Binkytowne

Counting to Twenty-Two

The first time I picked him up from day care and he screamed the whole way home at a new pitch I didn't even know he could create I thought, hmmm. This is unusual, he must have had a bad day.

The time he ran away from me so fast and laughing so hard at the grocery store where I was receiving no less than 50 dirty looks from shoppers in every isle I wondered- where is this coming from?

The day he was so happy that he rushed at me, crashing into my legs, tugging at me saying "carry you!" (which means, carry me) kissing me on the mouth again and again and again, each with a loud mmmmmmmmwa sound, so excited he was squinting his eyes and practically biting me. Wow, I thought, he's really becoming affectionate! There can't be anything wrong with that. He loves his mama. Damn straight. Right? 

After watching me struggle and chase my son in circles when he refused to leave day care three days in a row, the teacher suggested I start incorporating a new routine when I pick him up at the end of the day. Read him a book or perform a sequence of acts the same every day; something to help him understand and accept the transition from one part of the day to the next. I was slightly put off by that- why would I need a day care provider to tell me how to handle my own son? Don't I know him better than she does? Imagine how I felt after he had a complete meltdown during the 5 P.M. rush hour, laying on the floor outside his cubicle as parents and their children tried to dress for the cold and walk around us, over us, away from us as fast as they could - and she handed me this book. 

I don't know how to write about this. I have written before about my parenting anxieties, about my worries that I don't have what it takes, the things all mothers complain about; not sleeping, the not eating (him, not me) but I feel like no matter how hard I try to articulate this, I just won't be able to explain the incredible amount of frustration and disappointment I'm currently feeling about raising my child.

Sunday morning this kid walked six blocks, refused to be carried or hands held, pulling his full sized wagon behind him. He walked up every set of stairs, ran down every driveway, disobeying my every command. He received time outs and then immediately repeated whatever behavior I was trying to discourage. When we reached a very busy intersection, for the sake of his safety and my sanity I forced him into his wagon and held him down while I connected the straps which would hold him in. He fought with all of his might and screamed his bloody head off, gathering the attention of every passer by in the metro area who probably assumed I was trying to take off with this kid. Ha. If I could have, I would have left him there.

We have arrived at a new stage. It could be the infamous terrible twos or something worse. It's probably only the terrible twos, but I have worried if he would talk, walk and everything else in between so this is unbelievably stressful for me. Those worries I had then were concrete and with them, came the ability to observe; I knew there were things I could watch him do, help him do. Not this. He is fighting me, but also himself as his emotions overwhelm him and that I don't know how to fix. It's so hard to watch him fall apart but it's worse to feel this paralyzed with helplessness.

His intensity has increased ten fold, and then increased ten fold again. Every emotion he has experienced has somehow been kicked up a few notches (kicked being the appropriate word here, since I feel as though I've been kicked many, many times) his happiness can not be contained but neither can his anger, his affection, his frustration or his curiosity. I could not reach him that day. I can not reason with him ever, explain that there were too many cars - the danger too great. Even when I know he understands. Extremely pissed as he was, he threw his plastic container of cereal snacks over the side of the wagon. I kept on walking while he cried. A block later, realizing his cereal was gone he began screaming for them and kept screaming and fighting to get out of the wagon the entire six blocks back to our house, my plan for letting him walk back and expend some energy all but abandoned.

At 22 months he can understand the concept of all gone. I told him, repeatedly, he threw them away, that means they were all gone. He knows what that meant. Once we reached the house he resisted going in. He kicked, wiggled, cried. I set him down and he ran for the door, refusing to let me take his coat off. I opened the door, more out of curiosity for what he was about to do when I did. I followed behind him as he walked with purpose back in the direction we came from. Cereal? He said to me between wails. All gone?

I snuck a replacement container, filled it with cereal while he was trying to escape out the back door and pulled it out of my pocket after he had walked to the corner. Look what I found! I exclaimed. Cereal! He called out joyously. Once the cereal was in his hands he stopped crying, turned back towards the house and became himself again.

Is that giving in or is that creative parenting, a form of compromise? He did this last week too, wanting to go for a walk as we were leaving the house for an appointment. I said no, had to force him in the car and maintain my sanity when we arrived as he ran for the door, refusing to take his coat off. I tried to remember what set him off- he wanted to walk. I suggested walking around the block IF he agreed to come back and play nicely when we were done and cooperate. He agreed. It worked. I still felt duped.      

