Practical Advice for Bun Ovens

My sister-in-law is pregnant with the spawn of my brother a precious gift of God.  They are due in early summer and will be first-time parents.  Remember those days?  You were filled with anticipation and had NO friggin' idea exactly how much you used to love sleeping?   

At one of my baby showers, my girlfriend Mama Mia gave me some "advice."  (She bought me a real gift too, lest I never speak to her again.)  I have since added/adjusted/amended the list and given it as part of a baby shower gift.  Just another way for me to grace the universe with my unsolicited opinion . . . 

No, really, Mommy . . . you should try to get some rest.

PRACTICAL ADVICE

(which you may, of course, choose to ignore)

compiled by BoyMommy

CEO: BoyMommy Family Household

I.               My favorite brands:

* I am not receiving any compensation from the following brands, but if they would like to throw some money my way, I will gladly accept it.  

a.      Diapers & wipes – Pampers

b.     Car seats – Graco Snug Ride (infant) and then Britax Roundabout and Britax Marathon, in age-appropriate order

c.      Socks – Children’s Place

d.     Footie Pajamas – Children’s Place

e.      Sippy Cups – Platex  (Gerber sippies have stoppers that fall loose every time Baby drops the cup.  Platex stoppers stay in better.)

f.      Gas Drops – Store brand  (Mylicon is expensive, and let’s face it . . . they’re GAS drops; how different can they all be?)

g.      Pain Reliever – Motrin lasts longer than Tylenol

h.     Bible – What to Expect the First Year

i.       Bottles – Dr. Brown’s are the “new thing” but I’m not sure it makes much difference.  HOWERVER, if Baby is colicky you're willing to try anything to please for-the-love-o'-pete-make-it-stop.

j.      Diaper Crème – Desitin

* my computer thinks I'm all fancy and French and keeps adding that little thingy to the top of the e.  Still doesn't change the fact that it goes on Baby's poop chute.

k.      Sleep Bras (if you nurse) – Motherhood

l.       Nursing camisoles - Target

m.    Maternity clothes – Motherhood, Gap Maternity (online), Kohls, Target

II.            Things I wish I’d known:

a.      Nipple confusion is bullsh*t.  I wouldn’t let the nurses give Large a pacifier because I was worried about nipple confusion.  (Because I was an expert . . . I mean I HAD been a mother for a few hours now . . . )  Trust me – babies know where their next meal’s comin’ from.

b.     Unless you know you’re going to be transferring Baby from one car to the other a lot, don’t bother with an extra base.  We’ve used a car seat in Daddy’s car maybe 5 times total. 

c.      Register for BIG items, even if you’re not going to use them right away.  It’s easy to store things like the high chair/swing/exersaucer in their original boxes until you need them, and then you won’t have to run out and buy them yourselves later.  These make great gifts for people (like co-workers) who want to pool their money for one big gift.  Don’t register for clothes – you’ll get a ton of those anyway, especially if you already know what you’re having.

d.     Shave your legs, get your toes done, get your eyebrows waxed, and get your hair cut about a week before Baby’s arrival.  It may not happen again for a loooooong time.  And buy some good ponytail holders.  Personal hygiene is the first to go.

e.      Invest in a good quality glider.  Baby doesn’t care if his/her dresser matches the crib, etc, but YOU will appreciate having a comfy place to sit in in the wee hours of the morning.  You don’t want a hard rocking chair that makes your butt stiff.

f.      Register online at Pampers.com, Gerber.com, Enfamil.com, Similac.com, etc, even if you plan to nurse.  They’ll send you free coupons, and even if you don’t use the formula coupons, you can trade them with a girlfriend for something you will use, like diapers.

g.      Ask your pediatrician for samples of formula and pain reliever.

III.          If you plan to Nurse:

a.      Don’t go cheap on the nursing bras.  Target has In Due Time brand nursing camisoles that look like little tanktops.  They run a little small, so you might want to try on first.  (I wore a 2x – I know I’m not a LITTLE girl, but come on!)  Motherhood has good bras too, but don’t forget – their return policy is not very forgiving.  I love their sleep bras – not very supportive, but enough to keep you from leaking.

b.     Take Lansinoh gel with you to the hospital and apply it EVERY time you nurse.  Breastfeeding hurts.  The La Leche Nazis will not tell you this because they want you to keep trying.  Consult with the Lactation Consultant at the hospital and get used to the fact that not only has your doctor been elbow-deep into your hoo-ha, now a very grandmotherly lady that you don’t know will be feeling you up. 

