Ages 3 and up

Or so it says on the toy...a large wipe off activity book. The book included an attached storage bag for the four dry erase markers and 30 + small magnets it boasts as its accessories. Any red flags yet? But the bag won't open. So resourcelful mom puts pieces in a Ziploc bag, which we seem to have now lost. We are on clothing item number 3 that has been marred by dry erase markers. Sadly, each of these items had been worn no more then twice prior. The book/toy claims it makes a great floor mat. I am anxious to meet the 3 year old who can successfully use this as a floor mat without smearing their clothes with black dry erase ink. Or their limbs. Or their mother's limbs. So what started out as an activity to keep the three-year old busy while mom with a head cold rested a bit on the couch (one year old is...asleep...yay!) turned into a mini laundry session complete with crying three year old and mother rinsing clothes in nearly scalding water. Who, I ask you, makes these age restrictions? They do not have a three year old at home. It should read: For use by ages 3 and up wearing black clothing only.

Dinner Me Date

I've always been intrigued by those dinner places cropping up everywhere. you know, where you go put together a set number of meals and then go home and fill your freezer with your nearly prepared meals, and then, oner night, you pull one out and voila, a little oven time and you have a lovely gourmet meal! I knew that it would never be a reality for me. My husband is pretty (very) frugal, and the math on those didn't quite work out in my favor. That is until my neighbor arranged a "party" if sorts. She could invite up to fifteen friends to come to one of these places, and for free, we'd get a tour and make a small (half-sized) meal. Enough for 2-3 people. For free. No obligation. No money. Free. Yup. Too good to be true!
Indeed, I checked out the menu and selected some lovely crab-stuffed flounder. And tonight, a group of eight of us met there, got the spiel from the owner and were set free to make our previously chosen meal. Andie, of aerobics fame, and I both chose the flounder, so were were able to hang out at the same station and assemble ingredients in bags, slap on a set of directions, package it all up, and now it sits in my freezer. I'm saving it for a night when my husband and I can enjoy a lovely meal sans children. If we can both stave off our hunger til about 8 p.m., when the babes are asleep. We can actually pretend we are on a date. Woo hoo! Too good to be true? I'll let you know!

Time to Play...How Did Visitors Get Here!

The following searches resulted in visits to my blog:

• shorts and pantyhose photo outside
• gymboree bucks rules
• gymboree exercise steps
• skis in 1900

and, as predicted:

• mom blows me

Happy National Chocolate Milkshake Day

My husband informed me, upon his arrival home from work, that it was National Chocolate Milkshake Day. This would not have made much of an impact except that he wanted to go out for chocolate milkshakes in honor of the holiday, and figured we could just eat dinner out, too. Now there's a holiday worth celebrating! National Mommy Doesn't Need to Worry About Dinner Day! I had figured I would make ravioli (not homemade, but not canned...we were having the frozen kind...but I'd cook it first.) I normally would have tried to at least get the water boiling before hubby came home. But my kids woke up simultaneously, and cranky! So we were just sitting on the couch snuggling when Daddy came home.
Thing 2 is at a pretty insane age. She spends most of her time finding new ways to end her life prematurely, or at least nearly injure herself grievously. She is adorable, and hilarious, but dangerous and exhausting. Mealtime with her is never fun. In the end, dinner was mediocre, shakes pretty good, but Mommy happy and no dishes!

Been awhile

Yesterday was a truly crappy day for me and Thing 1 on many fronts. I realize we will have ongoing issues and never-ending clashes if I don't take a new approach, so my parenting books specific to "How not to Throttle your Children" have been resurrected from the bookshelf.
But before I beat myself up completely on my poor handling of situations yesterday, I will give myself a pat on the back for doing something right lately. My last, long ago post, was regarding the my 3 year old's acquisition of eyeglasses. She got 'em, and despite my initial despondency (will anyone ever see how beautiful her eyes are anymore?), she wore 'em. I dragged her around to the neighbors so she could show them her new glasses, and she was so proud. I abandoned my contacts for awhile and wore my glasses, which thrilled her to no end ("Look Mommy, we match!") and I sent pictures to the relatives. I made sure she was happy to wear them. An the first couple of nights when she tried to take them off after dinner, I put them right back on her. Today, we went for her follow-up and the eye doctor is thrilled. Our eyewear vigilance has resulted in an improvement in her vision. WOOT! She still needs her glasses, and a patch is still a possibility down the road, bur for now, no patch. Just keep doing what we're doing. And you know what...she looks cute. And you can still see her beautiful baby blues.

