28 Days

That's how long I have to whip myself into some sort of shape that doesn't resemble a pear, because in twenty-eight days, I am going to South Beach. Miami. Florida. Sunshine. My BFF Erin and I have talked forever about getting away together, but the more time went by, and the more life-changing events occurred, it seemed that the likelihood was dwindling. Then Pete came to me a couple of weeks ago, like only he could, and told me that Erin (daughter, not BFF) told him that he should "send Mommy away on a vacation." I was relieved that he interpreted this according to the classical definition of vacation and not to mean that "Mommy's finally cracked up. TO THE HOME!!" He told me that I should try to get away for a long weekend.

Right. Sure. I'll get on that.

That night, planetary alignment changed and the axis of the earth somehow shifted because Erin (BFF, not daughter) and I get to talking, me mentioning Pete's proposition, to which she says that she'll check with her hubby to see whether or not he has hotel points with which he's willing to part. And he did! And he was! So Pete offered up AmEx points for my flight, and the next thing you know...We're going to Miami! For FREE!!!!

My joy exists on many levels.

But of course, it is me I'm discussing here, so the joy would not exist without equal if not greater levels of apprehension, fear and self-loathing. They are the following:

1) I have to leave the kids with Pete for three days. Enough said.
2) I have to get on a plane. Alone. Enough said.
3) I will not be referred to as "Mommy!" or "Babe!" for three days. Enough said.
4) I will most likely, if I am to appropriately enjoy myself, have to don a bathing suit. Enough said.

So now I'm hitting the beach in February, which is not bathing suit season for me, and I'm stressed. I hate feeling uncomfortable and feel like I always am when it comes to this issue. So I was at Target yesterday and I was standing at the Dollar Section while Meg pined away for growing pills. (You know those annoying things that you put in warm water to dissolve the gross gelatinous placenta to allow an animal-shaped sponge creature to emerge? Well that's what yesterday's obsession was.) Trying not to listen to the whining, I glanced over at the bathing suits. So cute. So need one for Miami. And there are these two girls, early twenties, looking through them...and I wanted to throw a shoe at them. Because to them, any month is bathing suit season. To them, January is a perfectly acceptable month to need to throw one on. To me, it's my worst nightmare! I'm still in hibernation mode, with that extra layer keeping me nice and warm for the winter. But they have no layer. They do not hibernate. They just walk around being the way they are and whenever the mood strikes them, they can go put on a bathing suit and look fabulous. And this is because they are not approaching middle-age, like me, having birthed babies and experienced the hideous phase that I affectionately refer to as "The Great Metabolism Slowdown." They just eat McDonald's and go to Spring Break and don't give a shit.

I am bitter. This much is clear.

But I am working on turning my attitude, and my metabolism around, once again, and hope that this will be the last time I go through this battle. With my pregnancy days behind me, I really don't have a reason to be carrying baby weight. And let's face it, it's not baby weight anymore when people start referring to your "baby" as a "toddler." A term that I find offensive...but nevertheless, true.

28 days. That's all. 28.

Yesterday was quite a day. Elizabeth's Upper GI was at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, a place that fills me with so much confidence just at being inside the parking garage. I wish that's where Lizzy had been...but, coulda, shoulda, woulda. Anyway, we made it in time, but I had not been told before hand that this wasn't your run-of-the-mill Upper GI. It was an "Upper GI Small Bowel Follow Through," which means that they give the patient the barium, take pictures and then wait to watch the concoction work its way through the system. They take pictures every 30 minutes. But the catch was that Meghan (who came with me because I'm an idiot and didn't plan better) wasn't allowed in the room because of the Xrays, and obviously, I couldn't leave her in the hallway alone. So strangers had to take Liz, who had not eaten and was incredibly pissed off, and hold her down for these pictures. Sitting in the hallway listening to her scream was awful. I was frantically calling and texting anyone I could think of to try to get them to come there and hang with Meg so I could be there for Liz. To no avail. It took two and a half hours of intermittent picture-taking to get to the end, with Meghan growing ancy and Lizzy growing more and more ravenous. Plus, we were sitting in the walkway for the OR, so every baby and pediatric patient going for surgery walked right by us. Two babies looked so much like Liz when we took that walk with her twice. It was tough. My heart was aching for the parents. But in the end, they got what they needed from Lizzy's gut, and when the tech checked with the doctor she reported back to me that "everything looks normal."

I cried.

No pouches, loops or hang ups in her intestines where they operated. No narrow areas, scar tissue or strictures. Just normal intestinal stuff.

