Yesterday next to the playground, a carnival had been set up. So we decided to go.

Look! Rides! What Fun!

Sadly, the rides are much better in theory than in practice.

Whee!

Here she is again. Just LOVING the standing up, I tell you.



In other news, she has finally outgrown size 2 diapers! And some of her 3-6 month clothes!

Houston, we have lift off

This morning, the children woke up around 6:15. They actually played together--giggling and bouncing around-- quite well for 1/2 hour or so. Eventually, though, they got bored and both started crying. When I went into their room, this is what I saw:



Vivian had finally pulled up to standing! Of course, then she couldn't get down (hence, the crying). But still, this was an exciting day. She has been pulling up to her knees for weeks, but this was the first time she got all the way up to her feet. Is she not the most amazing baby you've ever seen?

(I am aware that many babies pull up much sooner than this. I'm sure your baby was walking at 10 months. Keep that to yourself, bi-atch. I remain completely impressed by my own daughter, and you can't stop me!)

Huh.

Earlier today I had written a really magnificent post about the Muscular Dystrophy Association, and how happy I am that Isaac will be part of their Hop-A-thon this year, through his pre-school. I get to sponser him, per hop, and ask all my "neighbors, friends, and family" to do the same.

But then Blogger ate it. I thought--"Wait! That's okay! Blogger has a new 'recover post' button!" Unfortuately, this button is "not guaranteed to work all the time". So instead, you are left with this.

A stupid non-post.


P.S. Anyone want to sponser Isaac? He doesn't know how to hop, so no matter what you pledge, I don't see how you'll end up owing anything. I myself am pledging $10,000 per hop.

It's Alright to Cry*

A few months ago I got a speeding ticket. I was driving along a road right near my house, that I travel all the time. The posted speed limit there is 35 mph. It is a fairly busy street, and unless the traffic is bad, people generally drive 40-50 mph. That day was no different. I happened to be the last car in a line of cars, all driving around 45-50 mph. I had no idea I was speeding; I was simply driving with the flow of traffic.

That day had been a particularly bad day already. I was worried about Isaac, since his pediatrician had told us in no uncertain terms to get him to a specialist. I was worried about money, since Lance's car had just been diagnosed with a $3000 problem, not covered under the warranty. I was tired, since Vivian had not slept well the night before. I don't remember what else, but I remember feeling fragile as I carted the kids around for errands.

When the policeman turned on his light (he was driving a motorcycle, I didn't even see him behind me) and motioned for me to pull over, I panicked. I started crying. Not sobbing, but slight shaking with tears, no noise. All I could think was, how much would this cost? And how could I have been speeding, when everyone else was driving this fast??

Here's the kicker. Although I was crying as I pulled over, I immediately got control of myself so that by the time the officer came to the window, I was composed. I even smiled at him. I apologized, dutifully handed over my license and registration, and then as soon as he returned to his bike, started crying again.

This time in addition to already stated reasons, I was crying because I was such an idiot. Why couldn't I cry in front of the officer, like everyone else? For God's sake, if there was a time to use tears to my advantage, this was it. And they wouldn't even be fake tears! But, nooo. I was too afraid to look like a fool in front of a police officer who I would never see again.

I don't know why it's taken me so long to blog about this. I've been thinking about it since it happened. I guess it's more of the same: I am too embarrassed to blog about being too embarrassed to show my true emotions.

For as long as I can remember, I have been deathly afraid to look stupid or foolish in front of other people. I realize nobody wants to look like this, but for me, the fear is particularly strong. Ironically, it has caused me to look stupid on numerous occasions. For example, someone will say something that I either don't hear or don't understand. But instead of admitting this, I just nod and smile and hope that the rest of the conversation will enlighten me. Invariably, because of the smiling and the nodding, I end up agreeing to something I don't mean to agree to.

In school, my comments were always along the lines of "Amy has a lot to offer, but she is much too reticent in class." In fact, I learned the word reticent from my report cards. But--God Forbid!--raise my hand? Admit that I know the answer? What if I was wrong? What if everyone stared at me? OHMIGOD don't make me speak aloud in class.

