Voice mail

I think voice mail is pointless - because I have caller ID, if someone calls me I just call them back. I figure that if they called me, they want to talk. I'm likely going to be calling them anyway, so why waste the time with listening to voice mail. Its rare that I actually even listen to a voice mail immediately after it was left on my phone. Pretty much the only time I listen to a voice mail immediately after it has been left is if I don't recognize the number. Consequently, I tend to have many messages in my in box.

Yesterday, for example, I got a call from a number that I didn't recognize, so I waded through the 8 or 9 other messages to figure out who had just called me. Most of the messages were from people telling me to call them back. But, about 3 messages in, there was one that was slightly different - it was from my 5-year-old daughter Grace.

It was a cute message - it started by her saying that she had called me to play a joke. I remember that day about a week ago, when I had caught her in the car (luckily safely parked in the garage) with both the land-line phone and my cell. She's been busy learning phone numbers, and apparently when I had stepped away for a few minutes, she decided to test this new-found knowledge. I remember being angry with her (rightfully so) because she had gone outside without letting me know.

So, as I listened to her cute message, I smiled. She sounded so sweet and funny - and I guess I was impressed that she understood well enough how to call a phone number without adult help. I was sitting at work, smiling as I listened to her sweet voice explain how she was tricking me. I even welled up a bit, thinking about how sweet she sounded. But as the message went on, I heard my own voice come on. Heard myself asking her what she was doing in the garage, and when she didn't answer (because of course, she was trying to play a trick on me) I heard my voice become angry. I sounded harsh and mean. I felt my eyes well-up again, only this time they were burning with tears of shame and sadness. I was very ashamed of how I sounded talking to my daughter.

Granted, she should not have been outside without an adult, but I did not have to react so harshly either. I felt horribly about it all day. In fact, I couldn't wait to see her that night, and to tell her I was sorry. And when I scooped her up into my arms to tell her how much I loved her, she actually didn't remember the incident. I hope that is because it really wasn't that big of a deal to her, and not that I yell so much that the incident didn't even stick out in her mind. Either way, it was a bit of a "wake up" call for me.

Work in progress

Lately I've been working on being more positive with my kids. I'm not necessarily negative, but I am a perfectionist. And I tend to demand perfection from my kids as well. I also want them to grow up as confident individuals, so I've been making a concerted effort to note the positives in all they do, so they don't grow up thinking that they cannot please me.

For example, the other day I asked Bryn to feed the cat - a relatively simple chore for a 3 year old, and one that I ask her to do often. Well, on this particular day, she figured that if she fed the cat a lot, she would need to do it less often. So, I walked into the mud room and saw this:

(I'm not sure why she included a dryer sheet) My initial reaction was to scold her for dumping an entire bag of cat food into the dish. But (remembering my goal to notice the positives) I told her what a great job she did. She had definitely fed the cat as I had asked her to do. I did remind her that next time, maybe we should try to only give the cat what can fit in the bowl. I think her strategy worked - it was a week ago, and the cat hasn't needed food since.

I've also been trying to teach G to wipe herself after going #2. She's going to be in kindergarten in the fall, and its time she learned to take care of things herself (besides, it is also my goal to only have one bum to be in charge of). Yesterday, I was in the yard doing some spring cleaning outside, when she sheepishly came to me asking for help. She had attempted to wipe herself, only had been a bit too concerned with getting herself clean: she had used the entire roll of toilet paper, and clogged the toilet.

Again, wanting to be upset with her for making such a mess, I instead thanked her for taking care of herself. I then told her that perhaps next time she could try and use a bit less paper. (I decided not to use that pic - you'll just have to use your imagination)

Potty talk

What is it about being 3 and 4 that makes potty humor hilarious? My kids are at the height of this stage and it is driving me insane. Every time they pass gas, laughter erupts. And every chance they get, they throw a "potty" word into conversation.

Maybe it is because their recent potty training accomplishments are on their mind. At their age, being potty trained is probably their biggest accomplishment to date. Maybe they just like talking about it because it reminds them of how grown up they are.

Or, maybe its just funny, and I'm an old fuddy-duddy and just don't get it.

Either way, I'm hoping this phase passes quickly (no pun intended).

Last night in the bath, Bryn was making up her own funny versions to the opening song for the Playhouse Disney show "My Friends Tigger and Pooh". Since the word "pooh" was already in the lyrics, all she had to do was replace the word "Tigger" and she had a funny song. She sang about her friends "pooh and pee", "pooh and fart", and then "pooh and penis" (that last one I don't get). She and G were laughing so hard that one of them got the hiccoughs. Tears were streaming down their chubby little cheeks.

