Pretty bird

I've mentioned that Peanut is going to be a peacock for Halloween. My sister found these costumes and we are going to make them for our daughters minus the masks because neither one of them will wear them.

This morning I was reading Peanut a book with a peacock in it. Excitedly, I said, "Look! That's a peacock. You are going to be a peacock for Halloween."

She replied, "I'm going to be a peacock?" Except she left the pea off peacock.

And then she repeated it.

Shaking my head and remembering this little incident, I called my mother to relay this story. I feared Peanut would tell neighbors the same thing on Halloween and they would turn us into Children's Services for teaching our 2-year-old obscene words*.

My mother, wisely and calmly said, "Just tell her she's going to be a pretty bird."

So Peanut is no longer a peacock but a pretty bird.

*Disclaimer: While I have been known to have a mouth like a sailor, neither the husband nor I swear around Peanut. We are very sunshine, lollipops, shiny, clean words around her. I promise.

Sick day

The Lad is sick this afternoon. Vaccinations and a little cold bug are working together to cause havoc. He had a fever of 103, so I had to pick up the boys early from school. Leaving work early is never easy. The husband already had to work from home one day this week, and one of us will have to stay home with Beastie tomorrow.

But I'm not worrying about logistics right now. I just split a bag of popcorn with The Boy, plopped on a couch with a movie -- "Momma! I wanted to watch 'Nemo,' but you came to get me!" -- and The Lad, despite his snot and poo and fever, is smiley and ornery as always. (Well, he was smiley until I just now had to snatch a tissue out of his mouth a computer cord out of his hands. Sigh.) We're in the middle of a tropical storm; it's a gray and rainy day made for hibernating. Spending an afternoon with my boys is a pretty close approximation.

It reminds me of when I was a kid and Mom would take me to stay with my grandma when I was sick. She'd fix me Campbell's soup and let me flop on the couch all day. Being ill has its perks.

What are your sick day bonuses?

Anxious much?

When I was pregnant with Peanut, I had horrible dreams throughout the first trimester. They were so bad, so vivid and so frightening that I told the husband if they continued I would need therapy. It was night after night of nightmares about the world ending or everyone in my family dying leaving me alone.

I read somewhere that this was normal and can be chalked up to anxiety, especially for first-time mothers.

This time around, I haven’t had as many but they’ve become more and more detailed and disturbing. One night this week, I had a dream that a certain team at work went on a rampage shooting people. Peanut was at work with me and while trying to protect her from the gunfire, I was shot twice in the leg. I then had another dream that the husband and I left Peanut in an area that had a bomb. We each thought she was with the other parent while we went off to some fancy reception. When we realized what happened, we went running back into the building but couldn’t find her anywhere. I woke up before we found her.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say this is related to my anxiety about disrupting Peanut’s life with a new little sibling, which I know is not rational.

Did you have nightmares when you were pregnant?

Hate, tattling and other gray areas

The Boy was telling me about his day at school. He played "skiboard" with one friend -- whatever that is -- and played trucks with another. He liked art where they used glue and paintbrushes. He dumped the four-wheeler on himself and hurt his eye, but Miss Heather gave him ice and it was OK.

He got really quiet and serious.

"And H said hate."

Hate was one of those words, like shut up and stupid, that my parents didn't allow us to just toss around growing up. I don't remember telling The Boy not to use hate, but I don't doubt saying to him, just like Mom said to me, "Hate's an awfully strong word. Say, I don't like it."

"Why did she say hate?"

"She just did. She said hate. ... She didn't want to play with A (The Boy's best girl friend). She's mean and ugly."

"Boy! that's not nice. You shouldn't call people names. Just because she's mean doesn't mean she's ugly. Just because she's ugly doesn't mean she's mean."

That did not come out right.

"Was she being mean because you wouldn't play with her? What if she wants to play with you tomorrow? You'll feel bad if you called her names. You should be nice."

"But I don't want to be her friend, Momma. I want to be A's friend. H said hate. And I told Miss Andrea."

"You tattled."

"No, I just told Miss Andrea, 'cuz H said hate. And hate's not nice."

"No, but maybe next time you should just worry about you. Tattling's not nice either."

I was grateful when he dropped the subject. You ever have those days where you wonder who put you in charge?

