Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

This will be a short list of confessions this week, because I have lots of work to do still tonight for Beckett's birthday tomorrow. I mean, I don't. ;)

Upon getting home from work today, my husband did not immediately need a beer because Sawyer did not put on my bra, declare that he was a girl, and no longer had a penis. I also did not laugh hysterically as this unfolded while at the same time saying, "I'm so sorry, dear!"

Tomorrow is not Beckett's birthday and I do not still need to sew his superhero cape that will be his present. I will not be up late tonight finishing it! I also do not still need to go to the store for supplies for his cupcakes.

And again, Beckett is not turning two years old tomorrow. He was just born and is still my tiny little squishy. *sniff*

So there is a note circulating on Facebook for you to interview your toddler about yourself. It took Sawyer a minute to get the hang of it, but once he did, it was pretty funny.

1. What is something mommy always says to you?
Uhhhhh... this!

2. What makes mommy happy?
Uhhhhh.. I don't know! This!

3. What makes mommy sad?
Because you like candy. You're not having any babies. Grandma is having a baby. (Um, okay!)

4. How does your mommy make you laugh?
Like this... ahahahahahhahaa!

5. What was your mommy like as a child?
You growed bigger.

6. How old is your mommy?
I'm not your mommy, you're Beckett's mommy!

7. How tall is your mommy?
I don't know! This big, taller!

8. What is her favorite thing to do?
Um, nothing. Just working around and give me a kiss and going potty and laying down and resting on the couch and going to bed. That's a good thing. (So apparently he notices that I like to sleep. Ha.)

9. What does your mommy do when you're not around?
Well, it's in my backpack and my Batman costume.

10. If your mommy becomes famous, what will it be for?
Nothing. Will you just do this for me, mommy?

11. What is your mommy really good at?
Playing with your sewing machine. You sew.

12. What is your mommy not very good at?
I don't know. Okaygottagobye!

13. What does your mommy do for a job?
Uh, nothing. (Thanks, kid!)

14.What is your mommy's favorite food?
Dinner.

15.What makes you proud of your mommy?
Um, just the girl baby! (Awwwww.)

16. If your mom were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Mighty B!

17. What do you and your mommy do together?
We fly in the air like butterflies! Is that a good idea?

18. How are you and your mommy the same?
Yeah yeah yeah yeah like that!

19. How are you and your mommy different?
Because we are friends.

20. How do you know your mommy loves you?
Because I'm just gonna eat you up!

21. What does your mommy like most about your dad?
The girl baby.

22. Where is your mommy's favorite place to go?
To the store.

Sawyer broke my heart a couple days ago.

He'd been loafing around, lethargic and grumpy, and spent most of the afternoon on the couch. He'd been telling me his "head and body were bleeding," his way of saying they hurt.

Then, out of nowhere he said, "Mommy, can't I just feel fine?"

My heart shattered into a million little pieces for my poor boy who didn't understand why he felt bad. Really, isn't that just the saddest? He then told me he needed to go to the doctor and I assured him that Mommy would take good care of him and we didn't need the doctor yet. He seemed satisfied with that, which made me feel a little better.

I thought for sure he would start puking shortly after that, but he never did. Has just been running a fever and had no energy or appetite. He's the sweetest when he's sick though, always asking for hugs and drinks of water. We went to Sonic for dinner tonight and he only took one bite of his corn dog and ate maybe two tater tots. Poor guy.

He perked up today when we showed him the baby's room:



He's excited enough about it that he's FINALLY calling her by her name, and not "GoGo," which is the name he had given her since I first found out I was pregnant.

Speaking of the name - I think I may be spilling the beans soon, so keep your eyes peeled. ;)

Tonight he danced around the living room, playing air guitar on a drumstick and sang "I wish-a-fad-a MESSY'S GIRL!!"

Translation: "I wish that I had Jessie's girl."

Yes, my 3-year-old sings Rick Springfield. Quite well.

Yesterday, Sawyer helped me write out a birthday card for DH. I tried to instruct him in writing "Happy Birthday" but we ended up with "Happe" and then the B-I in birthday, plus a bunch of random letters. It still charmed the pants off DH though, of course.



Also. He gets the letters F and S confused, because they sound so similar. And he absolutely insists that his name is spelled F-A-W-Y-E-R. Ah well, what can ya do?



DH and I had a deliciously unhealthy birthday dinner at Outback, where I guiltlessly snarfed down a bloomin' onion, Caesar salad, bloomin' burger (okay, so I only ate half of that) and some fries. NOM NOM NOM.

"MOUSE! MOUUUUUSE!"

"Mickey Mouse?"

"Nooooo! Mouse!"

"Cheerios?"

"Nooooo!"

"Mail?"

"Nooooooooooo"

Then he bangs on the pantry door and as soon as I let him in, what does he make a beeline for? MARSHMALLOWS. Duh, Mom.