What pains me even more is the fact that it took me this long to realize his needs have changed; What I thought were isolated incidences were in fact, part of a pattern that I did not recognize because I spend the week day hours apart from him at my job. I could have a terrible Thursday night with him throwing tantrums every which way but I wouldn't know he had been doing the same thing Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. This is not to fault the day care, they will tell me if he's had a hard day, but it's not the same as being there first hand, to really absorb what is happening and how he is handling things.

So I started reading the book. And I cried. Then I cried some more. Then I called the teacher first thing the next morning and said You are scaring me a little. Are you trying to tell me there is a problem or that he needs evaluating of some kind? Is this a sensory issue he's having? No no, she said, clearly sorry for alarming me, I just thought you might like the book because it deals with a whole spectrum of behavioral things. My blood ran cold. They should teach you in day-care-teacher- school not to use the term 'spectrum' lightly when discussing a toddler boy, especially one with a mother who will obsessively watch him play with Lego's to see if he is building towers that are not appropriate to his age. Spectrum? I asked - As in Autistic spectrum? No no, again emphatically she disagreed with my assumption, the book is geared for a number of specific types of spirited dispositions; introverted, extroverted, perceptive, sensitive, intense. It covers different kinds of personalities that can be challenging for parents.

My dear husband talked me down as I wept for not knowing how to deal with this, for feeling inadequate - receiving this type of instruction from the caregiver in his life that is next in line to me, someone who on paper spends more active time with him during the week, but is not me, his mother. For feeling so angry that I have to be torn between a career I love and having to wonder if I am really doing the right thing by going to work. I think I am, but days like these rattle my core.

He reminded me that his teachers care about him a great deal and they are experienced, having worked with oh say, 300 toddlers to the one I have. That obviously, they were just trying to be helpful because they know this is a difficult stage. That all of the spirited qualities mentioned above are good, better than good qualities- excellent qualities to have as an adult. That he is a happy child who loves being around people and who would clearly feel isolated home with just me. Not to mention bored after being used to the structure and variety that life at day care provides.

I've made no secret about the fact that the first three months of motherhood were the hardest of my life. Until now. I feel very much like I've been thrown back into that scary abyss of not knowing what to do or how to do it. I'm on edge waiting for the next tantrum. My shoulders hunched, my neck tight. My jaw clenched. I know all kids throw tantrums but I didn't know it would be so hard or that I would be bombarded so frequently. I seem unable to find the balance between providing the structure he clearly needs with the ability to enforce it when he decides to change his mind. I'm exhausted. I'm impatient. I'm analyzing every mood swing trying to figure out if he is in fact, 'spirited' and what that means. I've layed awake at night in the hours when he does sleep replaying our interactions. What could I do differently? What is it that he needs? I have no idea.   

I watched him sleep last night, my most peaceful angel. His eyes were closed, his hands soft and open, one arm draped across his chest, one knee up. His breathing was steady and rhythmic. I stood there a long time my eyes never leaving him. I badly wanted to lay my hands on his belly like I do before he goes to sleep but I didn't dare. I want to connect with him again like I did before there were words. When touch was all that he needed to feel secure and sound in the world.

The motto for raising spirited children is Progress not Perfection. Isn't that what we all strive for? I do not have the answers but for now it will have to be enough to realize there is a question.

Counting to Twenty-Two

The first time I picked him up from day care and he screamed the whole way home at a new pitch I didn't even know he could create I thought, hmmm. This is unusual, he must have had a bad day.

The time he ran away from me so fast and laughing so hard at the grocery store where I was receiving no less than 50 dirty looks from shoppers in every isle I wondered- where is this coming from?

The day he was so happy that he rushed at me, crashing into my legs, tugging at me saying "carry you!" (which means, carry me) kissing me on the mouth again and again and again, each with a loud mmmmmmmmwa sound, so excited he was squinting his eyes and practically biting me. Wow, I thought, he's really becoming affectionate! There can't be anything wrong with that. He loves his mama. Damn straight. Right? 