When I was 17, my best friend, "S", got into a fender bender in front of the home of another friend of mine "C". S and C had only met once, since C went to a different school, and was one year behind us. Being (naive, dramatic, scared) 17, S freaked out. She didn't know what to do, so she walked to C's house and knocked on the door. Then, crying the whole time, she introduced herself to C's mom and asked for help. C's mom helped her call the police (there was extensive damage to both cars), exchange information with the other driver and get through the whole ordeal. When S told me this story later, I was completely stunned. If that had happened to me, I would NEVER have had the nerve to ring the doorbell of a person I had only met once, especially given the fact that said person might not even be there and I might have to instead deal with an adult! And certainly not if I was crying, or had just committed some kind of mistake. I probably would have just smiled and nodded when the other driver said something like, "Well I don't want to get my insurance involved so here I'll just give you a check for $100, okay?"

(Of course, I didn't admit to S that this action of hers was so unfathomable to me. I just acted like, oh, of course that's what you do when you're in that kind of situation. In fact, the only way S will ever know how much I admired her at that moment is if she reads this post. Hi, S!)

I really hate this about myself. Why am I so afraid to admit a mistake? What do I think will happen if the police officer sees me cry? In my rational brain, I tell myself--hey! Cry now! He will feel sorry for you and give you a break! But my emotional response to that is so strong--"No way! Get a grip on yourself! Don't let him see you're upset!--that rationality has no chance.

Well, I'm not sure where this is going. The fact is that if I got pulled over tomorrow, I'd react the same way. If I pronounce your name incorrectly I will never again be able to look you in the eye, and will avoid you at all costs. If you mumble or speak with a thick accent, give up communicating effectively with me. Further, if you misunderstand me, know that I will not correct you until I absolutely have to, resulting in embarrassment for both of us. The moral of this story? I'm an idiot. But you already knew that. Cheers!

*Can you guess what this title is from?

These pictures were not taken this weekend.

Because it was cold this weekend.

However, I wish it had been nice.

So I am pretending they were.

Unfair

Dreaming--of changing poopy diapers--during the only time in the whole night when 1. I actually fell asleep and 2. Neither child was crying.

Sadness

Well, we suspected it would happen. But still, to lose your 7 best players? That's 2 more than plays at any given moment, for you basketball infants. The national championship rings are still being resized, but already we are mourning.

Though I can't really blame them. They got us the trophy, how can I ask more than that? Good luck, Sean. Ray. Jawad. Jackie. Rashad. Melvin. Marvin. We will miss you!



Oh, by the way. My friend David burned me a mixed Bruce Springsteen cd, which I am listening to right now. I am in love with it. I have been in love with Bruce for as long as I can remember, and now that I live in California, where many people do not appreciate him, I love him even more.

This is what came off my hardwood floors this morning

It's only a vaccuum

But. Oh, you would not believe the dirt it gets off the floor. The dust mites! The cat hair! The little bits of deodarant Isaac mashed all over the carpet!




Best $600 (gulp!) I--oops, I mean my mother--ever spent. (You didn't really think I have $600 extra to spend, didja?)

Fairy Blog Mother

Brought to you by Three Kid Circus via Petroville: Thank Your Fairy Blog Mother Day.

My first Fairy is Psycho Kitty. Without her, I would still be (blissfully?) unaware that blogs even existed. She left her link on the Bringing Up Ben and Birdy sight, I followed it, and the rest is history. Well, okay, here's the history: I read her blog obsessively for ages, then followed her blogroll to read other blogs obsessively, then finally, tentatively, started my own. I kept reading her blog, never leaving a comment, until one day she somehow tracked me down and commented here. With her encouragement I became brave enough to leave comments on the blogs I visited and before I knew it, people were also coming here, and leaving me comments. And that is how I became a comment whore. Psycho Kitty's blog is deep and meaningful, global and silly, and most of all, beautifully written. A while back she wrote a post that included this phrase: "my dear, darling blog friends, you groovy angels of goodwill, scattered all about like hidden treasure." You see? Good stuff.