My children both have a profound love for crayons. For Beckett, it's tasting them. He just can't resist the rainbow of wax and it's not uncommon for me to open a diaper and find hot pink nuggets staring back at me. It's become a game for him now, and he gnaws on them just to get a rise out of me. He'll sneak one from Sawyer's stash and wait until I notice him inching it towards his mouth, and then dart off behind the recliner giggling his head off. He's apparently shared this hobby with the cats too, because a couple weeks ago I witnessed Zachary pooping a yellow crayon turd into the little box. Lovely, right?

Sawyer, on the other hand does not eat them, thankfully. He draws. All. Day. Long. Every page of every coloring book he owns is covered in a prism of colors, and he's even confiscated several of DH's notepads for use as his own personal sketch books. I'm also happy to say that he's inherited my artistic talent as opposed to his father's, which is a very fortunate thing. I think at this point the kid would win hands down in a draw-off with Daddy.

For some reason, lately he has started *ahem* "decorating" my furniture with his drawings. I don't know why, because he KNOWS he's not supposed to. But nonetheless, my kitchen table is now adorned with two smiling stick figures standing on some tall grass under a very bright sun.

And on Tuesday, what I thought was an innocent gazing out the living room window was actually him depicting an entire scene along the whole length of the window sills. It's wasn't until I heard him announce, "Mommy, I'm drawing your shirt!" that I found the artwork that he was oh-so-proud of. And really, how can you be mad about this? It's better than the boring white, yes?



From left to right we have some balloons, a dinosaur, a smiling sun and Sawyer and Mommy dancing around. Down at the other side were more suns, people, and random letters.



I tried to get him to pose with his masterpiece, but only Beckett was willing to get in the shot.

A couple recent conversations with my ever so logical three-year-old:

Him: Mommy, what does a monkey say?
Me: *monkey sounds*
Him: What does a cow say?
Me: Moooo.
Me: Hey, what does Beckett say?
Him: *thinks for a minute* Um, Beckett is not an animal.


Him: Mommy, where did you come from?
Me: I came from Grandma.
Him: And where did I come from?
Me: You came from me.
Him: No, I came from the store.

HA. If only it had been as easy as scanning his butt across the U-Scan and popping in a credit card!

Wow. It's been over a year since I cracked open the virtual pages of this thing. I just spent awhile reading over my tirades as a new mom of two and had a good chuckle. And then became terrified when I realized I'm doing that all over again, this time with three. Here's to hoping that the little bebe I'm cooking this time decides to take after her oldest brother and be the most mellow kid on the planet. Yes, that would be nice.

Last night, I was looking at pictures of our kittens from when we first got them, and said aloud to DH, "I don't remember them being that small!" That, of course, led me to pictures of the boys in their infancy and those days are all but a distant memory. Sawyer is now a very articulate and sensitive 3-and-a-half-year-old, and not nearly the terror he was at age two. Beckett will turn two soon, yet is still very much my little baby. Luckily, he's past the constant night-waking and crying all day, THANK YOU GODS. How is it that I can barely remember what it was like back then?

I decided today that I would start writing here again, because I NEED to be able to remember these times. I don't want to be looking at pictures a year from now and not know what my kids were like in them, how their laughs sounded, what antics they devised to drive me crazy yet make me giggle hysterically.

I need to remember what it was like to show Sawyer the first ultrasound picture of his new sibling at nine weeks gestation, and see his eyes light up with wonder when I told him it was a baby. "Oh, that is SO cool, Mommy!" Seriously priceless. He then declared to his father and me, "Mommy, you are having a girl baby. Daddy, you are having a Spiderman baby. And I want a boy baby." I definitely cannot allow myself to forget moments like that.

I need to be able to envision in my mind how warm and wonderful it feels when Beckett crawls onto the couch with me and snuggles up right against my face to look in my eyes. He doesn't say anything, just grins and giggles and plays with my hair. Such a mama's boy he is, and I love it.

Sawyer is becoming more loving and affectionate as well, constantly asking, "Mommy, do you love me?" and demanding hugs and kisses throughout the day. I am so lucky to have these moments with my children and it would really be a shame to just let them slip away into the past, unrecorded.

I am one of those slacker moms who is the victim of the digital age, with very VERY few printed pictures of my children. The ones hanging on the walls are all I have. I take so many and am so far behind now that it would take hours upon hours and cost a fortune to have them all printed. I haven't made tangible baby books either, which I feel awful about. It goes hand in hand with not writing hand-written letters to relatives or compiling photo albums of our family for my children.

I have to start somewhere, so getting our day to day life down in virtual format is as good a place as any. Some day I WILL have the time and money to get those pictures printed, and my kids will have books full of memories to look back upon. But for now, I'm happy just writing about our adventures here for safe keeping.

So, hello again!