A little background, just so you know why and for what they were looking. After her second bowel surgery, they told us that she lost only about nine centimeters of bowel. She had a section of her intestines that was stretched out so badly that it would never shrink itself back down and work properly. This happened because when babies are in utero, as we know, they swallow amniotic fluid. But she was swallowing into a blocked gut, so there was nowhere for the fluid to, resulting in a very large, dilated piece of bowel. They took out the blockage in the first surgery, but not the non-functioning section. Let her sit for six weeks getting sicker (four blood transfusions, becoming septic, couldn't eat, blah blah blah), then reoperated and removed that section. Everything went well, but they told us then that there was a chance that where they had reattached the two pieces could host an overgrowth of the "bad" bacteria. This could lead to bowel stasis and a really sick baby. Not good news.

So...because she has had so many stomach bugs this winter and it has taken her up to two weeks to clear them, the GI doctor became concerned that the natural barrier that she should have of good bacteria had been basically destroyed by the viruses and all of the antibiotics she had been on for the ear infections, etc. She could have been facing a lifetime of prophylactic antibiotics and potentially succumbing to terrible stomach viruses. An Upper GI would allow them to see if there was a trouble area at the the surgical site. There'd be no escaping the reality. If they saw it, if it was there, I could no longer tell myself that she was ok. She might not be.

And then they told me that all is well. I didn't see it coming. Blindsided again...but by happy news instead of the other kind to which I have become accustomed.

The kids have a two-hour snow delay today, which is nice. They still can go to school, but it's been a nice relaxing morning, filled with two of them playing out back in the snow/ice/rain while Lizzy goes between the sliders and the windows watching her sisters. Now hot chocolate and graham crackers...then off to school in an hour. Pretty perfect morning after a really great day yesterday.

Erin has been invited by a friend to go to see a play in Philly on Saturday. I'm so excited for her...and realize that with this accepted invitation I have now entered yet another realm of parenthood. One where I kiss my child at the door and trust her well-being to others. My first inclination is to hold on tight and say "No freakin' way!" But this is another opportunity for me to let her spread her wings a little. Even it does mean she's crossing state lines. And crossing a bridge. And will be in a large, crowded theater and is way less than four feet tall. Easy to misplace.

And there go my neuroses. Again.

Upper GI is this morning.

Will post with results.

I am a nervous wreck.

Crazy is as crazy does

Up until yesterday, I had convinced myself that my kids have Salmonella poisoning, due to contaminated peanut butter products, even though Lizzy has never eaten peanut butter and the peanut butter in the house isn't on the recall list. And these are the times when I know that I am insane.

So I was able to get an appointment with Lizzy's gastroenterologist yesterday, and had to take her for a battery of blood tests the day before. They had to stick her twice in the same arm. She only had one decent vein because of how much diarrhea she'd had. It was a nightmare. And I had the other two with me at the lab, so that was a heap of fun. Meghan didn't want to see any of it. Erin was utterly fascinated. So she keeps popping into the cubicle area asking four hundred questions a minute while two phlebotomists and I are trying desperately to hold Lizzy still. I was somehow able to maintain my patience and composure with the help of other patrons of the lab who were so kind and generous with their time and attention to Erin and Meghan. There are some moments in life when you truly see the goodness of the human spirit. There are a lot of people in this world who will stop and give of themselves just to make someone elses day a little brighter and their load a little lighter. The people in the lab could see that it wasn't the most fun being me, and they treated me and my kids like they had come with me to help me out. It was a sweet moment. I was grateful.

In other news of "Amazing Discoveries," I have eliminated all dairy from Meghan's diet, after noting how much it helped Lizzy, and the most amazing thing happened. Meghan's reflux disappeared! She was clearing her throat constantly, all day and all night, for months, despite being on daily doses of Prevacid and/or Zantac since she was three weeks old. So I got to thinking about the difference a no-dairy diet made for Lizzy's digestive system and reflux and wondered if Meg might benefit as well. Within two days, the throat clearing stopped and she hasn't taken a Prevacid since. According to the doctor, this could be sign of a lactose intolerance, but is more than likely a dairy allergy. I'm suddenly entering a world of which I know little.

I took Lizzy to the GI yesterday and a bunch of stuff came out of it. She needs an upper GI of her small bowel to make sure that she hasn't developed a stricture or narrowing at her surgical site, which could contribute to bacterial overgrowth in her gut. From there, we move on to allergy testing because the blood work panel we ran that came back clear is apparently not sensitive enough to pick up what is pretty clearly a dairy allergy. And then we will possibly be checking for Celiac disease. It's a one-thing-at-a-time kind of scenario, so I shouldn't get ahead of myself with worry and worst-cases. That's what the doctor said.

Isn't that so hard to do, though?