Next would be Amy B. She is the first person-- before Psycho Kitty, even-- to leave me a comment, and she continues to be supportive. I about had a stroke the first time I noticed her comment, since I had thought I was writing in a complete void. Fortunately for me she is kind, and generous, and didn't criticize. She is a young mother and I am truly amazed that someone her age can do all the things that I do, but with so much more patience and without the benefit of the wisdom (?) that comes with the grey hairs. She recently started her own blog, go check her out!

Finally, Trisha at Least of My Worries. If you haven't checked her out, do it now. Her blog is fresh and unique every day, and a complete inspiration to me. Her son Robbie is beyond adorable, and Trisha herself is nurturing and smart and sweet and kooky. Couldn't ask for a better combination. Once a commenter (Catherine) left this description of her blog, and it is so right on, I'm copying it here for you: "Your blog is like one of those perfect little shops you stumble on in a weird town, with a million lovely things, old and wonderful things, things like nothing else you've ever seen before. Treasures."

Thanks to all of you, I am here today. Blogging has been almost a godsend to me, and already I'm not sure what I did before this. It is an outlet, a challenge and a social venue for me--3 things a stay-at-home mom sorely needs.

NoYes

A most terriblewonderful thing has happened since Isaac started pre-school.

He has new expressions. That I have not taught him. That I have no idea from whence they came. For example:

Until pre-school, he would reply "Okay" for any yes answer.
"Isaac, do you want to go to the playground?""Okay."
"Did you like that song?" "Okay."
"Is your foot stuck?" "Okay."
"Is it time for Elmo?" "Okay."

But now, he has added "Yep." to his repertoire. And also, "Um, yeah."

I know it sounds like a little thing, but it feels enormous. Just a tiny change in his lingo, but a change that I had nothing to do with. I'm embarrassed to admit that this devastates me, just a little.

You see, up until this point, everything that Isaac has learned, I have been a part of. These new words do not come from me. They do not even come from another person that I know. They come from school, a place where I will never be with him.

On the one hand, it's really cute to hear his new words. He's doing so well at school, learning how to get along with other kids, learning to share, learning new phrases. I'm proud of the way he has taken to school, and it's nice that he can have such a great time without me. But still, it's without me. This is the very beginning of his venture to become a person in his own right, separate from me, and maybe I'm not quite ready for it.

Some other things he says now:
"More, please!" in a sing-songy way.
"No, thanks."
"Nope."
And my personal favorite, "NoYes."

I don't think he even knows what that one means, but he's been saying it pretty regularly. I have to ask him, "What does that mean? No or yes?" And he'll answer, "Okay." Or, "Yeah."

If you were to ask me: Am I proud of my little guy for acclimating so well to pre-school?, I'd have to answer:

"NoYes."

10 months

Dearest Vivian,

Today you are 10 months old. 10 months! That is just 2 months shy of 1 year! You are practically a toddler! Apologies for the exclamation points, but your mother is having difficulty grasping the concept.

This month you have been sick. Pretty much all month. First a cold with an ear infection, then a cold, then another cold, then the barfing flu. Fun times, all around. I'm not sure where you are picking up all the germs, since I don't have you in daycare, and of course that's where all the germs live. At least, that's what people will tell you if you mention you might put your baby in daycare and go back to work.

I could blame your brother, since he is in pre-school, but the truth is he has only been there a week or so, and that's the only week this month you haven't been sick. So you must be getting sick from the germs I have not cleaned sufficiently off the floor. Sorry, sweetheart, but your mama is not the best house-cleaner. Especially floors. How I hate to do floors! I can't wait until you're older, then that can be your chore. What should we have Isaac do? How 'bout the toilets? Sounds like a plan to me!

Throughout all your ailments, sweet daughter, you have continued to smile and bring joy, fussing only marginally, even when you are so congested it hurts me to hear you breathe. In fact, you don't really fuss much at all, sick or not. You are pretty much the most contented, mellow baby I've ever known.

