It's a Good Thing They Are Cute

It makes cleaning up graham crackers almost fun.

Recovery

Thank you to all those women who reached out to me yesterday. You guys really Josh Groban'd me. After I wrote that post, a few things happened:

• I cried. Not an ugly, wailing cry. Just a towel-to-the-eyes-while-you-moan cry. 
• I took a quick shower and used the good soap. 
• The boys were adorable:

• I got emails from friends that were really sweet and helpful.
• The casserole I pulled out of the freezer that morning turned out to be a lifesaver.
• I caught up with a friend on the way to class. Love you, Ninny!
• Class was awesome. No, seriously. Plus we got out early, which never happens.
• Caught up with another friend on the way home. Love you, Jen!
• Palmer only woke up twice. Once at 1 a.m. and once at 3 a.m. He decided to let me sleep in until 6:30.

I've got some changes to make. Like getting my ass to bed right now, for one, but I appreciate all your encouragement. Thanks for rollin' with a sister. 

Today Is a Rough Day

• I was up late last night finishing up grad school homework, so I didn't get to go to the book signing. It wasn't so much because of poor planning as it was that I misread the assigned readings and had to catch up. C's = F's in grad school and I can't fail this class or I'm out of grad school.
• When I finally did get to bed, I had a terrible night of sleep. Palmer woke up four times and decided that 5:30 a.m. was the best time to start the day. 
• I had to completely tear apart our room in an attempt to trap Gus, our cat, in order to make it to his vet appointment on time. 
• I took a toddler, an infant, and a yowling cat to the vet. Alone.
• I took a toddler and an infant to the grocery store. The energy it took to talk Henry down from having to have one of the Hot Wheels toys the had at the end of the aisle... and the left over Easter candy... and a random crab toy... I caved when it came to the Ranch Doritos. So my child has eaten a cake pop from Starbucks and a bag of Ranch Doritos today. Meanwhile...
• I have eaten next to nothing because of my esophagitis, which I have from the massive amounts of caffeine I drink between 5:30 a.m. and noon. I get indigestion every time I eat. The only thing that doesn't hurt to eat are carbs. So good for you, I hear.
• I am so tired.
• I haven't been on a date with my husband since September. I don't think I've had a *real* conversation with him since Saturday.
• I haven't seen or heard from some of my good friends in months. I feel terrible about it.
• My house is a wreck despite spending all my spare time folding, doing dishes, picking up toys...
• I can't believe I have to go to class tonight until 10 p.m. I was so tired last week that I drove home with the lights off. I live thirty minutes from campus.
• My sister-in-law posted a family picture from Easter. She has a three week old and looks AMAZING! Then there's me. I look like Buzz's pale-ass girlfriend. I can't even write about it.
• I am overwhelmed. 
• I spent 20 minutes scouring the house for "Blue Car" because Henry wouldn't go to sleep without it. Do you know how many blue cars Henry has? 2345. Do you know where toddlers like to put cars? Everywhere. Including down the toilet. Thankfully, the blue car he wanted was only in his car seat.
• I hate that no one told me how hard it was going to be to stay at home with two kids. I hate that even if they had told me, I wouldn't have understood.
• I haven't showered today and I now have to finish typing because it's the only chance I'm going to have to get clean before class tonight. 

A Conversation with My Husband This Morning

Ryan: What do you want to get done today?

Me: Ugh. Well, I need to finish my paper, but we really need to do laundry. It's at a critical level.

Ryan: Oh my GOD! YES! WTF?!? (Gasp)

Me: (blank stare)

Me: (blink)

Me: (blank stare)

Me: Go on.

Ryan: No, I'm good.

In unrelated news, it's St. Patrick's Day. If you don't have kids, go drink your face off. If you have kids but got a babysitter, go drink your face off. If you have kids and don't have a babysitter, well, come over and do laundry with me.

Palmer says, Happy St. Patrick's Day! Now fold my clothes!

What's Working

I'm no Dr. Phil fanatic, but I really love when he asks, "How's that working for you?" Sometimes it just takes asking that question to find value or fault in something that you just deal with absentmindedly. So, Dr. Phil, here's what's working:


My hair
I have had long hair for about ten years, but last month I got sick of looking at my bedraggled mop. There was just too much maintenance and not enough time, so I decided to trade in my long hair for something sleek and pulled together. A part of me worries that this is a mom cliche haircut, but my mantra lately has been "it doesn't have to work forever; it just has to work right now". This haircut takes me 15 minutes to blow dry and looks the same every time. It's a win in my book, and if I change my mind, hey, hair grows!

Now you know who to stalk.

Yoga Pants
Obvi. This is basically my uniform. I put on yoga pants, a cardigan and some ballet flats and BOOM, I'm ready. The trick is finding the perfect pants, which I have just about mastered for myself. And no, they have never been to yoga class. Who has time for that? Keep reading.

And I look exactly like this in my yoga pants.

BB Cream
I'm not one for makeup crazes. The ombre nail polish thing sets off my OCD. BB Cream happened because I ran out of moisturizer and thought it would be a great way to keep my adorable metrosexual husband away from my product. I have had more compliments on my skin in the past two months than I have since... well, I can remember. It's like a tinted moisturizer put on with an airbrush machine. It's working. Mommy rikey. Daddy no rikey.

This is the one I use. No, I am not getting paid for this endorsement, but I should.

