Good Night, Sweet Boy. Now, PUH-lease go to bed....

After eight-hundred ninety-seven nights of listening to the exact same Baby Einstein Lullaby CD on eternal repeat, it finally occurred to me to get some new tunes...

A few minutes on iTunes and presto-chang-o...

Bedtime STILL hasn't gotten any easier around here, but at least, now it's more pleasant...

From Two to Thirteen... Overnight

As I was getting ready a few weeks ago, I heard some early morning rustling coming from my son's room.

Hurray! He's awake!

(Yes, I actually do miss my son when he sleeps... sometimes.)

I called out "Good Morning, Son!", and ran over to his door only to find that he was barricading it shut.

"Won't you let me in, Honey?"

"No, Mommy. My room. Go away," was all the "Good Morning, too" that I got that day and it BROKE. MY. HEART.

The kid's TWO!!!

I thought he'd love me forever and ever for at least another... I don't know, ten years or so.

I guess they do grow up too fast. Way too fast.

North, South, East, West. Mother's Milk Is Still The Best.

I would like to preface this post with saying that I am an ardent supporter of breastfeeding... and come to think of it, formula feeding too!

I'm also generally NOT a prude, nor do I think that there should be any shame or indecency associated with feeding one's child, but something happened the other day that struck me as funny and I just had to share.

I've been trying to get involved with this great parents' group in our area. As you can imagine it's mostly British mums and dads. They have been welcoming, but in a less whole-hearted and gregarious way than I'm used to in Texas.

It's not their fault. The Brits just tend to be more reserved and aren't so keen on inviting strangers "to drop by anytime" for play dates and mutual bitching, so I'm fine that things are still rather formal.

However there's one mom that I've gotten to know really well, but in a most unconventional manner...

The first time I met her, it was at another mom's house. She walked in with her kids and before introductions could be made, she pulled up her shirt to nurse her baby. No cover up or even a pretense of one.

The conversation merely pressed forward and she had to go before I could catch her name.

This happened again on the two or three other occasions I've run into her. Last time, we were in a public place and she got so caught up in the conversation that she (absent-mindedly) left her breast exposed well after her son had unlatched and nodded off.

This is all very funny to me, but only because I still don't even know her name.

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In any case, if you were wondering about the rest of the world's attitude towards nursing mothers. The answer is... there isn't one.

(Well, at least not in my London circles.)

It makes me cringe to even think about all those times I had to squeeze into an ill-fitting fitting room to feed my son...

Or the time, I had to apologize for having to pump at work...

Or my friend that was asked to leave the dinner table because what she and her baby were doing was "gross"...

Ready to PO-TTY... or maybe not

My son is barely two and half and we've already regressed with the potty training...

Earlier in the year, I bought him a picture book about going potty and he loved it.

Then, I took him to pick out a potty chair, and he loved that too. We even got to the point where he was using it on a regualr basis, which was just AWESOME.

My son may not have been the first kid in playgroup to walk. He certainly wasn't the first to talk, but by golly, he was going to be the first to PO-TTY!

(read: I am the smartest, BEST mom ever!)

Then, we had to mess everything all up by MOVING to England...

Potty training just went to the wayside as we coped with jet lag and the "big boy bed". He's been though so much these past few months and for that reason, I haven't pushed it. I figured, he was ready once and he'll be ready again, right?

Well, lately he's gotten really adept at telling me when he's gone in his diaper and as far as I can tell, he seems rather disgusted by it. He yells out in complete distress, "Mommy! Daddy! Poopy! Poopy!"

So the other day, I casually asked him, "Why don't you just go in your special potty?"

He looked at me and with all seriousness replied, "Mommy. TOO FAR!"

Really. How could I argue with that?

Talking A Load Off My Mind... and switching it with another

Thank you for the well wishes. My son is doing a lot better today.

I haven't done much else this week-- just lots of watching my son breathe and researching childhood asthma. I've been educating myself on the terminology, treatments, and theories.

I even contacted our local asthma specialist and got her to come to OUR HOUSE and examine my son THAT day. (It pays to be pushy, people)

There's plenty of info out there, just not much in the way of a cure or prevention...

Since my son's asthma seems to be brought on by upper respiratory infections which are a permanent fixture of... you know, CHILDHOOD and completely unavoidable, there's apparently "nothing we can do about it".

The best we can do is "hope" he outgrows it and just accept it as "part of our lives" until then.