Now we all know that your brother was the world's best infant. And I'm sorry, he's definitely got you beat there. As an infant, you were a little more demanding. But now that you are out of the newborn stage and approaching the toddler stage, you have really come into your own. You can spend hours examining the ficus leaves that fall incessantly to the ground in the family room. Or you'll crawl over to the book case and pull book after book to the floor, flipping through them like I flip through magazines at the doctor's office. It astounds me how easily you entertain yourself, at such a young age. Isaac has only recently been able to play by himself for periods of time. But you, my independent little munchkin, you enjoy the time to yourself.

Maybe it's because you are the second child, and already you've had to fend for yourself so much more than Isaac ever did. Or maybe it's because you take after me, and prefer the ruminations of your own brain than that of others. Maybe it's because you spend so much time with your hyper brother, and sometimes, you just like some peace. Whatever the reason, I think it's fabulous. And though you might think I'm ignoring you when I leave you to yourself and run off to the computer room to blog, you should know that I peek out at you often, and watch you as you explore your way around the room, picking up and discarding an old toy, ripping open a magazine with delight, or chewing on Elmo's fingers greedily.

Speaking of chewing, two things: First, you have no teeth. That is correct, at 10 months old you have yet to sprout a tooth, nor do you show any signs of doing so any time soon. This is fine with me, as I like nothing better than your toothless, gummy grin. Teeth change your face so much, turn you from sweet baby to infuriating toddler faster than learning to walk. The only drawback to this is that we haven't tried any finger foods with you yet. I'm too paranoid that you will choke. So no Cheerios for you, my love!

Second, you are not very oral. You love to explore your world, pick things up in your hands, but you don't put them in your mouth very often. So I don't worry so much when you pick up the ficus leaves, or whatever other dirt is on the floors, because it doesn't usually end up in your mouth. This weekend we went to the beach, and just like your brother, you loved picking up the smooth rocks the waves washed in. But unlike him, you just passed them from hand to hand, never dreaming to put them in your mouth. This is a good thing, because everyone knows the Santa Monica Bay is polluted, and in fact, when your brother was your age, he did just that, and ended up with diarrhea for 10 days. Yes, this is a good life motto for you: do not put anything foreign in your mouth unless Mommy okays it.

One thing that has started this month which is just like your brother: the diaper olympics. For some reason babies your age hate having their diapers changed. Or maybe it's just they hate being on their backs. Whatever it is, changing your diaper has become a real struggle. As soon as I lay you down, you grab the railing of the changing table with one hand and whip your whole body over onto its stomach. This makes for a really cute view of your teensy tiny bottom. Unless of course I haven't managed to wipe it clean yet. Then, not so cute.

Something else about diapers: you are still really small, so you wear size 2 diapers. These are diapers for babies that are 3-6 months old. We all know that you are 10 months old now. No problem, except for the fact that while you only fit into diapers for a 3-6 month old, you definitely pee enough for a 10 month old. So at nighttime, you often wet yourself. They don't make overnight diapers for babies' your size. Which means yours truly is changing your sheets ALL THE TIME. Please, little lady, either grow enough to fit in size three or stop peeing so much!

Vivan, this is the month that we stopped breastfeeding. This was a terrible time for your mom, because I felt like my body had failed you. But you took it completely in stride. You don't mind bottles one bit. You probably like them better, since it's easier for you to get what you need out of them. When I am feeding you, you fidget. You wave your hand in the air, or kick your legs. Sometimes you clap your little feet together as you drink. No joke.

Speaking of clapping, we have taught you how to do that. With your hands, I mean. You're getting really good at it, I'm proud to report. We've also showed you how to give a high five. Really, it's amazing the things you can do.

Oh, and guess what? Yesterday I think we officially heard your first word. "Hi" you said, and waved your little hand. I've heard you say it twice more, at semi-appropriate times, so I'm counting it. I have heard the same sound when you are babbling to yourself and obviously not saying hi--but then again, who am I to say what you are babbling about? Perhaps you are simply re-introducing yourself to yourself.

