Lord Protect My Child

Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but why, why is it so difficult to parent and feel confident that you're making the right decision?

I am almost 100% certain that neither my mother nor my grandmother ever weighed any decision they ever made regarding discipline. They didn't think about what they were feeding me, although I'm certain they gave a lot of thought to whether or not they would be able to put food on the table at times. They never questioned whether or not they were playing with me enough or providing me with essential experiences to make me more well-rounded or to enhance my intellectual opportunities. They didn't send me to preschool, so they never worried whether or not it was a good enough school to ensure I could go to kindergarten when I turned five. They just did what they did and that was it. I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and clothes on my back, and books to read. And that was enough.

I'm not being critical here. They did the best they knew how under the circumstances and they did just what 90% of all parents in their generation(s) were doing.

Why have things gotten so complicated and we parents so competitive? I worry about every little thing and feel I get little of it right.

I love my son so much. But this summer has been so hard. He's just at an age where he wants to be his own person and challenge every thing I do or say. I feel as if we have spent our summer with horns locked, neither of us willing to back down. And instead of pushing back harder, my urge is to back away. I know my mother never thought like that and by the time I was my son's age, I knew not to argue or to sass my mom. I knew "the look" that meant I needed to stop whatever I was doing or else I was in for it. Part of me feels like giving him some freedom now will help him to become more independent and better able to make decisions for himself. (Something I have always been terrified of and horrible at.) The other, more rational and less emotional side of me feels as though I have to whip (figuratively speaking) him into shape before it's too late. I don't want my child to be a brat. And when I have pushed back this summer, we have seen some amazing breakthroughs.

We can now go into Target or ToysRUs without his asking for a toy. He is listening better most days. He is sleeping better, relatively speaking. He is sharing better with other kids and seems generally happier when he is playing with other kids.

He still doesn't eat and the things he does eat, he has suddenly decided that he no longer cares for. He still talks back. He still won't talk to adults in stores. He still has major meltdowns in the doctor's office, to the point I fear they will tell me not to bring him back. He is still bossy, though less so than a few weeks ago. He still is not potty-trained, but I hope we're getting closer.

And me? I still feel horrible for not having the perfect child. For not being able to overcome these shortcomings. For having my son tell me that he's mad because I'm mad at him all the time. For failing to believe in myself and feeling that my child is not perfect.

But you know what? He is perfect. He's perfect for me and I am the perfect mother for him. I simply have to remember that God gave him to me for a reason and me to him for a reason. We have something to teach each other, to learn from each other. All I need to do is try and remember to trust God and to ask for his guidance when I need it.

Easier said than done for a stubborn girl like me who just wants a little more control over her own life.

Gotta Serve Somebody

It never ceases to amaze me when someone says something like "But you don't seem religious; you're so intelligent."

Why is it that intellectuals -- particularly those who don't wish to have anyone else's faith pressed upon themselves -- are so quick to deny others their faith? It really boggles the mind.

We had this experience on Saturday night when we went out to dinner with some new friends. Wonderful people that we are delighted and excited to know. In so many ways, they are more like us than anyone else we've met in years. We are so excited to be getting to know these folks. But, that said, now I feel a shadow cast over my enthusiasm.

They didn't say this, but my perception is that they think that because I have faith in God, practice a religion, and believe in something bigger than myself, that I am somehow, intellectually inferior.

I didn't want to argue the point, but I was mentally making a list of people of faith and great intellect. Just off the top of my head I can think of: Albert Einstein, Thomas Merton, C.S. Lewis, Bill Clinton, Jimmy Carter, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Walker Percy, Dorothy Day, John Newman, Graham Greene. Of course, there are a lot of Catholics on that list because, well, I'm Catholic, and they're probably the ones I know the most about.

Clearly, I don't put myself in league with those people. But I'm no idiot. And I certainly don't think that my faith lessens my ability to think. I came to my faith through a great deal of thought. As is true with many Catholic converts, I thought my way into my faith and into the Church. There were a lot of obstacles to overcome, many things I disagree with. But no other faith spoke to both my heart and my mind the way Catholicism did. The belief in the unity of good works and faith drew me to Catholicism perhaps more than any other facet of the faith. And now here I am. Unwilling to accept the notion that intelligence and faith are mutually exclusive ideals.

Thankfully, everyone involved Saturday night was willing to have an open dialogue on the subject and to accept each others' beliefs.

And that alone was enough to maintain my faith in friendship.

Misunderstood

Have you ever said something, only to have your brain scream at your tongue, "You idiot, what are you saying?", as the words come tumbling out head over heels landing in front of someone you care about, where they lay dying in a painful, awkward silence?

Yeah. Me too.

Last night, in one of those fortuitous moments of pregnancy-induced insecurity and insanity, I said something really stupid to Scott. Sadly, he felt the need to throw me a few very specific comforting crumbs this morning.

I felt like an idiot. I hate it when my insecurity comes to the surface in a way that makes someone I love feel like they have to justify themselves or reassure me in some way.

I'm an idiot.

Hopefully, this, too, shall pass.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

So, last night Scott, Brendan, and I are watching The Simpsons after dinner. Homer, disgruntled about something, says, "Damn It!"

Brendan whirls around, looks at me and says, "Mommy, Homer says 'Dammit' just like you do!"

After we stopped laughing, Scott and I reiterated the point that "Dammit" is a bad word and you shouldn't say it. I also apologized for having said it in front of him, but for the life of me, I can't remember when I did say it in front of him. I have been very careful to clean up my act since I had him. From time to time, these things do pop out, I suppose, but I just really can't remember when I said that with him around.

And yes, I do realize that The Simpsons isn't the most wholesome programming for a three-year old or anyone for that matter. It's not like he watches it all the time, but when he does, he really enjoys it.

Just Like a Woman

Hormones, hormons, hormones. I am sick and freakin' tired of hormones.

Of course, hormones are my excuse. Maybe I'm just a bitch. Either way, I am sick of feeling this way. Crying every 15 minutes. Feeling like I am constantly fighting with my child. Feeling guilty for fighting with him. Being angry at my child because of his behavior. Feeling guilty because I'm angry and guilty because somehow I've made him this way. Second-guessing every parenting decision I make. Feeling utterly useless and unable to feel like I am in control.

At this point, I really don't know if it's him or it's me. My perception is that he's defiant. He talks back. He argues. He doesn't eat. He demands a lot of me. Too much. He won't dress himself. He won't use the potty. Every fucking thing is a power struggle with this kid. And as much as I love him, I am sick of it. And I keep asking myself how we got here. I've always tried to encourage his independence and he does play well by himself. But at every other turn, he wants me to do something for him.

And then, I think, well, it's my job to do things for my kid. But it's also my job to teach him how to grow up. To do things for himself.

I just feel like I'm in a pit and I can't climb out. And to make it all more confusing and/or emotional for me, I've been having really bizarre dreams.

Early Thursday morning, around 4:00 a.m., I awoke from a very scary dream. In the dream, a DeKalb Co. Police car was parked in front of my house and it was obvious the cop was watching someone. I was home alone. Scott and Brendan had gone somewhere overnight. I decided to go set the alarm. Just as I was setting the alarm, our kitchen door opened. I had my hand on the alarm and accidentally pushed the button that calls police directly. Within seconds, the police officer was at my door. He was young, friendly, African-American. The person coming in the kitchen door turned out to be Scott with a sleeping Brendan on his shoulder.

The officer told us there had been some burglaries and home invasions in our neighborhood and he was trying to catch the burglars.

Okay. Here's the freaky part. When I awoke for the day at around 7:00 a.m. and read the paper on-line, I saw there had been a home invasion at the home of a DeKalb Co. Police officer just a mile or so from our house. The officer killed one of the three men who broke into his home. This happened at 2:30 a.m. Just before I had my dream. Freaky.

In addition to that dream, for the last three nights in a row, I have dreamed I was a teenage girl. Each dream involved either a boyfriend or a cute boy that I was interested in. Each dream was in a different location with different "co-stars" and different subjects. I haven't a clue what it means unless it's a series of wish fulfillment dreams. I wish I were young and unencumbered by the tedious and frustrating aspects of my life. The thing is, I hated being a teenager and couldn't wait to grow up. Of course, in these dreams, my life is very different than my real life was, so I guess that makes it a double wish fulfillment dream.

Right now I'd take a kid who listens, cooperates, and doesn't say, "But I was just...."!

Sweet Dreams

Perhaps last night's dream was prophetic. Or perhaps my subconscious was just focused on what I would be doing with myself tonight.

Scott has gone with some friends to see Tom Waits at the Tabernacle. I'm on my own for the night and while I'm sure there are a million things I could and should be doing, I'm just vegging out. I've watched reruns of House and Bones and am debating whether to watch Rescue Me while it's on, or just record it and watch it with Scott when he gets home. Actually, it 's more likely to be tomorrow night before we watch it.

All in all, it's been a good, quiet evening, which I needed.

The last several days Brendan has really been pushing the limits. Yesterday he had the worst tantrum in recorded history in the grocery store. In hind sight, I realized he was tired when we went to the store. But I didn't know that going in. He had slept until 10 a.m. and we had a relatively low-key morning. We went to Chick-fil-A for lunch then to grocery shop. He lost it because I wouldn't buy him a Spider-Man comic book. In all fairness, before the tantrum, I offered to buy a kid's Spider-Man book, but he freaked out insisting it had to be the comic book. So, we left amidst much screaming, giant tears, staring, and rude comments from other patrons.

He screamed for the first seven minutes of the ten minute drive home. The last three minutes, he simply whispered sadly, "I want it! Please mommy, I want it!".