Glasses

My three year old got glasses yesterday. Why is is that I think everyone else's kid looks adorable in glasses, but my own needs them and I go home and cry? I shouldn't be surprised, and I guess I'm not, really. The poor kid had two strikes against her. She was born 12 weeks premature, and even if she didn't have that issue, she has a mother (that would be me) with a host of eye problems. I let her assist in the picking out of the glasses and I must say she does look adorable. But it's going to take some getting used to for all of us. She likes them and proudly showed them off to the neighbors last night. I had hoped it was temporary, but the doc thinks she'll have them until she's at least ten.
I'm going to the NICU tonight and I'm sure I'll leave with things a bit more in perspective. For a preemie, she's escaped relatively unscathed so far, and this issue is probably more genetic than preemie related. If past experience is any indicator, I'll leave th NICU less worried about the glasses and with a renewed gratitude for the blessings I have. Yes, indeed, though I never thought it would b the case, I do need reminding about how lucky I am. I always know it, though it sometimes lurks way far in the back of my head and I need something to give it a little push to the front. When it comes to the girls, my NICU visits seem to do the trick.

Fitness follies

I thought with the departure of Brolivia, the fitness follies would be over. No siree. The instructor that replaced her kicked butt, but quit soon after starting. I don't need instructors to entertain me though. The other members are quite enough .
Recently, we were waiting for the exercise room to be unlocked and the instructor to arrive. It was, at that point, just me and another person, a middle aged woman with frizzy reddish hair and a tremendous amount of makeup caked on her face. The woman looked familiar to me. I was pretty sure where I knew her from, but didn't say anything. I was too distracted by her attire. This was an advanced step class (truly advanced, not Brolivia advanced). The woman was wearing a lovely skirt and jacket ensemble. The skirt was ankle length with a couple of slits, and the jacket was a matching short sleeve thing. They were rayon or some other non-giving fabric. I thought maybe she was just lurking and wasn't going to actually take the class, but no, she was telling me how she had company coming and wanted to get this class in beforehand and yada yada yada. Okay. Fortunately, once we were in the room, she removed aforementioned outfit to reveal sorts and a t-shirt. I was slightly disappointed as I had hoped I would have an amusing class today. She positioned her step right in front of me, in the front row, near the mirror. No biggee. I like the middle row. But because she was right in from of me, I caught frequent glimpses of her in the mirror,and, despite the removal of her outfit, she didn't disappoint. While doping the step routine, she was checking herself out in the mirror, puckering her lips and furrowing her brow in a "come hither" kind of way. Hmmm. I tend to look my worst when exercising and make zero effort to improve anything, but not this chick. She was in a full-on attempt to seduce herself while huffing an puffing and stepping away. I was sooooo glad Andie wasn't there today because I would have been unable to contain myself. And the kicker...it turns out a. she was one of my college professors and b.) she lives next door to Andie. Excellent.

Birthing a Bicycle

This post was actually written a month or so ago, just before the stone brought my blogging to a screeching halt. I hadn't had a chance to edit it, and actually forgot about completely until today. So, while it's not new news, it's definitely earth-shattering and, I am sure, highly relevant to the lives of all my readers (both of you!)


This morning I gave birth to a bicycle. At least, that's how I felt at several points during the spinning class I took this morning. I will be more specific since I've already made an as out of myself once today (that I'm aware of). After the class, in the locker room, several of the women who had attended were discussing the class and its intensity and how much the saddle hurt. And I piped up with "I don't think it hurt that much when I gave birth." I realize that made it sound as if bicycling were akin to labor and delivery of babies. That wasn't exactly what I meant. I meant that, post-childbirth, my hoo-ha wasn't nearly as sore as it felt while spinning away on the stationary bike. I should point out that I'm only referring to the birth of my second child. When Thing 1 was born, despite her minuscule, barely over 2 1/2 lb. size, there were stitches, surgery, catheters involved, and it didn't feel good...at all. But with Thing 2, despite her being a pound bigger, I felt fine as soon as I was allowed out of bed. Pregnancy wreaks havoc on my poor old body. Childbirth, well, that I can do alright. The L & D nurse told me, just after delivering thing 2, that I was made for birthing babies. Course, that can evoke images of a portly woman squatting in the fields to deliver her tenth child, then packing new baby in a sling and continuing her field work. I ain't that kinda woman.

Farewell, Brolivia

Brolivia, of Pony Up aerobics fame, is leaving us. So long choo-choo arms, so long braided eighties sweatband, so long spandex shorts with pantyhose beneath. How will we go on? How will we ever master the rodeo clown move? Who will remind us to cross our weights. Who will check to make sure our shoes are double-knotted? Who will tell us exactly where we can and cannot put or water bottles? This must be what it's like to finish first grade and move on to second. Rest assured, we are getting a new instructor. But will she have the same capacity to make us fee like six-year olds? Brolivia has apparently had a "schedule change." And if we stalk her and meet her outside of the rec center, we can find out just where she's taking her reverse basic and Y-step. But it has to be outside of the facility. Cuz the rec center might be bugged.

Stone be gone

As of Tuesday mid-morning, I am, truly, stone-free. And pain-free. Woo-hoo!!