Did you know that oven doors have built-in locks? Ours does. And I know this. Now, that is. It would have been nice to know before I smelled burning plastic while pre-heating for some cookies. Sawyer wanted to give his plastic stethoscope a tan, apparently. It got more of an incineration though, and I found it dripping hot down through the racks and into the bottom of the oven. TASTY. And not harmful in the least when those fumes leach into your food! I guess I should have listened to my mom when she would preach about "Always LOOK inside before you turn on the oven!" Yes, Mother.

I must be doing something right though, because my two-year-old says please and thank you. "Mommy, I want a banana, please!" Which I'm happy to oblige, and feel all giddy because as soon as I hand it to him, he says, "Thanks, Mom!" (Oh and yes, he calls me just 'Mom' sometimes. Isn't he too young for that?) AND, he throws the peel away on his own. He's quite fascinated with the trash can, actually, which is nice for me because now I can easily convince him to throw anything away for me. Of course, now is when many toys will begin to go missing, as I've already rescued Diego's maned wolf from the bottom of the bag twice.

Despite being incredibly curious and just way too smart for his own good, he really is a pretty easy kid. Which bring's me to Fizzledink's question of how we transitioned him out of the crib. And I feel kind of stupid saying this - but I honestly don't know. Sawyer has always been such a good sleeper that it wasn't much of a bump in the road at all for us. He started sleeping through the night, with no help at all from us, at around three months old. Since then, we've had a couple bouts of night waking but nothing that lasts more than a week.

So when the time came to think about breaking out the Big Boy Bed, I really wasn't worried. I was probably a tad over-confident, but at that point in parenting I'd never really had any incident with him that had knocked me on my ass too hard (no worries though, Beckett fixed that for me!)

His crib is the type that turns into toddler bed so one day when I was eight or so months pregnant, we decided to just go for it. No careful planning or a course of action, just cold turkey. (Which really makes me think I'm probably not the best person to be giving advice on this subject, but well, I'm already halfway through the story.) We wanted him out of the crib before the baby got here so we wouldn't have to worry about that on top of a newborn.

So that night, I had his bed all made up with comfy blankets and a big cushy pillow, and we took him in like normal and put him in it. Said goodnight, gave him kisses, and shut the door. Now, this part is this single most important thing we did: we put a gate on his door. I honestly don't know how we would have remained sane if it weren't for that gate. Him coming out of his room multiple times? Possibly wandering the house at night when we're sleeping? No thank you. Not to mention that the bedrooms are upstairs and I'd had visions of him tumbling down them in the dark. So the gate was a safety precaution as well as peace of mind for me.

In hindsight though, I think it definitely helped to teach him that once we put him in his room and put the gate up, it means bed time. The gate is not there during the day so he can go in and out. The first night of the Big Boy Bed, he didn't get out of bed a single time. He went right to sleep without a peep. Of course, that was the calm before the storm, because the next few nights were a relay race of running up the stairs and putting him back in bed because he'd stand at the gate and yell for us. It didn't take long for him to catch on, though. Now, if he gets up, we just ignore him and 99% of the time, he gets back in bed and goes to sleep himself. Occasionally he'll want something, like a drink or a hug or a story, and we always get him whatever he needs.

He was about 18 months old when we made the transition so he's been sleeping in his bed successfully for close to ten months. Naps, however, are another story and he generally refuses them now (although he did used to take them just fine, even in the toddler bed). So I have no advice there. Except that sometimes, you may need to turn the bed to the wall so the kiddo can't get out repeatedly (if you have a crib that has been transitioned, that is). We've had to do this a handful of times when he was extra defiant to show him that we mean business.

I have to add though that very rarely did he ever cry or act scared to be in the bed. We've never had to sit with him until he fell asleep or do anything else drastic. So, again, probably a sign that I'm not the best person to get advice from. But this was my experience and I hope that it helps somewhat. I think the key is consistency and probably the best thing you can do is to just keep trying, keep putting them back in the bed, and don't give in. Of course, if you truly feel that your child isn't ready yet, then by all means, don't force it. Take a break and try again in a week or so.

And now that I feel like a The More You Know commercial, I'll end with a video of Beckett from a few days ago. He can clap! *sniff*

As moms, we get used to the fact that 90% of what we say is deflected by our childrens' selective hearing (that they undoubtedly inherited from their fathers). And like every other mom, I can often be heard reiterating some version of, "What did I tell you/Do you remember what I told you/Why did I tell you that?" Knowing full well that I won't get an answer.

But! Sometimes kids surprise us. Today I was attempting to trim Sawyer's hair over his ears and at the nape of his neck. As cute as the rattail was, it needs to stay in 1994. Now, Sawyer doesn't like any part of being held down, or having various objects near his face. His first and only professional haircut at 21 months old involved many tears.