I really don't know how I did it since I'm the least patient mommy in the world, but I somehow managed to keep my cool. The only time I raised my voice was once during the car ride home when I asked him to quiet down. Thankfully, I did not use my "angry voice," but stayed calm. A first for me.

Today was a pretty good day. Brendan behaved really well and I used a new technique I read about this morning. The idea is that instead of simply praising the child for good behavior, you give them very specific praise. So, I tried that. I also made sure that we played and had ample time together. I made sure I gave him lots of choices where I could, so that there were fewer opportunities to say no or have him feel like he had no control over anything.

All in all it seemed to make a difference. His playdate went well and he was in bed, sound asleep by 8:15. That's a rarity these days. Somehow we got through the day with only one meltdown and that, I know, was a direct result of his being tired. Thankfully, he bounced back from it rather quickly and I never lost my cool. Major accomplishments for mother and son!

A Taste of Two Sons

Brendan has a friend over for a playdate right now. He's a boy we know from our playgroup and the two of them have always had an interesting relationship. They really like each other until one of them has something the other one wants to play with, then all hell breaks loose.

On more than one occasion, they have ended up on the floor, wrestling over a toy, with one sitting on top of the other.

We're about an hour and a half into this playdate (at our house) and I've realized an hour seems to be their limit together. For the last 30 minutes, I've been getting up every 5 minutes or so to go resolve some dispute.

Right now, however, they are being very cute. The friend is playing Brendan's toy guitar, Brendan is playing his toy piano, and they're taking turns on the drum, pretending they are a band. Very funny. And noisy. But so much better than screaming.

All I Have to Do Is Dream

Last night I dreamed I made several posts to my blog in one day. They were all witty, timely, and deeply profound comments on life. I was oh-so-pleased with myself.

If only life were the stuff of dreams.

Sounds of loneliness

I'm not sure what it is, what has led to this, but over the course of the last two weeks, I have encountered more anti-child and anti-parent propaganda than I've ever seen before in my life.

From the column linked above wherein the author, Helen Kirwan-Taylor, readily admits that she has no interest in her children, to this Atlanta-Journal Constitution blog, where the author gets attacked for stating that most parents are really trying to do their best, the anti-kid lobby really seems to be pushing its point.

I understand that having kids isn't for everyone, but I think that just because you choose not to have kids doesn't give you the right to belittle anyone who does choose to have kids or anyone who views child-rearing as important to our society.

Helen Kirwan-Taylor's piece is especially obnoxious. As Scott said upon reading the article, "This woman has no soul." Amen, Brother.

She talks about her children as if they were accessories that she can pull out to match a mood or specific outfit. She says she has no interest in them or their activities, doesn't help them with their homework or attend school functions. She speaks with great condescension about mothers who do actually care about their children and take an active role in their children's lives and seems to think she sprang fully-formed from the head of Zeus, as it were.

Sadly, she actually has a few good points to make. However, it's hard to even get to those arguments through her vile and self-absorbed tirade against people who actually love their children.

I agree with her that women who place their children first in life run the risk of losing their own identities and ending up with spoiled, selfish children. But is a mother who is so selfish she begs the nanny to stay to read bedtime stories really healthier or more apt to create children who aren't needy and selfish? I think not.

I do think modern day mommies need to think about what they're doing when they give into every whim of a child's. I do think we need to put our marriages first above our children. Statistics bear out that kids in happy marriages are happier and better adjusted than kids from households where mom and dad lead separate lives with mom attached to the kids. And of course, we need to continue to pursue our own interests so that one day, when the nest is empty, we don't find our souls are too.

Unfortunately, I fear Kirwan-Taylor's soul, if it does exist, is already sadly lacking in fulfillment and will grow even emptier once her children leave and never return.

I wonder how she will feel, all alone in some dark, sad retirement home, when her sons say, "I'm sorry mom. I can't come to see you because you're just too boring."

Deleting Posts

In principle I generally do not believe in deleting posts. I think if you believe it and say it you have to stand by it. However, in the light of day it seems best not to start a war with neighbors and technically, I suppose, my bitching about a neighbor and divulging how much she drank at a party could be considered an act of war. So, I took down my last post. If you missed it, sorry. I'll try to reign in my anger next time so I don't go overboard and offend anyone.

It's a Boy!

We're thrilled! Perhaps I had a twinge of disappointment thinking that this is my last child and I'll never have a daughter, but overall, I'm elated. I really can't imagine Brendan with a sister, but totally see him with a brother. And as I said before, I never saw myself with daughters, but with sons. I'm pretty happy.

Happier still that the doctor said that the baby looks "magnificently healthy!" She examined everything via ultrasound in great detail. I got a little concerned because both the doctor and the ultrasound technician focused in great detail on the heart, looking at it closeup and watching the bloodflow. Freaked me out a bit, but the doctor assured us it looked healthy. No markers for any chromosomal problems that she could see. Measuring almost a week larger than he should be, but not so much they were worried.

Bottom line, we're having another son and I couldn't be happier.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

In just a few hours I'm going in for a Level II ultrasound. Obviously, we are hopeful that the scan reveals nothing other than a healthy, growing baby. Still, I can't help feeling nervous. We went through the same test with Brendan due to my previous miscarriage that resulted from the baby's chromosomal abnormality, trisomy 8.

So, on pins and needles we sat (or laid, in my case) in the exam room while the ultrasound tech and the perinatologist did their thing until they finally told us we had a very healthy looking baby. Then they told us it was a boy. Of course, we were thrilled. Both by the good news on the health front and by his gender.

I had always seen myself as the mother of boys. I never really imagined having girl children. Obviously, I knew it was a possibility, but when I saw myself as a mom, it was as a mom to boys, doing fun boys stuff like shooting hoops and playing chase and baking cookies endlessly for them and their friends.

At some point, prior to that ultrasound, I thought it might be a good idea to not know the child's sex. To fall in love with a human being rather than a boy or girl. But, you get five months to work on that before you find out, I suppose. And for me, everything changed on learning that little babe growing inside me was a boy.

I think part of my nervous anticipation today is in regard to whether I carry a boy or girl child. Of course it is. I have waffled these entire twenty weeks, first wanting a brother for Brendan, then a daughter for myself. Now, I've just settled on healthy. Boy or girl. I still don't have a clue what you're supposed to do with a daughter. Zero interest in Barbie, princesses, brushing someone else's hair, teaching someone to sit with her legs closed, prepubescent and teenage hormones, or slumber parties with a gaggle of giggling girls. I don't know what I will do with a girl, but I guess I'll figure it out. One thing's for sure, I can always pressure her to attend my alma mater.

All I know is that he or she, I will love this little person with all my heart. I've been terrified since before I got pregnant that I could never love another child as much as I love Brendan. I've been surprised (pleasantly, I should add) to find the love in my heart growing. And I'm sure that just as my love for Scott has grown stronger and deeper and more passionate as I have watched him be a father to our son, that my love for Brendan will change and grow as I see him become a big brother.

Now, in these last few hours, I think I will simply enjoy loving this little being with no judgments, no preconceived notions, no desires of my own for what he or she might be some day. Just love him or her for the perfect creation he or she is.

Mean Low Pregnancy Blues

I loved being pregnant with Brendan. My morning sickness was mild. I had just been laid off my job, so all I had to do was keep house and read and relax and enjoy being pregnant.

This pregnancy is so different. The morning sickness was miserable. I had to start wearing maternity clothes at 8 weeks. And now, I'm emotional. Crazy emotional. Clueless. And clumsy. Not in the "your center of gravity has changed so you fall down a lot way," but in the "drop everything you pick up, close your hand in the door" kind of way.

I can't think straight. I'm confused. I'm so moody. I cried today because another kid didn't want to play with Brendan. I cried because I thought about how disappointed Brendan will be if we have a girl and how it would be so sad if he never gets to have a brother. I cried because when I told Scott that I was having round ligament pain he commented that not only was I getting stretched, but that it was happening in a different way than before. Those are just the instances I remember. There were probably others.

I just don't remember being this moody and emotional the last time. I was like this for weeks post-partum, but not during the actual pregnancy. It's damned annoying.

The thing I hate most is when I feel like everything is closing in on me and I lash out in anger. On Sunday I completely lost my temper with Scott and yelled at him. I never yell at my husband. We may have disagreements, but we've always been able to talk without raised voices or anger. And the thing that pushed me over the edge? His cleaning up the mess in our freezer where a Coke exploded after I left it in there too long. I put it in to get cold and totally forgot about it. Came back a few hours later and found the mess, but didn't have time to clean it. When Scott saw it, he immediately started cleaning it up. I yelled at him angrily, asking him what he thought he was doing. His response was, "Cleaning up your mess."

Of course, that's exactly why I was angry. I felt guilty about making the mess and didn't want him to do my dirty work. And it would have been so simple to say that in a nice way. Instead, I told him he was making a bigger mess by getting it on the floor I had just mopped. Of course, he was planning to clean it up, but I was being a bitch for no reason. And I hate that. It's so not who I am.

I hope this emotional roller coaster slows down soon so I can climb off. In the meantime, I guess I need to figure out when to just step away and keep my mouth shut.

Easier said than done, apparently.

Am I Expecting Too Much

For a while I was really judgmental about the use of poor grammar. Now, I've simply come to accept that no one cares. I've even started to allow myself to be amused by common mistakes.

While browsing craigslist.org this weekend in search of a bed for Brendan, I found some amusing examples of folks misusing words. More likely they've been hearing these things incorrectly their whole lives and don't know any better. Still, I thought they were pretty cute.

There was a lady selling a "chester" drawers and if you wanted, there was a man, in my town no less, selling "wingbat" chairs. Crazy!