Do kids grow out of this stage, or am I only in for years of potty songs? I do remember the whole:

I'm going to first, and my pants are going to burst diarrhea (ugh, ugh) diarrhea . . . song that my friends and I used to think was first-rate comedy.

Ummmm, yeh. It probably isn't going to get much better anytime soon.

A funny thing happened on the way to my blog post

**Sometimes when I start a post, I have a specific topic in mind, but as I write things go completely in a different direction. I usually hit "delete" and they get lost to cyberspace. But today I'm posting one, because I think it is exactly what I want to say.

I just haven't been myself lately. I don't know what is wrong - maybe I've got a touch of the SAD or something. I'm just totally unmotivated to do anything - eat well, workout, clean my house, blog. And I've been super-duper grumpy. I haven't had a visit from my Aunt Flo in over 3 months, so perhaps hormones are to blame. And I am still recovering from pneumonia, so I'm sure lingering illness is to blame. But I just feel blah - and like a fat, lazy, bee-otch.

My poor sweet girls have been bearing the brunt of it. I've lost my temper with them far too much, and they don't deserve it.

Last week, my husband was working late, and I was doing my best to be supermom. I had just started the bath for the girls and sent Bryn in to potty. I got G in the water and turned off the faucet, but I could still hear water running and dripping. Bryn was still inside the closet that houses our toilet, with the door shut, but I could tell that the water was coming from in there. To my horror, I saw that water was coming from under the door. She had flooded the bathroom (apparently because she tried to flush an entire roll of toilet paper, and kept flushing, and flushing, and flushing to make it go down).

I suppose it is pretty humorous now, but at the moment I wasn't laughing. I'd had a long day, and was looking forward to getting the girls to bed so I could pound out my frustration on the treadmill. Instead, I was going to be mopping the bathroom. I began to clean up the water, and the more I cleaned, the more rage filled me, and I'll admit that I got right in Bryn's face and yelled at her. What she had done was naughty (because she'd done the same thing the night before, only with not as drastic results), but she certainly didn't deserve the verbal lashing I gave her.

She simply hung her head and got into the bath. I proceeded to wash her while she remained sullen - I knew she felt badly, but I was still fuming. I washed her hair and body without either one of us speaking. After about 5 minutes, she finally broke the silence:

"Mommy," she said, her big green eyes filled with tears, "I so berry sorry I flooded the bathroom."

Ouch. Her sweet apology melted my heart and I was instantly sorry for being so mad. I hugged her naked, wet body, and we both cried. I told her how sorry I was for yelling, and explained that I loved her more than anything.

A normal person would have learned from this, and tried to be nicer. But not me. Apparently I need lots of lessons. This one came from G, a couple of days after the flooded bathroom incident.

It was a Friday - my day off. Bryn was playing in her room and G was helping me hang up daddy's shirts inside our big, walk-in closet. While she was in there, she noticed a headlamp that actually worked. So, she decided to go spelunking in the closet. She got behind the clothes, and moved along the wall looking for treasures - but all she found were boring boxes filled with things like mommy's old maternity clothes. She was undeterred, and was sure there must be something of value in there. She moved all the boxes into the center of the closet and dumped them out - all in the space of just a couple of minutes.

This was very uncharacteristic of her - Bryn is my mess-maker and G is usually the one who likes things clean. So, needless to say, I was shocked when I looked inside the closet to see if she was finished hanging up the clothes and saw the huge mess she had made. We were supposed to me making things cleaner, not making them more messy. And I was mad. This time at least, I refrained from yelling, but I told her very firmly that she was going to clean up the mess.

Defiance took over, and she told me there was no way she was cleaning up. She was done cleaning. It was time to play. She and I have such similar personalities that we actually butt-heads quite often and this time was no different. Neither one of us was backing down: I insisted she was going to clean, and she refused. We argued over it so long, that we probably could have had it cleaned up if we'd worked together.

But, I'm the mommy. I was going to win this one. So, I told her that she was not coming out of the closet until it was done and I shut the door (there is a light in there, so it isn't nearly as bad as it sounds). She screamed. She cried. She banged on the door. But she knew she was defeated, and eventually cleaned up. When she was done, she sulked out of the closet and proclaimed me the worst mommy ever.

"That is just fine," I calmly told her, "Maybe you want a new mommy."

"Yes," she said. "I do want a new one."