c.      The Lactation Consultant should also have these little gel pads that fit right over your nippy to help soothe the soreness.  They’re expensive, but SO worth it.  You can put them in the fridge and cool them before you apply.  I know it sounds weird right now, but please take my word for it.  You can also buy them at the store (Gerber, I think) but they aren’t as good as the ones you can get from the Lactation Consultant.

d.     If you buy a breast pump, get a good one.  I have a Medela and I love it.  I actually used it quite a bit.  I registered for it so I wouldn’t have to shell out all that money myself.  It is LOUD.  A 757 could pass overhead but you wouldn't hear it over the sound of the Human Milker.

e.      No one will tell you this: when you do the s-e-x, you might leak from your boobs.  It is very strange and can really ruin a moment.  (Also, invest in some K-Y because nursing makes you extra dry.) 

f.      Lansinoh also makes disposable nursing pads to keep any leaking from showing through during the day.  I tried to save money by using cloth ones that I could reuse, but they’re a lot thicker and they’re pretty obvious.  I wore nursing pads for about 6 months with all 3 boys.

IV.            Other odds and ends:

a.      Keep all blankets you get as gifts.  I thought I had way too many, but if you have a puker, like my own little Yacky McVomit (AKA Medium) then you’ll need a lot of clean blankets.

b.     Miracle Blanket (online) has great swaddling blankets which I think work WONDERS in the first few weeks.  I got one as a gift for Medium and I wish I’d had one with Large. 

c.      Every parent will tell you something different, but personally, we’re firm believers in the Ferber Method at about 3.5-4 months old.  I think it’s REALLY important for your own sanity that you teach your baby to sleep on his/her own.  I also know it’s REALLY hard to listen to your baby cry for you.  But it’s a few nights of pure hell (maybe a week?) that pays off in the long run.

d.      Gymboree is very expensive and I have been very happy with the cheap classes I have taken through the park authority.

e.      Malls, Libraries, and Bookstores have a lot of free kid programs.  Check them out online.

f.      A pacifier tether will help keep Baby’s binky close at hand.  So when you’re driving down the highway at 60 miles an hour, you can reach behind you and easily find the binky because Baby can only spit it out so far.

g.     I LOVED my Baby Bjorn.  Expensive, but totally worth it.

h.       No one needs a wipes warmer.  (Although a friend told me their wipes would freeze in the winter, and they used one, so perhaps . . . PERHAPS . . . I'm not an expert.)

i.      Join a mom’s group.  You can look online – just google "mom’s club" – and you should be able to track one down in your area.  Motherhood is very isolating, especially at first.  It’s vital that you remember you are not alone.

j.      Be honest with your doctor.  Having baby blues is normal, but there’s NO reason for you to suffer unnecessarily. 

k.       MOST IMPORTANT: Sleep while Baby sleeps!  You will not get a significant chunk of sleep for MONTHS, (maybe years,) so you have to get it while you can.  The dishes and vacuuming will be there later.  Your time is better spent with Baby and you’ll be a better mommy if you are better rested.

Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

Ten years ago today, I was just getting to know a new crop of students.  It was my 8^th year of teaching high school English; I had four sections of senior English 12 and one section of English 9.  My English 9 class was a “team” class, which means that there was a special education teacher in the classroom with me as it was an inclusion class.  Some of the students had learning difficulties ranging from ADHD to behavioral issues. 

Hubby and I lived in Alexandria, VA, a suburb of Washington, D.C., which is located about 10 miles southwest of the Pentagon.  It was a prime location for us because we were almost exactly halfway between each of our places of employment; he in McLean, VA, and I in Woodbridge, VA.  Because the D.C. suburbs span such a large area, many people in Northern Virginia hold government jobs, either in the city, or at the Pentagon, or at various military bases.  It never occurred to me that living in or around our Nation’s Capital would pose a security risk. 

Yes, it was an absolutely gorgeous day – one of those days you wish you could spend outside, but I was also filled with the excitement of beginning a new school year.  First period came and went without incident, and soon enough it was time for my freshmen to arrive.  Everything was status quo and while they were busy working on an assignment (diligently hanging on to my every educational word and obediently following my instruction . . . because this is MY version of events,) I told my team teacher that I needed to run to the copy center.

Intent on my task, I walked into the copy center and was focused on getting back to class quickly.  But then I noticed the attendant staring at the TV on the wall.  I glared at the TV when she said, “someone just flew two planes into the World Trade Center!”