Just now on a babycenter.com message board I saw someone saying that our job as parents is to teach our children how to be "ladys" and "gentlymen."

I know I make my fair share of typos and occasionally get careless. I even have a few mistakes ingrained in my brain because of poor teaching. My third-grade teacher taught the class that there are two spellings for "separate." She said "separate" was the spelling for the verb meaning to divide things, but if you wanted to use the word as an adjective meaning things that were not together, the spelling was "seperate." I still have to think about how to spell "separate" every single time I want to use it.

So, I don't really blame anyone for their mistakes anymore. But I do find them amusing.

And Now for Something Completely...Weird

This morning I got up and did a few chores like ironing before getting dressed. By then, Brendan was awake and running around. He came into our bedroom while I was changing out of my pjs into yoga pants and asked what I was doing. I told him and then he said, "Mommy! You can't do that. The baby might fall out."

Uh. Okay. Thanks for the warning, weird kid.

Where on earth did he come up with such a notion? We haven't told him anything more than "there's a baby growing inside mommy's tummy." The end. Certainly we've told him no details about how the baby comes out. That's horrific enough for adult minds to comprehend.

I just think it's kind of strange. No stranger, I guess than the fact that he has named his hands. The left one is BoBo and the right one is Lisa. I sometimes overhear him talking to them. Usually correcting them for touching something they're not supposed to touch. Today it was the dog's water bowl.

I hope these are merely signs of a burgeoning creative mind and not signs of something worrisome.

We'll see I guess.

The Way We Get By

I can't believe it's been a month since I blogged. No wonder I'm blue and out of sorts. It's been a long and busy month.

We took a trip to St. Simons Island where Brendan had his first beach experience and loved it. It was, for lack of a better word, awesome. We all had a wonderful time.

Scott ended his job at the mega-corp and began working for a cool, 75-person company that is growing fast. The company works in SMS technologies and does cool things like Beyoncé promotions, etc. Scott is working on client services stuff and is loving it. He's actually their Senior User Interface guy and has already made an impact. He came home from work at the end of his second week there and said he was disappointed that the work week was over. He's really enjoying his work,feelsl challenged, and is thriving. I'm so happy for him. This is what I've wanted for him for a while. Additionally, he has continued to record and has some excellent demos up on his site. I'll link to them sometime soon.

Brendan's doing better than he was a few weeks ago, but I've gone a little crazy. As a result of what happened with the grandparents, I've become increasingly paranoid about my parenting skills and now second-guess every discipline decision. I'd really begun to push Brendan a little harder to be a "big boy," but after a talk with Scott a few days ago, I've backed off and things are going so much easier. Flies and honey.

Now, I'm on a decorating binge. We've had three rooms painted this last month. The nursery-to-be is a really pretty periwinkle color, kind of dark, like a midnight sky. The guest room, which we moved to the bedroom in our basement, is now lilac. And today, I had Brendan's room painted and it's sky blue. I'm probably going to add clouds to it this weekend. We'll see how creative I'm feeling in a day or two. He wants clouds, but I'm worried he'll change his mind in six months.

As part of my decorating frenzy, I ordered curtains and some cool antique metal wall hangings for Brendan's room. I spent roughly $32 on four 84" panels for B's windows and another $59 on the six wall hangings that are three bi-planes, two trains, and an antique car. Pretty cool. I do love eBay.

I just can't wait to get the room done. Of course, focusing on this the last few days has given me something to think about instead of how depressed I am that Scott gets to go to a cool, new, exciting job and I'm stuck here indefinitely. I love being a mom, but I feel so lonely and isolated sometimes. It sucks. I wish I didn't feel this way, but I do. I feel less like a stunted sub-human when I have something to occupy my mind and time.

I also have my freelance work to keep me occupied, but so much of that work is done in isolation. I do a lot of interviews on the phone or via e-mail and of course, I write alone. Still, I get to think and write and writing is all I've ever really wanted to do. Hopefully, the work will continue to come in.

So, for now, I guess I should just be grateful and quit my belly-achin'. Life is good. Really.

And in case I need a reminder, I just keep telling myself mood swings are normal during pregnancy. This too shall pass.

Still a Bit Hit List

Rather than calming down, my anger continues to grow as I have more time to think about and process what my in-laws have done, and as the ramifications of their insanity continue to manifest.

God, I hate them with every fiber of my being. Really. Would put the heel of my boot directly into my stepmother-in-law's face if I could right now. Of course, I understand that violence is not the answer and would never actually do it because I don't want to give her the pleasure. She already thinks I'm white trash anyway. For years she has referred to my mother as an alcoholic (my mother did not drink at all) and has talked about my smoking habit (she has never seen me smoke because I don't).

But back to my being more pissed off than I have been in years...

My son who was starting to choose his dad over me in the last few weeks is now clinging to me and will not let his dad touch him or help him with anything. He also won't respond to discipline from his dad now and when his dad tries to correct him, he hides. Yesterday when my husband told him not to color on the carpet with his markers, Brendan ran upstairs where I was showering and hid in the bathroom closet in a pile of dirty laundry.

Before the Attack of the Crazy Fundamentalist Grandparents, this was not a problem. Like any three-year old, Brendan resisted being disciplined to some extent, but would ultimately sit in time-out and apologize and be good. Now, when we try to correct him, he freaks out! I am so pissed!

This morning, he cried for 45 minutes and we have no idea why. This is a boy who normally sings and laughs and makes up silly rhymes. He has even come up with his own form of cockney rhyming slang, which I find adorable. The one that comes to mind so quickly is his calling someone billy goat when he means they're silly.

Where is my happy boy? Quashed by that evil witch of a step-grandmother. God! I am so mad. I want to let it go, but I just can't.

The thing is, I'm torn between telling them exactly how pissed I am and that they will never see my son again and just letting it go and letting them figure it out on their own.

I seriously hate these people now. And to think a week ago I was looking naively hoping to encourage my son to have a closer relationship with them.

Really Mystified

Maybe I should have titled this "Really Fracking Pissed Off!" However, in addition to being so angry at my father-in-law and step-monster-in-law that I might seriously never speak to them again, I am oddly confused by their behavior.

They complain that we never come visit them. They also never visit us. If they do, it's for dinner and not an overnight visit. Stepmonster once complained that our guest room bed was very uncomfortable. This is not a woman who has a lot of tact. She once told my husband when she learned the kind of music he was into that he would fit right in with the boys in the kitchen. A very subtle, old-school racist way of saying, "You're into that black music."

Anyway, I schedule a visit because I am eager for my son to have meaningful relationships with all of his relatives because I have such a small family. My mom is dead and when I grew up, I only had one grandparent. I was extremely close to her and knew she loved me deeply. I want my son to be loved that way by his grandparents.

After jumping through hoops to find a time that worked, we settled on June 9 and 10. Brendan was already scheduled to be in summer camp at his school and I had already paid $90 for him to be there for five days. Step-mother insisted this was the only time until August they could see him, so I agreed. Brendan seemed eager to go and I overheard him telling his friends he was going there. Very sweet, I thought.

Brendan has not been to their home since Christmas. The last time we were there, he got into trouble with her for sitting on a particular chair. Neither he nor his parents had been told this chair was off limits. He was quietly sitting on it watching a Barney video. Because he didn't jump off the chair when he was told to do so, evil stepgrandmonster turns the video off with no warning. He was not even three years old at the time. He freaked out. Naturally.

So, we get there yesterday afternoon. Brendan is shy and takes a while to warm up. Once he does, he talks a mile a minute, laughs at funny things you do, and is a joy to be around. But you have to ease into things with him. Especially if he hasn't seen you in seven or eight months. Because she is a grandparent, Steppy thinks this doesn't apply to her and forges onward trying to talk him into running joyfully into her arms. Grandpa knows to hold back and let the child come to him. Finally, she backs off and retreats to the kitchen like a hurt dog. Slowly, Brendan warms up to them both and things go relatively smoothly for a few hours.

Then, my child unwittingly carries a drink into their living room. We have never been told we can't do this. I remember him being allowed to have a sippy cup in the room previously, but apparently they're implementing new rules. Which is fine. Their home, their rules. We should respect them and their rules. However, rather than stating the rule and inviting Brendan to carry his drink into the kitchen, old Steppy snatches the drink from his hand and tells him "No drinks in the living room!" As if, of course, he has heard this rule a hundred times before. Embarrassed, Brendan throws himself to the ground and hides his face. He's not crying or having a tantrum at this point, but I can tell he's a) confused, because at home we allow drinks anywhere in the house, and b) doesn't like having a virtual stranger tell him what to do in such a forceful manner. This is totally unacceptable behavior as far as my stepmother-in-law is concerned and she proceeds to tell me and Brendan as much. When he then starts crying and comes to me, I try to gently explain why we have to follow the rules in other peoples' homes and that they will often have rules that differ from ours, etc. She keeps trying to talk over me, upsetting him even more. I remove him from the situation and even put him in time out to try to calm things down.

I will leave out many of the details. It suffices to say that Brendan became very uncomfortable around his grandparents after this. We both had fitful nights sleeping together in the world's most uncomfortable guest room (stuffy, hard-as-rocks bed and pillows! and a bed too high off the ground to be safe for kids). This morning there were a couple more small instances where Brendan disobeyed them or got upset when they tried to hold him. Steppy tried to force him to sit in her lap and read to him while I went to the bathroom. When I came out, I saw my child straining to get away, crying, and pleading for me to help him.