Good. I can play the reverse psychology game. I told her to pack her things, and that I would take her to the orphanage. She could live there and then maybe one day, a new mommy would come and take her home. But the orphanage is awful - there would be no one there to play with her, no one to hug her, and she may never have another mommy again. And she will have to do lots of chores there, every day, and won't have nearly as much time to play. Am I really so bad that she would choose the orphanage over me?

Apparently I really am that bad. The orphanage sounded better than having to live with the mommy she has.

So, we started to pack her things. I really didn't expect it to get that far. I was devastated, and I was fighting back tears. But not G. She remained emotionless. It broke my heart. I won't bore you with the details, be we did eventually make up - after many tears and hugs (from both of us).

A few days later, G crawled up in my lap and put her head on my shoulder.

"Mommy?" she asked, "Do you remember that orphanage place that I was going to live at one?"

"Yes, sweetie, I remember."

"Can I work there when I grow up? Those kids really need someone to love them."

AH. Some days I feel like the worst mother. My kids teach me way more than I teach them.

Teaching manners

I’ve been trying to teach (brainwash) my kids to be polite. Its probably pretty annoying to them. I’m constantly reminding them to say “please”, “thank you”, and “excuse me” when the situation arises. I typically prompt them by asking “what do you say?” and then waiting for them to make the appropriate response. But after this weekend, I believe that I may need to rethink my methods.

On Saturday afternoon, I was playing in the living room with Bryn when she very audibly passed gas. She smiled at me, thinking it was funny. I sternly looked back at her and asked, “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” was her sweet, pixie-voiced response, not missing a beat.

My sister and brother-in-law burst into laughter.

Later that evening, as we were finishing up dinner, we retold the incident to daddy. Thinking it was time to again quiz Bryn, my brother-in-law asked her, “what do you say when you toot?”

Bryn’s classic response was “I say ‘pffffffffft’” (as she made the sound of air escaping)

She may not be polite, but at least she’s good for a laugh.

Help!

UGH - I swear Brynlee has to be the most difficult child on the planet. (in actuality, compared to G, any child would be difficult, but who's comparing?) I know I've posted about her extraordinary tantrums - where she holds her breath until she turns completely purple and then she makes herself vomit. It doesn't take much to evoke a tantrum either. She pretty much loses it anytime she doesn't get her way. For the most part, I try not to give her attention when she acts that way. I just make sure she is in a safe place with a towel nearby, and let her freak out - a tactic that works well during the day. But now she's having tantrums at night.

She wakes up screaming, usually right around 3:30 am, with her body rigid and fists clenched. And she screames with such a fury and rage that I have often wondered if she isn't being possessed. I wouldn't be suprised if her head turned around, just like in the Exorcist. At first when these episodes started happening, I assumed she was having night terrors. But the more I read about them, it really doesn't describe what she is doing. I'm convinced she's just having tantrums at night.

The problems with tantrums at 3:30 am, is that I don't know how to deal with them. Letting her "cry it out" doesn't really work when she wakes the entire house. Poor Daddy is working 2 jobs, and needs all the sleep he can get. And her screams upset Burton, who stands outside her door and barks. She's already had 3 of these episodes this week. Its turning our house into utter chaos. And Mommy is t-i-r-e-d!

Last night she woke up asking for a drink. So I went in with a cup of water, fully expecting her to drink and go right back to sleep. But she decided she was finished sleeping, and proceeded to scream for 10 minutes. I want to teach her she has to sleep at night, and that she must be in her own bed. But I was so frustrated with her last night that I caved. I picked her up out of bed, and took her out to the computer. We listened to Barbie Girl by Aqua on iTunes about 3 times before I convinced her it was time to go back to bed.

I just don't know what to do.

Then there is the issue of her beating up her big sister. She hits, pulls hair, yells, etc and poor Gracelin is too sweet to fight back. I've tried disciplining her every way I can think: time-outs, yelling, etc. Nothing gets through to her. She doesn't even seem to understand that she's in trouble. With G, I could yell or put her in time out, and she'd be completely devistated. Bryn doesn't even seem to care when she's sitting on the naughty bench - sometimes she laughs at me. One particularly bad day, after the 1000th time of Bryn pulling G's hair, I sat the girls on the couch next to each other. I told G that she had permission to pull her sister's hair, so show her that it hurts. With tears in her eyes, G looked up at me and said, "but mommy, I can't pull her hair. It will hurt". This from a girl that had a bald spot from having her hair pulled out.