So, in an attempt to make it quick and painless (on his part anyway, as I was taking a few wild kicks and headbutts to the chin) I had him in my lap with my legs wrapped around his waist, left arm pulling his arms snug to his sides, and right hand wielding the scissors. (Yeah, sounds like a great way to get a straight haircut, right?) I began snip-snip-snipping at the hair over his ears and he kept ducking his head away and trying to shield with his hands.

"Sawyer, just hold still, it doesn't hurt when you cut hair. What hurts is when you wiggle and thrust yourself at the scissors."

More head-bobbing and swatting. And then he said, "MOMMY. This is scissors. This is very dangerous."

Now, how can you even begin to argue with that? I had no choice but to leave his hair lopsided, because I have no clue how to explain to a 2-year-old that he shouldn't play with scissors but Mommy can cut pieces of his body off with them. A battle for another day, I guess.

Later, we picked my little sister up from school. She wasn't even halfway into the car before Sawyer was chattering away. "ANNA! Hey Anna! You go to school? What you doing? You sit on your seat? I sittin' in my seat. Beckett's in him seat. We go to Grandma's house? Where's Grandma? Hi Anna!" And then, not even a block away from the school and he stops short in his chatter and I can see his eyebrows arch into a concerned look in the rearview mirror.

"ANNA. You wear your seat belt. To be SAFE. Put it on."

He watched closely as she buckled it, then was rattling off questions again.

Once in awhile, he does listen.

I swear, there isn't anything this kid does any more that doesn't make me laugh. (Okay, I don't laugh when he's giving the dials on my serger a spin, especially when I can't remember what they were set on, but most of the time, I'm laughing.)

Sawyer has this Diego field journal thingy that's like a Magnadoodle on the inside. He's always asking me to draw stuff. It used to be just squares and circles or the alphabet but lately he has gone to more complicated things. Our conversation just now went like this:

"Mommy! Draw balloons."

I quickly scrawled out three balloons.

"Thanks, Mommy! Now draw a tapir."

Um, WHAT? Okay.. I drew a blobby thing with a long snout and hoped he'd accept it as a tapir.

"OOOOHHH, it is a tapir! Thanks! Now draw a jaguar."

I drew a pretty kickass jaguar, if I do say so myself. Spots, whiskers, triangular nose and all. Maybe slightly domestic looking, but I didn't figure he would notice. And what does he say?

"Umm.. it's a cat, Mommy."

I am so in for it when he's a teenager. The kid will be smarter than me, I know it.

The other thing that makes me laugh is how kids are so honest. They aren't afraid to tell you that you're fat or look weird or shouldn't eat that third donut. Sawyer particularly loves to squish my saggy belly pouch in the shower and laugh, saying, "Ewww, gross, Mommy!" And the other day, he informed me that my morning bed head hair was "like a big bird." At least I know whose opinion to trust when I get a new outfit, right?

We just got over a nasty cold a few weeks ago and already, we're getting hit again. A product of the moms group Halloween party we attended last week, I'm sure. The baby hasn't been sleeping more than two hours at a time for the past four nights and it's just a fabulously good time, let me tell you. Sawyer wore a permanent scowl today as he walked around and randomly wiped his nose on the furniture if I didn't catch him with a tissue soon enough.

Speaking of snotty noses, back when I was childless, yet apparently knew everything there was to know about child rearing (like we all did when we were still blissfully unaware, you know), I always scoffed at the children I'd see at the grocery store with crusty green mustaches. My child will never be dirty in public! *snort*

Then I had a Sawyer. And I realized that while nauseating and embarrassing enough to wear a disguise so as not to be recognized, quiet and crusty-faced is still better than a clean screamer. Because toddlers? They do not like it when you try to wipe their nose. In fact, mine dislikes it so much that he perfected the art of making it seem like I'm brutally beating him. Which, as you can imagine, doesn't go over well in public. I'll take a little bit of snot over the "pulling out my cell phone to call CPS" glares, thanks.

I'm just hoping this passes quickly, because it'll be a little hard for me to sit still for my tattoo on Friday if I'm sneezing and hacking up a lung all over the artist. Plus we were planning to hit up the pumpkin patch on Saturday and tackling that with an entire sick family is not on my list of fun things to do.

Luckily, both boys went to bed without incident for my mom last night while DH and I were out having a quiet dinner at The Melting Pot. Alone. No children. Yes, it was wonderful. There were roses and a card waiting for me on the table and we had a private corner booth that made it seem like we were the only patrons in the whole restaurant. And we left weighing about five pounds more than when we went in.

Tomorrow's installment: the husband's first tattoo (yes, I'm dragging him over to the dark side) and how I tried to defend myself from burglars with a broom stick. Mensa candidate right here, y'all.

Oh, and if you could, please clicky that Top Momma button at the top of the page! Or, if you're using a reader, you can just click here. Lets see how long I last!

So, remember when I mentioned that my son loves Crisco? Yeah. Well. I now have photographic proof.