My first thought was that some jackass had been flying too close and didn’t see the giant building in front of him, or that the pilot was someone who had the GED equivalent of a pilot’s license and should not have been flying in the first place, a la John Denver.  (God rest his soul.) 

“Was it an accident?” I asked, even as I tried to grasp the concept that TWO planes had crashed.  It just didn’t make any sense.

“It couldn’t have been an accident,” she replied, still staring at the news footage that was repeating images of the fireballs emanating from the buildings. 

I walked back to class, stunned.  I walked into my classroom and held my papers to my mouth, all stealth-like, like football coaches who know the Jumbo Tron is focused on them and don’t want lip-readers to figure out their next move. 

“Two planes have just crashed into the World Trade Center in New York,” I whispered. 

“My daughter is in New York,” she gasped. 

We kept the students busy at their desks while we huddled at my computer and pulled up cnn.com.  My email was already up and running (which I know is no surprise to many of my colleagues) so, using my email account, we emailed Debbie’s daughter at work in New York and anxiously waited for a reply.  Luckily, within the hour, her daughter responded and said that she was okay, but that they were evacuating and she’d be in touch as soon as possible.  Of course, we didn’t know at the time that communication would come to a stand-still as people all over the country tried to reach their loved ones. 

My department head and good friend, Lisa, stopped at every classroom and announced that we would be getting out of school early.  I remember calmly telling my students about the planes in New York and that we had recently found out the Pentagon had also been attacked.  One student, whose name I will never forget, said, “I don’t mean to be mean, but who cares?”  I thought to myself, one day when/if he matures, he’ll regret EVER saying that.

“I do,” I said.  It’s the human way to feel, I thought, but all I said was “some of your classmates may have family or friends working at the Pentagon.”  Still, though many of them were shocked, they were generally excited to be getting out of school early.  This reaction bothered me at the time, but in hindsight I realize they didn’t know how to feel.  Nothing like this had happened in my lifetime; it certainly hadn’t happened in theirs.  Once they were released, the principal came over the loud speaker and told his staff to “go home and be with your families.” 

I worried about Hubby, as I wasn’t sure if he was in his office in McLean or at a client site in the city.  Finally he emailed and said he was leaving the office in McLean and he’d meet me at home.  I drove home in stunned silence while listening to news coverage.   Traffic began to get increasingly heavier as I traveled 95 North towards home, and I noticed as traffic slowed that all the other drivers on the road had the same somber expression.   As I approached my exit I stared at thick black smoke above the trees in the direction of the Pentagon.  This is really happening, I thought. 

Raising the flag at Capon Springs, WV with P&P's sons
(an important rite of passage the year children turn
5-years-old and can understand why we respect the flag.)

Later that evening, we gathered at the home of our good friends, P & P.  What was once planned as a birthday celebration with close friends was now a group of us sitting around the TV in their kitchen, sharing stories of office evacuations and soldiers with assault rifles along the highway commute. 

Normally I am an emotional nightmare.  I can’t stand to see other people cry and my family teases me about being a pillar of strength in times of crisis. 

I didn’t cry for days.

I watched television footage every hour I was awake, and though my mind was spinning, I did not cry. 

Upon returning to school a couple days later, I learned that one of my senior’s mother was missing at the Pentagon.  Oscar came to school every day ... his family was one of profound faith and his father wanted his sons to maintain as much normalcy as possible.  Days passed.  Then a week.  Finally his mother was identified and they were able to lay her to rest.  I so admired his strength and perseverance, and I think of Oscar and his family often.

Then my meltdown happened.  (And it was way bigger than my normal quarterly meltdown.)  I sobbed uncontrollably and could not reign in my emotions.  I cried for Oscar.  I cried for ALL those people in New York.  I cried for first responders, and caregivers, and families who were seeking loved ones; I cried for my country and for what once was; and I prayed my president would have the strength to lead in a time of absolute crisis.  I questioned whether I wanted to start a family, even though Hubby and I had been discussing it for some time.  Is it fair to bring a child into a world where so much evil exists?  I hadn’t realized . . . I mean really realized, that EVIL is a real thing and it exists. 

I cried when I watched the news.  I cried when I saw an American flag.  I cried when I heard stories of how my country was mourning.  And though I never talk politics and I feel very strongly that each citizen is entitled to his/her opinion regardless of how anyone else feels about it, I must say that I supported my president.  Hubby and I are a bipartisan family and we vote on different issues.  But in a culture of divisiveness, I placed my faith and my respect in my president and his decisions.  (Even though I didn’t vote for him and I think Will Ferrell impressions are hilarious.  The end.)

