Busy Little Bees
You people are definitely getting gypped with my blog. So many weeks I think I have nothing to blog and I have to make due. But lately, I've thought of a zillion things to tell all of you... but I don't have any time to do so. I've been stretched so thin,I've had to let things slide, and dear blog readers, right now that includes you. The problem? The problem is I've taken on more work than normal. Which wouldn't be so bad if Doodles weren't making the transition from day care to preschool. Day care was two days a week from 8 a.m. to 4 a.m. Preschool will be two and a half days... eventually. This week? No school. Next week? On Monday he goes for an hour. Then he starts up a 9 to 12 schedule. Then three weeks later, the extended hours that allow for a full workday set in for two afternoons. So that's pretty much almost two weeks of no care and a couple of weeks of miniscule care. And lots and lots and lots of work. Did I mention I have a lot of work? A lot. And I love having a lot of work. I enjoy working. But I also enjoy sleeping. And sleep has been suffering.
So, quickly, other things going on:
Pumpus Interruptus: The pump is officially off! Sweetie Pie is no longer getting 1959 Lafite Rothschild but last week's Gato Negro. Not only that, we've taken away the Waterford crystal and she's now getting Dixie paper cups. Yes, that's right. Pie Pie has been cut off the bottles of br*eastmilk and forced to drink sippy cups of cow's milk. And she hasn't been happy about it. In fact, I think it would be reasonable to say she's been downright displeased about the whole thing. Well, if that's what how you'd interpert her projectile spitting of milk across the room. Subtle she's not. I'm trying to wean her off of other feeds--we made it a full year after all and I'm ready to take my body back--but she's having none of it. She screams and yells and pouts till she's put on the b*ooB. And then she smiles coyly at me as if, "See, Mom. That wasn't so hard. Just keep the milk flowing and no one gets hurt."
My son was born with an extra Why chromosome. It's the only explanation. And it's MAKING ME CRAZY! This morning he insisted on coming into the bathroom with me (this is the extremely edited down version--the entire conversation was much longer).
Doodles: Do you have a p*enis?
Me: No.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because I'm a girl. Girls don't have p*enis. Just boys.
Doodles: Why don't girls have p*enises?
Me: Girls have v*aginas.
Doodles: Why do girls have v*aginas.
Me: That's what makes them girls.
Doodles: Does Sweetie have a p*enis?
Me: No. Sweetie is a girl.
Doodles: Does Daddy have a p*enis?
Me: Yes. Daddy is a boy.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because he has a p*enis.
Doodles: Why does he have a p*enis?
Me: He was born that way.
Doodles: Why was he born that way?
Me: Aaaarg! Can I just finish peeing?
Doodles: Why are you peeing?
I defy you to find a single statement, object, action that doesn't provoke a cascading flow of "Why?"
Pie Pie has no words. But she sings. She sings "Happy Birthday," "ABC" and "Row Row Row Your Boat." And she's this close (fingers very close together) to moving on two feet.
My cell phone has teeth marks in it. 'Nuff said.
Sweetie Pie is a sleeping school drop-out. Oh, she's doing somewhat better. But the great and good Dr. Ferber has said she needs to come back one more time as she's not where she's supposed to be. Today was her first day in the Tiny Tot room at her day care. She's an Infant no more! We're trying to migrate her to one nap a day, with mixed results. Today in the Tiny Tot room, they had song time when a music person from outside the center comes to sing to the kids. Pie Pie was sitting listening to the player. Apparently, he started to sing, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Sweetie simply just laid down on the floor... and promptly fell asleep. Of all the genes to inherit from Adam, she had to inherit the "falling asleep at inappropriate times" one? Great.
Because of the switched schedule, today Doodles and I had a special "Mommy/Doodles alone day." Since he's hot for trains, we drove to the next town over to take the commuter rail into the city (better for him than the subway because he can look out the window) and then went to the Museum of Science. We could have skipped the museum and just ridden the train--it's the only part of the day he seems to remember.
Speaking of nodding off inappropriately, I'm starting to slump over the laptop. So you don't get to hear about brunch with Alisa and gang, kite flying, Sweetie Pie's one year check-up and Doodles's third year check-up, my new obsession with wedding reality shows, dinner with Tim and his lovely wife, or the third draft of my novel. Too bad for you! Good night!
So, quickly, other things going on:
Pumpus Interruptus: The pump is officially off! Sweetie Pie is no longer getting 1959 Lafite Rothschild but last week's Gato Negro. Not only that, we've taken away the Waterford crystal and she's now getting Dixie paper cups. Yes, that's right. Pie Pie has been cut off the bottles of br*eastmilk and forced to drink sippy cups of cow's milk. And she hasn't been happy about it. In fact, I think it would be reasonable to say she's been downright displeased about the whole thing. Well, if that's what how you'd interpert her projectile spitting of milk across the room. Subtle she's not. I'm trying to wean her off of other feeds--we made it a full year after all and I'm ready to take my body back--but she's having none of it. She screams and yells and pouts till she's put on the b*ooB. And then she smiles coyly at me as if, "See, Mom. That wasn't so hard. Just keep the milk flowing and no one gets hurt."
My son was born with an extra Why chromosome. It's the only explanation. And it's MAKING ME CRAZY! This morning he insisted on coming into the bathroom with me (this is the extremely edited down version--the entire conversation was much longer).
Doodles: Do you have a p*enis?
Me: No.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because I'm a girl. Girls don't have p*enis. Just boys.
Doodles: Why don't girls have p*enises?
Me: Girls have v*aginas.
Doodles: Why do girls have v*aginas.
Me: That's what makes them girls.
Doodles: Does Sweetie have a p*enis?
Me: No. Sweetie is a girl.
Doodles: Does Daddy have a p*enis?
Me: Yes. Daddy is a boy.
Doodles: Why?
Me: Because he has a p*enis.
Doodles: Why does he have a p*enis?
Me: He was born that way.
Doodles: Why was he born that way?
Me: Aaaarg! Can I just finish peeing?
Doodles: Why are you peeing?
I defy you to find a single statement, object, action that doesn't provoke a cascading flow of "Why?"
Pie Pie has no words. But she sings. She sings "Happy Birthday," "ABC" and "Row Row Row Your Boat." And she's this close (fingers very close together) to moving on two feet.
My cell phone has teeth marks in it. 'Nuff said.
Sweetie Pie is a sleeping school drop-out. Oh, she's doing somewhat better. But the great and good Dr. Ferber has said she needs to come back one more time as she's not where she's supposed to be. Today was her first day in the Tiny Tot room at her day care. She's an Infant no more! We're trying to migrate her to one nap a day, with mixed results. Today in the Tiny Tot room, they had song time when a music person from outside the center comes to sing to the kids. Pie Pie was sitting listening to the player. Apparently, he started to sing, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Sweetie simply just laid down on the floor... and promptly fell asleep. Of all the genes to inherit from Adam, she had to inherit the "falling asleep at inappropriate times" one? Great.
Because of the switched schedule, today Doodles and I had a special "Mommy/Doodles alone day." Since he's hot for trains, we drove to the next town over to take the commuter rail into the city (better for him than the subway because he can look out the window) and then went to the Museum of Science. We could have skipped the museum and just ridden the train--it's the only part of the day he seems to remember.
Speaking of nodding off inappropriately, I'm starting to slump over the laptop. So you don't get to hear about brunch with Alisa and gang, kite flying, Sweetie Pie's one year check-up and Doodles's third year check-up, my new obsession with wedding reality shows, dinner with Tim and his lovely wife, or the third draft of my novel. Too bad for you! Good night!
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