxious about the outcome of the election, and I really lost it by last night. I feel terrible about it now and hope that tomorrow and Friday are better days since both of the kids are off of school for the NJ teacher's convention. Today will be better just by virtue of Erin having school.

I also decided to go back to the world of direct selling for some part-time work, but I am not allowed to "advertise" on my own website, so you'll just have to guess...or email me and I'll let you know for which company I'm selling. I am excited about getting back to work a little bit and hopefully making things easier financially for our family. Now that Liz's medical bills are coming due and I've had gall bladder surgery, I do not anticipate that our month to month outlay will change for the better in the coming months. Hopefully me working a few nights a month will make things easier.

Pete is off on a business trip again, which is a bummer. He is happy, finally, with his job, and that makes me really happy. But I really like him...and I miss him when he's gone. Boo hoo...guess I'll go cry in my coffee.

I also must happily report that I have started South Beach Diet...again...for the fiftieth time. And I've lost four pounds. I feel exhilerated by this jump start and really hope that I can make it work this time. I say it every time. But I am so tired of having a closet filled with clothes that I cannot wear. And I can't afford to go out and buy new clothes in a bigger size, so the only choice is to diet and get back into my old clothes. Another step toward financial independence, really. Eliminate "Clothing for Kate" from the budget. I also cannot eat whatever I want anymore from a digestive standpoint, as the gall bladder surgery has really taken its toll on me. So a healthier lifestyle all around is much needed. So far, so good.

So now what do I do? It's 5:40 am, I've been up for over an hour (because he left so early). I flipped on the news when Pete woke up at 4:00 to see what happened after I passed out at the ripe hour of 9:00 last night, and once I'm up, I'm up. I've run the dishwasher, posted to the blog, checked email, facebooked. I guess I could try to do a quick workout or grab a shower. But no matter what else I do, I have a feeling it's going to be a long day. Mommy might just need a nap...

Recap of the Evening

Happy November! I love the fall so very dearly...between back to school time, Halloween, Thanksgiving and football, it is easily the most exciting time of the year, especially with children around. My kids were so excited yesterday for trick or treating, the older two were both up before 6 am...and it was a blissful, beautiful, rare thing to see them all passed out, drooling on their pillows by 8:30 last night.

They had a great time and looked so cute. Two Minnie Mouses and an Alice from Alice in Wonderland. They each had school parades and parties, and it was such great fun to live vicariously through them again and remember that each year it was simply the best to be able to wear a costume and feel magnificent in it, and then be rewarded by running around in the dark, having people give you free candy.

Of course the evening would not have been complete if we had not encountered at least one notable quote from one of our kids. This occurred when my kind neighbor offered to take Erin and Meghan to a few houses to start Trick or Treating before I was ready to get on the way, having just gotten around to decorating the outside of the house and still needing to dress Lizzy and order pizza. The big girls left with our neighbor, and as they were walking away they passed by the sign on our lawn that happens to hold the names of the people for whom we will be voting in the upcoming presidential election*. She turns to my neighbor and says, "So, who ya' votin' for in the election? I'm votin' for that guy," and points to our sign, which had, unbeknowst to me, been adorned with a fuzzy spider and a rubber bat during our decorating party. Then later in the evening, she tells Jaclyn that she "absolutely loves her high heels" that were part of her Minnie Mouse costume and that she will probably walk around up on her tippy toes in all her other shoes from now on so that they all seem like high heels.

Priceless.

I wonder what it is about a holiday ending that while I was super-excited to decorate and get ready for it, as soon as Halloween night was over, I want all the decorations out of my face ASAP. I was just over it. I came down from putting the pumpkins to bed, and Pete had apparently read my mind, because there, on the island, sat all of the Halloween decorations from all around the house, ready to be packed away until next year. Up came the bins, away went the decor and on to Thanksgiving and turkeys we go.

So today we begin November with the Craft Fair and lunch out with all the girls, from my amazing grandmother on down to Lizzy Jo, on a beautiful fall Saturday. I treasure these times so much now, having had a year away from my familiar places and routines during these holidays, and I love that we will be able to share this day. I might even be able to squeak babysitting duties out of someone so Pete and I can go out with Jaclyn and Brian tonight. An all-around fabulous weekend...but for the incessant whining and perpetual sugar-crash that Thing 1 and Thing 2 are experiencing. It could be a great one, and it might really suck.

The same as any other day.

* Up to this point, I have decided to keep my blog politically neutral. I have strong opinions about politics, as I do about every topic under the sun. But I respect that my readers have equally strong opinions and do not need to be bombarded by my views in this place. I reserve the right to change my mind and outlandishly celebrate victory or mourn defeat on Tuesday. But for right now, consider me Mommy-Blogging Switzerland**.

**I'm laughing writing this because holding back my political views on my blog up to this point has been an enormous exercise in restraint, a characteristic that does not come easily to me. And I know it's not going to last over the next few days. But creating an aura of suspense is fun, and it will be good for me to step outside my comfort zone and keep my mouth shut about something. Even if only temporarily.