For the past few weeks, my boys have been asking about 9/11 and we have tried to explain as best we can without being too sensationalistic or the-world-is-coming-to-an-endish.  Helping my children understand has made me realize just how much our country has changed in the past 10 years. 

To Large and Medium, airport security has always been intense.  (One of the greatest joys in life? Going through security with an infant in the baby Bjorn and carrying-on all the accoutrements that said infant will need on a flight.  You can’t wear the Bjorn through the scanner, and security personnel are not allowed to hold your infant for you.  Good times.)  To them, schools have always required photo identification for visitors and museums have always checked Mommy’s bag. 

On the flip side . . . and I have to believe SOME good can come out of this situation . . . I love seeing flags hang outside my neighbors’ homes, and though a military funeral is always tragic, there’s something beautiful about the ceremony and reverence afforded our veterans.  I feel such respect and gratitude when I see a flag-covered coffin carried by white-gloved hands.  Our boys know and sing the Star Spangled Banner.  They don’t get all the words right and their tone is at times, um, deafening, but they belt it out with pride.  And I have to say, seeing my babies remove their hats and put their hands on their little hearts gives me goose bumps EVERY time. 

God bless America, today and every day.

The Light Bulb Fairy and the Joy that IS Homework

I’m supposed to be stuffing the Holiday cards, but I’m inching my way towards a diabetic coma and feeling VERY sleepy.  I just made a batch of Nestle Toll House cookies, mostly so I could eat raw cookie dough for breakfast.  Epic Weight Watchers FAIL.  (And by “bake,” I mean break the pre-made dough, place it gently on a cookie sheet, and patiently stare into the oven for 10 minutes.)

Having just ingested half of the cookies and some of the dough, I realize that blogging about it consequently puts it out there in the universe.  It is possible, (although not probable since my own spouse is NOT a regular reader of the literary brilliance I post,) that Hubby will now know that I just ate cookies for breakfast.  It’s one of those Stay-at-Home Mommy secrets that I should really keep to myself.  Cookies for breakfast is highly classified information, along with how light bulbs get changed in our house.  When I was on bed rest last winter, I had to break it to him that there is no Light Bulb Fairy.  Don’t worry though; I didn’t tell him about Santa.

How many members of the
BoyMommy Family does it take to
change a lightulb?
According to Hubby, ZERO!

I don’t think Hubby has changed a lightbulb in the 11 blissful years we’ve been married.  He either thinks

a)     that the lighbulbs that were installed in the house when it was built are SUPER efficient and long-lasting, or

b)    the Light Bulb Fairy is responsible.  The LBF purchases the correct bulb and has it handy so that when a bulb blows out, it can immediately be replaced, and no one will ever know it was ever without light.

Also, in the throw-my-husband-under-the-bus category, there’s this little gem.  Yesterday I overheard Medium tell Hubby to “acknowledge Large!”  How many five-year-olds have acknowledge in their vocabulary AND know how to use it correctly?  My little sponge has heard me say it to his daddy a few times – usually when I am so tired of hearing “Daddy!  Daddy!  Guess what?  Dad.  Dad!  Guess what?!  Daddy!!” that I finally break and say, “acknowledge your children!”  (To be fair, the boys have little to no concept that Daddy might be doing something important and that not everyone in their sweet little lives is going to devote 100% of his or her attention to THEM at all times.)

He came home from work early last night to help me out, which is MUCH appreciated.  However . . .

I get to sit with my Big Brother
AND I get to do homework?  Woohoo!

He “suggested” that maybe the boys should begin their homework earlier so that we’re not all subjected to Medium’s incessant whining during the witching hour, which is actually the three hours between 5-8 pm.  He has a good point.  Waiting until after dinner but before baths to do homework, especially with a child who is clearly overwhelmed by the magnitude of tasks such as writing his name five times and practicing tying his shoes, is probably not the wisest strategy.  I like to let them play for a while when they first get home though.  I figure they’ve got some pent-up energy that needs to be released.  Plus, at the beginning of the school year I was trying to get Medium excited about his work by having the big boys sit at the table together, and I could strap Small into the Bjorn and make dinner while supervising homework.  Yesterday was not a shining example of this strategy, however.  Instead, it was chaos.  In fact, when Hubby walked in from work, I was yelling at kindly encouraging Medium to focus.  When Hubby went to empty his morning coffee mug into the sink, he could not do so because there was a child in it.  (Another diaper blowout necessitated the Biohazard Bath.)  So the new plan is for Medium to do his homework before Large even gets home from school.