Bedazzling

We had a fabulous weekend filled with fun, family and pumpkins.

We started a family tradition when Peanut was just a few months old picking pumpkins at the family farm just up the road from where we live.

Here are a few photos from previous outings.

First year

Second year

This year

I know, I know. She's gotten so Big. How did that happen. No seriously. Someone tell me.

This year has been the first year Peanut has been old enough to help decorate the pumpkins. Since she's not old enough to use a knife to carve and painting just seemed too messy, I found another way for us to make the pumpkins pretty, thanks to a Better Homes and Garden article.

Behold. The Bedazzled Pumpkin.

(Insert jazz hands and trumpets here. Maybe some drums too.)

That's right. The pumpkins are sparkly. I put an E on one for Peanut and an M on the other for the baby and we went to town. I found these stickers at a craft store. It was great. Peanut loved it and the pumpkins look fabulous.

Simple enough for little ones to participate. Easy enough that mom doesn't have to clean up a mess after.

The husband also came to the realization that with three women in his life, things are going to be more sparkly than he expected.

All about puke

People seemed to like Hillary’s tips for taking kids out to a restaurant, so I thought I would give it a go at something I have become an expert at: children vomiting. Specifically those who throw up in their bed since that has happened at our house three times since mid-July.

(Does your kid throw up that much? Because this is not right.)

Anyway, here are my tips:

• Have back ups ready. Be ready with clean pjs, clean sheets and clean mattress pads. I have at least two of everything so that the bed and child can be stripped and put back in working order while everything else is in the wash.

• Divide and conquer. The husband and I have come up with a plan of action that just happens now. I usually hear Peanut get sick because I am a super light sleeper and have freakish hearing (like a bat or some other animal with freakish hearing). I go check on Peanut, notice the puke, holler for him and pass the child off for clean up. Then I strip the bed, blankets, etc., do a prewash in the kitchen sink and throw everything in the washing machine because I cannot have the smell of vomit in my house for long.

• Keep the kid near you for at least awhile. I am convinced every kid has a magic vomit number. My kid throws up at least three times within the first 30 minutes of the initial throw up. You don’t want to have to change the bedding and pjs again so be prepared. Our strategy is to bring Peanut to bed with us. We put a large towel down and keep a big mixing bowl nearby. I usually put my hand on her stomach to give me a heads up if she’s about to ralph. The other night, the bowl was on the way to be washed out when she began to throw up again. I began yelling “BOWL, BOWL, BOWL!” until the husband hustled back with it just in time. (It however didn't help when she looked at me all pitiful and coughed puke all over me. The husband had the good sense not to laugh.)
  

• Be prepared for a restless sleep. Toddlers are apt to flip-flop around in their sleep. Peanut does this and talks as well. She kept yelling out “I need to brush my teeth” in her sleep even though we had brushed them two or three times and given her some water to wash out her mouth. Finally, at 6 a.m., six hours after the initial incident, she went back to her own bed because I was convinced the puking was done for now.

• Be prepared to get sick yourself. Kids are like freaking outbreak monkeys. They, however, seem to bounce back much quicker from sickness. Peanut was sick and better within 16 hours. I had a headache within 24 hours and was sick within 36. I still feel yucky and will probably continue to be so for another day.

What are your tips for dealing with a sick kid?

The breast pump's end

The pump is about to be retired.

Things were heading in that direction anyway. The Lad is nine months old this week. At least a month ago, he turned up his nose at -- or rather, smacked away from his mouth -- any and all purees, insisting on grabbing whatever was on our plates. Although The Lad still nurses with gusto, I was pumping less and less. I just took a new job and finding the time to pump two or three times a day was getting difficult, and I was pumping less each time. My freezer supply dwindled as I made up the difference each day.

And then I lost my pumping room.

I pumped for the last six months in our radio room at work. It was a sweet set-up: Seconds away from my desk, the on-air light to warn people away, a cubicle wall as an added buffer between me and an accidentally opened door and, best of all, a computer. But someone got a promotion and the room now is his office. I'm happy for my coworker and grateful that I work for a company accommodating enough to both give me warning and find me another room. Unfortunately, that room is in a separate building, making a whole pumping session -- round trip -- take at least 20 minutes. With my new job, I don't have time to do that twice a day, especially if I'm producing barely two bottles. The room is cold, which is no big deal but didn't help my supply, and has no computer, so I'm completely out the loop while I'm down there. On top of that, another nursing mom uses the room and sometimes our schedules clash. We try to e-mail, but sometimes forget and today, I walked all the way down there at 3:30 -- the first time all day I'd had time -- only to find the room in use. I was uncomfortable and didn't have time to wait. I ended up pumping in a shower stall.