This is what happens when you take a few minutes to blog while you think the kids are playing nicely in the next room. I know, I know -- why wasn't I watching them? Well, the house is pretty well kid-proofed, so I don't worry about them getting hurt if I take a breather for a couple minutes. Except for the pantry. Most of the stuff on the bottom shelf is harmless -- taco seasoning, cans of beans, bag of brown sugar, box of croutons. But for some reason I haven't moved the Crisco to a higher shelf. (Actually, there is a reason -- the baking stuff goes on the bottom shelf and I can't be having the Crisco off alone away from his baking buddies!)

Usually I hear him open the door, but it must not have been all the way shut because I heard nothing today until he ran up to me and said, "Mommy, I wash my hands!" I spun around in my chair to help him at the sink (he has a new hand-washing obsession) and was met with this:



"Umm, Sawyer, you need to wash your whole head. Now stand still so I can take a picture for my blog."

I tried to get him to stand next to his masterpiece on the couch but the most he would do was sit in the chair for a few seconds. Then it was off to the bath tub, where I discovered that Beckett is terrified of the water if I'm not in it with him. So no brotherly bath time today.



My one piece of advice for anyone with kids that is furniture shopping: when they offer you the Guardsman treatment, take it. Yes, it's a couple hundred dollars more. But trust me. TAKE IT. Our couch has now had run-ins with blood, an entire bottle of Windex, and Crisco. And has lived to tell the tale.

And yes, the Crisco is now on the top shelf.

DH's grandparents left this morning. I was sad to see them go, because this was probably the only time they will ever make it out here. Papa Sam is 80 and Nese is just a few years younger. I am in awe that he managed to drive over a thousand miles one-way just to see us. And we weren't even their only stop! From here they were on their way to Jonesboro, Arkansas to visit more family before heading back to Texas. Amazing.

Oh, and Papa Sam also mowed the lawn for DH on Monday. Wouldn't it have been nice if that energy had been passed down a couple generations?

I felt bad because Sawyer wouldn't give them hugs goodbye. He was ranting about wanting the 'CROWNS' and was completely fixated on it. He did wave and blow kisses when they drove away, which made my eyes well up.

Shortly after they left, the Comcast repairman showed up. We've been having problems with channels going out the past few days. And I shouldn't say repairman, because there were actually three repairmen. The best part? They brought three men in just to tell me the cable going into the back of the box was loose. A couple righty-tighties and it was fixed. Yeah, I felt stupid.

As they were leaving, Sawyer ran to the door and bellowed out, "I'll miss you!" and started blowing kisses. Only 10am and already the boy ain't right.

Tonight, I got the bright idea to run to Wal-Mart for some cording to finish a drawstring backpack I made for Sawyer. I made it for him to use as a Halloween goodie bag, so the fabric matches his grizzly bear costume. It is adorable and all I needed to finish it was three yards of this stupid cording.

Normally I avoid Wal-Mart at all costs, but it's closer and cheaper than JoAnn's if I'm not buying fabric. Although tonight I'm sure I would have actually gotten home sooner if I'd just driven the extra distance to JoAnn's.

It's always a given that I'll have to stand around awhile waiting for an employee to come cut. Tonight was no different, and there was a woman ahead of me so I got to wait even longer. She and the employee bickered about whether the collegiate fleece she was buying was to be sold by the yard or by the panel. After what seemed like hours of scrutinizing the end of the bolt, she declared that the price was per panel (which I could have told her because, duh, if it comes in a panel, it is sold by the panel).

After that ordeal, she spent quite a bit of time making sure the fleece was rolled up just so, secured with multiple rubber bands and back on the shelf before assisting me. Apparently it would have been out of the question to help customers first. Whatever. She meticulously measured out three yards of my cord in slow motion. Every single employee I have ever encountered in their fabric department does this so severely that I'm beginning to wonder if they are trained in being so damn slow. I could have cut it myself, printed out the ticket and been to the checkout in the time it took her to cut a single piece.

The next 20 minutes (and no, I'm not exaggerating) consisted of her leaving to hunt for Scotch tape to secure the ends of the cording, rolling each color back up and securing it on the roll before moving to the next piece, realizing the printer was out of paper and calling for back-up. The manager that came then spent another 20 minutes putting the paper in upside down, stabbing at the machine with scissors trying to open the lid, watching me pop it open easily in two seconds, printing the receipt out on half a sticker and ringing my order up three more times trying to get it to print correctly before I just grabbed my stuff and stormed off, telling them I'd figure the rest out myself. In Slow Motion, because that is the Wal-Mart mission statement.

Now, I consider myself to be of average intelligence. I have never worked at Wal-Mart, or anything similar, in my life. And yet, I was doing their job better than they were. You know, I try not to perpetuate stereotypes but this one is like shooting fish in a barrel.