I'm teetering somewhere between a nervous breakdown and "Proactive Supermom," wearing her cape and her "Bring It" tee-shirt. I'm hoping to decide today which outfit I'm wearing. I'm fairly certain it'll be the cape and the tee. It has to be. But my fear wears me out. And does nothing to help my kids. So I will purge the fear, fight it and get to the root of the issues, solve them and continue to move on.

By the by...I am reading Grace (Eventually) and Other Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott right now. I highly recommend it. I am supposed to be reading something different for book group, which meets on Thursday. I will be unprepared. But when we founded our little group, we emphasized the importance of good conversation and good wine being paramount to total preparation about the "assigned" reading materials. So I will be there for the former two, and will happily take in the insights and thoughts of my compatriots.

Stay warm and full of positive energy today. Tomorrow starts another week. And my bathroom will be painted just in time for my Monday morning shower. This is a thrill.

What I learned today...

Don't ever buy and eat anything out of the candy bins at a grocery store.

I watched, with my own eyes, two down-trodden people who had not recently bathed or put on clean clothes, peruse the candy buffet at Wegman's and help themselves to whatever looked good. Handfuls, as if it was there just for them, stuffed into their mouths in the middle of the aisle. Then they'd put some in a bag, and then go to another bin and stick their bare hands into it...and shove more candy into their mouths.

I almost threw up a little.

I learned a whole boatload more at Lizzy's GI appointment, too. But it has thrown me into a total tizzy of an anxiety attack, so I'll get into all that later.

For now, just remember: the candy buffet is a no-no.

Two nights ago, the third stomach virus to hit our house since November took hold of Erin. I had a feeling it was a night for puke before I even went up to attempt to go to bed. And it was. Call it mother's instinct again. Liz was awake with more sewage poop, the scent of which is again drilled into our sinuses, and as soon as we got her back to sleep after 2 hours of rocking and hoping, Erin was up and spewing.

So out came the sleeping bags again to adorn the bathroom floor, one with parent and one with child. Those sleeping bags used to go camping. Now they take care of sick kids. Pete's is a really high performance bag that has seen some of the highest mountain peaks and the coldest desert nights. Now, it just sees vomit.

Before the puke hit I had one of my post-traumatic stress episodes. It was a simple start...I went up at 10:00 to a sobbing Lizzy who had not taken her bottle before bed. I had left it upstairs (accidentally) and looked at the clock to count the hours it had been sitting out to judge whether or not I could reasonably give it to her. It had been about two hours. And that's all it took. I was catapulted back in time to a place where I put four hours worth of formula at a time into the feeding bag connected to her NG tube. So if it was less than four hours, we were all good. I suddenly could hear the sound of the pump that ran the food through the bag, through the tube and into her little body. And everything came back to me, all at the same time. The sound of the alarm that would sound on the pump if food ran out. The smell of the vitamins we added to the formula to help her liver heal that turned the formula the brightest shade of orange. The process and recipe for making her fomula, adding special oil to it to increase the calories. And then I remembered the first and last name of every doctor and nurse at the hospital who touched her, for better and for worse.

And I thought I would lose my mind. I just sat and cried. Because she is sick again with another stomach virus, or at least what I think is a stomach virus, and it will not go away. I'm right back there again, with my anxiety sky-high and my hope in the toilet. This virus raises all of these questions about what is actually happening inside of her little GI tract and whether or not she is suffering from an overgrowth of the bad bacteria that live naturally there. It is more than anyone would ever want to truly ponder about the inner-workings of their kids' systems. Labwork, testing, doctor's appointments...I feel like this is what is on the horizon for her, and it is almost a year since she was discharged from the hospital. So I get pissed off all over again at the incompetence of many of those whom "cared" for her, knowing that if they had done their jobs with even reasonable care, we would most likely not be here...and then I want to either sue the pants off of them, or take a baseball bat to their knee caps. Or both.

I cannot imagine how soldiers deal when they come out of battle. I endured minor trauma in comparison to what so many others endure, and it has made a quivering mess out of me. My empathy and compassion for those who defend us through times of war is not quantifiable.

In hopeful news, we inaugurated our new President yesterday and it was so thrilling. I loved that all of us were home, even Pete who was able to come down from his office and watch President Obama's inauguration. Everything about the ceremony was beautiful. And my kids were actually interested and excited...especially Erin, who had lots of questions about their daughters. She was fascinated. She then schooled me about the Civil Rights Movement, who Martin Luther King, Jr. was, what he worked for, why he died and that President Obama is our first African-American president. She also told me that we shouldn't say "black," but instead it is correct to say "African-American."

I agreed, smiled and realized once again that my six-year-old is stinkin' brilliant.