After watching me struggle and chase my son in circles when he refused to leave day care three days in a row, the teacher suggested I start incorporating a new routine when I pick him up at the end of the day. Read him a book or perform a sequence of acts the same every day; something to help him understand and accept the transition from one part of the day to the next. I was slightly put off by that- why would I need a day care provider to tell me how to handle my own son? Don't I know him better than she does? Imagine how I felt after he had a complete meltdown during the 5 P.M. rush hour, laying on the floor outside his cubicle as parents and their children tried to dress for the cold and walk around us, over us, away from us as fast as they could - and she handed me this book. 

I don't know how to write about this. I have written before about my parenting anxieties, about my worries that I don't have what it takes, the things all mothers complain about; not sleeping, the not eating (him, not me) but I feel like no matter how hard I try to articulate this, I just won't be able to explain the incredible amount of frustration and disappointment I'm currently feeling about raising my child.

Sunday morning this kid walked six blocks, refused to be carried or hands held, pulling his full sized wagon behind him. He walked up every set of stairs, ran down every driveway, disobeying my every command. He received time outs and then immediately repeated whatever behavior I was trying to discourage. When we reached a very busy intersection, for the sake of his safety and my sanity I forced him into his wagon and held him down while I connected the straps which would hold him in. He fought with all of his might and screamed his bloody head off, gathering the attention of every passer by in the metro area who probably assumed I was trying to take off with this kid. Ha. If I could have, I would have left him there.

We have arrived at a new stage. It could be the infamous terrible twos or something worse. It's probably only the terrible twos, but I have worried if he would talk, walk and everything else in between so this is unbelievably stressful for me. Those worries I had then were concrete and with them, came the ability to observe; I knew there were things I could watch him do, help him do. Not this. He is fighting me, but also himself as his emotions overwhelm him and that I don't know how to fix. It's so hard to watch him fall apart but it's worse to feel this paralyzed with helplessness.

His intensity has increased ten fold, and then increased ten fold again. Every emotion he has experienced has somehow been kicked up a few notches (kicked being the appropriate word here, since I feel as though I've been kicked many, many times) his happiness can not be contained but neither can his anger, his affection, his frustration or his curiosity. I could not reach him that day. I can not reason with him ever, explain that there were too many cars - the danger too great. Even when I know he understands. Extremely pissed as he was, he threw his plastic container of cereal snacks over the side of the wagon. I kept on walking while he cried. A block later, realizing his cereal was gone he began screaming for them and kept screaming and fighting to get out of the wagon the entire six blocks back to our house, my plan for letting him walk back and expend some energy all but abandoned.

At 22 months he can understand the concept of all gone. I told him, repeatedly, he threw them away, that means they were all gone. He knows what that meant. Once we reached the house he resisted going in. He kicked, wiggled, cried. I set him down and he ran for the door, refusing to let me take his coat off. I opened the door, more out of curiosity for what he was about to do when I did. I followed behind him as he walked with purpose back in the direction we came from. Cereal? He said to me between wails. All gone?

I snuck a replacement container, filled it with cereal while he was trying to escape out the back door and pulled it out of my pocket after he had walked to the corner. Look what I found! I exclaimed. Cereal! He called out joyously. Once the cereal was in his hands he stopped crying, turned back towards the house and became himself again.

Is that giving in or is that creative parenting, a form of compromise? He did this last week too, wanting to go for a walk as we were leaving the house for an appointment. I said no, had to force him in the car and maintain my sanity when we arrived as he ran for the door, refusing to take his coat off. I tried to remember what set him off- he wanted to walk. I suggested walking around the block IF he agreed to come back and play nicely when we were done and cooperate. He agreed. It worked. I still felt duped.      

What pains me even more is the fact that it took me this long to realize his needs have changed; What I thought were isolated incidences were in fact, part of a pattern that I did not recognize because I spend the week day hours apart from him at my job. I could have a terrible Thursday night with him throwing tantrums every which way but I wouldn't know he had been doing the same thing Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. This is not to fault the day care, they will tell me if he's had a hard day, but it's not the same as being there first hand, to really absorb what is happening and how he is handling things.