I need your help in one area, however. Your sleeping habits still leave a bit to be desired. You are 10 months old, dear wonderful child, and you still do not sleep through the night regularly. You much prefer waking up once for a bottle and then for the day at 5:30 am. This does not work for me. I need you to go to sleep happily at 7:30pm, sleep all night with no sound until 7am. Can't you please work on that?

Oh, and naps. Let's talk about naps for a minute. For the longest time, your morning nap has been 45 minutes long. But ever since your brother started going to pre-school, you have extended this nap by over an hour. This means that when you wake up it is almost 11. By the time I have you dressed and fed, it's time to pick up Isaac. So I don't have time to go to the grocery store. This was the whole point of pre-school, Vivian. Please revert back to your old morning nap habits. I would be happy to allow you to nap 2 or more hours in the afternoon, okay? This is my only request.

Really, my sweet little peanut, you do nothing but enrich my life, and I could not ask for a better or different child. Before you arrived, your father and brother and I all had each other. We loved each other very much. But somehow we were not quite a family. We were 3 entities, whereas now, with you in the bunch, we have become a unit.

I love you, cuddle-monkey.

First outing at the beach in swimwear, 2005

Where's Waldo?

Does this happen to you?

You are surfing though some blogs, and you get to a good one, and read a few posts, and the about section. Maybe you even comment. You think to yourself, I have to read more of this blog. But then your two year old starts screaming from his crib, or the doorbell rings, or the cat needs to be let out. So you leave the computer, get sidetracked, and by the time you return, someone has exited out of explorer, and you have no idea how to find that blog. You can't remember the name. You can't remember which blog led you to it. You can't even remember if it was today or yesterday or last week when you found it. You browse through your history, but since you spend so much time blogging, your history is enormous, and it would take you HOURS to find it.

Aggravating!

Daylight Savings Time

Quick--did you hear this? They are passing a bill to make Daylight Savings Time last until November. Can this possibly be true? Oh, sweet heavenly merciful father, mother, goddess, creative Power of the Universe, whoever you might be--PLEASE LET THIS BE TRUE.

Edit: I found this at Miami Herald.com: "In Washington, D.C., where the ballooning federal deficit seems like a petty concern when measured against an extra hour of daylight, a House committee passed a proposal this week to add two months of daylight saving time. We would move an hour ahead on the first Sunday of March (instead of April) and move back on the last Sunday in November (instead of October.)" Hooray!

Parenting

I've been reading about parenting this week. On blogs, mostly. (Though I did read my incredibly uninformative "Parenting" magazine, too. Complete waste of time, just like it is every month.)

Can I tell you a secret? I have a lot of anxiety about parenting. I think it is such a difficult balance--to raise respectful, honest, good people who also have confidence and spirit. My children are little still, so I haven't had to deal with this too much yet. But I think about it. I'm really afraid I'm going to mess up.

In many ways, my own parents were wonderful, and I feel lucky to have them as an example. However, my father was pretty controlling, and intolerant of misbehavior. So I learned to behave well, especially in public, but I also learned that acting outside of the norm was "bad". I learned that it was better to be quiet and good then to ask questions, or bring attention to myself. For most of my childhood, our house was a dictatorship, with dad the dictator, and mom the dictator's benevolent aide. We were all afraid of dad, and I remember dreading the time in the evening when he would come home from work.

Dad also always encouraged us to do our best, expected great things from us, and never ever sold my sister and I short just because we were girls. I have always known I am smart, and I believe this so strongly in part because my father always treated me like I was. He loves us all unconditionally, though I don't think I believed that as a child.

You see why I am conflicted? There are many things that my father did right, and things that I think he did wrong. But I am not sure which is which. My father expected so much of us, and I absolutely hated that. I felt like when I got A- on my report cards, this was not enough, that nothing would ever be good enough for him. He would always say things like, "Wow, great job, Amy. Next time I bet you can get an A+!" And I would leave, not feeling proud of my report card, but feeling like a failure.

As an adult, one of the hardest things for me to do is hold other people accountable. To say to them--"No, that is wrong. You should have done this." Because whenever people say something like that to me, I am an 8 year old girl again, holding my report card in my hand, blushing with shame as my father tries to encourage me to do better. And I never, ever want to make anyone else feel like that.

