Love Is In The Air...

Can't you just here the theme from "Love Boat" now...

blah, blah, exciting and new...THE LOVE BOAT...

Okay, so I can't remember all of the song but I was just a wee little girl when this show was on; I remember liking Jill and thinking how pretty she was.

But I digress...

Long before my husband and I decided to have kids, we were newly in love and celebrating our first Valentine's Day. I had to work but my then-boyfriend did not.

When I arrived at his apartment, he was playing my favorite song "One Fine Day" (the Natalie Merchant version) and the lights were dimmed. When I walked in, he had written I Heart (okay, the shape, not the word) U in hugs and kisses on his coffee table; there were flowers and a gift bag full of my favorite bath and body products. Then he made dinner (that I hated but ate every bite).

To this day, that has been the sweetest thing he has ever done for me.

Twelve years later we celebrate Valentine's Day with our two kids. We snuck out for two hours last evening to catch an early (4pm) dinner and a quick run through the mall before picking them up at 6:30. While I love my life now, I will always fondly look back at that first Valentine's Day when everything was "exciting and new...."

Hope you get your heart's desires this Valentine's Day!

Black and Blue

So I am a slacker of mega proportions when it comes to blogging.

Some days I am determined to get back on the horse 'cause I do love to read about you (I lurk more than comment, though, these days) and love your comments here even more.

Other days, I think I will just throw in the towel.

A little yellow rose from Texas, though, keeps pecking (nicely and gently) and keeps me from doing the latter.

I have so much to say that it seems it would be easier to not say anything. Does that make even a little sense?

So, back to the title of this post: black and blue.

I have spent a great deal of time lately on the ground.

We had an ice storm here in Buckeye land a few weeks ago and then low temps that caused the ice to linger. Last Monday, I stepped out of my car to go to class and then promptly crashed into the car next to me. I bumped my head, back, bum and, worst of all, spilled my coffee.

Two days later, the same. Different locale, same result.

As my blue bruises began to fade into a most unattractive mustard and the throbbing in my neck, back and bum waned, I sat in a chair in class last night that just felt...wrong.

I shoulda listened to my gut.

A few minutes later, I leaned forward to grab something and BOOM! down on the floor I went.

So the bruises on my bum, back, arms and head have cousins now.

But my ego? It may never recover after breaking a chair and landing with a THUD! on the ground in front of 25 semi-strangers.

Absenteeism

I am busy.

I am taking more courses than usual this quarter and am trying to get grad school applications in order, too.

I am still a mom, wife and friend.

So, coupled with my Facebook obsession, this place has taken a backseat lately.

For those of you who still bother visiting, I apologize for that.




I am still reading most of your posts but commenting is pretty infrequent.

As Bartles and James said, "thanks for your cooperation."

Once the spring thaw happens, my time will be less scarce and I am hoping my blog fever will return, too.

Toni Cheater Pants

I have a confession, internetz.

I have been cheating on you.

It's true.

I have a new lover in my life and it has quietly and unobtrusively eaten the time I used to spend here blogging and reading your blogs.

I am ashamed at my indiscretion.

I am! I swear.

I also know that this new lover is one that isn't necessarily approved of in the blogging community because of its fickiness about boobs and babies.

If you hadn't guessed, I have joined the ranks of those addicted to Facebook.

And addicted I am. Oh, sweet Mother Mary.

I really thought it would be a one-time foray into the underworld but, Holy Hannah, I can't stop! Each day I am asked to be friends with new people: old flames, old enemies, old friends and far flung family members. There's always a new status update and hugs to give and receive.

Oh, I have to tell you it is fun. SO fun.

I am trying to find a way to have two loves in my life on top of family stuff and school. I suppose it doesn't matter if we have clean underwear, does it?

Two

I now have a two year old.

Not a baby.

A toddler.

A little boy.

For so long, I have referred to Liam as "the baby" to my husband, family and friends. Obviously, that is because he is my baby, my youngest. Yesterday, though, as we celebrated his birthday, I looked at him and saw not a baby but (gulp) a boy.

He has a little boy haircut.

He likes cars, trains and balls.

He practices burping and says "poopy" when he, er, passes gas.

Yes, this baby I am raising has turned into a boy.

I'm not sure I am ready to bid farewell to those baby days just yet.