So I started reading the book. And I cried. Then I cried some more. Then I called the teacher first thing the next morning and said You are scaring me a little. Are you trying to tell me there is a problem or that he needs evaluating of some kind? Is this a sensory issue he's having? No no, she said, clearly sorry for alarming me, I just thought you might like the book because it deals with a whole spectrum of behavioral things. My blood ran cold. They should teach you in day-care-teacher- school not to use the term 'spectrum' lightly when discussing a toddler boy, especially one with a mother who will obsessively watch him play with Lego's to see if he is building towers that are not appropriate to his age. Spectrum? I asked - As in Autistic spectrum? No no, again emphatically she disagreed with my assumption, the book is geared for a number of specific types of spirited dispositions; introverted, extroverted, perceptive, sensitive, intense. It covers different kinds of personalities that can be challenging for parents.

My dear husband talked me down as I wept for not knowing how to deal with this, for feeling inadequate - receiving this type of instruction from the caregiver in his life that is next in line to me, someone who on paper spends more active time with him during the week, but is not me, his mother. For feeling so angry that I have to be torn between a career I love and having to wonder if I am really doing the right thing by going to work. I think I am, but days like these rattle my core.

He reminded me that his teachers care about him a great deal and they are experienced, having worked with oh say, 300 toddlers to the one I have. That obviously, they were just trying to be helpful because they know this is a difficult stage. That all of the spirited qualities mentioned above are good, better than good qualities- excellent qualities to have as an adult. That he is a happy child who loves being around people and who would clearly feel isolated home with just me. Not to mention bored after being used to the structure and variety that life at day care provides.

I've made no secret about the fact that the first three months of motherhood were the hardest of my life. Until now. I feel very much like I've been thrown back into that scary abyss of not knowing what to do or how to do it. I'm on edge waiting for the next tantrum. My shoulders hunched, my neck tight. My jaw clenched. I know all kids throw tantrums but I didn't know it would be so hard or that I would be bombarded so frequently. I seem unable to find the balance between providing the structure he clearly needs with the ability to enforce it when he decides to change his mind. I'm exhausted. I'm impatient. I'm analyzing every mood swing trying to figure out if he is in fact, 'spirited' and what that means. I've layed awake at night in the hours when he does sleep replaying our interactions. What could I do differently? What is it that he needs? I have no idea.   

I watched him sleep last night, my most peaceful angel. His eyes were closed, his hands soft and open, one arm draped across his chest, one knee up. His breathing was steady and rhythmic. I stood there a long time my eyes never leaving him. I badly wanted to lay my hands on his belly like I do before he goes to sleep but I didn't dare. I want to connect with him again like I did before there were words. When touch was all that he needed to feel secure and sound in the world.

The motto for raising spirited children is Progress not Perfection. Isn't that what we all strive for? I do not have the answers but for now it will have to be enough to realize there is a question.

Just the Facts

Fact #1: It doesn't matter how much you run on your treadmill, if you keep eating chocolate throughout the day, every day, you will not lose any weight. You might even gain some and no, it's not because you are building up muscle mass.

Fact #2: If your wife is chasing a screaming toddler around someone else's house during a Thanksgiving meal and she does so in order to let everyone have a pleasant dinner, do not take a plate of seconds before coming and relieving her so she can eat or she will be very pissed at you indeed.

Fact #3: You can not make your toddler go back to sleep at 2:30, 3:30 or 4:00 AM if they don't want to. Don't waste your time.

Fact #4: If you let your dog poop on our front lawn and don't pick it up, my husband will pick it up and leave it in a bag on your doorstep. Even if it is a super cute standard poodle puppy and the turds are so small you can hardly see them (this means YOU Toby! Consider yourself warned).

Fact #5: Hershey's Candy Cane kisses are highly addictive. (Read Fact #1 before attempting to try said candies).

I'm trying to write about humorous things in order to avoid writing about a particularly difficult toddler period we seem to be enduring. It's nothing serious but I'm completely overwhelmed and sad and I wrote about a 5000 word blog post that's too long and disjointed for anyone to care to read. I'll try and tune it up and get it here in the next day or so. Or I'll keep procrastinating because that's easier to do.   

Just the Facts

Fact #1: It doesn't matter how much you run on your treadmill, if you keep eating chocolate throughout the day, every day, you will not lose any weight. You might even gain some and no, it's not because you are building up muscle mass.

Fact #2: If your wife is chasing a screaming toddler around someone else's house during a Thanksgiving meal and she does so in order to let everyone have a pleasant dinner, do not take a plate of seconds before coming and relieving her so she can eat or she will be very pissed at you indeed.