This was obviously not his intention. He was encouraging me! He was trying to get me to shoot for the stars, to be all that I could be. But I interpreted it as criticism, and internalized that feeling of failure.

Maybe I was an oversensitive kid. Maybe another type of child wouldn't have reacted the same way. I know that my older sister has similar internalizations. My brother does not--but I can't necessarily compare him with the two of us: when Ann and I were young, my parents were struggling financially and under a lot of stress. By the time he came along, they had "made it". His childhood was really very different than ours. However, it could just be that Chip is not so sensitive as Ann or I. He's a boy, so he's wired differently. Or maybe, he's a boy, so my parents treated him differently. I don't know.

That is what is scaring me. How in the hell am I supposed to guide this two perfect innocents into adulthood when I don't really know the way myself? How do I encourage them to do better without belittling their accomplishments? How do I know which one is more sensitive and how do I learn what technique works best?

Am I making too much of this? After all, I've just been writing about things that shaped my childhood negatively, and despite all that, I feel like I am a happy, well-adjusted person. And isn't that the ultimate goal? So maybe I should just give myself permission to fuck up a little bit and hope that the love and goodness that comes out when I'm not screwing up is enough.

This conversation can go on and on. I haven't begun to chip away at the iceberg that is this topic in my brain. But I'll stop now, before I drive myself and everybody else, crazy.

The two caged birds, they are a' singing (and laughing, and throwing things)

The other morning I accidently discovered my own personal "mother's little helper". I was getting the screaming banshees up for the day. After I changed Viv's diaper, I headed to Isaac's crib, Vivian on my hip. When I leaned over so she could give him a kiss, he asked "Vivi go in Isaac's bed?". We'd never done that before but there didn't seem to be any reason to deny the request. So I obliged:




This turned out to be more fun than ice cream for breakfast. Better than pushing the buttons on a working cell-phone. More exciting than eating the play-doh from your brother's toy box.

Oh, you should have heard the giggles. They threw all the blankets out of the crib. They threw the bears at each other. They bounced up and down. I'm not sure what else went on, because guess what I did?

That's right. Left them in there to play happily and had a nice breakfast all by myself.

It was almost 30 minutes before they got bored. Who knew the crib could be such a great toy?

I'm going to try it again after naps today. Wish me luck!

Independence

Isaac is now officially a preschooler. He goes 3 mornings a week from 8 to noon. We started last week, and it went surprisingly well. He loves it. The first morning I stayed with him the whole time. The second morning I left after about 45 minutes, then came back 1.5 hours later. He didn't even bat an eye when I left. The 3rd morning, I left after 45 minutes and didn't come back until noon. Right before I left, he said, "Isaac want to go home?", but the teacher picked him up and told him they would be dancing soon and with that, he was fine. Today, I stayed for about 10 minutes, and he actually started crying when I told him I had to go. Not hysterical, just sort of pathetic tears. Again, the teacher picked him up, this time telling him they would go look at the turtle, and he stopped immediately. My little independent boy!


First day of preschool*

I am really loving the free time. Look at me, I'm blogging! Without guilt! I've already paid the bills, started the laundry, and unloaded the dishwasher. Once Vivian wakes up from her nap, I may attack the grocery store. Which means after I go get Isaac, all I have to do is feed him and his sister lunch, put them down for naps, and I have two hours to myself. WITH NO CHORES. It's enough to make me giddy.

Okay, I will admit to a small sadness last week. It felt lonely to be home in the morning with no Isaac to narrate my every move. ("Mommy got to get dressed." Mommy do laundery." Mommy go outside?" Isaac go outside?" Isaac go outside?") But today, today there is none of that. Today I am just happy and enjoying myself.