"What is that noise?" wondered two women who wandered into the bathroom while I sat on a narrow bench behind a thin curtain, the pump on my lap.

In that moment, I decided this is my last week with a daily date with the pump.

I figure next week I'll pump if I get uncomfortable, but only briefly. I doubt I'll have to do that more than a day or two. And then that'll be that.

I'm still going to try to nurse in the mornings and evenings for as long as possible. The thought of giving up snuggly morning nursing sessions in bed or rocking The Lad before bed makes me want to cry. I want to hang on a little longer to that feeling of being smushed into each other, of him being a part of me.

Fine. Here's mah belly

I rarely am happy with pictures of myself. Especially ones showing off Mah Belly with me weighing (mumble, mumble) more.

But, k asked and Hillary agreed so how can I say no?

Here is the belly in all its full glory:

Someone told me this week I finally look pregnant. I should think so.

Oh! And Sarah, who is about to give birth to her own new little one, asked a few posts back how we are pronouncing her name. It's spelled Madeline but pronounced Madelynn which probably will drive her crazy trying to explain that to people for the rest of her life.

Going to a restaurant with a toddler (and baby)

The husband's birthday is today. On birthdays in this family, the person being celebrated gets to pick dinner, and the husband's pick always is Olive Garden. So, he left work early, we picked up the boys and headed to the home of the never-ending pasta bowl and dressing-drenched salads.

Many things about parenthood perplex me. I often feel clueless and most of the things I knew for certain before having children I now recognize as foolhardy naivete or silly arrogance. But taking children to restaurants and keeping them relatively well-behaved -- well, in that one thing I feel pretty expert.

The key is starting them early, both at home and in public. Both of my boys have been at the dinner table with us since before they were eating solids. Some nights (at home, only) that meant supper was accompanied by screams, and sometimes people (most notably my mother-in-law) have acted like I was crazy or, later, suggested I was being too hard on The Boy for making him sit still at a restaurant. Admittedly, I have had to temper my expectations at certain times and to make the supper table a battle ground at others, when rules had to be enforced. Babies and toddlers can sit at a table, but it won't always be pretty or tidy.

Still, they have to start somewhere. Getting them used to being at a table like civilized people is half the battle. The other half is strategy.

• Go out to eat at off times. Early bird dinners and late lunches are perfect.
• Pick restaurants where your kid, even if less-than-perfect, will not be the most uncouth guest. Snag a seat in the corner or by a bathroom (especially key for potty-training).
• Bring supplies -- an empty sippy cup for the baby not yet drinking out of a straw, a small matchbox car for the toddler, puffs or Os to keep little mouths and hands busy while you wait, wipes to clean up whatever nastiness is on the high chair or winds up on faces.
• Don't give your kid the entire menu to choose from. If you have to offer choices, two is enough.
• Order for the kids first, so their food comes fast. They eat slow.
• If your kid is old enough, have her order -- even if she's too quiet to hear. You can always repeat it, and it's good practice.
• Be friendly. Is the baby making eyes at the pretty girl behind you? Smile, compliment her and say thank you for playing with the baby. People will help if you let them.
• Model good manners. Say please and thank you to everyone. Make your kids say it, too. The added bonus here: Everyone is a sucker for polite kids.
• Clean up after yourself. Like my mother, I always pick up the table -- stack the dishes, etc. -- and when we're out with the kids, I also wipe up the high chair and get any big chunks off the floor.

I have had to leave a table with a crying baby, once or twice, and take a calming lap out to the parking lot and back. I have had to hiss instructions to sit down and use your fork! But I have never (knock on wood!) been too embarrassed to enjoy my dinner.

What's your best tip for dining out with little ones?

Third trimester, here I come

That's right, I'm just about a week shy of officially starting the third and final trimester.

And can I just say, thank goodness. I'm looking forward to meeting this little one and becoming an official family of four.