Fact #3: You can not make your toddler go back to sleep at 2:30, 3:30 or 4:00 AM if they don't want to. Don't waste your time.

Fact #4: If you let your dog poop on our front lawn and don't pick it up, my husband will pick it up and leave it in a bag on your doorstep. Even if it is a super cute standard poodle puppy and the turds are so small you can hardly see them (this means YOU Toby! Consider yourself warned).

Fact #5: Hershey's Candy Cane kisses are highly addictive. (Read Fact #1 before attempting to try said candies).

I'm trying to write about humorous things in order to avoid writing about a particularly difficult toddler period we seem to be enduring. It's nothing serious but I'm completely overwhelmed and sad and I wrote about a 5000 word blog post that's too long and disjointed for anyone to care to read. I'll try and tune it up and get it here in the next day or so. Or I'll keep procrastinating because that's easier to do.   

I can't even thread a needle

Have you heard of this? Threading?

I've seen women doing this at the cosmetic counters of the downtown mall and I was curious but there was always a line and I was always in a hurry and there is a very nice Vietnamese girl so small you could hardly even see her if she turned sideways that has been waxing my brows for some time and blah blah blah.

Last week when I took my son to daycare for a few hours and went shopping (bad mommy but it was glorious)to a bigger suburban mall I found a kiosk where this was being offered. I walked by a few times and always saw women there so I figured they must know something I don't. I decided to wait. The whole point of a shopping sans child day is to stop when you want to shop and not blow through like a tornado. I watched a teen-aged girl dressed in sports attire jumping and wincing at the pain and almost bailed but I thought, I've been tattooed, I can do this. She must be a wimpy-wimp who doesn't know what real pain is.

It's fascinating to watch. The threading woman created a large triangle with the thread; One point in one hand, the second in the other and the third in her mouth. She leaned in over your face and with a subtle motion of her fingers, manipulated the thread along the line of the eyebrow. It's amazing that this can be done. Who was the brilliant woman who thought of this? She deserves a prize. A Nobel prize for beauty.

I can't say it hurt more than the strip of wax that takes of unwanted hair along with seven layers of your epidermis, but it hurt. The only thing distracting me from the pain was the sound. You can hear the hair being pulled out of the follicle. It sounds like something is ripping. And it's your face.

Threading is marketed as a better alternative to waxing because it's supposed to last longer and lead to finer re-growth later. I don't know if that's true but my eyebrows look lovely and perfectly symmetrical. Which is amazing considering someone did this with a piece of thread and her mouth.

I'm so inspired by this; Give me a rubber band and my feet and a few hours and lets see what I can come up with.

I can't even thread a needle

Have you heard of this? Threading?

I've seen women doing this at the cosmetic counters of the downtown mall and I was curious but there was always a line and I was always in a hurry and there is a very nice Vietnamese girl so small you could hardly even see her if she turned sideways that has been waxing my brows for some time and blah blah blah.

Last week when I took my son to daycare for a few hours and went shopping (bad mommy but it was glorious)to a bigger suburban mall I found a kiosk where this was being offered. I walked by a few times and always saw women there so I figured they must know something I don't. I decided to wait. The whole point of a shopping sans child day is to stop when you want to shop and not blow through like a tornado. I watched a teen-aged girl dressed in sports attire jumping and wincing at the pain and almost bailed but I thought, I've been tattooed, I can do this. She must be a wimpy-wimp who doesn't know what real pain is.

It's fascinating to watch. The threading woman created a large triangle with the thread; One point in one hand, the second in the other and the third in her mouth. She leaned in over your face and with a subtle motion of her fingers, manipulated the thread along the line of the eyebrow. It's amazing that this can be done. Who was the brilliant woman who thought of this? She deserves a prize. A Nobel prize for beauty.

I can't say it hurt more than the strip of wax that takes of unwanted hair along with seven layers of your epidermis, but it hurt. The only thing distracting me from the pain was the sound. You can hear the hair being pulled out of the follicle. It sounds like something is ripping. And it's your face.

Threading is marketed as a better alternative to waxing because it's supposed to last longer and lead to finer re-growth later. I don't know if that's true but my eyebrows look lovely and perfectly symmetrical. Which is amazing considering someone did this with a piece of thread and her mouth.