Interesting, though, that Hubby’s “suggestion” came on a Monday night.  Monday is easy; it gets worse as the week progresses and you ain’t seen nothin’ until you’ve seen the chaos of Thursday night homework!  It would be easier to get the Hell's Angels to switch to organic natural fibers than it is to get my kids to do homework without complaint by the end of the week.

It Sure is a Good Thing I Have a College Degree!

Reinforcements have arrived!

The voices in my head are singing strains of the Hallelujah Chorus.

Hubby got home Friday evening.  Since then, I have slept, showered, and run errands by myself – it has been a little slice o’ heaven.  I thoroughly enjoyed driving the car that does not have car seats while listening to inappropriate music.  A big shout out to my husband, who spent the weekend “bonding” with our offspring so I could regain my sanity.

A glimpse at last week:

Saturday:  Rock Star Birthday Party.  I felt it necessary to shop for and purchase “rock star” attire, including saucy bandannas, kick a$$ t-shirts, and iron ons, and then to transform each of my children into bada$$es.

Sunday: Church (partly because the boys went to Sunday School and Small went to the nursery, so I got to sit in relative peace and quiet for an hour. Don’t ask me what the sermon was about though.)

Monday:  Doctor’s Appointment.  I have decided to seek out a new doctor.  I tried to be open-minded . . . I really did.  I made an appointment with what I thought was a female doctor I found on our insurance website.  When I showed up for my appointment, however, the doctor was male.  Turns out it was one of those androgynous names, like Shannon.  Since I give my doctors politically incorrect nicknames, (the OB who delivered Medium was The Gaysian,) I have no choice but to refer to him as Dr. Turban.  I realize our cultural differences may be minimal, but I just can’t bring myself to discuss any topics that may or may not require discussion of s.e.x.  He is very pleasant and very professional.  I am not professional; I am immature and, apparently, a bit of a prude.

Monday afternoon: Guarding the Money Pit.  I had to wait for and consult with the sprinkler guy, and later in the week, the HVAC guy, which of course, required me to stick close to home between the hours of 12-6.  Because I'm such an expert at all things sprinkler and HVAC.  I could have used this time wisely and completed any of the following:

Full of Spaghetti Makers and Coffee Mugs.

Laundry Purgatory - a necessary pit stop on the
journey from dryer to folded & sorted.
(Don't worry.  The dog was added afterwards.)

The List.  Items left incomplete magically
appear on next week's list.  Perhaps I
need stricter deadlines.

Seriously, it's still Monday: Trip to School #1.   I took the wee ones to watch Large’s class’s “theatre” production.  Cute, but he's not gonna win any Oscars.  Going to his class meant strapping Small into the Bjorn, swatting the hand of the classmate who cannot seem to keep his hands off my baby, and giving Medium the stink-eye every time he made a peep during the performance, most of which I missed because I was, well,  too busy giving Medium the stink-eye.

Tuesday: Trip to School #2.  This time to work on the PTA bulletin boards.  I get a buzz out of using the Ellison die-cut machine.  I love cutting out the paper and punching out the letters; it makes my heart all aflutter.  I love the giant roll of paper.  And the staples.  And the googly eyes.  And the glue.  Something is wrong with me.

later Tuesday:  Trip to School #3.  Back to school to pick Large up from his after-school sign language class.  Chances are, he's learning how to say "you're not the bossa me!" in sign language.

Wednesday: Weekly playdate.  This week was my turn to host a playdate for Medium, which was actually nice because his friend digs my macaroni-and-cheese makin’ skillz.

Bork, bork, bork da noodleys.

later Wednesday: Cooking - a term I use loosely.  We made dinner for a mommy in our neighborhood who is sick.  The moms in the ‘hood have organized a schedule so that this family doesn’t have to worry about meals.  I don’t cook though, so they got quite the epicurean masterpiece:  Spaghetti, a jar of Ragu, and brownies.  Nevertheless, they were gracious and complimentary.  Why does bad stuff have to happen to people like that? 

Thursday: Weight Watchers.  Time to weigh in so I'll know how many lbs. I put on at Thanksgiving.  I'm looking forward to breaking out my buffet pants at the Thanksgiving table.  In fact, I may just cut out the middle man and saddle up in my pajamas.  This year I am thankful for elastic.

later Thursday: School, again. This time for Medium’s Thanksgiving festivities.  He was a turkey.  Surprise.