Here are some of the latest pregnancy bits:

• My hips and lower back are killing me. After another day at the zoo this weekend with lots of walking and lifting little ones, I felt like an elderly person trying to get around. This is becoming a painful theme in my life. You will often see me limping around. I remember the back and hip pain with Peanut but not this soon and not this painful.
  
• This little one is really starting to get her kick on. In the past week, she's kicked so hard it has taken my breath away. I love it. It is my favorite part of pregnancy. I've even seen my stomach area twitch a few times. I love the look on the husband's face when he feels her.
  
• I had two people tell last week that they had no idea I was pregnant. Either I look really good for being six months pregnant or I always look six months pregnant. I'm hoping it it the former.
• I have an check up this week in which I plan to talk to the doctor about getting my tubes tied. The aforementioned trip to the zoo involved Peanut, my 1-year-old niece and almost 4-year-old nephew. There were four adults for three children and sometimes that still didn't seem enough and these are all well-behaved children. I can't imagine being outnumbered. It just reaffirmed my belief that two is enough for us. I am exhausted after a weekend of three children.
  
• Peanut remains on board with the new baby so far. She's promised to give the baby her pacis, sing "Itsy spider" to her and give her kisses. I'm anxious to see if this is still the case when the baby is screaming at 1 a.m.
• I gave the husband a look at my profile the other day and he remarked that my belly is now officially sticking out farther than my boobs.
  

Diaper dash

The Boy ran his first race today, a 100-yard Diaper Dash. He took it very seriously. (That's the husband running behind The Boy. As my mom said, I'm not sure whose expression makes me smile more.)

He looked so big running, his eyes fixed on the finish line. He got there and looked lost as he tried to find me or the husband. I was going to say he turned back into my little toddler in that instant, but thinking about it now, I remember friends in high school having that same expression at track meets -- exhausted, excited and looking around for their parents, the people they know are just as happy as they are about a good race.

He finished in second place, not that it really mattered. He clutched that ribbon so tight, it's still all crumply and wrinkly, hanging on his closet door.

The Lad and I watched. He wasn't quite sure why everyone was so excited, but enjoyed the clapping. He also enjoyed the free post-race cookies. He enjoyed them so much, he turned the umbrella stroller over on top of himself trying to climb out of it and up my leg to get another oatmeal raisin morsel.

Great for showers and parties

I'm entering a baking contest tomorrow to benefit United Way and I'm using my go-to recipe for such things - bon-bons. I'm not one to labor in the kitchen but these are easy, present very well and most importantly are super yummy.

My mother started making bon-bons a few years ago during Christmas time. They've made appearances at bridal and baby showers and other parties as well and always are a hit.

Disclaimer, they have peanut butter in them so if you have an allergy or a little one with an allergy, this is not for you.

Bon-Bon recipe

1 Cup Graham cracker crumbs

1 jar crunchy peanut butter

½ cup powdered sugar

1½ cups Rice Krispies

Mix together and refrigerate for 1-hour. Form into balls and freeze for 15+ minutes (helps when dipping)

Dip in dipping chocolate (white or dark) and place on wax paper. Drizzle opposite color of chocolate for decoration

Do you have a go-to recipe?

Daycare drama

The Boy was bitten at daycare last week. His teacher met me at the gate in a tizzy to explain the incident, mostly, I think, because the bite had broken the skin and was within a week of The Boy getting a black eye and a knot on his forehead in two other scrapes. I wouldn't have been upset anyway. Given his history of biting, I was just happy he wasn't the biter.

But when I heard the story -- first from the teacher and then from The Boy -- I was flat-out happy he had been bitten. The Boy and two of his little buddies were chasing and fell down, The Boy and Kid 1 landing on Kid 2. The Boy and Kid 1 decided to be super heros, or maybe that was why they were running in the first place, and hold down the bad guy, Kid 2. "We were being the strong ones," The Boy said. Only Kid 2 didn't really want to be the bad guy and bit The Boy. If I had a hoss of a 2-year-old on top of me, I might bite, too.

"Good," I said to his teacher, "maybe he'll learn about consequences."

And then The Boy and I had a chat in the car on the way home about treating others like we want to be treated.