When I tried to talk to him and calm him down and explain to him why he couldn't do certain things or that his grandparents just wanted to spend time with him, I was accused of coddling him and consoling him too much. They advocated spanking and books by James Dobson, he of Spongebob is gay fame. I got two lectures about my poor parenting skills and the lack of discipline in my home and ultimately, stepmonster-in-law told me that she was so uncomfortable in her own home and that having us visit was such an unpleasant experience for her that she couldn't take another night of it.

In essence, she and my father-in-law threw their 14 weeks' pregnant daughter-in-law who has done nothing but try to build a relationship with them and their sweet, but strong-willed three-year old grandson out of their house.

I know that I sound full of vitriol right now. I am. But until today, I have done nothing but try to make them like me and love my son and husband. I have always been the one to reach out. Despite the fact that they left our wedding early because we didn't take a picture of Scott with the two of them before we took a picture of Scott with his two brothers who were both in the wedding. Despite the fact that they did not come to Brendan's baptism because they are uncomfortable being around Scott's mom. Despite the fact that Scott's stepmom converted his dad from being a lifelong, practicing Catholic to being Methodist and now is trying to convert the rest of the family because she doesn't believe Catholicism is a valid religion. (No offense intended to other Methodists). Despite the fact that they have made little or no effort to see him or have him in their lives.

But this is it. The end for me. Frack them. I am not making the effort anymore. Not after they told me today that they don't feel like they can have a relationship with my son because he won't listen to them. He doesn't fracking know them. And whose fault is that? Can they not stop and see things from his perspective? Or even mine?

They told me I'm blind to how my child manipulates me. I coddle and spoil him. And that a parent's job is not to protect their child, but to give them structure and teach them how to handle difficult situations. They said you shouldn't have to explain to a child why they shouldn't do something, but rather just saying "No" should be enough. They told me that a child who isn't spanked is unable to show respect to anyone else and will be selfish.

I really am overwhelmed and dumbfounded by all of this. And my poor husband who wasn't even there...Bless him. He's beside himself with anger and I feel responsible. I wish I had never gone down there. I thought I was doing a good thing. Now we're both wide awake at 5:00 a.m. He because he's so angry. Me because Brendan is sick. He awoke at midnight with a cough and high fever. Then he started vomiting. I've changed his sheets three times. We ended up sleeping on the couch for a while until he insisted on going back to bed. I had to put a double bed sheet on his bed because I was out of clean sheets for his bed.

And I do blame them. My child rarely gets sick. He hasn't been sick for months. I think his little body just got so stressed out from all the tension and drama last night and today that whatever germ was there sprang to life.

Ugh! This kind of anger and upset cannot be good for my pregnancy. How could they do this?

Of course, they think they're "doing it for our own good."

The thing is, I know my child isn't perfect. There are no perfect kids. But he's certainly not as bad as they make him out to be. He's smart and funny and at home he listens pretty well. His preschool teachers tell me how good he is most days. Other parents compliment his behavior when we go to their homes. This was not normal for him, but they won't hear me out on it. They think I'm lying.

They want sheep. Mousy little piss ants who follow where they are lead, drink the Kool-Aid, and fit into their conformist little picture of how children should be. My son is not like that. His dad isn't like that and neither am I. They should know that.

Stepmonster's kids are. As whitebread as they come and I seriously doubt either of them has ever said "No" or had an original thought once in their lives. Perfectly nice. Perfectly likeable. But not fun or interesting or anyone you would want to get to know.

If you've made it this far, I congratulate you on your stamina. I had to get it all out because it was killing me. I am seriously having sharp pains that have me a little concerned. I needed to write about this because I still can't believe it happened. Of course now, in my sleep-deprived and worried state, it seems like a really bad dream.

I wish it were.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It seems 2006 will be a big year for us. Not only will we (hopefully) have a baby, but something even more exciting has just happened. At least it's more exciting right at this moment.

Scott has a new job. After almost nine years at the same company as a web applications developer, my darlin' is going to work at a new gig. He'll be a senior developer for a company that specializes in wireless apps. Pretty cool. He'll be their user interface specialist and he's pretty psyched about the job. Me, too. It's so up his alley.

The job does mean a small pay cut, but we'll have insurance with maternity coverage (we currently do not) and for the first time in nine years, Scott will get paid vacations. Yay! This year, because we won't be paying for the birth of our child out of pocket, we'll do alright. Hopefully, it will all work out. I think it will, if for no other reason than the fact my husband will be doing something he loves.

Brendan faced his own dramatic change this week. When he went to summer camp at his preschool, we were both a bit shocked that his class was in a different room with a different teacher, though she is one he knows. While I was perfectly okay with this change, my sweet boy sat on the floor and cried, begging for his old teacher. The new teacher, a darling English woman who was the assistant in his old class, just scooped him up and carried him in, where he sat and pouted until his buddy Matthew came over and talked him out of his funk. Today, he told me that he was going to go into the old teacher's class instead, but since I got to drop him off in the carpool line, I, thankfully, didn't have to deal with that meltdown. Of course, when I arrived to pick him up, Brendan was sitting on the floor of the director's office, playing. Turns out he did have a meltdown when they wanted to change his poopy diaper on the playground. Rather than upset the other kids, they separated him. Sadly, he's one of the only kids left in his class still in a diaper. I'm at my wit's end with potty-training. I've been trying off and on for a year and he's so stubborn, crying and fighting with me every time I try to get him to sit on the potty. So, starting Monday (after preschool camp and a trip to the grandparents this weekend), I am throwing away the diapers. I'm not going to give him a choice and I'm going to make him clean up his messes. Hopefully, he'll get sick of being wet and nasty pretty fast.

So, there's lots of drama going on around here. Hopefully, we will all come through it better people and a happier family.

Best Imitation of Myself

First off, I want to clarify something. I did not mean to imply that my husband is thinking of doing anything untoward with anyone. Everything in our conversation the other night was purely theoretical. Just one of those conversations you end up having when you're a certain age and your life is in transition.

Right now we're looking at having a new child, a potential job change, we've made a lot of new friends in a short time, and it just seems like we have a lot going on. A lot of really good things. So, anyway, it's all talk and being the pregnant emotional monster I am, I had a minor freak out over a perfectly normal conversation. Not typical of me, but it's over. And I'm sorry.

And by the way, I also didn't mean to imply that I'm some sort of depressed, frump of an unattractive housefrau. I'm not. I'm pregnant and I'm just anxious about all that does to one's body. Not fun.

Now, on to something really cool! We had a nuchal translucency test yesterday. Everything looked great. All the measurements were normal. We'll get the bloodwork back on Friday. I feel so much better now. I was really worried, but I feel as though we've cleared one more hurdle. Eight more weeks until we can find out the sex.

It was so cool to see our little one on the screen in the doctor's office yesterday. Cooler still was that when we first saw him/her, baby was all asquirm, arms and legs waving. The u/s tech commented that the baby was moving so much she didn't know if she'd be able to get a good picture. So, I told the baby he/she needed to calm down and be still and instantly, the arm and leg kicking stopped, baby stuck his/her thumb in the mouth and bent both knees, like he/she was just kicking back and relaxing. It was so cool!

I really feel much more connected to this baby and pregnancy after yesterday. I think I was afraid to get too attached in case there was a major problem. Obviously, I am so thankful there's not.

Marriage is Hard Work

Last night Scott and I had an interesting talk that left me thrown off kilter and feeling more than a little insecure today. Just days ago, I felt wonderful and secure. While this may be too much information, I think it's relevant to this topic, so I'll just say it. This pregnancy has been great for our sex life and my ego.

For weeks, Scott (and most of my friends) have been telling me how great I look, how I'm glowing and beautiful. Better yet, we have been having more sex than at any other point in our relationship. Sex has always been an issue for us because it has always meant a risk of getting pregnant when we might not have wanted to be pregnant. So, I think the fact that I am pregnant and we can have sex whenever we want to without worrying has made all the difference. Of course, this wasn't the case when I was pregnant with Brendan. Scott had zero interest in me. It was worse for the several months after Brendan was born and I hadn't lost much of my baby weight. I felt unattractive and apparently was unattractive. Eventually, as I took off the weight and was in better shape than before I had B. Then, things really took off, resulting in my present state.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. We were discussing male/female friendships and whether or not they're okay when you're married. We both want them and basically agree they're fine, but that you have to be realistic about the fact that part of why people want those friendships and why they happen in the first place is because you want someone other than your partner to find you interesting and attractive. And that's okay. We all need it. I think it's normal. The problem is when that basic attraction turns into something deeper and more real.

At that point in the conversation, Scott admitted that if he had a female friendship that started to cross that line, he would want to explore it. Crash! There goes my heart breaking into a million little pieces.

The thing is, I understand that need. I romanticize the notion of the first kiss with a new lover and those new exciting emotions you experience when you're first getting to know someone new. It's kind of a recurring dream for me and I had it last night.

That doesn't mean I'd ever act on it or want to. I truly adore my husband and love being married to him. I certainly wouldn't trade our relationship for a few blissful moments of blossoming attraction.

Hell! I'm a work-at-home mom. All of the editors I work with are women. There is very little chance I'd ever meet another man who'd find me attractive any way.

Not now that I'm 36 with one child and another on the way.

Of course, my husband is hot. Hot, I say! He's good-looking, charming, witty, incredibly intelligent, and made all the sexier by the fact that he's a musician. He works in an office with the occasional good-looking young woman in an unhappy marriage who flirts with him and makes him feel good. A tricky situation. Still, I would never want to say, "You can't have female friends." I wouldn't want anyone dictating who my friends are though I think if a friendship makes your partner uncomfortable, you have to listen to his or her feelings on the matter.