So, as his vocabulary explodes and potty training looms, I relish the fact that he still goes "night, night" with a blue satin blankie and prefers to be rocked by me. I will sniff a little deeper and longer when I catch a whiff of Dreft on his jammies. I am going to lap up every bit of this time I have left when the baby is still visible in this two year old boy.

She Lives!

So, you know it's been a long time since you've blogged if blogger says "who" when you sign in.

Seriously.

The delightful AFF pulled me out of the misery chaos that has filled the last umpteen days/weeks since I have checked into this dusty little place by sending an email entitled "Where you at?"

'Nuff said.

I have been sick. My kids have been sick. Twice. My daughter turned nine. Baby Jesus had a birthday, too. We had family functions and messes to make and subsequently clean up. Now, tomorrow, Liam turns two.

Is this mess of celebrating from Thanksgiving until now EVER GOING TO END?

Seriously. I love my son and am so glad he was born but why in the name of all that is good did I have another child within days of Christmas? What do you buy him that he didn't already get 8 days ago? For Pete's sake, there are still Christmas gifts that need removed from their packaging!

Eeek! I must stop thinking about it and find an empty spot in my overflowing closets to pile our loot from Christmas so that my parents and, God help me, Satan and his wife in-laws are coming tomorrow, along with 10-15 other close friends and family to help further trash the garbage heap that is my house.

Yippee!

So, if there are any of you left who bother to stop by and admire my cobwebs, what's up with you? Did you get anything cool from Santa?

Nine

Nine years ago today, my daughter entered the world.

After nearly three full days of trying to trick my body into having her the "old-fashioned way", I relented to a c-section.

We didn't click for some time, my daughter and I. I suppose at some level, I resented this little creature who had put me through such a difficult birth. My husband stepped in and bonded with her while I tried to push through the haze of new motherhood and depression to find my place.

Eventually, though, I fell in love with her and she with me. And I have thanked all that is good and holy for giving her to me each day since.

Today, she is nine.

Happy Birthday, my darling Claire....

Christmas Bombs

My mom loves Christmas. She always has.

When I was little, once Thanksgiving passed, Christmas officially began. Out came the boxes and boxes and boxes of garland, ornaments, Santas, elves and mistletoe (fake, of course).

Every shelf, stand and empty space in our smallish home was decked out in Christmas regalia. We had Christmas rugs and placemats. Christmas wreaths and bows! Everywhere you looked, there was a Christmas decoration.

My mom was always very particular about how our Christmas tree (fake, of course) looked, too. She sat on the couch and handed my brother and I ornaments one by one and directed us as to where to place them. Then she redecorated it for days making sure it was just so. After putting tinsel on strand by strand and forbidding us from touching it, she sat and marveled at the wonder of her work.

After a few years of this, my brother and I tired of being told where to place each ornament and we refused to help (which is what she wanted in the first place). We began to remark, as we got into our teenage years, that she exploded a Christmas bomb while we were at school the day after we returned from Thanksgiving break.

I vowed that when I would never decorate to the extent my mom did. No way, Jose. All I needed was a tree and a few ornaments and who cares what it looks like anyway? In fact, the first few years RxMan and I were together, we didn't even put up a tree or a wreath.

Then I had a child. I wanted Christmas to be magical, right? So, we got a tree. And some ornaments. And a wreath.

The next year, we got some more ornaments and some electric candles for the windows. Oh, and stockings! And stocking holders.

The following Christmas brought a bigger house and the need for some more wreaths (windows, duh!) and snowmen. And candles! And a tree for Claire's room.

Now, years later, we have a large tree and 2 smaller ones in each of my kids' rooms. We also have two other tabletop ones scattered around. Snowmen cover all of my stands and perch above my cabinets, which also house a collection of holiday village pharmacies. We have two sets of stockings and various other Christmas decorations scattered about.

I hung my head in embarrassment the first time my mom proudly said, "Looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in here, Tone!"

It does, I admit.

I have become my mom.

God help me.

But, in my defense, I don't direct my kids on where to place every ornament just most of them . And I try not to rearrange the ornaments after they are placed on the tree. We don't use tinsel (a cat and a two year old, get it?) and Liam can't keep his fingers off the tree.

So, I am my mom- the decaf version.

See:

What's In A Name?

Kellan got me thinking about names with this post.

Toni is a fairly common name these days. When I was a kid, though, the only other kids named Tony were boys and that always drove me crazy. In my family, it was sort of customary (for some strange, unknown reason) to name daughters with traditionally boy names. I have an Aunt Tomie and a cousin Terri, among others.