I work with the biter's mom, and the story she got didn't match up with what I got. For whatever reason, the teacher made it sound like the biter was unprovoked -- and so the poor kid was punished at home, too. I only bring this up because when I was talking to her about it, she said this was a theme with her son and that teacher. She only ever shares the bad things that goes on with the kid. This incident was the last straw, she said.

Her solution was a good one, I think. Clear, without being aggressive. The next day when the teacher said, "Oh he was so wild!" and hemmed and hawed, the mom said, "Does he ever have a good day? Because all I hear is about the bad." And you know what? She's heard good things -- with whatever orneriness -- everyday since.

Things people say ...

Here are some of my favorite and not so favorite things people have said during my pregnancy:

Upon finding out I was pregnant:

Wow, you guys are baby making machines.

(Um, two children does not make me and the husband a machine.)

You guys really aren't wasting anytime are you?

(The girls will be 2.5 years apart. I don't think we were rushing it.)

Upon finding out we are having another girl:

Hehe. So you are having another vagina.

Upon seeing my belly starting to pop out:

You look, um, healthy.

(Coming from a man who just looked me up and down.)

Upon seeing my moodiness:

You've lost your sparkle.

(Apparently I'm like a freaking vampire from Twilight.)

Upon seeing me wear a fitted button-down top:

Those buttons might pop.

Upon seeing the storm brewing on my face after hearing the previous comment:

You are going to hit me aren't you?

Anyone say anything outrageous during your pregnancy?

Like/Dislike

Like: Snuggling with The Lad in the morning for an in-bed nursing session.
Dislike: The Lad spitting up milk and snot all over me and my clean sheets.

Like: Having a very verbal Boy.

Dislike: The incessant, unrelenting chatter of the very verbal Boy.

Like: Having a potty-trained, super hero underwear-wearing Boy.

Dislike: Having to hold all 37 pounds of The Boy over a public toilet. While he asks questions about the toilet and the toilet paper roll and the public place you're in and the noises in the next stall and ...

Like: The ornery, funny, clever Lad.

Dislike: Constantly chasing after The Lad to prevent him from eating cat litter, electrocuting himself or otherwise wreaking havoc.

Like:

Break time

A few weeks ago, I had a bit of a weepy, feel sorry for myself kind of night. You know the kind where you bemoan everything? I was feeling stressed and bit disappointed in my performance as a mother, wife and employee.

The husband sensing my anxiousness promptly set up a mani/pedi for me that weekend (God bless him) and arranged for his mother to watch Peanut for us this weekend so we could get things done and have a little break time.

We've been busy beavers. Most of yesterday was spent painting the living room and hallway, both of which had been painted with poor choices when we first moved in. The living room was in a weird icy blue that I thought was cool. It wasn't and now it is in a lovely mellow, creamy yellow that makes the room feel so warm.

The hallway is in a similar color after it spent two years in what I refer to as "Florida retirement home orange." When I was pregnant with Peanut, the husband decided to surprise me by painting the hallway. I will never forget walking in the door from a shopping trip and seeing the color. I was on the phone with Hillary at the time and I think I said something like, "Oh my. My hallway is orange. I need to go."

The husband and I spent some quality time together, having brunch at a not so kid friendly restaurant and doing whatever we wanted when we wanted and not what needed to be done before or after Peanut's nap.

It's been lovely but I'm ready to have her home. I will admit to getting teary once or twice this weekend over missing her although I think some of it is hormone induced. I just feel like I don't have much time with her as it is. And with the baby on the way, I feel like our time with her is even more precious.

She's gaining a sister and I hope, eventually, a best friend but I also have a nagging feeling that she is losing something too. I realize children survive and even thrive after getting a little sibling everyday but part of me feels bad for disrupting her world.

Did you have this feeling with your second child?

Super hero thank you notes

I spent the morning participating in the National Day of Service to commemorate Sept. 11. A friend and I were assigned to write thank you letters to troops fighting overseas. Faceless, nameless soldiers.

I was grateful for the happy pictures, drawn by local elementary school students, that were available to tuck in with our letters, because it took up a paragraph explaining what they were and where they were from. Facing a blank sheet of notebook paper, I didn't know what to say. We were told not to write anything that might make them scared or depressed, and I worried as I ended each letter with a line thanking them for their service and sacrifice. I stuck with it because it is the truth: They are sacrificing their time and family life to serve. Still, even with those two paragraphs set, I had a lot of space to fill.