And of course, as I always do, I chose the check-out lane that seemed short with only one cart ahead of me but was actually four guys with their things all in one cart. Meaning four separate orders and payments. By the time I left, I had been there over an hour just to purchase some cording and nursing pads.

We had been intending to put Beckett to bed at 8pm and by this time it was 8:20. As I sped home I envisioned myself getting pulled over for speeding and explaining to the officer that it wasn't my fault because I had just been assaulting by a handful of lobotomy patients at Wal-Mart. And he totally would have understood and let me go with a warning.

I keep thinking Sam is asleep, only to hear him thunder across the floor above my head again. He already emptied his drawers again (!!!), as well as the drawer under his bed, so there isn't anything left for him to destroy in there. Unless he decides to stack the drawers up and play mountain climber again. I haven't heard the rumble of them toppling over yet though, so he must be biding his time.

Earlier today I could hear him being too quiet at the top of the stairs, and when I asked him what he was doing I was met with, "Spitting my water." I marched up and snatched the cup from him, and when I turned around to go back down he said, "You better get a towel."

"Yes sir, I will get a towel, and you will clean up the mess."

"No, Mommy. I goin' in my house. Bye."

Why didn't anyone tell me that the attitude starts at two years old? Shouldn't he still be struggling to form sentences? The teachers at pre-school next year are going to love him.

He went into his Little Tikes house and slammed the door, and when I tried to get him to come out and help me clean up the water, he responded by bellowing "STOP! GET OUT, MOMMY."

He's still playing with that dollar I gave him yesterday, too. He has crumpled it up, shoved it in his pocket, teased his brother with it and chewed on it, but has astonishingly left it in one piece. I am considering putting it in his baby book, because this is pretty monumental.

Bex was in true form this morning, wailing like an abandoned kitten and trying to launch himself out of the bouncer every time I tried to put him in it so I could get some orders finished. So in an act of desperation, I slung him on my back in the mei tai and kept on sewing. And let me tell you, I feel like I have discovered a magical power now because he actually let me work like that! He was content with chewing on the strap and I trucked through the rest of my orders in record time.

I took pictures, of course, and I hope no one laughs too hard at my scraggly hair and pajama attire. It was either that or take him out so I could shower, get dressed and fix my hair. Which was just not happening at 8am.

I was even more surprised when I turned my back to the camera to snap a close-up of him and realized that not only was he happy, he was asleep. Sam NEVER fell asleep on my back when he was a baby so I hadn't even considered that Bex might. And if that wasn't enough to make me feel like Super Mom -- I actually managed to wrangle him off my back and into the crib without waking him up. I barely had time to snap pictures of the orders before he woke up twenty minutes later, but I still felt pretty awesome about it.

Apparently, 20-minute naps are the trend today because he's already up from his second one and is fussing at me to pick him up. So much for eating lunch after blogging. All I have consumed today are two cupcakes and two Diet Dr. Peppers. I wish I could find the humor in this situation but it's just not happening today.

I've been sitting here staring at this white box for several minutes now, trying to come up with a witty, attention-getting blog post and the words are just failing me tonight. It's almost intimidating. Isn't that pathetic? I doubt hardly anyone even reads this aside from my husband and still

Wow, that whole paragraph was going nowhere fast. Curse you, Dawn Meehan! I can't write anything now without contemplating the thought that I need to make it good enough to catch Nickelodeon's attention. Well tonight the words just aren't coming to me so I'll have to let my literary genius shine another night. Or something.

I really shouldn't let days pass between blog posts because too much happens and I could spend days blogging everything. So instead, I'll talk about something that happened today. A couple days ago, I listed our Arm's Reach Co-sleeper on Craigslist. Bex hasn't slept in it since he was two weeks old so it's been serving as a nice, over-sized remote control caddy for the past five months. Might as well clear it out of here and make some money, right? Plus, DH told me I can't buy a new double stroller until I sell some of the other baby junk that's cluttering up the house. And my very tired of 22-pound-baby arms are telling me that that double stroller is very necessary.

So anyway, a woman contacted me about the co-sleeper and we arranged for her and her husband to come look at it today. When they got here I took them upstairs to show them how it worked, had several moments of feeling very very stupid because I couldn't get the thing to collapse (way to make them feel confident in their purchase!) and finally got it figured out and out the door with them. As soon as they left, I did what any normal person does: I looked her up on Myspace. Oh, wait, that's not normal?

I'm being honest, though. I did. Maybe I'm the only one that does this, or maybe not, but when I meet someone new, I am always wondering if it is someone I could form a friendship with. Maybe that's just the reclusive SAHM in me, but it's the truth. I look at every young mom I see as a potential friend for me and playmates for my boys. A couple for DH and I to socialize with. I'm sure everyone that has kids knows that as soon as the first one is born, your friend network is minimized by about 90%. The only people who want to hear about sleepless night and poop and teething and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers are other parents who also deal with sleepless nights and poop and teething and Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.