Today I am attempting to give my kids one more health day so that they legitimately feel better before going back into their germ-infested schools, which they all are. Ick. I have the heebie-geebies just thinking about them touching the basket of community pencils. However, this "health day" strategy will probably only be effective if random household accidents stop happening. Like Dance Time Wall-E falling off the table and onto Meghan's forehead, and me nearly burning the house down by putting a frying pan on to warm up and forgetting about it until I smelled it accross the house.

Mommy needs some more java and a vacation. Stat.

Pissin' and moanin'

Happiness is...

Diarrhea, teething, food allergies, anxiety about kids' health, days off from school with nowhere to go and nothing to do, winter time, colds, coughs, and puke.

I am so crabby today. And it's not my kids' fault, which makes me feel so guilty for being so bitchy, but I am seriously ready to kill. I can tell that it's nothing more than an endorphin low and nagging selfishness, plus a twinge of Seasonal Affective Disorder. My vitamin D is low and I need sunshine! I am just locked in a place of wanting more time to myself and time away from mommy-hood. I'm sick of needing to lose weight while constantly being stared and screamed at by those 10 remaining tater tots and peanut butter and jelly sandwich crusts. I'm sick of feeling like I smell like other people's poop no matter how much I wash my hands, and knowing that it's not my hands that are holding the smell...it's just that my nostrils have been violated by parasitic stenches that will not remove themselves. It's utterly disgusting...and I never thought I'd be able to be pooped and puked and snotted and drooled on, and then just clean up and move on. Like it's normal. Because it is.

I stand here, desperate to purge my negativity via this post, eating plain yogurt and raw broccoli, while drinking water, V8 and coffee. And this is equally as disgusting as the poop-stench-stuck-in-my-nose. No wonder I'm pissed off. I made sausage and meatballs and gravy yesterday for my family to eat while watching the Eagles get the pants beaten off of them...and now we have two dozen of the yummiest rolls sitting in my kitchen, and I can't eat them because wheat sticks to my body like goddamned superglue, so I have to look at them, while hungry, and hope I can cram them down the kids' and the husband's throats before temptation gets the best of me.

Plus, I organized this book group, and I haven't finished ONE BOOK yet. Every month, I'm almost there, but never finished. WTF? Who organizes a book group with no ability to read? What's the point? We are supposed to meet next week. I didn't even get the book yet.

And now my buddy 'round the corner (you know her. It's Jaclyn.) has sick kids, and she didn't know it, but she was supposed to be my playdate-savior today. I wonder if she'd be offended if I asked her to spray her kids with Lysol, rub Purell all over them and then wrap them with Saran Wrap so we can come over.

Ugh. Must shake it off. And rally. Rally, rally, rally.

Skiing was a blast. Pete took footage of my old, decrepit ass shooshing down the Bear Creek blue trails, and I just might post it. Just for a laugh. We got there early, and it was the most beautiful winter day you could ask for...if you like the cold even a little bit on occasion, which Pete and I do. Crystal, bright blue sky, without a cloud, and no wind...just good, old-fashioned Northeast cold. We suited and booted and hit the lift. Skiing came back to me like riding a bike, and of course, Pete's mad snowboarding skills never seem to escape him. And it was like the closest I've ever gotten to true meditation. I had the company and laughter of my best friend with me, and once off the chair, I was able to sink my teeth and my edges into the snow and concentrate fully on that moment.

I used to think that marriage was really complicated and hard. And yesterday I realized that it's not complicated. Hard, yes. It's a lot of work. But complicated, no. It's like anything else...raising your kids, taking care of pets or a garden. You have to work at it. And you learn, as you go, what works and what doesn't, and the more time that goes by, you are able to better trust your instincts about what's causing the latest high, low or plateau. For me and Pete, we love each other bigger than that bright blue sky we played beneath yesterday. And we like each other just as much. And if you don't get to spend time with the person/people you like the most in your life, you start to get resentful of those others who keep you from the one(s) with which you really desire time. Leading inevitably to lack of patience with kids, jobs, housework, etc., and then to snapping at each other because you are just pissed and stressed and feeling selfish because all you want is a little undivided attention from that one person.

So yesterday we got that. And I couldn't get enough. I wanted a weekend, a week, a true getaway, just some more time where it was just us, like when we first met, but we could reminisce and get to know each other at the same time. I started to get a little panicked, not wanting to go back to real life, where he wasn't all mine and I wasn't all his. But in the end, we headed home at the right time to our house full of chaos and noise and people thrilled to see us.

And then we passed out on the couch at 8:00.

