If nothing else, Owen, my brother's gorgeous son will always be able to fall back on being a Nazi extra in WWII films...
I'm starting to feel like we're a walking advertisement for birth control. Planned Parenthood could use my blog somehow. A woman told my mom that reading it has affirmed her decision to have only 1 child.
Meals are the worst. I made a popsicle-worthy portion-delineation on my daughter's plastic plate the other night, and she threw a carrot at me. I didn't think anyone threw lunch at me today, but I just ran my fingers through a knot in my hair and unleashed the smell of salmon.
Did I ever throw anything at my mom? NO, I get scared even considering it. My mom writes e-mails with the subject heading, "your blog." My stomach always lurches. Usually she's telling me about a comma splice or that I've chosen an undecipherable for anyone over 40 color, but no questions asked, I change whatever she says. I've been militantly hydrocortisoning Steel's little bum since mom/Susie saw the little pimples in the Easter blog and rode me the riot act.
We had Karen and Michael, the couple who introduced us, over for 2 nights. Their kids are 7, 7, and 10. Am I ever going to get to that level of parenting? As I'm writing this Steel is sitting in a jigsaw puzzle box, having dumped all of the pieces for the 3rd time today, shouting at me and Tim, "You guys aren't COMING TO MY BIRTHDAY!" In front of Karen/super-mom, I resorted to taking Steel half-dressed to the car and strapping her into the carseat to complete dressing her and brushing her teeth. I left her there screaming in the driveway while I got her brother ready for school. I was relieved but skeptical when Karen said she'd been through it too. Her son, when asked, "Why don't you put some of the pesto on your bread?" responded, "Mama, pesto isn't my favorite."...He didn't scream "I DON'T LIKE IT!!!!" and throw it at her.
I'd happily hear "I DON'T LIKE IT!" a thousand times before the phrase coming from my husband's lips, "WHY did you put a pea up your nose?" I was on my way downstairs to shower before one of our rare date nights. I retraced my steps when I heard Tim's shouting at JP, "Stop crying and BLOW!" Steel turned to me with a scared look on her face and wailed, "I have one too!" Tim said, "No, she doesn't; just go down, babe!" Seeing her brother get such quality one-on-one time might elicit a fib, but I saw an unfamiliar shadow up by the bridge of her nose. Optimistically I stood her up on the counter to peer into her nostril; the pea was way beyond my site. My only option was to plug up the other nostril and mimic Tim, "BLOW!" The pea made a comical un-suctioning sound and thwapped me on the sternum. One would think I was anxious about the kids' health the whole time, but I was really lamenting the imminent loss of my date night and the heinous visit to the ER.
At least now I have a triumph in the "who is the better child" competition with my brother. I've mentioned before that his son eats what he's told, reads at 3 years old, is ridiculously handsome and sweet, but his pea had to be surgically removed for $500 after first attempting a course of antibiotics.