Well, I'm sorry, but I'm just too much of a control-freak mommy to buy that!

His doctor has put him on daily inhalers as a preventative. However, I'm not too keen on that either as they seem to come with some equally scary side-effects.

I've also read that something like one in FIVE kids suffers from asthma, so I guess that means at least one in five of you parents reading this post are dealing with this too.

Any insights or support you could provide would be really helpful to me right now... even if it's just to tell me to get over myself already.

I'm a big girl. I can take it.

In the meantime, I'm going to get started on designing that bubble for us to live in and resign myself to a life of only having online friends...

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Other things that have been overshadowed by the recent week's events, as if this post wasn't long enough...

OUR HOUSE IN TEXAS SOLD!!!! Yew-haw!

Oh yeah... did I forget to tell you? It was under contract for about a month, but seeing as the last "committed buyers" backed out a week before the closing, I wasn't about to hold my breath.

In talking with other American expats in London, we've learned that most opted to rent out instead of sell their homes in the States. We actually considered doing the same when a serious offer came in...

As much as we didn't like the idea of being absentee landlords, we hated paying that mortgage even more. Now, we don't have to do either one!!!

Now for the tacky details... We certainly didn't make a killing on the house, not that we expected that we would.

We got back about as much as we put into it-- the cost of two buckets of paint and some nifty Container Store shelves, which is just fine by me.

Update: Dispatches from Toddlerhood

Thank you for letting me dump my problems on all of you last week. As another mom pointed out to me, we have toddlers. Why should we expect life to be easy?

Well, I don't, but at least I have a place where I can whine and complain and throw my own fit for a change.

Your tips and support on the "toddler bed transition" were super helpful, but we decided to just throw money at the problem and hope it goes away.

'Cuz that always works, right? Right?!!

We're still waiting for our shipment from home to arrive, which happens include my son's books, toys, puzzles, etc. In the meantime, we've been making do with the "basics" and empty plain white walls left to us by our landlords.

It's been like camping in a sanitarium...

I've held off on making any purchases until our things arrive and we figure out what exactly was packed. In the blur of what went, what stayed, and what was sold, we've actually forgotten what we shipped. (Well, that and it's taken for freakin' forever to arrive...)

Last weekend, it finally occurred to us that of course our son doesn't want to stay in his room. It's BO-RING, while waking up Mommy and Daddy is FUN.

Everything we brought with us on the plane has been played out by now. Sure, a few shiny new objects would brighten the place up, but we already have stuff coming any day now and...

Well, as my husband has been saying lately, "We can't put a price tag on sleep. BUY IT."

I like that mindset. I like it a lot, so I've spent the better part of this past week trolling the Internet and local shops for things to make my son's room (and life) more exciting...

Thanks to freecycle.org, I've replaced the train table he had to leave behind and got him a new-to-us tricycle for absolutely NOTHING!

At TK Maxx (TJ Maxx's evil British twin brother), I found books, blocks, a train set, little cars and trucks, and best find of all...

A pop-up tent just his size! (Creepy gnome children not included)

..and guess what? He loves to sleep in it. I put a pillow and a blanket in there and he crawls right in and lays down. It's like magic.

We'll just have to see how long it lasts...

Like Zephra suggested in her comment, we've also started telling our son, "You don't have to go to bed, but you do have to stay in your room". Except now it sound more like a reward instead of a threat.

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And for something that has absolutely nothing to do with toddlers...

Can we all please repeat for Grey?

Alaska. 63. Sunny. Alaska. 63. Sunny. Alaska. 63. Sunny. Alaska. 63. Sunny.

A page from my parenting playbook...

I kid you not. My EXACT words when I noticed my son eying this with peaked interest at his friend's birthday party...

"Honey, if you pull that plug the sun will go down"

What can I say? It was the first thing that popped into my head and a heck of a lot more interesting for my son than the usual, "Don't! Stop! No!"

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Click the button for more Monday hilarity and such.

Birthday v2.0: Part-ies

If you missed the first installment, you can find it here. The second installment is here. For those of you rolling your eyes, I promise to find something other than my son's birthday to blog about soon...

So yesterday when I said that our ride on Thomas the Tank Engine with his six friends from playgroup was supposed to be my son's only big birthday celebration, I wasn't lying... exactly. In an effort to keep things simple, it was supposed to be the only thing...