So, I told them about my conversation with The Boy last night, when I explained to him I was going to write letters to soldiers fighting for us far away. (Would that fairytale phrase make them miss their families too much?) He understands the basic concept of a soldier. He's seen pictures of people in uniform.

"They like super heroes, Momma? Are they fighting bad guys like super heroes?"

I said yes.

I don't personally agree with the wars we're fighting. But I believe the men and women serving in those wars deserve our respect and gratitude. The world is full of complications and gray areas, but some days, sometimes, it's best to be clear and simple. I might not have felt that so strongly two years ago. Two years ago, I didn't have a son of my own saying, "I'm going to fight far away, Momma."

If that happens (and lord, I hope it doesn't), I hope someone writes him a simple thank you.

Easy weeknight dinner

On our weekly meal plan, tonight was supposed to be quiche. But I forgot to make a pie crust and didn't feel like stopping halfway home, getting the boys out of the carseats, hauling them through the store and strapping them back in all for one frozen crust. Especially because, after all that, I probably wouldn't have time to bake the damn thing before kids were screaming for dinner.

"What should we have for supper, kiddo? You hungry for anything."

"Noo-noo!"

"No, tomorrow is noo-noo night."

Silence. I was still running through our pantry inventory in my head, but figured The Boy was onto an inventory of his silly bands.

"Hey! Hey! I got an idea. We could go to a res-raunt and then they would have food and we could eat it."

"Yeah, you like going to restaurants. Why do you like them?"

"Um, 'cause they have food and it warms up my belly."

"Doesn't Momma's food warm up your belly?"

"Yeah, it does. But we could go to a res-raunt, too."

"No, tonight we're staying home and eating Momma's food. I just have to figure out what."

More silence.

"Hey! Hey! I got an idea! Um, we could have, um, a snacky lunch for dinner."

This was, in fact, a wonderful idea.

The snacky lunch was born one day when we were out of bread and I couldn't face dirtying a pan and turning on the stove for mac-and-cheese. I pulled out cheese and crackers and fruit and some pepperoni leftover from pizza-making. I called it a snacky lunch, betting that The Boy, who is obsessed with the snack bags of random cereal and dried fruit his daddy makes him for runs, would eat anything called a snack. I was right. The trick works for supper, too.

The kids had cheese and fruit and crackers, I made myself a sandwich with a side of cottage cheese and tomatoes and fixed the husband a sausage and couscous with peas, which rounded out The Lad's dinner. Everyone is happy.

Growing up, we called this scrounging. Whatever you want to call it, it works

The pointless argument of a 2-year-old

I have found myself trying to have logical arguments my 2-year-old.

Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is?

One from this weekend:

Peanut: Want to watch Sugarland (which is her new obsession. You know the video for "Stuck like Glue" where Jennifer Nettles goes all crazy and stalks the guy before kidnapping him and then doing a Beyonce-like dance in the middle? Yeah, that one.).

Me: OK, hand mommy the remote and I will put it on.

Peanut: NOOOOO. Dis daddy's 'mote.

Me: If you want Sugarland, I need the remote.

Peanut: NOOOOOO. Dis daddy's 'mote. You don't touch it (as she snatches it off the chair and hugs it to her body).

Me: Then you can't watch Sugarland.

Peanut: NOOOOOO. Watch Sugarland.

Me: Then give me the remote please.

Peanut: NOOOOO. Dis daddy's 'mote.

At this point, I realized we were getting nowhere fast and I just went upstairs and told the husband that his daughter wanted to watch Sugarland but only he was allowed to touch the remote.

I then called Hillary to confirm that this is normal for toddlers. Thankfully she said she had the same issues with The Boy although I don't think they involved Sugarland and the 'mote.

I know that they are small beings who are learning a million things a day and must learn these things by testing their boundaries but lordy do we have to do this about everything?

Every morning I have to explain to her that she is not allowed to have ice cream or a sucker for breakfast, which usually results in a tantrum. Every day she argues with me about how many "Movers" (Imagination Movers) episodes she's allowed to watch. She still gets pissed when I tell her she needs a diaper change even though we do it how many times a day?