Now that we've figured out how to actually make an outing like this happen, my hope is that we will do it again. Soon. But if it doesn't, I'm happy to be able to add that day to the decade and a half-long string of memories and adventures that we have together, and just remember it for the excellent time that it was and how it brought us right back to center, right back to that place in the universe where its only me and him.

My kids have off from school Monday. I get a pit of dread in my gut on days off anymore...I have completely forgotten that last year, neither of them was in school, and Lizzy was in the NICU, and our little family was splintered, trying desperately to stay together. I guess I should be grateful that we are here, like this, instead of thinking, "What the hell am I going to do with them today?" It's all about perspective. Anyway, we will most likely be staying in...everyone seems to have a touch of a cold, so venturing out will only bring more germs in, and that doesn't sound like fun to me. So we'll draw and paint and make playdough and just hang out. Doesn't sound so bad when you put it in those terms...it's just the whining and fighting and yapping at me about the latest toy injustice or hunger pang that seriously makes me feel as my personality is splitting itself into multiple compartments and then screaming at me!

Positivity will be key. And then I'll blog to let you know how horrendous the day really was!

Thank God It's...

Thursday? Really?

It's just not right. It feels like Friday. I guess I'm already in weekend mode. Pete and I decided this morning that we are going to try line up sitters and hit the Poconos for a day-trip-date. We haven't been skiing together since a couple years before we had kids, and we've been talking about doing this forever. Saturday might just be the day. It also might be the coldest day we've had in about two years...but "Carpe Diem" and "Don't be a sissy" are what I always say.

An aside...isn't this picture so damn cute?

So we might hit the slopes. We might not. Either way, I really want to spend a few uninterrupted hours with my favorite person...and he still is. After 10 years together, he's still my favorite person.

I took Lizzy to get blood work done this morning. I have to take her back next week for the GI work because I didn't have the heart to let them take eight tubes from her today. I'm convinced she has a lactose intolerance, at very least, and possibly full-blown food allergies. So they ran her pediatric food panel today, plus regular one-year-old stuff. I just want the results...and then I'll take her for the rest of the tests. It's terrible, but I have been putting the GI panel off for quite a while because I'm scared of what the results will reveal. Still waiting for the shoe to drop I guess. She's just been so great lately, despite normal baby illnesses, etc., that I just want to keep believing that she is healthy. And I'm afraid that the blood work will tell us differently. If there is something wrong, I know that we need to know so that we can make it right, and if there's nothing wrong and the tests come back beautifully, it will be the best high in the world. I guess I'm just stuck with fear and still afraid of losing her. She's just the sweetest little package, and so delicious, and she feeds my soul. Like all of them do...but there is, admittedly, something about her spirit that grabs me and holds me and feeds me and and I don't want to think about my days without that aura being a part of them. I realize this is morbid, but it is the truth. And that is what comes to this here blog of mine.

We just got the thumbs up for Saturday. Slopes, here we come! I will undoubtedly be paralyzed by noon that day, but it will feel great to burn up my muscles and have time with my honey! Now I have to rent skis, find ski pants and organize the hell out of my kids and my house so it's easy for the moms to come in and fill in. The joys of having wonderful grandparents. Always at the ready...and my goodness do we need some time together. How often are married couples, with kids or without, supposed to getaway or get out together for date time or mini-vacations? We seem to be having a date night about once a month. And it doesn't seem like nearly enough to me. But maybe I'm just being greedy? Would love feedback...because we can tell - very easily - when we haven't had time to recharge and regroup together, and maybe it's because we don't take that time for "us" often enough? I think I need to submit and find a teenage babysitter (who drives) so that we can call on that person without feeling guilty for inconveniencing our moms. Food for thought...would love to know what other marrieds are doing when it comes to this.

Nap time's over. Peace out.

My appreciation for my friends is huge today. I've just been pondering how blessed I am to be surrounded by their love and understanding. And my appreciation for those friends who have come back into my life in the past couple of months is indescribable. I lost touch for so many years with people who were not only important to me, I rarely knew a day without either seeing them, or at very least, hearing their voice. And during college, years that were ugly and painful for me, I slowly lost them. Almost all of them. Now, because of Facebook (I know, I know), many of us have found each other and are a part of each other's lives again. We are able to share the joys of thirty-something-life and continue to be part of all of these new experiences that mold us. Marraige, motherhood, careers, etc. I think about how my friends and I have gotten each other through stomach bugs and challenging behavior phases, gripes with our husbands and various parent figures. We've changed jobs, gone back to school, moved great distances, juggled our lives and basically held each other up. We weather the bad storms and relish the great victories with one another. And without that camaraderie, life would really be a bitch.

At least, that's what I think.