Before I heard about "Day Out With Thomas", Hubby and I considered taking a family trip to SeaWorld in San Antonio over his birthday weekend. While it probably would have been just as expensive as throwing a party (or two parties in this case), it would have been LESS insane to plan for...

You see, I actually abhor the "bigger is better for birthdays" philosophy. We have just as much fun at parties held in a backyard or at the park as we do at Chuck E Cheese or the Wiggly Play Center. With so many parents turning their noses at big-budget kid's parties, it’s more of a statement if you don't have one too.

I feel absolutely no need to compete with any of the other parents we know. If anything, they would have to compete with us, because no matter how much we say that we want keep things low-key and small, we can't help ourselves. The word "simple" just isn't in our vocabulary.

We look at it this way... We have been blessed with so many wonderful friends and an awesome family, we LOVE throwing parties, and we adore our son. So what better excuse to invite all of our friends to a party for our son than his BIRTHDAY?! And that's where things start to unravel...

Next thing you know I'm stressing over the societal implications of our party favors, staying up late to mix party CDs, and antagonizing my local bakery...

Amidst the frenzy of planning and preparing, I kept asking myself, "who am I really do this for?" I mean, here I am dragging my son along to pick out birthday hats and balloon, instead of taking him to the park... "Is this really worth it?"

All it takes is this happy little face to know that it was!

"Thank you, Mommy. You throw a great party and have such shiny hair!"

But still... Next time when I promise to keep things smallish, simple, and low-key, do me a BIG favor and please hold me too it.

By the way, Gymboree did a FANTASIC job with the 12 two-year-olds, 3 baby sisters, 2 big brothers, and 1 five-year-old cousin that ended up making it to the party, as you can probably tell from the photos.

They were so imaginative, warm, and engaging. The best part? They took care of everything once we got there, which means no messy colored frosting on my walls and kitchen floor.

Birthday V2.0: Part II

If you missed the first installment, you can find it here.

As you smarty pants out there have probably figured out, there was just so much birthday stuff to blog about that I decided to do a series of posts versus one very long one. This is probably fitting since my son's birthday has pretty much consumed my entire existence for the past two weeks... at least.

If that sounds like the equivalent to other people's vacation photos to you, then please feel free to tune out this week. I will totally understand. Totally.

Now where was I? Ah, yes... So, guess what rolled into town but only for a very limited engagement?

Ummm, only an opportunity to ride on Thomas the Tank Engine ON my son's birthday.

We just HAD to go. I booked our tickets four months ago when I first heard about it and convinced my playgroup to do the same. It was supposed to be my son's ONE big birthday celebration with his friends. HA! (But more on that later....)

Planning that far ahead of time with a group a two-year-olds is always very dicey. I've been known to cancel outings the morning of, simply because my son woke up with a 'tude. Usually it's not a problem when the activity in question is playing in the park or dropping by a friend's house, but these tickets cost $60!

In my book, that's a lot of money to just say, "Pfff... I guess we'll just stay home if you really don't want to wear pants today..."

The ride itself was pretty uneventful. I believe the highlight for my son was being in a moving vehicle and NOT confined to a car seat. Frankly, he and his friends looked a little stunned to be there the whole time...

We were one of the last groups to get off the train, so by the time we got to the front there was a huge line to get your picture taken with Thomas. We braved it anyway, but just as we were about to take our turn Thomas had to leave for another "adventure".

This is Thomas pulling out of the station... and although, you don't see it, my son and I yelling and shaking our fists. "25 minutes until the next photo op. Peep! Peep!"

Bu-bye-bye, Thomas. You jerk!

In the meantime, there were other photo ops available. This Sir Topham Hatt with not-my-kid...

My son and his friends wanted nothing to do with Sir Topham Hatt. I mean, just look at the size of him in comparison to an "average" kid! I wouldn't want anything to do with him either. Furthermore, we wanted nothing to do with the line to take photos with him (especially not after our experience with Thomas.)

...and this is Sir Topham Hatt telling me to get back in line and stop...

ahem! ahem! "...causing confusion and delay...."

hehe! Yeah, I couldn't resist.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this (to the whole Internet), but I think I was actually MORE excited about our adventure with Thomas than my son or any of his friends...

We eventually got our "official" photo with Thomas.

See, that's our family on that day our son turned 2!

Party Planning and Other Social Issues...

I am incapable of throwing a small party. There! I said it.