I hate hearing it, but I appreciate that he can be honest with me. And at least it lets me know what I'm up against. It pisses me off that I'm not enough. It pisses me off more that I used to be hot, too. And smart and witty and charming. Before I met Scott, I had men and boys falling at my feet. When I was 24 or 25, I had college boys lying about their age to try to get me to go out with them. I was pretty confident. Then, at some point, I realized I didn't just want to date, I wanted to find someone to love and love me. And ultimately, I did. But, when I did, I stopped putting myself in situations where other men would find me attractive and eventually, my confidence waned. Now, here I am.

I'm probably overreacting. I hope so. Apparently, these feelings are normal for men, at least according to Rich at championable.com. While I don't mean this as a judgment on Rich at all, I am glad that Scott is open about what he feels and when women flirt with him. Like I said, at least I know what I'm up against and we can discuss it.

Blinded by Science

Seems the folks over at Duke's Pratt School of Engineering have figured out how to make an invisibility cloak. At least in theory.

Of course, it's not like Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. It sounds more like the Star Trek cloaking device.

All in all, if it works, what a major breakthrough. Very cool. Very cool, indeed.

Girl, You Have No Faith in the Legal System

As a woman, I'd like to believe that when a woman says she has been raped she's telling the truth. Not just because I want to have faith in my fellow man, uh wo-man, but because it makes the rest of us look bad. Once one woman lies about being raped, it causes the powers that be (read Men) to doubt the rest of us when we bring forth allegations of an attack.

As a human and an American citizen, I'd like to believe that our judicial system works as it should: that we are innocent until proven guilty and that those in charge of prosecuting crimes take their positions seriously as a means to eradicating true crime and not just as vehicles for political gain or executing their own personal vendettas.

Sadly, the alleged rape case involving the Duke Lacrosse team has left me disillusioned and disappointed in both my fellow woman and my fellow American citizens, most especially Michael Nifong, the Durham District Attorney who is pursuing this case despite the lack of any evidence proving the guilt and more shockingly, in the face of clear evidence showing that neither of the two young men who have thus far been indicted could have been involved. Both have witnesses and evidence including ATM receipts indicating that they had left the party well before the hook, uh stripper, -- damn! I mean the alleged victim, arrived. Nifong refused to look at any of the evidence collected by defense attorneys.

Worse yet, is the fact that he has dropped pending charges against the alleged victim related to her theft of a vehicle and the subsequent high-speed chase on which she led police; the fact that he reduced parole violation charges against the second stripper involved after she changed her story to say that, indeed, a rape had occurred.

Now, in a further effort to intimidate a witness, Durham police yesterday arrested the taxi driver who came forward to say that he had picked Reade Seligmann up from the house where the lacrosse party and alleged rape took place and then drove him to an ATM, a fast-food joint, and back to his dorm, all before the alleged rape allegedly occurred. Apparently, the police asked him if had anything new to tell them about the case before they arrested him.

How is this happening in the U.S.? How is Nifong allowed to get away with this? Clearly, he has no case if he's so desperately trying to coerce testimony and throwing witnesses into jail in order to get his way. And ignoring that the alleged victim has mental health issues and a previous history of lies, deception, and criminal activity that might indicate she could be making the story up.

I wasn't going to write about this because I understand how it could be a controversial issue and that's not my game. But I am incensed over the idea, the very act of witness intimidation Nifong and his black-booted thugs are trying to carry out in Durham. I hope he fails miserably.

I hope someone with some sense sees what he is doing and disbars this asshole.

I hope the woman who started all of this gets the help she needs to get her life together. For her sake, her parents, and her children.

I hope the young men, and their fellow teammates, have learned that it's never a good idea to hire strange women to come to your home and take their clothes off unless you want to risk being accused of rape, and I hope that ultimately, they are able to clear their names and put this behind them.

Most of all, I hope our criminal justice system can withstand the battering it's taking right now.

Freakin' Evil Bird

thrasher, originally uploaded by belleoftheblogATL.

I dig birds. I have two bird feeders and a bird bath in our yard to attract a variety of songbirds. I planted red trumpet vine to attract hummingbirds. Nature is my friend.

That said, there is a freakin' brown thrasher living somewhere in our yard that I want to kill. Evil bird.

Every day for the last week when I let our sweet orange tabby boy, Mao, go outside to lounge in the sun or stalk chipmunks, this bird tries to attack him. When s/he isn't swooping down to pester him, the bird sets on a perch about two feet away and nags him with an irritating chirp that sounds like someone flicking their tongue against the back of their teeth. It will literally fly around the house to follow him if he tries to go from the backyard around to the front of the house. I can hear it over the TV or music it is so loud. I want to kill this bird! That chirp has become the single most irritating sound on Earth to me.

I'm sure it's a new parent and only wants to protect its young. I should relate to that. If my sweet kitty, who is a notorious killer, did in fact kill one of this bird's new offspring, I would feel sad and be angry at Mao.

However, my darling cat is innocent until committing an act of Darwinian brutality. So far he hasn't done that. To this bird or its young.

I never root for my cat against smaller animals. Except rats. But this time I find myself hoping he will get angry enough at this bird to put an end to its annoying chirping.

Of course, the day my kitty boy trots through the door with a limp brown thrasher dangling from his mouth, I'll be out searching for the abandoned brood of baby birds, hoping there's something we can do to save them and cursing my cat for his evil ways.

Sick last night, Sick the night before...

Many moons ago when I was in college, we had a drinking song that we used to sing on occasion. The lyrics were as follows:

Drunk last night, drunk the night before,
Gonna get drunk like we've never done before,
'Cause when I'm drunk, I'm as happy as can be,
'Cause I'm a member of the Scott family.
Oh, Scott family is the best family.
The best family in all of Germany.

From the highland Dutch to the lowland Dutch,
From the Rotterdam Dutch, to the goddam Dutch,
Glorious, glorious, a whole keg of beer for the four of us,
Glad there aren't any more of us, 'cause one could drink the whole thing.
Damn near!
My eyes are dim (are dim)!
I cannot see (can't see)!

Then, i don't really remember the rest of the lyrics. I'm not sure anyone knew them. All of our drinking songs had been handed down over the decades, one class to the next.

Anyway, for some reason, every time someone asks me how I'm feeling, I just keep thinking of this song, except in my mind I'm hearing, "Sick last night, sick the night before..."

This morning sickness is really taking its toll on me. I am miserable. And not too happy about it all. The only thing that seems to be soothing my stomach is Coca-Cola on crushed ice. I get sick if I'm hungry. Sick if I eat too much or the wrong thing. Breakfast is the worst, but I can get sick any time of day really. I've definitely thrown up more the last three weeks than I have in the last three years.

And speaking of throwing up, I think I need to go now.

A Terrifying Pregnancy Side-Effect

Since I was twelve, I have suffered from migraine headaches. My mom had them, too. And my grandmother. I remember how debilitatingly painful they were. They usually started in the afternoon and by nightfall, I would be moaning in agony, clutching my throbbing head and running down the hall to throw up in the bathroom. I remember my grandmother applying camphor compresses to my head, turning off all the lights, and sitting with me in my darkened room. Eventually, my mom took me to the doctor and he diagnosed me as having migraines and prescribed Midrin, a pain reliever which provided great relief and sleep, blessed sleep.

I had migraines off and on throughout junior high and high school and once or twice in college. As a young adult, they picked up again once I had a series of stressful jobs that didn't pay nearly enough. In 1999, they picked up again. I was planning my wedding and had just been promoted to Director of Marketing for a high-tech firm. My neurologist wrote me a prescription for Imitrex and wrote the headaches off to stress. A month or two after my wedding, I went off the Pill and hadn't had another migraine until last night.

This one was a doozy. It started with the classic migraine aura symptoms. I had spotty, fragmented vision and felt a little disoriented. It started while I was cooking dinner, including our favorite Robert Redford dessert. Scott came home, I sat and chatted with him while supper cooked, then I returned to finish up supper, feeling a lot better. Within about 30 minutes, I began to feel totally disoriented and confused. I was trying to write a note to a friend and realized the words I was writing were not the words I was thinking. I tried to speak and I couldn't make my tongue do what I wanted it to. I realized I was experiencing a form of aphasia and I began to freak out. I managed to tell Brendan's little friend Haley to go home and went back upstairs to get Scott. I didn't want to freak him out, but I was terrified. I thought I was having a stroke.

I managed to get the words out, very slowly and painfully, to tell Scott I thought I was having a stroke. He then took me through the tests to see if I was having a stroke: lift both arms above the head, smile, repeat a specific sentence. I didn't have any trouble with any of those, so we ruled out stroke pretty quickly. I began to feel less confused, less disoriented, so we went downstairs and ate dinner. By the time we were finished eating, the headache had started and I was pretty incapacitated.

Scott did a great job taking care of me and Brendan and helped me get him to bed. Then, we relaxed and watched Prison Break and 24 and went to bed and cuddled, thankful I was alive and for the time being, not the victim of a stroke.

Why Can't There Be One Right Way?

I wish there were one right way to parent to ensure each and every child comes out feeling safe, loved, appreciated, wanted, smart, talented, and unique.The things we all want to feel.

If this were the case, the day we give birth to a child, the hospital would simply hand over The Parenting Handbook and we'd all know exactly how to stimulate, educate, inspire, discipline, and grow perfect, healthy kids.

Unfortunately, the closest most of us get to any kind of teaching in the arena of being parents is by doing what our parents did. In my case, that's not going to work.

My mom was selfish, critical, mean-spirited, and angry. I was, as they put it back in the Sixties, a Love Child, never quite as good, ashamed, afraid, misunderstood. I don't think my mom hated me, but I think she had to warm up to the idea of loving me, and ultimately the way she expressed that love was in trying to control everything I did. If I did something wrong, she would explode in a fit of terrifying anger. I was definitely afraid of my mom. Afraid of what she could or would do to me and afraid of what she might do to herself.