Tonight, as I blog, I am watching American Idol and I say, with zero shame, that I love this show. Truth and confession: I almost went to audition for this show when they held auditions at the Meadowlands a couple of seasons ago. Yes, almost. And then I didn't. Thank God. I know now, based purely upon the clear ratio of talented to talentless people who've surfaced on this show, that I am one of the talentless, one of the masses who thinks I can carry a tune a bit better than I actually can. And therefore, I am eternally thankful to scheduling conflicts and the smidgen of better judgment that kept me from driving to East Rutherford and forever becoming one of those embarrassed people. What would my friends on Facebook think? (Insert chuckle here.)

Back to the friends and survival of the fittest in terms of being a mom...how in the hell did our mothers get by without Facebook and Instant Messengers? Seriously? I am incapable of getting through a phone conversation during the day with all these kids barking at me, so my only connection to my friends and the outside world is through my computer. I start off each day by checking in on everyone on FB, checking my email, and chatting with two lovelies who shall not remain nameless (Jaclyn and Claire) on IM, commiserating about the insanity of how little sleep we got, about how our kids are being schmucks about getting through breakfast and getting ready for school...and without those little shocks, nudges and comments back and forth, my mornings would not only suck, I would be sure that I was the worst mom in the world. But knowing that the three of us are all dealing with the same crap makes me believe that either the three of us are the worst moms in the world, or everyone is going through the same stuff and it's not so bad. I like to think it's the latter. I also have to give a shout out to my laptop. I know we shouldn't love "things" but this is one thing that I truly love. It has added a much unneeded distraction to my daily life, yes, but the ownership over my thoughts and my connection to my friends, near and far, is so real, that I would definitely save my laptop in the event of a fire...after my husband, children and animals, of course.

Now back to Idol for a moment...WTF is up with the dude with the super deep voice and now the pink cowgirl from Connecticut? These people can not possibly exist, for real, in society. I am more convinced every season that the producers find these people on the street, pay them handsomely to make asses of themselves and then humiliate them. It's a beautiful thing.

We went to Kid Junction today for Meghan's "Special Day" with a bunch of other mommies and their kids, many of whom find themselves on my list of "People I Couldn't Get Through This Without..." Meg was so pleased that she got to do something just for her. I told her where we were going after Erin was already at school so there'd be no nonsense, and she almost jumped out of her seat. We arrived and but for a five-minute lunch break, she played like no child I've ever seen before. It was awesome to see her thriving and playing and loving life. She has been left out of some pretty hefty occasions lately. Erin has had a roller skating party, a Build-A-Bear party, the ear piercing fiesta...the list of what Meghan has had to sit on the sidelines for is endless. So to give her a day all her own was so excellent. I hope she didn't feel like such a middle child today.

Well I've now cried at Idol because of the guy who's almost totally blind. He sang one of my favorite songs, one that I used to be able to play on the piano, and I cried. Which means it's time for my lame self to go to bed.

'Night. And thanks girlfriends, for being in my life. You know how you are...and I seriously could not get through my days and nights of SAHM-life (or any kind of life, for that matter) without you. You are my angels.

The baby slept. Again.

To wake at 5:30 or 6:00, like the me of old, and have an hour to myself in the morning, but be that self while feeling rested is the nearest thing to heaven. I have always been a morning person, and without this hour that has always been so precious to me I have really been lacking something very important. I used to wake up at this hour every day and either work or clean or go for a run, and it would give me not only a sense of autonomy but it was also a source of energy. I've been so drained, obviously from the lack of sleep that the last year threw upon me, but a mental energy has been sucked from me, as well. And to have these small moments is so fulfilling.

I am a simple creature really. Early wake up, an hour alone before anyone else is awake, my coffee uninterrupted. Simple. I'm feeling, for the first time since Lizzy was born, that I might be getting some semblance of a schedule and a life back. There's such hope in me for actually being able to make strides toward physical and mental improvement. I want to get my butt in gear and be ready for bathing suit season...I just feel like I have such a long way to go.

That being said, I would like to know is why the only sidebar ads I am getting on EVERY SINGLE WEBSITE I HIT are for Weight Watchers. Hello, I know!! I feel like there's some cyber-freak following me, trying to make sure I don't forget (like I could) that I need to lose 20 pounds. The dieting has been abysmal for the past year. In the past, I've had decent success with dieting, but only when I could couple it with exercise. I have tried over and over again to get a good diet plan going and failed every time due to stress and exhaustion stealing my willpower, and frankly my desire, to get my physical self back. For me the mental definitely comes before the physical when it comes to fitness. But after I woke from my first full night of sleep the other day, I took a good, long look at myself in the mirror and was horrified at what was staring back at me. Wrinkled and lined, dried out and defeated, I looked like complete and total shit. I tried to do my hair, put on make-up, get dressed...but as my husband would happily interject here, "You can't paint a turd." It was an awful moment.