My son's second birthday is fast approaching and I've been planning his party for weeks. By planning I mean trying to make a guest list comprised of his multiple (yes, I said "multiple" as in more than one) circles of friends (and their parents) and the obligatory family members appear low-key.

Problem is... we're anything but.

By necessity, we limited the guest list to just kids my son's age, and even then, just the kids who...

a) ...he actually plays with,
b) ...on a regular basis,
c) ...and actually gets along with...

...and we still ended up with a "B-list".

As soon as someone declines, another invitation drops in the mail. I know that sounds obnoxious, but what can I say, my son is popular.

By the way, can you see how this only makes his own grandmother blowing off the party THAT much more preposterous?

Last year, we had his first birthday party at our house. Actually, we had TWO parties for him at our house. The first was afternoon sandwiches and cake with friends and family. The second was a brunch and cake with his playgroup...

Since that meant cleaning cake off of my sofa, tables, chairs, and kitchen floor not once but TWICE in the same week, I decided to just pay the big bucks and find a venue other than my home this year....

Some place bright, cheerful, and colorful and that my son absolutely LOVES. Some place that just sounds HAPPY and FUN, and more importantly, where they'll clean the cake off the walls for me.

Where else but... GYMBOREE!!!!

Okay, so we are still technically having two parties for him again. The afternoon party for the kids is at Gymboree, then we're having a family cook-out at our house later that same evening. However, the adult-to-toddler ratio with be about seven-to-one, and there will be significantly less cake to be smeared...

I found the cutest invitations at Tiny Prints and am presently on the hunt for fun, creative, non-craptastic, yet inexpensive stuff for the goodie bags. This is where I need your help, Internet...

At Wal-Mart, I found some cute, colorful, plastic water "squirters" Okay, GUNS. They are water guns...

At a dollar for six, I thought it would be SO MUCH summertime fun for the kids. I was about to grab with intent to purchase, when I my husband asked, "Um, do you really think it's appropriate to have toy GUNS in a two-year-old's birthday bags?"

Ummm.... can you tell he's the one of us that didn't grow up in Texas? (hehe)

We're talking plastic and bright orange, blue, purple, and pink, and they look absolutely nothing like the real thing.

So, what do you think?

Will putting water guns in the goodie bags mean that I'm a bad mom promoting violence and social ills among the toddler set?

(Breast)Feeding Carnival

Leave it to Lotus (a.k.a. Sarcastic Mom) to host a blog carnival all about boobies!

Okay, not exactly....

It's really an opportunity for mommies to talk about how they fed their babies- breast or bottle. Or, as my story goes... my love/hate relationship with my pump.

Like other moms posting their baby feeding story today, I never gave breastfeeding a second thought. In fact, like any pregnant-for-the-first-time mom, I didn't give much of anything dealing with the actual WORK of having a child a second thought...

Of course, I would nurse my son. What a no brainer, right?

Oooooo-bviously, I would give birth after pushing only twice. Yes, twice. The doctor would hand my son to me, who would latch on perfectly the first time, then gauzey, soft music would start playing... just like in all of the videos they showed us in birthing class. HA!

I was so heavily drugged and exhausted after, as I call it, "giving birth twice", that I couldn't even hold my son afterwards. He was feed formula in the nursery while I wallowed alone in in my first dose of mommy guilt in the recovery room.

The next few days in the hospital were difficult, as lactation consultant after lactation consultant was called in to... well, I guess consult with us. We eventually figured out the "mechanics" of it on our own, and I started looking forward to nursing my son. I enjoyed the time and privacy it afford us to "just be", but I was never able to produce enough milk to feed my son... in spite of trying several techniques and even one very delightful herbal tea.

Supplementing was an easy choice for us, but one that made me feel incredibly inadequate as a mom. I don't know if it was all the pressure (and controversy) put on breastfeeding or that fact that it came so naturally to the other mothers I knew, but I just seemed like a giant test of motherhood that I was failing...

Determined to stick with it for as long as possible, I purchased a top of the line pump before going back to work. Fortunately, I worked for a very "progressive" company that offered "health rooms" complete with a comfortable chair, refrigerator, a door with a lock, and dimmer switches. Again, I thought it would be easy... once I got the hang of it.

I actually loved it in there. It was peaceful and quiet and I could focus on being a mommy as my pump whirled away. In fact, I once lost track of time in there and missed the beginning of an important meeting...