I feel like I'm at my wit's end. The other day, I even did something I said I'd never do: I slapped her hand. Even that didn't faze her though - she looked at her hand, looked at me, and then LAUGHED! And I'd slapped hard enough to make her hand turn red. All it did was leave me feeling awful.

Ben and I have always said that we will never hit our kids. It stems from an experience we had when we were newly married, and living in our old neighborhood. We were having dinner at a neighbor's house (a neighbor who shall remain nameless, because any of my Jordan Meadows readers will know them). At the dinner table, the brother hit the sister. Nothing serious - just typical brother/sister stuff. But the dad pulled his arm back, and slapped the brother on the side of his head hard enough to make both Ben and I very uncomfortable, as he exclaimed "don't hit your sister". Waking back home that night, we discussed the hypocracy of teaching your children not to hit by hitting your children. I'd always known that I didn't want to hit my kids - that experience just solidified my opinion. (I'm not trying to condemn anyone for spanking, etc. I'm just saying its not for me).


At any rate, I'm out of ideas. I don't know how to teach Bryn to be well-behaved. Its almost as if she has no understanding of proper behavior. One minute she's a little angel, and the next she's the Spawn of Satan. So, moms of toddlers (or who have at one time been moms of toddlers) help me please! I need all the suggestions I can get on how to deal with her behavior before she turns into a monster.

A bad omen?

(this post is a bit old, and for some reason I never posted it)
I am such nerd. I love perfect numbers, and so when my car was close to hitting this milestone, I carried my camera in my car for about a week hoping to snap a picture. I was worried the big event would happen while Ben was at the wheel, and it would go by unnoticed as he doesn't grasp the significance. But no, lucky me, I got to witness this momentous event. I pulled to the side of the road (I didn't want to be a traffic hazard you know) and snapped a pitcure. I am a bit sad that its blurry, but it was dark outside.

One may wonder where I was heading, and whether or not 66666 would be a bad omen. Well - I was on my way to Instacare with Gracelin. True to form, she started feeling sick on Friday afternoon, and after a sleepless night dealing with a fever of 103, I decided she probably needed to see the doctor. So, I ran her to Instacare (luckily its really close). I was relieved when the doctor told me she had strep and an ear infection (her tubes have fallen out for a second time - ugh!!), and I made a comment to the (female) doctor that I was grateful she had something easy to treat, and not a virus.

I am sure that every parent reading this will understand me. I mean, who wouldn't rather have a simple infection where I can give my child some antibiotics and she'll be better quickly. Isn't that much better than a "virus" where who knows when they'll be feeling better, and who know what you can do to make them feel better. If my child is going to be sick, I'll take something I can cure with medicine any day.

But, apparently I'm a stupid idoit (or so that doctor would like to make me think). Following my off-handed comment, she proceeded to give me a 5 minute lecutre on the dangers of strep - throat absess, scarlet fever, blah blah blah. I stopped listening pretty quickly. I'm an intelligent person - I know there are rare complilcations to strep, but usually when they go untreated.

Still, I'll take it over a mystery "virus" any day.

Mister Sandman . . .

I don’t think that I truly appreciated sleep until I became a parent. Back when I was “without child” I could sleep-in whenever I wanted, and staying up late was no big deal. Sadly, those sleep-filled days are gone, and I fear I’m in such a sleep deficit that I’ll never recover.

Last night I stayed up way too late. But, I had so much to do. After the girls were in bed I ran for an hour (trying to make up for all the toffee I ate at work yesterday, and I had the season finale of Dexter to watch from the DVR). By the time I got upstairs from the “dreadmill” and hit the shower, it was almost 9:30. I wanted to work on finishing the beaded bracelets for my coworkers, but Ben wanted to hang out with me too. Needless to say, I didn’t get to bed until 11pm, and I had to be up for work at 5am.

Unfortunately the girls didn’t care that their mommy was tired. In the 6 hours I had to sleep, they were up 5 times. I had barely laid down when Bryn started crying. I went into her room, where she was crying “owie, owie”. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me, “Binny need a kiss, right here” and pointed to her forehead. I kissed her, and fortunately she laid right down and was quiet – for another 90 minutes. She woke 2 more times in the night – both times asking for milk (we’d eaten Café Rio for dinner, and she ate over ½ of my salad – and I’m always thirsty after eating that). G was up twice herself – once for milk and once because she said she was finished sleeping. I’m afraid I lost my patience with her that second time. I know I only had about an hour more of sleep, and I wanted every minute of it. I threatened her that Santa would be called if she didn’t go back to sleep. Luckily that did the trick.