My whole life I have battled my own expressions of anger, to the point, that I had mostly learned to swallow my anger with the people I love and let things that drove me crazy slide because I loved them.

Then, I had a child. And in my efforts to guide and teach him, I've found we are two stubborn peas in a pod, and as parent, I feel the need to assert my dominance over him. It's my job to help him turn out okay. He gets a ton of love and affection, praise for all the good things he does. And, he's a little spoiled. I do things for him that he should probably be doing for himself now. But I'm aware of that, and working to correct the problem areas.

Unfortunately, every now and then, I blow my stack. I yell, stomp my feet, and act in a way that I know must be very scary for him. It's all usually over in a matter of seconds, then I apologize, and try to explain why his behavior made me angry. The last two instances involved his intentionally spilling his yogurt all over his puzzles after I had expressly told him not to spill his yogurt and refusing to pick up his trains and put them into the box where we keep them. I asked him several times and finally lost it. What's really frustrating to me about his refusal to clean his room is that his preschool teacher is constantly telling me what an awesome job he does picking up toys at school. She says she doesn't even have to tell him to do it. So, I know this is a power struggle and as parent, I feel it imperative that I win the battle. Problem is, I don't know how.

Obviously, blowing up isn't the solution. I don't know what is. And that's very disheartening. I should know my child better than anyone, know what motivates him and what doesn't.

A few nights ago, Scott and I were discussing it and he says he doesn't understand how I can lose my temper with Brendan. He also says he thinks I'm too critical, that I am way more critical than his mom ever was of him or his brothers. In my mind, I'm criticizing B's behavior, not him. Scott thinks two and three-year olds can't discern that difference. Maybe he's right. I hope not.

The only time I've actually criticized my son was when I told him he was being a baby for refusing to sit on the potty. And I told him I'd take away some big boy privilege of his if he didn't sit on the potty. It didn't work. Again, a major power struggle and I'm at my wit's end. I felt horrible after that day and didn't even mention the potty for a whole month.

I don't want to be my mom. Who does? So, why is this such a struggle for me? I love my son more than my own life. So, why can't I find the right ways to encourage and motivate him to do the things he needs to do? I'm not trying to change him.

I don't want to crush his spirit, dampen his defiant nature, or discourage his persistence. I do want him to sleep at night. Clean his room. Respect adults. Listen. Be nice to his friends. Share. Love. Keep his brilliant sense of humor. Use the freakin' potty and be out of diapers before school starts in the fall. That's it for now.

I don't think that's so much to ask. So, why do I feel like a horrible mother? Hopeless? Like I can't do this? And Good Lord! If I can't do it with the one I've got, what the hell am I going to do when I have another?

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Work I Go!

For a couple of years, I have been struggling to find enough freelance work to bring in enough money to pay for a few of life's luxuries: health insurance and health care, haircuts for me and the boy, a manicure every now and then, clothes, babysitters so Scott and I can get out once in a while. I'm very lucky to be able to stay at home, but it has meant cutting back on a lot of the things I used to take for granted. Because Scott is self-employed, health insurance has been our biggest financial burden and headache. I worry about it a lot. And I pray about finding work so that I can help take some of the strain off my husband's shoulders.

Mostly because finding freelance work is a full-time job in and of itself and I have a young child and a house to take care of, I've found that I rarely have the time I need to find the work I need. I have a few regular clients that keep coming back, but that means one or two projects a quarter.... Not really enough to meet the goals I've set for myself.

Well, suddenly, and thankfully, out of the blue the work is starting to come in. I've got two articles I'm writing for a relocation magazine, plus another possibly on the horizon. Another magazine, Atlanta Dog Life, hired me last fall to write a column about dogs with jobs, but after writing my first article, I was told their funding didn't come through and they were putting the magazine on hold. Two days ago, I got a call from the owner of the first dog I "interviewed" who told me that she had gotten a call from the magazine about advertising. So, I called up the editor and she told me we're back in business and they definitely plan to have me write for them, though I'm not sure if I will still be writing the same column or not.

Now, here's the most exciting event of the week. And the most flattering. Renee Palmer who co-parents Miss America, the first dog I wrote about for ADL is also co-owner of Camp Woof, the open-play boarding facility where we board our darling boy, Cooper. Renee's partner, Patsy McGirl, is the other co-owner. They're awesome and foster a lot of rescues. And Cooper loves staying at Camp Woof.

Anyway, Renee called me yesterday to ask me if I might be interested in authoring a children's book about one of their dogs. It's a long story and I can't go into all of the details, but ultimately, part of the proceeds from the book would go to fund scholarships for disadvantaged African-American students from our community.

I'm so excited and so flattered to be asked to do something like this. Granted, I have no experience writing for children, but I've actually been thinking about it some the last few years. I figure I can try.

So, I'm just very thankful today to have so much wonderful work on my plate. Even though I am still feeling very sick and very tired. I'll just do my best and muddle through. Thank you, God, for all these wonderful blessings raining down upon me all of a sudden!

I'm Sorry, So Sorry

Okay. Having had all day to think about this, I realized I don't know why I was so intensely angry over a small-minded person acting in a petty manner.

I realized that I, too, was being petty in expressing such vitriol toward someone I barely know just because we don't see eye-to-eye on a particular subject.

So, I'm sorry I subjected y'all to my anger. I'll try to do better next time.

Rockin' the Suburbs

Man, am I pissed!

I am the co-president of my neighborhood association, a job I took thinking it would be a great way to get to know my neighbors and possibly network a little. I was crazy. This unpaid job sucks.

I have neighbors who call me to complain because someone else's dog is barking. Because someone drove through their yard. Because one of their neighbors had a party and cars were parked up and down their street. They all expect ME to do something about it. Are they three? Do they really need mommy to resolve their arguments?

Now, get this! We're an older (30-years plus), well-established neighborhood. Maybe 5% of the residents are the original owners of their homes. Our homeowner's association dues are only $20 a year. A pittance.

Today, I got an e-mail from a guy in the neighborhood who does nothing but complain. Today, he's complaining because the neighborhood association has plans to make a banner to hang on our front entrance congratulating all the 2006 high school graduates who live in the neighborhood. He thinks the kids' parents should pay for the banner. He also suggested that if the neighborhood association paid for it that we should exclude anyone who didn't pay their $20 dues.

A freakin' banner only costs about $75 or $100 dollars to make. Cheap! This dude told me that he thinks the dues should only be spent on things that benefit everyone. He fails to see how this does.

Dude! Does it not benefit you to be a nice guy once in a while? Or how about the fact that it makes our neighborhood look like a warm, friendly, caring place to live?

What a total jerk! I'm so mad right now! I just don't see how people go through their lives being so selfish!

The thing is, this guy always wants to do our neighborhood directory and have his hand in different projects we do. That's all about to change. If he's going to be so selfish, I don't want to use up any of his precious time or resources. I'm going to seek out other volunteers. People who are happy to be involved and do things that benefit everyone who lives in the neighborhood.

Jerk!

Wake Me When It's Over

I loved being pregnant with Brendan! It was so cool!

This time, I'm miserable. I'm sooooo sick! I don't recall actually throwing up with Brendan, though I felt plenty ill. Today is the fourth day in a row that I've lost my breakfast. The rest of the day, I have simply felt horrible and get really nauseous every time I get hungry. I'm trying to think positively, to remind myself that all of this is a good sign that there are lots of hormones all doing their job and the nausea and exhaustion I feel are signs of a healthy pregnancy progressing normally.

Of course, sleeping is the only thing that helps me. Sleeping is brilliant! I wish I could sleep and sleep and wake up at the end of the first trimester, brimming with energy and good health.

Annie Get Your Gun: The Easter Bunny's Here

Sometimes it's amazing to me how different members of the same family can be. One of Scott's brothers is a hunter. He goes deer hunting or at least he used to. I'm not sure he has time to anymore now that he and his wife have four kids. Still, he has no issue with guns.

We do. We definitely don't believe that kids should have toy guns to play with, especially realistic looking cap gun rifles like the one the Easter Bunny left our three-year old nephews Easter basket yesterday.

Scott and I were both very concerned about Brendan being around kids playing with guns, pretending to shoot each other and kept him isolated from his cousins so that he wouldn't see it. Scott and his brother argued over why three-year olds shouldn't be playing with realistic-looking guns and especially playing games where they point them at someone and fire. His brother never got it. Both his brothers think we're liberal hippie freaks anyway. Still, his other brother and his wife never let their kids play with guns. Unfortunately, neither of them spoke up.

We took Brendan outside to play and were debating whether we should leave or not. I was just going inside to say my peace when I realized the guns had been put away.

The thing that really got my Irish up, and Scott's as well, was when our five-year old niece went upstairs and told Brendan "I'm going to shoot your Daddy!" No one corrected her or thought there was anything wrong with that at all. Thankfully, Brendan doesn't yet know what it means for someone to get shot. When I asked him if his cousin had said something scary to him, he said no and seemed fine.

It's sad, really. We had just gotten to a point where Brendan was really enjoying being around his cousins. Unfortunately, our values are too different from those of my in-laws that we're not comfortable having him play with them.

At least he has friends, though I'm sad that he might never have close ties to his cousins like his dad has.

Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged

I have a really hard time with this. I want not to judge others and usually I don't. However, when my own insecurities get piqued, I often find myself pointing the finger before it can be pointed at me.

Today was one of those days.

I took Brendan to the park after school. We picked up Chick-fil-A on the way and I was looking forward to a picnic and playing in the sandbox, maybe chasing him around the meadow for a bit of exercise. Unfortunately, the idyllic afternoon I imagined was not to be.