It was so humiliating to have to send an apology to my boss, explaining where I was and WHY... Fortunately, she was understanding, providing it never happened again. That's when I started blocking time on my calendar for pumping. Time, I should mention, that my co-workers usually overlooked and scheduled on top of anyway.

Then, there was the time when security was called in to "break down the door" because some lady wanted to get her SCRAPBOOKING SUPPLIES that she had left in the room. When I answered the door, shirt askew and my pump in plain view, the (male) guard apologized and never bothered me again... ever!

In the end, I only lasted two or three months pumping. The stress of taking conference calls while my "magic milk machine" roared in the background made my milk dwindle to nearly nothing.

I eventually had to gave up breastfeeding entirely, but I will always think back to those tender moments when it was just me and my son with the sweetest of memories.

From Speechless to Frenzy

An update on my son's "speech delay"...

I'm feeling better about the whole "being referred to special services" thing since first writing about it a few weeks ago. Thank you to all who weighed in with your experience, or even just words of encouragement.

Being told that my son is anything less than perfect (or, at least, "developing normally") was a blow at first, but I've reassessed the situation. Took some very deep cleansing yoga breaths, gave my son a few extra hugs, and tried to relax...

We're skipping playgroup this Friday to do the intake with ECI. From what I understand, this first meeting is just supposed to be a lot of paperwork and will take place in the comfort and familiarity of our home...

WAIT?! They're coming here!

Suddenly, I'm analyzing every book, every toy, every DVD... Scrutinizing it for its "intellectual value". Are they going to spot something that will be blamed for my son's speech delay?

Oh, this is why the boy isn't talking... His mother reads... maaaaagazines. (gasp!) Clearly, this isn't a very literate household..."

I've also been in "Martha Stewart" mode all week- polishing toilets, scrubbing floors, organizing book shelves... If my son can't be "perfect", at least my house can be spotless.

Unless... it seems like I spend too much time cleaning and not enough time providing stimulating, thought-provoking activities... Ahhhh!

All right. So, maybe I'm not really okay about all this yet. breathe. breathe. breathe.

Haiku, Brought to You by Elmo

8 AM. Time for...
"La la la-la. Elmo's song..."
It sticks to your brain!

Running through my head
"La la la-la. Elmo's song..."
All day and all night

It drives me batty,
But if it means a shower
I can love it, too.

Yeah, putting my son in front of the TV so I can shower in peace. It's an age old tradition, right? Why did I ever think I could change it? Well, I'll just cross that off my list of "never dos..." My list is getting rather short. hehe!

At least, it's PBS and not Sponge Bob... Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just really hate that theme song.

For more Haiku Friday, check out A Mommy Story and Playgroups are No Place for Children.

Speechless

Early last week, I mentioned taking my son to the doctor. He's had the same icky congestion and constantly getting ear infections since last Fall.

Now, I may only have a Bachelors in Psych and a Masters in Management, but I, in my medical opinion and with my vast medical knowledge and training, determined that these little issues could be all be solved with some allergy medicine.

Allergy medicine that I needed a "real" doctor to dose and prescribe... I wasn't really interested in her opinions, mind you.

Since I drove all the way there, waited for-freakin'-ever in a sterile white room with a view of the parking lot and NO TOYS, and paid my money, I wanted to discuss a few other things with her while we had our fifteen seconds...er, minutes with her.

The conversation dwelled on normal toddler issues, my son's recent lack of appetite and his toddler PMS, when I let slip that my son doesn't talk very much. She actually stopped tapping on her touchscreen for a moment and asked, "what do you mean?"

"What I mean," I continued, "is that my son understands with incredible depth everything we say to him. He just doesn't say many words consistently... well, beyond 'ma', 'da'. 'do' (dog), and 'dat' (what's that?)." Occasionally, he'll add a new word or two, say it once, then never repeat it again. I just attributed it to his personality, which is somewhat reserved and more observant. Less vocal, more mechanical. I really wasn't worried it. Honest. I only mentioned it for "completeness" at the exam.

According to my mother-in-law, my husband didn't talk until well past two! She assured me a long time ago that "if he's like his father, he'll say nothing and then just start talking in complete sentences and with perfect diction one day...and...never...stop". (And, no she was not exaggerating.) My son is everything like his father...

He does well with his other (nonverbal) communication-- some baby sign language, but mostly gestures when he needs something. I didn't think this is unusual for kids his age.

In fact, all but one or two of his friends talk, if you can call it that... and it's mostly unintelligible blabbing that their parents attribute meaning to...