So I started guzzling water, realizing that all I'd been ingesting for hydration was coffee and diet soda...for months. Yeah, that'll shrivel the hell out of your face, and God knows what it's been doing to my organs. I perish the thought. Water, water and more water. No soda in days. It has already made a huge difference. I've also decided that dairy products and animal protein and fat are the root of all evil, so I'm keeping them to an absolute minimum. And if my current sleep schedule holds up, I will actually be able to wake and exercise like I used to, beginning my day with an endorphin high and a flush to my cheeks, like the me of old.

Could the skinny, youthful mom that I've always envisioned myself being truly be on tomorrow's horizon? My goal when all this baby-making started was to do it young enough that I could be a young, fun mom. Maybe I'll reach that goal? I don't want to get too far ahead of myself and jinx the sleeping craze that everyone's been on. But can you imagine? Me, not in a constant state of self-loathing?

It's Friday! Totally didn't realize that until right now!

Pete will be home later today and I just might surprise him with the can of paint he's been waiting for me to pick for our bathroom. No, it's still not done. And it's my fault because I haven't been able to muster the desire to give a shit about it until now. It would be dandy to have a floor in there. Fine and dandy. And I am totally going for a run this weekend. No doubt. And then Eagles play on Sunday and I could have a preemptive coronary at just the thought of it. It will be ridiculous and my kids' hearing will be deafened because of my big mouth and "annoying clap," as Pete calls it. But they better bring it, those birds of mine. They'd better just bring it.

Off to wake the kids, who were so naughty at bedtime last night, I'm actually looking forward to disturbing their slumber and waking them while it's still dark out.

Come on...you know you've thought the same thing about someone in your life at least one time before. Admit it. Just admit it.

Later on, peeps.

I'm back on the blogging train. That's for damn sure.

I posted yesterday and was magically transported to a place, a happy place, a place in which you find yourself after a very exploratory therapy session or a great chat with a girlfriend, the latter of which is often times much more valuable and helpful than the former. At least in my experience. Anyway, I was totally recharged and energized just by plunking away at the keys for a few minutes and hitting "Publish Post." This tells me that writing clearly fills me up in a way that nothing else does or ever will, and I think I am going to try to make it a part of my daily routine.

In other news...Elizabeth has slept 12 hours the past three nights and hasn't stopped eating all day long. I've been indulging this, wondering if perhaps she was waking up every night, screaming like she was hungry because... SHE WAS FREAKIN' HUNGRY?? Judging by the current rate in which she's shoving food down her throat and saying "Num num" every time anything edible, and anything resembling something edible, enters her line of vision, I'm inclined to think she's making up for a deficit.

I was beginning to think that Meghan is part vampire and part hermit. She doesn't want to get out of her pajamas, much less leave the house, and if she does there are only certain clothes that she has deemed wearable. She also doesn't care for the first rays of light that hit her in the morning. It's odd, but reminiscent of my brother as a child. Well, as of yesterday, she has decided that she has a new favorite outfit which is a Wall-E tee-shirt and a pair of jeans. And I'm so thrilled that she's wearing jeans, and putting them on quickly when she wakes up, that I have actually decided to make sure that these particular items of clothing are wearable every day from now until such a time that she no longer digs them. Screw it, you know? After the battles I've fought to try to get her dressed at all, I think making this concession, another laundry commitment, is totally worth it.

Additionally, Erin now has pierced ears. Holy moly, the child has pierced ears. On Christmas morning, Pete and I gave her a pair of earrings and permission to get them done. I have to figure out how to post the video. She actually got choked up. It was really awesome. Christmas week was insane here...it would've been insane anyway because it was Christmas, but add in another stomach virus, shots for Liz, and roseola and you've got yourself one hell of a week. So Erin succumbed to the virus in the middle of the night on Dec. 26th/27th, and by 7 am was jumping rope in place asking when we were going to get the ears done. WTF? So off we went that afternoon. Me, my mom and Erin, to the mall. I was fully having a panic attack, breaking out into hot flashes, trying desperately to tell her how badly it was going to hurt and letting her know that she was more than welcome to change her mind. She picked out the piercing earrings in approximately 15 seconds (the fastest decision the child has ever made), and got down to business. She wanted to sit on my lap in the chair, so I obeyed, held my first born on my lap and braced myself for the event. I had tears rolling down my face. She sat, stoic, not knowing what was coming, not knowing that I was completely betraying her by allowing these strangers to ram metal through her earlobes. They quietly told her they were measuring her ears, and even more quietly counted, "1, 2, 3." And Erin, without a flinch, said, "Is that it? Can I have my lollipop?" I am not kidding. It was the biggest adrenaline rush ever. To know what a total, pathetic wimp I am and know that my daughter is so determined that when she knows what she wants, she will even go so far as to block out pain. This will be a skill that will serve her well as she proceeds to conquer the world.