She was there. Alpha Mom. I hate Alpha Mom. Alpha Mom talks more and louder than any other mom in the park. Alpha Mom only packs the finest organic foods for her picnic and looks at your Happy Meal with a curl of the lip.

This particular Alpha Mom droned on and on and on about the kind of beach house she wants to buy in Florida. But not in Destin. How trashy! No, somewhere less redneck. Then about how the McMansion she and her husband built is just too big, with its five bedrooms, three-and-a-half baths, finished basement, and office. About how she and hubby rent out the first house they owned to (gasp) Katrina survivors! About her wedding in Key West. About how all her friends are asking her and her husband to renew their vows next year on the 10th anniversary and have a huge party in Key West. About how friends of theirs didn't get their two-year old into the same elite Montessori school her daughter attends.

Oh! And I learned that Parker, her five year old, is "going to end up in politics, or journalism, or maybe...sales. She's just such a go-getter!" Blech! Is that my morning sickness or am I gagging on my disdain for Alpha Mom!

There was more. She didn't shut up the entire hour we were in the same park. And the whole time she was lording it over the Wannabee moms in her cohort, she was perched atop a lawn chair while everyone else relaxed on the ground on blankets.

When I see a Queen Bee and her hive, it just makes me feel like I'm in hell, uh, I mean, high school, all over again. Don't get me wrong. I'm part of a moms club. We're all friends, but we're all just a lot more relaxed. No one's judging anyone else in our group and none of us are trying to prove ourselves worthy of another's friendship or presence.

Bottom line: Alpha Moms and cliques just piss me off.

Pregnancy Brain: What a Long, Strange Week-and-a-Half It's Been

Since getting confirmation of my pregnancy, I have basically had almost no free time to write and when I have, I have either a) been too fuzzy-headed to get my thoughts together to write (they're not joking about the "cloud of pregnancy"); b) too exhausted to write; or c) too busy entertaining Brendan who was on spring break from preschool and decided to officially stop napping. Ugh!

I think the thing I hate most about pregnancy is what it does to your head. I mean, in just a few weeks I seem to have lost half my brain cells. I feel stymied mentally and physically, it feels like someone stuffed something in my head. Clearly, I have lost all power of articulation because that makes no sense. It suffices to say that I have a "cloudy" feeling and just can't get it together.

Yesterday, I forgot that I was responsible for sending the snack to Brendan's preschool. When I got there to pick him up, there was a note on his backpack asking me to send in pretzels and raisins today. I felt horrible. All those cute little two and three-year-olds sitting around waiting for their snack and getting none. Sad.

Actually, the school has back up plans for such events. Thankfully, I'm not the first mom to whom this has happened. I still feel like an idiot.

And wouldn't you know, I can't remember any of the other crazy things I've done the last few days? Pregnancy brain in action!

Yay! We're Having a Baby!

I went to my GP and he confirmed that I am pregnant. He said that the faint line was probably just because it was so early. I was convinced it was because the baby isn't growing and thusly, there isn't enough HCG present to produce a darker line. Doc thinks I conceived later than I thought and am about a week behind where I thought I might be.

He also reassured me that nothing I've done so far should have had any impact on the baby. S/he will only have just implanted a week or so ago, so not as big a deal as I thought.

I'm relieved. I know there are thousands of things that could still go wrong. We've lost a baby with a chromosomal defect, so I know the kinds of things that can happen even if you do everything right. It's still so early, I could have a miscarriage. I know I shouldn't tell a soul. But this secret is too good to keep.

For now, I don't want to worry about any of that! I want to be happy and embrace the tiny new life growing inside of me. I want to be excited. My husband, by the way, is thrilled. And that makes me very happy.

Oh! Yay! I am just giddy with joy now. I'm turning the worry button off for as long as I can. I'm going to take a power nap. Then shower. Then we're going to our monthly neighborhood dinner party with six other couples while the kids stay with sitters at one of our homes. I'm going to drink fizzy water with limes and eat fondue and laugh and celebrate this wonderful life.

And I can't wait 'til my friends ask me why I'm not drinking wine.

Two Pink Lines and More Freaking Out

I tested again this morning. Same result. A second line so faint I wonder if I'm imagining it. I'm waiting until my GP's office opens and then calling to see if they can do a blood test today.

I went online last night and read all the horrors of FAS. Ninety-nine percent of what I read said that no amount of alcohol is okay at any point during pregnancy and if you drank before you knew you were pregnant, you're just going to have to wait and see what kind of damage you did to your baby. I barely slept last night.

In addition to the daily glass of wine I have with dinner, there have been a couple of occasions in the last two or three weeks where I drank three glasses because we were laughing and talking and having a good time and I got carried away. Then there's the 1/2 dose of Nyquil I took about a week ago when I had a bad cold and the Mucinex I've been taking at night for the nasty cough I haven't been able to shake. And let's not forget the boatloads of coffee and Coke Zero I drink every day.

Everything I read last night said that even if your child escapes the low birth-weight and facial deformities associated with FAS, he or she will have behaviorial and learning difficulties and end up abusing drugs and becoming a juvenile delinquent.

I know there are countless stories of women who drank casually or socially throughout there pregnancies and had perfectly healthy normal babies and many who say that you only have to worry about FAS if you drink heavily throughout your entire pregnancy. But, I can't help but worry. How much would it suck if I did something to cause harm to my baby and I could have prevented it.

Damn, damn, damn.

Butting Heads with God

As a mother, it drives me nuts when Brendan wants to do something that I know he can't quite handle on his own. He and I are two stubbon peas in a pod. As much as I want to help him, he yearns to do it on his own. And he will pull away forcefully, shouting "NO! I DO IT MYSELF!" All the while, I'm getting angry and frustrated because I know it will go much more smoothly/cleanly/efficiently and faster if I help.

Clearly, I know I'm wrong. I know that he has to do things on his own to learn, but because I'm stubborn and impatient and want things done my way, I often find I can't help myself.

Today, I think I must know how God feels as I'm coming at him in the same stubborn, angry, and reproachful way Brendan reacts when I try to help him.

I'm not very good at being open to God's will, though I'll be darned if He doesn't just go ahead and keep asserting it anyway. I want to feel like I'm in control. I want to make the decisions that affect my life. It scares me to feel like someone else is in charge, even if I know deep down that's the case.

Right now, I'm kind of freaking out. I may be pregnant and I'm not ready. Theoretically, I'm ready. I'm ready to say, "Hey! We're trying to get pregnant with our second child" and to enjoy the process that takes us there. I'm ready to have a couple of months with negative pregnancy tests and a sense of disappointment that ultimately gets overshadowed when I actually get pregnant in the third month of trying.

I'm not ready to have gotten pregnant when we weren't trying. It scares me. It's happened to us twice before and both times ended in miscarriage.

I know that if I am pregnant, I should be thrilled and delighted, especially considering all the women who would give anything to be in my shoes. And I will be happy and excited to have another baby, a sibling for my darling boy. But, what about all the things that can go wrong with any pregnancy, even in the best of circumstances. Imagine being 36, someone who has a glass of wine to unwind every night, and who has a never-ending allergy attack and has been popping cold/sinus/cough medicine for the last two weeks to keep from hacking up a lung.

I'm not happy. I'm petrified.

And of course, along with all of this is the beating myself up over how I'll be responsible if something goes wrong. That it will be all my fault if something goes wrong.

I wish I could just let go of my fears and worries and just trust God. Why is that so hard?

Well, Hush Your Mouth!

I am bursting at the seams, I am so proud of my little fella!

As we were leaving preschool today, his friend Emily's mom stopped me. She said that her daughter has started saying "Yes, Ma'am" and "No, Ma'am" all of a sudden. When she questioned Emily as to where she had learned to say those phrases, Emily said, "Brendan."

I'm just so happy he remembers to use his manners at school. For a long time, I felt like I was constantly reminding him, but suddenly, it seems I rarely need to.

Of course, I was shocked that a parent had to ask her child where she learned to speak to an adult respectfully. I didn't say anything, but she must have felt my unease for she quickly said with a shrug, "We're not from the South, so we don't talk like that."

Well, hush your mouth, Cornbread! I bet you don't drink sweet tea, either. That's okay. We still love you, Sug!

I Can Feel It Coming in the Air Tonight

The PMDD, that is. All day today I've felt dazed, anxious, worried, tired, sad. I cried when I heard a story about Improv Everywhere on This American Life. It's comedy. It's supposed to make one laugh. But the founder of the group, Charlie Todd, said what I thought was one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard. I'm paraphrasing because I can't remember the exact quote, but basically he says his aim in life is to make people realize that we should expect magical things to happen in our lives and not merely rely on movies or TV to give us the magical, the beautiful, the wonder-ful moments that we'll never forget.

That melted me.

Somehow, though, I have managed not to lose my temper today. I've also kept my panic somewhat in control. I'm hoping it's because my self-prescribed regimen of vitamins and minerals(B-complex with C, a prenatal vitamin, Calcium with Magnesium, Flax Seed Oil, and Lysine) and exercise is helping.

Of course, it could be that I'm pregnant. I'm not late. Much. But I also don't feel the way I usually do before my period.

So, we'll see in a day or two when either I know for sure or I work up the courage to take a pregnancy test.

Guilt and Sorrow

Brendan came up with something pretty cute today. He has begun to name inanimate objects. His blue bouncy ball is Snuggly. His lamp is Shiny. And the imaginary elephant who lives in our family room is Stevie. And all the while I celebrated his creativity today, my insides ached with guilt and sorrow. Guilt for having a beautiful, healthy little boy whom I take for granted or get frustrated with because he's three and doesn't do all the things I think he should. Sorrow at learning two of my dear friends lost their baby boy at 20 weeks gestation.