"Dat! Dat!"

"What?"

"Oh, he just asked 'Can I have a cookie?"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, he's so smart... Say 'please', dear"

"NAAAHHHH!" (starts crying, runs off with a cookie)

...and their moms, dads, and pediatricians aren't concerned.

So when our doctor referred us to the county's Early Childhood Intervention (ECI) for speech therapy, I was shocked.

It's hard for me to truly express how I feel about this. (Ironic, no?) I put off blogging about it because it upset me so much and talking about it didn't help. When I told some of my mommy friends about it, they were outraged on my behalf.

So, I've downplayed it as simply "making use of the services my taxes provide", which seems to placate them.

Personally, I think they're probably a little outraged on their behalf as well. Their sons, who are slightly older than mine, seem to be at the same pace with their language development, and what mother wouldn't be put off by being told that their child is anything less than happy and NORMAL.

Of course, I want to do everything I can to help my son, so last week, I made the appointments for his intake and assessment with ECI. The whole thing has thrown me in such a loop that I started stuttering while speaking to the counselor assigned to us. I made a joke about being the one having "speech delays" and she laughed. That made me feel better.

Our appointment isn't for a few weeks, so I'll know more then. In the meantime, I want to get your input. Has anyone else dealt with this sort of thing before?

Kissing Those Days Good-bye

"Ummmm, my son had three Hershey's Kisses for dinner last night, so I'm in no position to judge any of you," I blurted out at playgroup this morning.

Thinking I was just whipping out another one of my quippy one-liners, the other moms laughed, but the sad part is... It's true.

Other people used to marvel at my son's prowess with a fork and complemented me on what a "good eater" his was. Like I had anything to do with it. I just cooked something, put it on his plate, and he would eat it up, along with whatever was on my plate as well. It actually used to be that easy.

Phff! Are those days sooooo over...

Dinner is now the most difficult meal of the day, followed by lunch, then breakfast. It's not enough for him to push his plate away... Oh no! Apparently there must also be screaming of bloody murder, kicking, and bucking in his chair. Tears of agony and OMG, more screaming.

I've been told that this is "normal", but that doesn't make it any EASIER!

I've tried all kinds of cons to get him interested in his food again, from delicately cutting up fresh fruit for "smiley face" waffles to letting him "help" with the prep... (yep, that's us making banana bread together)

...to the downright sneaky.

Earlier this week, I made a deceptively delicious meal of meatloaf (with carrots) and mashed potatoes (and cauliflower), which he picked at, then quickly dismissed. My husband, however, LOVED it, so it wasn't a total wash.

Growing up, food was such psychological torture an issue in my family. It still is. My mother constantly hounds me about my weight, even going as far as offering ME a membership to Weight Watchers as an "anniversary present" for my husband and I...

umm, as if I'm not already painfully aware that I could lose a few...

Ironically, back when I was fit and working out all the time she used to nag me about being to skinny. She once called me frantic and worried because she thought my head was starting to be TOO BIG FOR MY BODY... All of my life, you just couldn't win with her!

For this reason and more, I try not to make an issue of it when my son refuses to eat. I offer him good stuff and simply respect his wishes when he declines. (The Hershey's Kisses were just shiny distractions so that WE could eat.)

Just a Mom Milestone

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of the day I "officially" became a SAHM.

A year ago, I swiped my security badge for the very last time and with great trepidation, handed it over to the guard on duty. Even though I had resigned months before and at that point, had only hung on until the next sucker my replacement could be hired and sufficiently trained, I remember thinking, "Oh crap, what have I done?"

What I had done was walk away from a world where I felt smart, ambitious, and IMPORTANT... Like a lot of people, my whole identity was wrapped up in my career. It was, after all, everything I had been working towards up until this point. Without it, what was I?

By the way, it bears mentioning that Piper of Love wrote a clever post about this very thing last week. Her words struck a nerve with me, reminding me of exactly how I felt about this huge life change... and quite timely, no less.

What I dreaded most was losing myself in the stereotype of the suburban housewife. I am, of course, referring to the "me" whose passions, interests, intellect, and clever wit would now be reduced to three words: "just a mom".

Well, it turns out "just a mom" is exactly what I want to be and my son... well, he's only the most fascinating creature in the world!