But mommy is dragging today. Its insanely slow at work today (obviously slow enough to post a blog entry), and I’m struggling to keep myself from napping on the couch in the breakroom.

Its been a busy week. On Tuesday the girls had their daycare Christmas concert. G was super excited, and was so cute. She belted out every word to every song with a smile on her face (unfortunately I forgot my camera) – it was a big change from last where, where she just stood there stone-faced. Bryn wanted to be a part of the action too. She went up to the front and stood by her sister for a few minutes. But then she got bored – she wandered around jabbering to random people in the audience, and even asked a few of them to hold her. Then she tired of that, and decided to beat up the inflatable snowman in the corner of the room. She ended up knocking him to the ground (of course that would be my child). After the concert, Santa came. G excitedly sat on his lap and asked for a baby (we’re hoping this is a doll, and not an actual baby). Bryn was scared of Santa, and preferred to try and steal his candy canes.

And to add to the disjointed nature of this post, I wanted to add something else completely unrelated to the title. It does however relate back to a post from a few days ago, where I was complaining about my neighborhood. As it turns out, I may not be crazy – I think people may be snubbing us. Ben’s coworker also lives in our neighborhood, but on another street. We sat with them at the work Christmas party the other night, and now they feel more comfortable with us. He asked Ben yesterday at work how we like living where we do. Ben was honest, and said that we were so unhappy that we had considered putting our house up for sale. His coworker admitted to Ben that when they moved in, they were warned to stay away from the “Wildcat Court Clique” (we live on Wildcat Court). Apparently people at church think everyone who lives on Wildcat is a snob and won’t associate with them. I feel like I’m back in junior high school – how petty can adults be? At least I know I’m not crazy – but I still do want to move.

Puke:1 poop:2 boogers: 4

That was the official tally last night of how much of each I'd had on my hands in the past 24 hours. Needless to say, it hadn't been a good day for my kids. (or their mommy)

G's really sick. She's got some weird gastro thing. Yesterday she woke from her nap saying she was sick. We were on our way to my mom's house, when she puked all over herself - which isn't necessarily weird in itself, other than the fact that her vomit contained undigested food from the night before. And it smelled like sulfury poo. We continued onto G'mas, and cleaned her up there. She seemed fine: no fever, ate 2 pieces of toast, and ran around for hours. Then she woke at 1am puking and pooping at the same time - and the weird part about it is that her vomit and diahrrea look and smell exactly the same. And she has no fever. After her 1am incident, she felt fine. Daddy held her while I ran to the C-store for some soda. As I drove over there, the radio was playing that stupid Hawaiian Christmas song, and all I could think on the way over was how I'd just uped my tally: poop and vomit may just edge out the boogers before the night was over. She and I wat up, watched a movie, drank some Sprite and went to bed. Then the entire incident repeated itself again at 5am. The part that is so concerning to me, is that she has no fever and that her excretions smell so strange. Have any of you ever experienced similar symptoms?

At any rate, I'm one tired mommy. Bryn also woke twice in the night. UGH

Sorry for the disjointed post. Bryn's awake in her bed now, singing "la la la". Hope she's not sick today.

More tantrums

Satan descended upon our household today in the form of my sweet daughter. One minute Brynlee was just fine, but the next she decided that she didn't want her shower tonight. The only explanation I have is that she was overly tired and not feeling well. And I dared to try and wash the shampoo from her hair. She screamed, held her breath, turned purple, and then vomited. I took her out, wrapped her in a towel, and took her to the bed to get her dressed in her PJs. She continued to scream and then started throwing up again. She was lying on her back, and the puke shot straight up into the air. So that she didn't aspirate, I sat her up as she continued to scream. I expected her head to turn around - I swear she was possessed.

I cleaned her up and dressed her. Then I wrapped her in her favorite blanket and took her outside onto the porch. It was cold outside and raining fairly hard - and just the distraction she needed. Just as quickly as the tantrum came on, it was over. We rocked in her room, read stories and sang songs. She asked to go to sleep, and didn't even cry.

I am not sure what to do about her tantrums. She is so strong-willed, and some days is completely unreasonable.

Working mommies need love too

Has anyone ever read my blog and found it strange that my blog title alludes to the fact that I work full-time outside of the home, yet I rarely talk about work. I suppose that my intention has always been to talk about work - in fact I mostly blog from work. But work is boring - plain and simple. Despite the fact that I work with big-name developers, world-renowned starchitects, and even find myself (mis)quoted in the paper on occasion, my two beautiful girls are way more interesting to spend my precious blogging time talking about. And I like them more.