I'm so inspired by this; Give me a rubber band and my feet and a few hours and lets see what I can come up with.

Orange Jello. Hold the mayonaise.

Our family rotates hosting the holiday get togethers at various relative's houses so no one gets stuck doing it all the time. I had my turn with Thanksgiving two years ago when I was 8 months pregnant. I committed to it way in advance and when it came time for the show I was convinced and very concerned all that prep work and entertaining would result in my going into early labor. In those days I was convinced going over a speed bump would break my bag of waters and send me pushing to the hospital, hanging on for dear life. Oh golly, are you still there? I had to pick myself up off the floor from my hysterical fit of laughter. Not even twenty hours of induced labor at 41 weeks was going to be enough to bring my dear one into the world. Just an FYI, I don't know anything about being a mother, but I am also really an extremely unreliable reference for pregnancy questions. Unless you are pregnant and trying to get out of making Thanksgiving dinner, if that's the case, you will want to call me.

Tomorrow we are heading to a relatives house that I am not particularly fond of, the plus side being she is rather Martha-ish, although she's never been in jail, that I know of, so the food will be good. There will be no quivering cranberry sauce fresh from the can on the table. She will stuff fresh cranberries into hollowed out orange halves and caress them gingerly before she douses them with brandy, makes sure there are exactly the same number of berries in each one and arranges them mindfully on a lovely three-tiered dish.

That part about the brandy, it's important because my grandfather, God love him, chews and swallows his food at a decibel level unknown to any other man or mortal I've ever witnessed. My uncle will entertain us with stories about holding his nephews heads in the toilet when they were naughty as a punishment and my mom and her sister will shriek at each other, attempting to talk over each other's unbelievably loud shrilly voices. Alcohol is definitely going to be on the menu.

The host has asked me to bring my Grandmother's orange jello. I have never heard it referred to before as my Grandmother's orange jello, although, it must be, because I hardly imagine anyone else anywhere makes a jello mold of orange flavored gelatin stuffed (it's not stuffed but what else do you call it when you mold something in the jello? I am not schooled on proper jello terminology) with shredded carrots and served on lettuce leaves with a huge glob of mayonnaise in the center? First of all, I REFUSE to mix jello and mayonnaise (WTF??) and if it were really my Grandmother's orange jello she would make it and then forget about it until an hour after dinner had been served so technically I should leave it at home. When I called my sister to borrow her jello mold, I asked, do you think I'll hear about it if I swap the oranges for the carrots? She laughed and asked what do you think? I think yes, absolutely, but be warned: If you ask me to make orange jello, you never know what you are going to get.

May all your Thanksgiving days be plentiful and happy and filled with loved ones, even if some of them are turkeys.

PS: The Halloween lights are down and off the porch. I'm in the tasteful in between stage today but come Friday, my electrical bill will go up tenfold when I string lights over everything in my front yard that is not moving.

Orange Jello. Hold the mayonaise.

Our family rotates hosting the holiday get togethers at various relative's houses so no one gets stuck doing it all the time. I had my turn with Thanksgiving two years ago when I was 8 months pregnant. I committed to it way in advance and when it came time for the show I was convinced and very concerned all that prep work and entertaining would result in my going into early labor. In those days I was convinced going over a speed bump would break my bag of waters and send me pushing to the hospital, hanging on for dear life. Oh golly, are you still there? I had to pick myself up off the floor from my hysterical fit of laughter. Not even twenty hours of induced labor at 41 weeks was going to be enough to bring my dear one into the world. Just an FYI, I don't know anything about being a mother, but I am also really an extremely unreliable reference for pregnancy questions. Unless you are pregnant and trying to get out of making Thanksgiving dinner, if that's the case, you will want to call me.

Tomorrow we are heading to a relatives house that I am not particularly fond of, the plus side being she is rather Martha-ish, although she's never been in jail, that I know of, so the food will be good. There will be no quivering cranberry sauce fresh from the can on the table. She will stuff fresh cranberries into hollowed out orange halves and caress them gingerly before she douses them with brandy, makes sure there are exactly the same number of berries in each one and arranges them mindfully on a lovely three-tiered dish.