I love that our days are filled with wonder and discovery and if he wakes up and decides that he most certainly does NOT want to wear pants today... well, he doesn't have to and we just don't leave the house. I love it when he beams at me from across the dinner table after we've just shared an inside joke and that he can't fall sleep until I kiss him goodnight. I love it when he laughs and even when he cries, because it means I can comfort him in my arms.

Sure, I still miss my old job now and again, especially as my son approaches the "terrible twos" with a fury. I've broken down and sobbed in frustration, fantasied about "this being daycare's problem right now", and even updated my resume (you know, just in case)... but overall, being my son's mom is the best job ever. I enjoy it so much that I would even do it if they didn't pay me... Oh, wait...

I thought that I would look upon this anniversary with more melancholy and despair, but actually... I'm really okay with it. I'm really, 100%, no-takesies-backsies OKAY with it. Yeah, I'm shocked, too.

Making the transition from pouring over monthly performance stats to pouring over books called Parenting with Love and Logic and The Happiest Toddler on the Block (just to name a few) hasn't always been smooth, but I'm just so grateful to make it to this milestone with the confidence that I made the right choice all along.

Sadly, there will be no diamond journey pendants or even a chocolate cake to mark the occasion, although I do have a blogiversary coming up. Feel free to send gifts and flowers to... haha!

Just kidding.

Umm, Kettle. Can we talk?

I'm a good mom. I'm a good mom. I'm a good mom. I'm a good mom.... So goes my mantra when entering any social situation.

My son hasn't been doing well in noisy, hectic social settings lately... like say, um... holiday parties or... ah, yes. THANKSGIVING. I'm pretty sure it's just a phase, but what isn't with toddlers...

In the meantime, we're just trying to deal...

But, why is that even in a house FULL of rowdy, screaming, crazy children, your child's screams and protests always seem to be the loudest?

And, why is it that those screams and protests always prompt a bevy of unsolicited advice from the parents of those rowdy, screaming, crazy children?

So tempted to say, "Oh, I'm sorry. I couldn't hear you over all this rowdy, screaming craziness. Someone should really control these children..."

But, I don't.

I am richly blessed with a loving family, a happy home, and full life.... not to mention a full belly!

Not for the faint of heart

Man. Oh, man. Day 21... think I'll make it to Day 30? I swear, when this NaBlo-blah, blah is over, I'm taking a BREAK!

Today's thanks is short. I'm grateful that now that a few of my friends have had or are pregnant with their second child, the parenting bar was been lowered... and I mean waaaaay low.

Gone are the days of thumbing through our dog-eared copies of Dr Sears' The Baby Book or reaching for The Happiest Baby on the Block... Anything goes, provided it gets your new baby to sleep through the night and not wake up the older kid... No judgment. No guilt. No criticism.

Your kid doesn't go to bed until 11... Rock on! You can party with my kid!
Your daughter hasn't been weened off the boob, yet... Cool.
Sleeps in your bed...
Eats M&Ms daily...
Still not potty trained...
None of you know baby sign language!?

Hey, whatever gets your through the day!

And a general sigh of relief is felt around the land.

Now, with More In-Law Bashing

In the middle of getting a facial this past weekend, the aesthtician started chit-chatting with me about the holidays... Not cool. I don't know about you, but I prefer to zone out, relax, and NOT make small talk during my rare spa visits..

She asked me about my Thanksgiving plans and when I rolled my eyes and said that we'll be heading to my in-laws, she stopped what she was doing to my face and asked point blank, "well, what's wrong with being with your in-laws?"

Are you KIDDING me? I came here to RELAX and you want me to talk about my IN-LAWS...ugh!

I made some pithy remark and ended the conversation right then and there... and continued to zone out.

Frankly, there is no simple answer to that question, or at least not one that I was willing to share at that particular moment. I'm sure I could have enumerated several examples of what is "wrong" with them, but that would have quickly become tedious and boring... and not to mention, counterproductive to booking a "pre-holiday" spa appointment in the first place.

The truth is there really isn't anything wrong with my in-laws. As I've mentioned here before, they're well-intentioned and good people who just happen to drive us nuts. They live their life differently than we do and are prone to being unreasonable and insensitive at times, but otherwise they're all right folks.

In fact, I would even go as far as to say that in another world, another time, another life, my mother-in-law and I probably could have been friends... provided we didn't have to share any of our holidays or vacations together... just maybe. Unfortunately, in this world, this time, and this life, we do and all the stress that that entails is the #1 source of our friction. The rest of the year, the pressure is off and we're back to our tenuous, but workable relationship.