It is a difficult thing though, to balance being a career woman and a mommy. Especially to be good at both. Most days, I find myself being rather mediocre at both as I struggle to find the balance. If anyone out there has found a way to be a good mommy and career woman, please pass along the secret. Because I surely don't know what it is.

This week has been especially difficult. On Monday night, Bryn had the early signs of a stomach bug. By Tuesday morning, she'd had several yucky diapers and was acting grumpy. I knew she felt sick, but I had a busy day at work and I felt like I needed to be there. So, I took her sick to daycare. She lasted through lunch time, but by about 1:00 daycare called. We stayed home the rest of Tuesday and all of Wednesday. I ended up missing 2 important meetings, a community open house, and a big press release about an exciting new project. Instead, I stayed home to change yucky diapers and hold my grumpy girl while we watched princess movies. Through it all, I felt like I was where I should be - but all day yesterday, I couldn't shake that guilty feeling that I was letting my coworkers down.

Some days I long to stay at home. I feel like I'm missing out on so much of my little girls' lives. They repeat words that I've never said to them, and know things that I've never taught them. It is difficult not to feel a little guilty that I work. It seems that society still tends to look down upon working mommies. Most of my friends and neighbors are stay at home moms, and sometimes I feel left out. I don't get to go to play groups during the day or to meet up at the park with other moms. But when I really think about it, working keeps me sane. Besides, I don't really have the option or choice to stay home. At least right now.

Its really not all bad though. I do like my job (most days) and like feeling like I'm making a financial contribution to the family. Besides,
the girls love their teachers and friends at daycare, and are both very social. I think that daycare is good for them because it gives them the chance to be around so many different people. They really do get bored with me when we stay home. All day yesterday, G kept asking if we could go somewhere - anywhere out of the house. They are learning good things at daycare too. G is in a preschool program there, and is learning things like Spanish and sign language. She also knows what letter each of her friends' names start with.

I do think that I'm doing the best that I can. I am providing financial stability and insurance benefits to our family that we wouldn't have otherwise. My girls also see the example of a strong and intelligent woman. And I think that I'm still a great mommy. I only work 4 days a week, so on Friday its girls' day. We have a pancake breakfast, go to gymnastics, read lots of stories, and have fun. Every single day, we eat dinner as a family, and then spend time together in the evenings. On the weekends, we always do an outing with Daddy. So, I still spend lots of quality time with my girls, and they know that they're loved. I hug and tickle them every day, and tell them I love them before bed.

Being a mom is difficult, whether its a stay at home mommy or one who works. We all have our challenges and issues that we have to learn to deal with. I've made the decision to work, and I feel its what is best for our family right now.

Am I failing?

Sometimes I feel like I’m failing as a mother. The problem is that I use my own mother as an example, and I’m nothing like her. She grew up with a mother that was a schizophrenic, alcoholic, drug addicted, abusive, crazy person. Instead of letting that be an excuse to be a messed up person, my mother decided that her children would never live that type of life. My childhood was truly golden. Mom cooked us breakfast every morning, and had cookies baked when we came home. My clothes were always washed and put away. She vacuumed the house every day, cleaned the bathrooms every day – her house was immaculate. She taught aerobics, was the PTA president, and volunteered in our classrooms at school. We had a home-cooked dinner every night as a family. Needless to say, she was a saintly woman – the type of wife/mother I have always wanted to emulate.

Granted Gracelin is only 10 ½ months old, but I’m already losing it. I can’t remember the last meal that I cooked (unless micro waving something frozen counts). I’m so behind on the laundry – it isn’t uncommon to have to get clean underwear from the dryer instead of the dresser. There are seriously parts of my house that I can’t remember the last time they got vacuumed. There is so much dust on my furniture that I can write my name it.

I do try hard. I love my baby with all my heart. The days I work, I only get to spend an hour or so with her, but during that time, I play with her as much as possible. She also gets a bath, a massage, and a story read to her every night before bed. I sing to her, dance with her, and try to teach her things. I am also still breastfeeding her. I feed her healthy foods. I dress her in clean clothes (that sometimes do come straight from the dryer).

I’m just so tired at night. I can barely force myself to do the things that have to be done. But, after that is done, I usually just crash. I’d like to have the immaculately clean house that I grew up in. I’d like to be able to workout every day. I’d like to have time to work on my scrapbooking, or to read a book. And obviously I’d love more time with my baby and my husband.