I told DH that I found her on Myspace and the first thing he said way, "Oh, you did not add her, did you?"

"God no, I'm taking it slow, I don't wanna scare her off!"

But let me tell you, I did think about adding her. Is that stalkerish? Rhetorical question. I settled instead for emailing her back to say thanks again and ask her if she wanted to take a travel swing off our hands. I had set it upstairs intending to send it with them and totally spaced it. She emailed back and said they would love it and we could set up a time later this week to meet up. She also complimented my well-behaved children and now I'm wondering if I emailed the right person.

And yes, I bounced into the kitchen to tell DH. Yes, he made fun of me and my new "love interest." And no, it does not take much to excite me. :P

Oh, and I almost forgot. After they left, I tossed the envelope containing the money into the office on the floor. Ten seconds later I turned around just in time to see that Sam had wedged out the bottom corner of the baby gate, snatched the envelope, removed the cash and was bounding off shrieking, "Me get the dollars!" I panicked and snatched them back, because we are talking about the king of paper shredding, after all. To which he pouted very pathetically and convincingly. So I gave him a single dollar bill, and he carried that dollar bill around for the rest of the evening. Did not shred so much as a corner of it. I almost expected him to kiss the dollar and hang it on the wall a la Mr. Krabs, but then I realized I probably watch a little too much Spongebob.

...to bite your tongue to keep from yelling at one child while you're nursing the other? Very, very hard. Because if I utter a word while Bex is eating, he'll pop off and try to get all up in my business, causing his face to be drenched in a spray of breastmilk.

So rather than giving him (and myself) a boob shower, I watched silently as Sam sat in his high chair balling up huge chunks of a burrito-sized tortilla and stuffed them into his mouth, moistened them up a bit, and spit them back out in order to finger-paint his tray in tortilla mush. Because one mess is enough to clean up at a time, thank you very much.

Oh, but you can bet I was shooting my angry eyes at him the whole time. I GAVE HIM ANGRY EYES REAL GOOD!

That's what this is. My children conspire against me. Seriously. When there's just one of them, it's pretty easy to handle. But when you throw a second one into the mix, it's like one says to the other, "Hey, it'd be pretty sweet to see Mom's head balloon up and pop off her shoulders. Lets act like Boston Terriers on crack, maybe that'll do it."

We traveled to downtown Indy today to have lunch with DH and some of his co-workers. I knew today was cursed before we even left, because Bex screamed like a banshee if I detached him from my hip, which made it real fun to try to get ready to leave.

We made it downtown eventually and visited a couple people in the office before heading to the mall for lunch. The Subway employees must have decided today was Move As Slowly As You Possibly Can Day. Honestly, I don't care if you meticulously place my two perfectly-sized tomatoes in a specific location atop the quarter-folded meat or paint a Van Gogh with the mayonnaise. Just make my damn sandwich!!

Everyone else was already eating their food by the time Sam's sandwich was made, and I still had to get Japanese for DH and I. Luckily Manchu Wok produces much more efficient workers than Subway, or I might have imploded. Lunch was uneventful after that. If you consider retrieving sippy cups and cucumber slices from under a stranger's chair and saving your toddler from a flight down the escalator uneventful.

Back to the office again after that to visit my mom, who works for the same company as DH. Got complimented on my hair by several of DH's co-workers. The ego inflation was nice, I will admit. Kids were getting restless and screamy so it was time to make our exit. They both fell asleep on the way home, and I of course had the delusion that I would be able to transfer them both to their beds and have some 'me' time.

WRONG!

Bex woke up as soon as I unlatched his harness. I put him in his rocker to contend with Sam, who I assumed would fall right back asleep when I put him in his bed. Not so. Ten minutes later I could hear his footsteps thundering above me. I went up to his room to scold him back into bed and knew as soon as I opened the door that he needed a diaper change. You see, my child can apparently poop on command. It doesn't matter how recent his last poop was or if I had just changed his diaper five seconds before. He poops because he knows it stalls nap time.

I changed his diaper and put him back in bed, only to discover that he had gotten into his closet where I had recently put his dresser, and dumped out all the drawers. Again. The child-proof doorknob covers that are peddled in the baby aisle at Target? Yeah, SO not child-proof, because my two-year-old most certainly can barge right through them. And he most certainly takes joy in emptying his dresser, which absolutely infuriates me. I also found that he had ripped open a beanie baby and was chewing on the pellets, but the damn thing had magically disappeared. Stowed away for the next time he needs to wreak havoc on me, no doubt.

He has a convertible crib that has been converted to a toddler bed, which means I can shove the open side up against a wall and he can't escape. I reserve this for those particularly hellish days when he decides to be anti-nap, and today most definitely qualified. So up against the wall he went.