I have to keep this in mind especially when she tells me I'm being "inflexible" when we attempt to plan our THREE HOUR car trip to see THEM at THEIR HOUSE around our son's afternoon nap. I'm still fuming about that, in case you haven't noticed...

The irony is that my mother-in-law has a very similar relationship with her mother-in-law, Grandma D, who is as sharp as a tack in her late 90s and isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I love Grandma D, by the way. She's totally racist (in the way that only old people can get away with) and has an opinion on everything. It's awesome!

Based on the comments my mother-in-law makes when she thinks no one is listening and the scant details I've gotten from Hubby, Grandma D never really thought my mother-in-law was good enough for her son, has always been critical, and doted more on her other child's family. Sounds familiar, if you ask me?

My mother-in-law swore that when she had her own daughters-in-law, things would be much better. She has three and no, they aren't. In fact, the similarities are striking... right down to the blatant favoritism and short-sightedness.

Raising a son of my own, I wonder if this is a vicious cycle and if one day, my son will bring a girl home who clearly is not good enough for him. Will it crush me to no longer be the "only woman" in his life? Will I compete for his time and guilt them into spending holidays with us? How can I keep my heart from breaking when he tell me that they are going to her parents and it'll be another holiday before I can see him again?

Today, I'm grateful that that day isn't today! That my son is still a toddler and all mine... even if occasionally I'm tempted to sell him to gypsies. The years will fly by, but I will cherish every single one that I will get to spend with him.

One day (in the far, far future) when he moves away and has a family of his own, I'll try to be grateful for all the holidays that I will get to spend with them rather than resentful of the ones that I don't. I'll try to remember what it was that drove me nuts about Hubby's family and try not to perpetuate the madness.

In the meantime, I'll just have to keep that mother-in-law smack talkin' to a minimum, 'cuz payback is a bitch...

The Party to BEE Seen

This past weekend was obviously a big weekend for shenanigans, tomfoolery, and the like, and who didn't have a Halloween party to attend. Our son, Mr. Popular, was invited to two this year and I had the honor of accompanying him.... then, proceeded to not have any fun. What So EVER!

It's no one's fault, really. My son is just at that tender age where he's too big to just sit contently in my lap, but still too small to be left to wander unsupervised or hold his own in a bounce house full of "big kids".

The first party was just a little get-together put on by our moms' group, but the other one was a huge blowout that our friends throw every year for Halloween. Geared towards the kids and held in the middle of the day, it was the one that I was really looking forward to attending.

Our friends really get into the Halloween spirit. They do things like convert their garage into a haunted maze, rent a bounce house, and make tons of fun treats like "dirt in a cup".

I've always loved "dirt in a cup". There's just something so simple and wonderful about it. Quintessential childhood. Sigh!

Plus, I love seeing all the kids (and some of the adults) get dressed up for the party. Last year, my son was dresses as a lion and was barely crawling. So cute and so immobile, my son was awesome to take along to the party. This year... was something else.

First, my husband asked if he could skip the party to work on a project. Since he hadn't had much time to himself lately with me going on vacation with the girls, I cheerfully obliged and took our son to the party solo.

This year, my son was dressed as a bee and true to his costume, he spent the entire party tirelessly buzzing from place to place and poking his stinger... er, nose where it didn't belong. My job, as "bee keeper", was to follow him with his sippy cup in one hand, his plate of food in another, and his diaper bag slung across my body, only pausing to tell him, "No, don't touch that", to apologize to the people whose photo he just walking into, or to intercept potential disaster...

If you were over two and a half feet tall, I did not make eye contact with you as my undivided (un-multiplied) attention was directed at my son... AT... ALL... TIMES.

I did, however, notice some of the other mommies comfortably sitting in lawn chairs, sipping beers while happily chatting with one another. Occasionally, one of their kids would check in to say they were okay or ask for something, but for the most part, the moms appeared to be partaking in the "social" aspect of the party. I envied them. I REALLY envied them.

My son and I ended up leaving the party early because neither one of us was enjoying ourselves. My son was getting very cranky and, frankly so was I.

So, tell me... When does it get better? When can I talk to people again beyond, "Opps, I'm so sorry. He didn't mean to..."?

I had hoped for a better picture of his costume, but this is all the photographing Mr. Popular would allow. You'll just have to take my word for it when I tell you that he was just a-BZZZ-lutely adorable.