At Target this weekend, she argued with me about the baby's new clothes. I picked out a few infant sleepers on sale and Peanut declared them hers. When I told her they were for the baby, she said, "No, dis mine." We went back and forth and six times until I realized again it was pointless.

She really is a sweet, loving, intelligent child but I didn't think I would see this much sass until she was at least 11.

Are your toddlers sassy?

Just questions

I've started writing three different posts and haven't managed to make a coherent point yet. The husband and I spent the weekend car-shopping (stab me in the eye with poker) and I started a new job today (fun, exciting but very busy and, for today, filled with technical difficulties). The Boy managed to give himself yet another facial bruise at school (fell while running; DCF should be calling any day now), and The Lad is teething (ugh). I'm spent.

So, I am stealing from K. These are things I want to know from you:

1. What kind of car do you drive? Do you love it or hate it?

2. Who handles negotiations when you and your spouse shop?

3. What is your favorite work wardrobe staple?

4. Cheap or expensive shoes for your toddler? (ie Target or Stride Rite)

And, just to be fair, here are my answers.

1. 2003 Saturn ION -- love it, keeping it and trading in the husband's Kia Rio, which I do not love. Thinking of buying a Prius.

2. the husband -- I have NO patience for that crap

3. a white shirt

4. I am my mother's daughter. I occasionally buy cheap ones, and I buy cheap sandals, but I usually feel guilty and end up buying at least one pair of good shoes for daily use.

Lessons learned

The husband an I decided to take advantage of the long, gorgeous weekend and get out of town for a mini-family vacation. We drove over to Indianapolis for our first overnight (other than grandmas and grandpas) stay with Peanut and enjoyed the children's museum and the zoo.

Here are some of the lessons we learned from this trip:

• Take the stroller. Even if your child has refused to ride in it in the past, chances are you will do a lot of walking. And if you are lucky (like we were) your child will think the stroller is the best thing since fruit snacks and will spend a good amount of time being pushed around like royalty.
• Scope out the closest Starbucks especially if it is time for the pumpkin spiced latte. Don't fear if the one in your hotel closes at 2 p.m. on the weekend, there is another one two blocks away.
• Know when check-in time is at the hotel. If you are banking on getting in at 1:30 p.m. after a long morning playing with Barbies (see next item) don't be surprised when they tell you to come back at 3. The stroller will come in handy here to kill time walking around the nearest mall.
• Also, don't believe them when they say 3 p.m. check in. Come back early and beat the rush so everyone can take a much needed nap.
• Don't underestimate the power of Barbie especially on little girls. If the children's museum has 18 million other options and one Barbies room, you will spend the majority of your time dressing Barbie, coloring Barbie, doing Barbie's hair and walking down the runway like Barbis (even if your child has never played with Barbie before).
• Also, be prepared to promise to buy an overpriced Barbie in the museum shop just to get the 2-year-old out the door. Don't be surprised when she picks out the one with the most glitter and smallest accessories. Also try to not to laugh every time her father frets over Barbie's location because he's afraid to lose the $18 toy.
• Don't promise gorillas if the zoo doesn't have them. No amount of elephants, giraffes, cheetahs and dolphins will make up for this.
• Don't worry about bothering your neighbors in the hotel with loud toddler tantrums on and off from 8:30 to 10:30 p.m. because she refuses to sleep. The same neighbors will wake you loudly when they get back at 2:30 a.m. yelling at each other saying "Don't touch it. Mom says its a lot of money," while slamming doors.
  
• And finally, not even a king-sized bed is big enough for a daddy, a pregnant momma and a toddler. Momma and daddy will split half the bed between them and toddler will form a perpendicular line in between taking up the other half. The adults will end up kicked and/or headbutted most of the night and everyone will wake up covered in glitter from sleeping with Barbie.

Overall, the trip was a rousing success and everyone had a great time. We might even make it a Labor Day tradition.

How was your weekend?

Off topic: Books

I've decided to turn this into a Thing on here, a quarterly thing. I read a lot and I like hearing what you're reading. You give me ideas.

Here are some of my more interesting selections since June:

Committed, Elizabeth Gilbert -- This is the woman who wrote Eat Pray Love. People either love her or hate her. I love her writing. She is plainspoken, but eloquent, and this nonfiction book explores the history and meaning of western marriage, which I found interesting.