You see, my child is not one of those that can have "quiet time" if he doesn't want to sleep. No, if he's not napping, he resorts to tipping over the changing table, shredding the pages of books (even board books, which he destroys with his teeth) and stripping his bed of the sheet and mattress pad. His room has been completely emptied for this reason, except for the dresser in the closet, which is obviously not safe any more either. What do they call those kids? Oh yes. "Spirited."

In between all this, I had been alternating between nursing Bex and putting him back in the rocker, pleading with him to go to sleep. But of course, this was a conspiracy after all, so he could do no such thing. He did a fantastic job of holding up his end of the bargain with his brother and ended up in his crib so I could have a chance to calm down and deflate my head.

I went and got him about ten minutes later, a sobbing, hiccuping mess. I am anti-CIO, but also anti-put my child on the porch with a "Free to any home" sign, so today he got to cry a bit in order to save him from the latter. I felt like Most Horrible Mother on the Face of the Universe and All of Creation after that, of course. As soon as I picked him up he snuggled into my shoulder and fell asleep. Poor chunk. Back into the crib he went, and ahhh.. finally some relaxation?

Or not. Sam was still belting out his opinion of naps at the top of his lungs. (He'll imitate me and say, "Stop! Take a nap! Lay down!" in the most stern toddler voice he can muster. It's actually pretty funny, on a day in which your head is a normal size and not on the verge of exploding.) Knowing I would become headless if he were to wake up Bex, I let him come downstairs and "WATCH-DORA-BASEBALL-GAME," as he says it. Several, several times, in a booming voice, just to be sure I heard him. Not annoying in the least bit, oh no. He is now crushing Cheerios into the carpet. But at least he's quiet.

And now I'm sitting here, banging out this post to vent my frustrations. Which has worked pretty well, actually. I think my head is almost back to its normal size. And to think, I thought all I had to blog about today was my Garnier Fructis shampoo for Works For Me Wednesday. My children, they do not disappoint!

Really though, I love my kids to pieces and I love that they give me the opportunity to tell such amusing stories about them. There is definitely never a dull moment in this house. Sometimes it would be nice if I had a pause button, though. Or, you know, maybe a padded room with a lock on the door, filled with chocolate chip cookies and Dora on a big screen. Either would work.

Now that Bex is close to being mobile and therefore a prime candidate for becoming Toy Snatcher, we have been working on sharing. Currently, Sam does not share well. He is two, after all. But! He is getting better.

This morning he was building with blocks so I added the baby into the mix to see what he would do. Bex grabbed a block right away and started marking his territory by way of drool, and Sam quickly removed it from his hands.

"Remember, we need to share! Can you pick a block to give to Bex?"

He thought for a minute, but complied. The purple blocks were apparently Off Limits, but he relinquished two yellow blocks and one green block without a fight.

"Here, have yellow. Here! Have green!"

So, mission accomplished for today. I have a friend with a 4-year-old who is an absolutely horrid sharer. After seeing him, I've become determined to keep my child from becoming That Kid. You know the kind -- everything is His, He is the center of the universe, the other children are merely minions in His world. (He even will say, "This is MY world!" Charming, right?) Which is to be expected at the age of two, but four is pushing it in my opinion. Anyway! I digress.

I sat for awhile and just watched the two of them interacting. If you think watching your child play and learn by himself is amazing, try seeing your baby admire his older brother. There is no greater entity in his eyes than his brother. His face lights up the moment he sees him, and he could watch Sam dance and play for hours. He giggles at every word he speaks and is just mesmerized. I love watching them.

Speaking of Bex, he did much better in the sleep department last night. Only woke once at 4am, nursed, and was put back into his crib awake and fell asleep on his own with no tears. Granted, this was after a dose of Motrin at 11pm following two hours of failed sleep attempts, but hey! I'll take what I can get. He's napping again already so he's making up for it.

I'm beginning to think that it bothers him when I drink straight milk. I had cereal with milk yesterday morning for the first time in several days, and the result was a fight at bedtime. I've noticed the same thing when I've had cereal in the past, so I'm seeing a pattern. I'm cutting it out for a few days again so we'll see how he does. I'll mourn the loss of one of my main food groups (cereal is appropriate for all meals, after all!) but at least he doesn't seem bothered when I have cheese or yogurt or ice cream, so I can make the sacrifice.

Oh, I forgot to mention how last night's bath was cut short by the baby deciding it would be fun to poop in the tub. I take a bath with both boys together, so you do the math. And if you're familiar with breastmilk poo, you know that it's not a solid turd. Ohhhh no. It's a swirling, slimy mess. The bath tub needed bleached anyway so I suppose he was just making sure we did it sooner rather than later. Those of you without children, take note -- your child might poop in the tub with you and you should be okay with that prospect before having kids! I'll save the tales of fishing in the washing machine for grape skin remnants and corn after a cloth diaper load for another day. Wouldn't want to completely scare anyone off just yet.