One final note: Oprah made me feel so good about myself and my choice to be a stay-at-home mommy yesterday. I saw 4 seconds of her show, during which time she told me that choosing to be what I am is the greatest calling of all, that raising children to be good, generous humans who will live with grace is the greatest way we can give of ourselves. I'm paraphrasing, naturally. But I could have just hugged her. I was able to all of a sudden think about this job of mine in a different light, that I chose this, and it chose me. And I haven't given up my chance for a career to be here. I've made a career choice to be here. And just that realization lifted me to a new plateau. Gotta love Oprah.

P.S. Check out www.lifestylephotog.com, Jaclyn's new site.

I think Karma ran over my dogma

I found myself in the midst of a moral quandary the other day at my local Target. I got out of my sweet minivan, parked deliberately next to the cart return, and found one cart in it. In that cart sat a brand, spanking new, tags-still-on-it Vera Bradley. Gorgeous, delicious Vera Bradley. (An aside: I am a known Vera Bradley addict. Her stuff actually causes me to tingle and salivate. I covet. Big time.) I looked around for anyone walking to their car to hail them down and make them aware of this fatal mistake they'd made, but found no one. I picked up the bag. It was remarkably light. I opened it and found a matching cosmetic case, with the tags still on it, and not one other thing. Nothing. Can you imagine? To have this bag, a new print I might add, and just leave it. Maybe it was a break-up gift? maybe it was a stalker gift? Maybe the recipient has an aversion to cotton satchels? The reasons for abandoning this innocent bag were endless. I felt protective. I should do something.

Well, what does one do in such a situation? I called three people to find out what they'd do. They will remain anonymous. I only reached two, and their answers were incredibly different...however, one came from a man and one from a woman. You guess who said what. But seriously, there are some pretty famous themes throughout time that apply to situations like this, two of which are:

1) Finders, Keepers, Losers, Weepers; and
2) Possession is 9/10 of the law. (I think this has been overturned repeatedly, but people still quote it all the time. We know this!)

I had a feeling I was being watched. Someone was doing a sociology experiment and I was the sucker that found the bag. What will she do with it?

She will walk around freaking Target with it, totally confused about what to do, that's what she'll do with it. She'll look to see if someone is looking like they've lost something. No one was running around the store looking for it. That much was for sure. Someone had left it in that cold cart, all alone, without even taking the tags off, without so much as putting a lip gloss in it. I felt that the rightful owner was not deserving of such a prize and I could surely give this beauty a better home. It almost brought a tear to my eye.

I know. Cut the bullshit.

Long story short, I took the damn thing to Customer Service. And I did so because I realized that if Erin or Meghan had been with me, there's no way I would've even struggled with what to do. I would've set a good example and taken it to the Lost and Found. But without them, I thought, "No one would know." Lizzy couldn't rat me out. But then I knew I'd feel guilty every time I went to wear it. People would say, "Oh a new Vera!" and I would say, "Yeah, I found it in a cart outside of Target."

(Crickets chirping.)

Can you believe that? I am such a scumbag. I am admitting it for the entire world to know...total dregs of society. That's me. I actually considered keeping it. I felt better about myself when I turned it in and rid myself of the potential for more guilt in my life. But good God, it was so pretty.

So now I get to the Karma thing...I arrive home from Target and get a referral in my email for a booking. Then, that night Lizzy slept through the night. And last night she did, too. Is it possible that I'm witnessing the act of goodness being paid forward? I don't know. Coincidence, most would say. But I'm not so sure. I've been doing all this religious soul-searching, attending church a couple of times, yadda yadda yadda...coming up short, big time. And then, just as I'm about to throw up my hands to all types of faith, the simple pleasures of life come into mine and make me realize that I don't need to tithe and confess. I just need to be good. And then accept the good that comes to me.

Imagine the pain I would've been saved for the past 30 years if it had been broken down that simply for me?

So I think that I've realized that, for me, organized religion is not in the cards. And I think it's awesome for others and respect them wholeheartedly for their faith and devotion. I have just found my God in different places, not unlike many others. And it's nice to have arrived somewhere with a sense of comfort and peace, instead of wondering if I'm right or OK. I'm feeling pretty good about where I stand. It's right where I belong...me, standing tall, without a new Vera.