A Homemade Life, Molly Wizenberg -- This is a memoir and a cookbook written by the author of Orangette, a very popular cooking blog. Wizenberg uses food to ground each chapter of the book, which is really a quarter-life crisis set off by her father's death.

The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest, Stieg Larrson -- The final book in this Swedish trilogy. I opened the book and said, "I'm not sure I care about these characters." I'm glad I finished the trilogy, but have deemed it over-rated.

My Name is Memory, Ann Brashares -- UGH. I loved this book by the author of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, until I got to the end. Then I hated it. I'm putting it here because the writing is nice and I like the story, which is about a reincarnation, a man who remembers all of his past lives and true love. Maybe the end won't bother you.

Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins -- This is the final book of the Hunger Games trilogy. Love. Collins imagines a very dark and cynical world, but her characters seem real because they are so flawed.

Water for Elephants, Sara Gruen -- I started this three times over the last couple years and never got past the second page. I don't know why. It's a lovely book, funny and charming.

Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter -- Maybe I'm outgrowing my distaste for the short story, or maybe Porter is just that good, but I really enjoyed this thin collection. The writing is a little formal, but the stories are timeless.

In The Neighborhood, Peter Lovenheim -- The author decides he doesn't want to live in anonymous suburbia and sets out to get to know his neighbors by spending the night at their homes. Cool idea, even if the writing wasn't my favorite.

Tales of Hawaii, Jack London -- Who knew Jack London hung out in Hawaii? I had forgotten how good a writer he is. This short story collection made me remember why I loved White Fang.

Also, I am a little ashamed to admit I finally broke down and read the damned Twilight series. I have only the fourth book, Breaking Dawn, left to go. These books are horrible, if entertaining. However, Stephanie Meyer is a misogynist. I'll spare you the lecture.

What are you reading? What should I read next?

Bits of nothing

The Boy has a black eye. According to the daycare ladies, he and a little girl were chasing after another kid on the playground. When the girl stopped short, The Boy, who was right behind her, did not, and he smacked his head right into her skull. She's fine. He has a helluva shiner.

"Did it slow him down?" I asked.

"No. He sat with Miss Megan for a second and got some ice and then was up and running."

"Sounds like my kid."

---

That same day during calendar time, his teacher asked what season it was.

"Football season!" The Boy said.

I would blame living in Florida, where the seasons basically boil down to hotter than balls and perfection, but really, The Boy is just that obsessed.

---

The Lad's supper tonight: small bowl of chili with cheese, three saltines and a cup of applesauce.

He was angry I wouldn't give him more. This child truly is a beast.

---

I went to establish myself as a patient with a primary care physician today. She asked if I exercised. I had to actively stop myself from laughing.

"So, let me get this straight: You work full-time, you have two kids, your husband works full-time, you're cooking dinners ... when do you get time for yourself?"

I just blinked at her. We all do what we have to, you know.

Still, it was kind of nice having someone ask me.

---

The husband's baseball team, the Cincinnati Reds, are likely to make the play-offs. (Isn't that impressive? Almost sounds like I know what I'm talking about, huh?) Usually, the Reds are out of play-off contention by this point in the year and the husband is not watching baseball. He is watching religiously this year, thanks to mlb.com and our Mac. I'm happy for him, but every time I use the computer -- even while the game is on through mlb's radio program -- he's hovering nearby. It makes me nervous.

Have I not told you her name?

So we've picked out a name for baby girl No. 2.

First let me tell you the process.

The husband and I struggled with this one. With Peanut, there really wasn't much discussion. My sister had thought of naming a girl Emery after our grandfather. Her husband wasn't crazy about it so she offered it us and we gladly took it.

This time it was a bit more involved. We vetoed each other's top names. Mine: Violet and Fiona. His: Lily and Anna.

My parents suggested Sarah Michelle (after my sister and me) but our family has a habit of using names over and over again making extended family get togethers confusing so I declined. My dad thought of Ellery, but the husband I agreed it sounded too much like Emery.

So I busted out BabyNameWizard.com and went letter by letter until we found something we could agree upon. I loved Beatrix but I just got a look when I brought it up. I also had a gasping moment with Everleigh. That garnered no love from the husband either.

And then I said "Madeline." We both looked at each other, heads tilted and we knew. That was her name.

Madeline Sarah.

I can't wait to meet her.