Scott and I have lost a baby to miscarriage. It was in the first trimester and we reeled from it. I can't imagine how much worse it is for our friends. I am stymied by the shock and sadness of it and feel at a loss for how to help them. I pray I can find some words or kind gesture that will lessen their pain the slightest bit.

He Hate Me

Actually, Fate hates me.

I started a book club for my MOMS Club chapter five months ago. I've been to exactly one meeting.

I've read every book. I've reviewed book club questions on-line, pondering how I would answer them. I've thought about what the major themes of the book were and how I related to each character. One month, when there was a long waiting list for the book (The Sunday Wife) at my library, I checked out the book-on-tape version and loved it. Joan Allen narrated it and I loved listening to her soothing, beautiful voice.

But, in the end, even getting to hear Joan Allen reading a decent novel was disappointing when, in the end, I never got to talk about it with anyone.

Every month I tell the other women in the book club that I'll be there and every month something goes wrong to prevent me from coming. At this point, I'm sure they think I'm lying. Twice, Scott was sick and I didn't think I could leave Brendan with him. Once, I forgot to tell Scott and decided it wasn't fair to spring it on him at the last minute. And tonight, Brendan fell just as I was about to walk out the door. He scraped his back on our brick hearth and was really upset. By the time I got him calmed down enough that I could put him down, it was 30 minutes into our meeting time. I knew that if I tried to leave, he'd freak out again, so I gave up.

Why doesn't Fate want me to talk about good books with other women? Oh, well. At least I'm reading. It could be worse.

This Makes Me Sad

I heard this story on CNN this morning and it really made me feel sad and guilty. I remember when Andrea Yates killed her children. Like everyone else who has never had a child and suffered from post-partum depression, I was shocked, disgusted, and I judged her. How could a mother harm her own child? I just didn't get it.

And really, I still don't. However, having given birth and suffered from a lengthy and severe bout of the baby blues, I come a lot closer to understanding than I ever did before. There were moments after Brendan's birth when I felt like I was literally going to come out of my skin. I felt like I didn't even know myself and I felt like my son deserved a better mother than I was capable of being. Still, it never crossed my mind (thankfully) to hurt him.

I'm lucky. I happen to be very open about my emotions, though I was more guarded than usual in sharing my negative feelings after the birth of my son. I was conflicted. On the one hand, I knew I should be overjoyed at having a beautiful, healthy son. On the other, having a child was a major shock to the system! For all our planning, we had no idea how difficult it would be having a newborn and how isolated we would feel, especially me. My mother had died two years before Brendan's birth and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The one time in her life when a daughter really needs her mom and I didn't have mine.

Still, I had a loving husband who tried hard even if he couldn't fully comprehend what I was going through. I had a mother-in-law to give advice. And most importantly, I wasn't trying to deal with five children all under the age of six. My body and soul had time to recuperate without being assaulted by another pregnancy too soon. My husband didn't coerce me into leaving my career and then tell me I could have nothing to do with our neighbors or other members of society. I wasn't forced to homeschool my children because my husband was afraid of having our children influenced by modern society.

Who knows what a fragile mind is capable of when assaulted by hormones, a multitude of children, lack of sleep, and there's no one to turn to? Now, I know.... Andrea Yates could have talked to her mother, a doctor, or gone to her minister. But, as someone whose family had a history of mental illness, I'm sure she was well aware of the stigmas associated with that. Without the loving support she needed at home, I doubt she was comfortable going to strangers or friends or family members and saying, "Ya know, last night I had the strongest urge to drown my children in the bathtub." Like so many other women, I'm sure she thought, "I can handle this. I'm the mommy and I have to be strong. What will everyone think if I tell them how I really feel." I imagine, too, that her fundamentalist faith urged her to rely as much on God as on the medication she quit taking with her doctor's approval three weeks before murdering her children, as well.

Yes, Andrea Yates did a horrible thing that I can barely even think about without physically cringing. She deserves to be punished, but she deserved treatment for her mental illness as well. We should all remember that she didn't do it by herself either. Russell Yates is equally culpable for helping create the environment that led to the death of his children. He may be celebrating his honeymoon and the start of a new life today as his former wife awaits the start of a new trial, but he'll have to live the rest of his life knowing he did nothing to prevent the deaths of his children.

And the rest of us who would so quickly jump to judge? Well, I'd say, there but for the grace of God go we. We should all be aware of that and do the things we can to make sure other moms suffering from PPD or the baby blues get the help they need. Call your friends and family members who've just had babies. Make or buy a meal and drop it off. Offer to take an older child to the park so mom can focus on a new baby. Stop by and watch the new baby once a week so mom can take a nap or a bath. Wash and fold a load of laundry for her. Run some errands. Ask her how she's doing and really listen. Don't judge her or patronize her if she says she's having a hard time since the baby came. Reassure her that she's normal and help her get the help she needs. If you think she's a danger to herself or her kids, tell her husband, her doctor, or someone else better equipped to help. Just be there and let her know you care for her and her child(ren).

It's a shame no one did that for Andrea Yates or her children.

Whoo-hoo! What a Great Day!

Admittedly, I have not been super-productive today, but I am having an absolutely brilliant day! Whooooo! Hooooo! Yeehaw!

Brendan woke at 3:00 a.m. as usual, but simply came and climbed into bed with Scott and me. We all went back to sleep almost instantly. I awoke at 6:30 and dozed off and on listening to NPR and CNN simultaneously (alarm radio and TV were both on) until 7:30. Got up, showered, dressed (including make-up) and was downstairs by 8:00. Brendan woke shortly afterward and demanded breakfast. He was happy with cereal, so that was fast. I made coffee and my own breakfast while he ate cereal and watched Blue's Clues.

While I tidied up the kitchen, B. played trains and had me come rescue him from the "mountain" a.k.a., the end table, every 10 minutes. Then, he played and entertained himself while I vacuumed both the upstairs and downstairs, put on a load of laundry, folded another load of laundry, made his bed and ours, and made a picnic lunch to take to the park. I also got some reading done in there. By 11:15 we were in the park.

It's a gorgeous, sunny, warm day. We played on the playground, blew bubbles, ate a delicious lunch (Brendan ate all his bell pepper and carrots! Yay for veggies he likes!) hiked on the awesome trails in the woods of the park, saw a waterfall, looked for turtles, fed the ducks, played on the playground again, then came home. Brendan wanted to have quiet time and was asleep within 10 minutes.

I did another load of laundry, listed two items on eBay, followed up on some e-mail, and best of all, worked out! A great workout that has me totally energized and feeling like I can get back in shape relatively quickly. I used to workout daily but then this fall when Brendan stopped napping, I fell off the wagon and have felt like ish ever since. If I can just make it a priority, I think within two weeks, I could be back to my old every day habit.

I may not have gotten much done, but I feel great! Now, I'm relaxing with a glass of wine, enjoying my blabbering on, Not that anyone gives a damn. But I do!

You have to savor days like this! Be thankful and share your joy!

Yay!

Do Children Get Clumsier During Growth Spurts?

While I can't find any scientific evidence to back me up on this, my observations have led me to believe that toddlers get clumsy whenever they're having a growth spurt. It took me a while to put the pieces together, but I've noticed that whenever Brendan goes through a clumsy phase, after a couple of days I'll notice he seems taller.

In the last week, it seems like he's been tripping and bumping his head a lot. He's hit his head hard enough at school to require ice twice in the last week. :Yesterday, I nearly fainted when I saw the bump on his head when I picked him up at school. He had a ginormous bump with a long, narrow dark purple bruise in the center of it. It was one of those things that's so bad, the teacher tries to intercept you before you see it so you won't panic.

When I asked him what happened, Brendan told me that he was trying to hug his friend Nicholas and fell of his chair. He hit his head on the edge of the table. I guess that's what being sweet will get ya! Poor little guy!

He has also tripped over his own feet a few times in the last several days, which, when examined alone or in conjunction with all the head bumps might just mean he's a klutz like his mama. However, generally, Brendan is pretty athletic and coordinated for a little guy and not prone to too many accidents. Examined in conjunction with an increased appetite and the three-hour nap he took on Sunday along with sleeping better at night, and I think he's growing. Yay!

Still, I wish I could find something to back up my theory. All I have found on-line suggests that kids going through or entering puberty get clumsier.

Intuitively it makes sense. Suddenly there's more of you and you have to get a feel for your new body and that extra inch or extra pound. Figure out where it all goes. Realize you don't have to swing your leg quite as high to climb on the chair. Find your center of gravity.

Hopefully in a day or two, B. will have adapted. I just pray we don't end up in the ER before then.

Is This Possible?

Last night I think Brendan called me "Dummy." While this is shocking enough, what happened afterward is the part that really blew my mind and made both Scott and me realize we have an evil genius on our hands.

Remember, he's only three. A little young to lie and he's never shown a particular inclination in that direction before.

So, what did he do, you might ask? Well, after he called me "Dummy," I immediately put him in time out. When I went back in a few minutes, he asked me why he was in time out and I explained that he used an "ugly" word that we don't use in our house. That's when he told me he was just saying a Spanish word. He said, "I called you Dummyo, Mommy. That's Spanish."

While I had a very strong suspicion he was not being honest, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was all I could do not to crack up. Scott pointed out that he thought I was being duped. And I know I was. However, he was so earnest in telling me that he was using a Spanish word and so clever, I let it slide.

Next time, I won't be so generous or forgiving. It also helped that I don't think he knew what he was saying.