Thursday afternoon: Playdate for Large.  Large and his friend played together beautifully, but guess what, Jack Tripper?  TWO’s company.  Three’s a recipe for jealousy and he’s-had-more-playdates-than-me score-keeping. 


And finally, on Friday, my beloved came home.  We are right on schedule to be annoying each other as usual within a few days . . . and all will be right with the world.

A FINE Parenting Moment

I want to share with you the trauma I caused my 5-year-old.

Medium gets off the bus at 11:15. Perhaps I’ve mentioned this before - the fact that Kindergarten is only half-day, which means I barely have time to shower and he’s home. Seriously, I drop them off at the bus, have a cup of coffee and try to watch the Today Show, (just in case someone tries to have an intelligent conversation with me and I want to be up-to-date with my news, not spouting off dated facts about that skank Monica Lewinsky that I gleaned from the last time I actually read a newspaper,) put the baby down for a morning nap so I can shower, and poof! It’s time to get Medium from the bus.

At about 11:10 last Friday, I literally had one shoe on when my doorbell rang. I hobbled to the door to greet my girlfriend. We’ll call her Laura, which is not her real name. Or maybe it is and I’m just trying to throw you off her scent. I’m all crafty like that. Her two-year-old is obsessed with babies, so she was all over Small, I was trying to get my shoe on and fasten the baby into the Bjorn, and Laura was fetching her laundry out of my washer. (It’s a long story, but I find it kinda pathetic that the ONE item I own that my girlfriends covet is my friggin’ washing machine.) I’m on my way out the door, yelling at Laura to just hang on a second and I’ll be right back, when the dog takes off.  I just can't seem to get out of the house!

"Where my mama at?"

The bus driver will not allow a Kindergarten student to get off the bus if no one is there to greet him. I was trying to run up to the bus stop as fast as I could, but I was wearing Small in the Bjorn, and because I’m such a loving, patient, gentle mother, I was trying not to give him Shaken Baby Syndrome via Bjorn Bouncing. That’s when I saw the flash of yellow through the trees – the bus was moving on, and I had missed it. (Well, as “flashy” as a giant motor vehicle that can only reach speeds of 35 mph can be.)

Oops.

I pictured Medium, sad and weepy on the bus because his mama doesn’t care enough to actually be at the bus stop on time. And I have no idea what the protocol is in this situation, but I was also envisioning that judgmental phone call coming from school: “yes, Mrs. BoyMommy, we have a Medium here in the office. Could you please come retrieve your child, if it’s not too much to ask? Would you mind? We’re not judging you, but seriously, how hard is it for you to walk to the bus stop? What the hell else do you have to do?” I’m gonna owe my soul to the PTA just so I can alleviate the guilt and try to dispel the nasty rumor that I can't get my sh*t together.

By this time, Laura had packed up her kids and gotten my dog back into the house, and she was driving up my street. We came up with a game plan. She took off in her SUV: Grocery Getter Edition to try to head off the bus and rescue my son, but we had no idea if the bus driver would allow him to get off the bus with someone who is not his parent. Meanwhile, I ran home. (Okay, I walked at a brisk pace, since I still had Small Bjorned.)  I got him buckled into his car seat and grabbed my cell phone and my wallet, just in case I need ID when Child Protective Services tracks me down. I was on my way out the garage door and planning to drive the opposite way so that Laura and I could trap the bus in our neighborhood, all stealth-like, when in pulls Laura, and she had Medium!  She's my hero.

He was more mad than sad, and I was laying on the apologies pretty thick. One of my finer parenting moments, ladies and gentlemen.

Naturally, since I already had Small buckled in and my car keys in hand, I decided we should go to my Mecca, the glorious mommy magnet known as Target. While feeding Medium a nutritious lunch at Target’s snack bar, I noticed my friend K walk in. In lieu of screaming her name like a lunatic because I am THAT desperate for adult interaction, I contemplate calling her cell phone and telling her "I know where you are and I’m watching you right now."  But I decided that that’s too stalkerish.  Maybe.  A little bit.  Plus, I was afraid she’d look at her phone, see my number, roll her eyes, and put it back in her pocket, and I just can’t take that kind of rejection. After lunch, I was on my quest for coffee creamer and milk, as I had to put Nesquik chocolate milk in my coffee that morning because we were out of both. I spotted K huffing the room deoderizers in aisle 8, and I thought to myself, “this poor woman. She’s more like me than she knows.” I relayed Medium’s bus stop story, all nervous laughter and “silly me!” Except Medium didn’t think it was funny. His future therapist is gonna hear about this, I’m sure.