Now for what's not working.

Sleep
Oh. My. Umm... I want to go back in time to when I was in college complaining about being tired and punch that girl in the face. And then I want to make that girl go punch another girl in the face. I was not tired. You see, Palmer, aka Puff, aka P Diddy, likes to check in with me anywhere from 3-7 times a night. Sometimes, just for shits and giggles, Henry will also wake up and as soon as I open his door, he goes back to sleep. Occasionally George, the dog, and Gus, the cat will chime in. I feel like it goes without saying that when Ryan snores, I hit him. With my pillow. Filled with bricks.

I heard somewhere that prison guards have made prisoners stay up as a form of torture. I understand. This is an effective form of torture. It makes me tired. Duh. But lack of sleep also makes me indecisive, crabby, unmotivated, and depressed, which all make me feel like a bad mom, a bad wife, and a bad friend. My birthday is next month and I'm not interested in presents. I'm interested in a hotel room to myself.

Time
Once upon a time, a 24 year old me told a friend she was planning on starting her novel when she became a mom because she would have more time on her hands. Fire up the flux capacitor on the DeLorean, boys! I'm going to go beat the shit out of myself!

"WTF, McFly. I told you to bring the Cheetos!"

I somehow got bamboozled into going back to grad school. Something about finishing my degree by this fall in order to save 24 credits and $12,000 I'd already invested in my education... Don't get me wrong, I love grad school. It's like a four hour vacation every week, but on top of my job as a full time caretaker, chef, maid, financial planner, event coordinator, professional organizer, and errand runner, it is stressing me out a *little* bit.

So there you have it. What's working or not working for you? Feel free to use my post idea and link me up to your blog. Or however that works.

Cheers!

Happy Weekend!

This weekend, be sure to sit back and relax.

Palmer says, enjoy.

Palmer's Birth Story

Palmer Lowell
October 5, 2012
7 pounds, 7 ounces & 21 inches

As you may have guessed by my absence, I had my baby and officially have NO time. The only reason I'm writing this is because I'm piecing together several different drafts that I haven't had time to finish, and I'm choosing to ignore the fact that Henry is standing with his hands on the TV in a poopy diaper. I'm really mad at my friends with multiple children who didn't tell me how hard this is. I am also wondering how these bishes with 8 kids have these fabulous blogs and etsy shops. I suspect crack. At the very least they are pilfering their children's Ritalin.

It's so funny to look back at my October 4 entry because little did I know, that the gender of my child would be revealed in less than 24 hours. Hahaha. Mr. Palmer Lowell was born October 5, 2012 at 10:24 p.m. He weighed in at 7.7 pounds and measured 21 inches in length. I believe he has tripled in size because he loves the booby.

Palmer's birth story is right out of a sitcom, so here goes:

As you may recall, I was a little worried about Ryan being in Orlando for *work*. I just had a bad feeling about him being gone. I literally looked at October 5 when I first got pregnant and guessed that's when I'd go into labor.

And October 5 was a very productive day. I picked up a gift for Ryan for putting up with my crazy ass for nine months (a massage!). I put my gym membership on hold. I went to the DMV and renewed my driver's license. I will now forever smile at my license even though Ryan claims I look like a slutty redneck in the picture. His description is pretty accurate, actually.

After a productive day, I went home to put Henry down for a nap and take one myself. When I woke up, I was starving and went to make a peanut butter sandwich. As I was walking back upstairs, I felt a pop and a stream of water down my leg. Oh shit. I dash to the bathroom and call Ryan. Remember, Ryan was still in Orlando *working*.

Ryan: "Hey! I'm just waiting to board the plane"
Me: "Well see if you can get on an earlier flight because my water just broke."
Ryan: "Are you sure!?!"
Me: "Um, there's a puddle in the kitchen. Yes."
Ryan: Click.

After checking with the airline, there were no other flights that were earlier, so Ryan had to wait it out. That was at 3. His flight didn't take off until 4 and was due to land around 6:30. Keep in mind my labor was 4 hours long with Henry, so we were worried, and I felt my worst nightmare was coming true.

Thank God my parents and Ryan's parents both live within 3 miles from us. My mom and MIL came over to keep Henry occupied and take care of me. Except I really didn't want to be taken care of. This is my MO during labor, I've come to discover. I was trying to keep my mind off the fact that this child was going to be born within the next 24 hours whether I liked it or not and not move a muscle to keep the contractions from starting. I kept myself distracted by watching episodes of Hoarders.

Side note: WTF is up with these people who just don't take the trash out? I mean, I totally get the people who have 3,453 empty peanut butter jars and 234 glass baby food jars because one type is for soup and one is for crafts. Perfect sense. It's the people who throw empty pizza boxes and used diabetes syringes around that I don't get. Lock it up, people.

I started having contractions around 5 and called the doctor around 6:45 when they were becoming regular and strong. Of course the only doctor I disliked from the practice was on call. (She had been trying to get me to induce and I was all, "Dude. This is a moot point. I will not be making it to 40 weeks. I will not be having a 10 pound baby". I don't care where you went to med school, my mother's instinct has been spot on... even when it came to the gender of my child despite my denial). So for some reason she starts saying I might need to look into using Pitocin. What? Why would you ever push Pitocin on a woman who has a history of having a four hour birth? Needless to say I panicked. And then Ryan walked into the room.

To be continued...