A lot of that happiness comes from the knowledge that his preschool is a really great place. Just being there for so long last week and watching the teachers and kids in action really put my fears to rest. It is pretty small--about 8 kids to a class, with 3 classes--2&3 year olds, 3&4 year olds, 4&5 year olds. The kids all seem to have fun and the teachers of course have more patience than I can imagine. They get a hot "snack" at ten, which is a better breakfast than I sometimes manage. They color and paint, and learn about animals, and going to the doctor, and the seasons, and so on. Really it's a lot more stimulating than the errands Isaac is forced to go on when he's home. Not to mention that being around all those kids is good for him.

I have to admit something, though. There is a little girl in Isaac's class--I'll call her Nellie.** Nellie is a little 2 year old bitch. The first day, at snack time, when Isaac sat down, she said, "You can't sit there, only my friends can sit there." Then later in the day, they were all dancing with streamers, and she went right up to him and shook her streamers in his face. The next day, she poked him in the eye. At each infraction, the teachers interceded and told her it was inappropriate, etc. She gets in trouble a lot, and not just for picking on Isaac. She basically picks on anyone she can find. I loathe that little girl! A two year old! I can't believe how strongly I feel about her.

I have decided to be extra nice to her when I see her. I think I feel like if I treat her well in public, no one will notice all the hatred I harbor in my heart for her. Because, really, you can't hate a two year old. Poor little thing, she must be miserable to be acting out so much. I'm just glad I don't have to be around her too often.

I'm sure I will have more stories to report as preschool continues. For now, we are both relishing our independence from each other, and relishing even more, the moment when we reconnect!



*Actually not the first day. Just the first day I remembered to take a picture.

Also, you may note the backpack. This does not actually include books or anything like that. We live in California, so every child must have an "earthquake kit" which they bring to school on the first day*** and leave there until it is needed (hopefully never). This kit includes a change of warm clothes, extra diapers, a flashlight, a family photo, juice boxes, snacks, and a bicycle helmet. I didn't tell the teachers that there is no way in hell Isaac will ever put that helmet on. They can just figure it out when the school is collapsing on itself and they have 25 screaming kids running every which way.

**Yes, this is a Little House reference.

***No, I didn't bring it on the first day. But since there was no earthquake between his first day and day 4, when I finally managed to get it all together, all is good with the world.

6:45 am Saturday morning. Witness the power of Sesame Street.

A thousand times, thank you.

When I started this blog, I thought it would be a good outlet for me, to keep my brain cells from dissolving in the rice cereal I stir up for Vivian every morning. And I thought it would be a good way to track my children's lives, especially since I have been so very remiss in the baby-book department.

I did not expect that I would "meet" so many wonderful caring people. People who, without ever meeting me, have encouraged me, and supported me, and made me feel important. I had no idea that blogging would lead me to this wonderful place full of special people, who read about my life, and--shockingly--are interested in it, care about what happens to me. I thank all of you. Your support means more to me than I can adequately express.

I am feeling better. I took all of your advice (though unfortunately I cannot move to Chapel Hill, Heather), and you people know that of which you speak. My mother was in town this weekend, which allowed me to have some time off from the kids, and I went to the mall, singing loudly in the car on the way, bought a brand new outfit, which my saint of a mother paid for, got my nails done, and drank in the sunshine (outdoor mall). I bought an ice cream cone, and, wow, the power of ice cream! Especially on a sugar cone! Especially eaten in the sunshine, with no squirming children to demand your every attention!

This weekend was very healing: my mother was here, my team won a national championship, my friends in blog-land made me feel loved, and my hormones seem to have settled down. I remember that I felt the same sort of melancholy when I finished breastfeeding Isaac, and just knowing that much of this "depression" was caused by that, and therefore temporary, made it easier to accept.

I have always been a fairly content person, and feeling so icky really upset me, and made me appreciate my luck in the temperment department. I cannot imagine what real, clinical depression is like.

Oh, also: my post about "Cocktail Moms". I stand by everything that I said. However, I wrote that when I was feeling particularly low, a fact that colored my perception and caused me to miss the humor. I couldn't appreciate the "tongue in cheek" way that many of the posters were speaking, as Jen gently reminded me. I apologize for that, and promise to lighten up in the future.

I leave you with this:

These guys are awesome!