That part about the brandy, it's important because my grandfather, God love him, chews and swallows his food at a decibel level unknown to any other man or mortal I've ever witnessed. My uncle will entertain us with stories about holding his nephews heads in the toilet when they were naughty as a punishment and my mom and her sister will shriek at each other, attempting to talk over each other's unbelievably loud shrilly voices. Alcohol is definitely going to be on the menu.

The host has asked me to bring my Grandmother's orange jello. I have never heard it referred to before as my Grandmother's orange jello, although, it must be, because I hardly imagine anyone else anywhere makes a jello mold of orange flavored gelatin stuffed (it's not stuffed but what else do you call it when you mold something in the jello? I am not schooled on proper jello terminology) with shredded carrots and served on lettuce leaves with a huge glob of mayonnaise in the center? First of all, I REFUSE to mix jello and mayonnaise (WTF??) and if it were really my Grandmother's orange jello she would make it and then forget about it until an hour after dinner had been served so technically I should leave it at home. When I called my sister to borrow her jello mold, I asked, do you think I'll hear about it if I swap the oranges for the carrots? She laughed and asked what do you think? I think yes, absolutely, but be warned: If you ask me to make orange jello, you never know what you are going to get.

May all your Thanksgiving days be plentiful and happy and filled with loved ones, even if some of them are turkeys.

PS: The Halloween lights are down and off the porch. I'm in the tasteful in between stage today but come Friday, my electrical bill will go up tenfold when I string lights over everything in my front yard that is not moving.

How DO you do it?

I'm turning the tables today. I have read a thousand posts from stay at home moms wondering how working moms keep it all together and find enough hours in the day.

Truth is, there is not enough hours in the day and a lot of stuff slides. I don't particularly enjoy that my pumpkin lights from Halloween are still sitting in a heap on my front step, but that's the way it is.

My question is how do you stay at home moms do it? This is ridiculous. I've been off for two days and haven't gotten anything done. OK, thats not entirely true because yesterday I did quite a bit of this:                                                    

But today I'm really trying. It's 1:41 and I'm watching the glorious minutes of my freedom tick away with nothing to show for it. I haven't read my blog lines, I haven't showered, I haven't brought in my pumpkin lights and I'm sitting next to a huge basket of clean, unfolded laundry and there is more in the dryer.

How do you do this? I feel incredibly irritated that I don't have time to sit down and type this because as I do there are more dishes to wash, more floors to clean, more laundry to be switched. It's never fucking ending.

Now of course, I would never blog at work. That would be unproductive and very against company corporateness and I would never ever do it. (tee hee). But even though I don't blog at work (tee hee) I at least have time to think some things through, to formulate ideas, to sit still for five seconds and see what's brewing. Here I can't even stop and go to the bathroom. Even if I did, I would realize there is a spot behind the toilet that hasn't been cleaned since 1982. I could choose to ignore it and probably will, but now I know it is THERE.

Seriously girls. Damn. I don't know how you do it.

How DO you do it?

I'm turning the tables today. I have read a thousand posts from stay at home moms wondering how working moms keep it all together and find enough hours in the day.

Truth is, there is not enough hours in the day and a lot of stuff slides. I don't particularly enjoy that my pumpkin lights from Halloween are still sitting in a heap on my front step, but that's the way it is.

My question is how do you stay at home moms do it? This is ridiculous. I've been off for two days and haven't gotten anything done. OK, thats not entirely true because yesterday I did quite a bit of this:                                                    

But today I'm really trying. It's 1:41 and I'm watching the glorious minutes of my freedom tick away with nothing to show for it. I haven't read my blog lines, I haven't showered, I haven't brought in my pumpkin lights and I'm sitting next to a huge basket of clean, unfolded laundry and there is more in the dryer.

How do you do this? I feel incredibly irritated that I don't have time to sit down and type this because as I do there are more dishes to wash, more floors to clean, more laundry to be switched. It's never fucking ending.

Now of course, I would never blog at work. That would be unproductive and very against company corporateness and I would never ever do it. (tee hee). But even though I don't blog at work (tee hee) I at least have time to think some things through, to formulate ideas, to sit still for five seconds and see what's brewing. Here I can't even stop and go to the bathroom. Even if I did, I would realize there is a spot behind the toilet that hasn't been cleaned since 1982. I could choose to ignore it and probably will, but now I know it is THERE.

Seriously girls. Damn. I don't know how you do it.