People called me Tonya and Judy (!?) a lot. I never had pencils with my name on them. Until I was doing driver's ed, though, the whole Toni name was little more than an irritation.

When the elderly instructor was calling role, she paused at my name. "Toni D.....?"

"Here."

"Sweetie, could you come up to the desk, please?"

"Uh, okay," and approached the desk, puzzled why I was being asked to come to the desk two minutes after the course began and before she had finished calling out the names of the other students.

"Toni, I need you to write your real name on this list."

"That IS my real name."

"No, sugar, your god-given name. The one on your birth certificate."

"That is it. My name is Toni Lynn D..."

"No, honey, your Christian name. What your mom calls you when you are in trouble."

"No, I get it," I am growing frustrated that this old lady is insinuating that I didn't know my real name at sixteen years old. "My name is Toni. THAT is my NAME."

"Well, you're wrong, dear. Tomorrow bring in your birth certificate and we will sign you back up with your real name. That is something that we need to ensure is correct or you won't be able to drive."

Well, duh.

Much to the old hag's dismay, I did, in fact, know MY NAME. It was, surprisingly, Toni on my birth certificate- not Antonia or Antoinette, as she suspected. She informed me that my name was "simply ridiculous" and my mom "must have hit her head" before naming me.

Incidents like these really stuck with me and influenced the decisions my husband (who goes by initials and is called every wrong group of them imaginable- most offensively, O.J.) and I made when we named our children. While I love the trend of naming both boys and girls last names (like Riley, Cooper or Taylor), I was not setting them up for any of this confusion.

So, what trouble has your name caused you??? Or your kids?

Reality Bites

I went to a baby shower this Sunday for my cousin, Dianne.

Dianne is only a few years younger than I am but this will be her first baby.

While I hated going to my own showers, I have grown to really enjoy going to them for other people. I get away from my kids for a couple of hours, get to eat and visit with other adults! What's not to love?

I am always amazed, though, at how little first time expectant moms know about the changes a baby causes in your life. I don't know why but statements like these still really crack me up coming from the mouths of pregnant women:

Oh, I would never sleep with the baby!

I am not going to sit around and hold her all the time; I have way too much else to do.

Breastfeeding is natural, right? How hard could it be?

I was a clueless wonder when I was expecting the first time, too. I said things to other people like, My baby is not going to cry as much as that one does and My kid will never act like that.

Yeah. Right.

I still want to kick my own ass when I remember saying those things because God heard it too and he decided to prove a point by making me eat my own words over and over. My babies aren't great sleepers and are as badly behaved as any other kid. I can't count how many times I have prayed for the floor to open up and swallow me whole because of a screaming, fit throwing kid.

I learned really quick not to make judgments based on what you see other people or their kids doing because, most of the time, they are just trying to get through the day.

So, tell me, what was the biggest shock to you when your baby arrived? What words did you have to eat?

Cagefighting Continues

Don't be fooled by this sweet face...

I have lamented that my son is a future cagefighter before.

Now, he has caused me to join the ranks of professional wrestling because diaper changing this kid takes one these days.

He rolls. He kicks. He sticks his foot in poop. He spits. He bites. All while growling and shouting like a rabid animal.

I dread diaper changing.

I mean, I loathe it. If there isn't poop or so much pee that it is sagging to his knees than I am leaving that diaper on there because it is not worth risking my life. Or my glasses.

Seriously.

Now, please, please tell me that your kid is doing this (or has done it) so that I can at least believe he isn't a complete and total brat.

Come on. Throw a sister a bone here, m'kay?

Complete

Today has been on my mind for a few weeks.

I had an appointment with the OB-GYN today (no, I am NOT pregnant, in case you were wondering). An appointment I have been worrying over and dreading and considering canceling.

This appointment was to have a Mirena placed.

I have been stewing over this appointment because I was afraid it would hurt. I was afraid my uterus was weakened by 2 c-sections and would tear, resulting in an immediate and emergency hysterectomy.

I also was afraid of what I would feel like after it was done. This decision sort of signaled to me that I am done bearing children and even though I knew this was the right decision for me I still didn't know how it would feel, you know?

Before my son was born I always left the door open to more children. When I looked at babies, my arms and uterus ached. I picked out names. I browsed the baby section. I knew I wasn't done.

But, after his birth I felt like I didn't want to do it again- the pregnant thing. I am not pretty; nor do I glow during pregnancy. I just get swollen and sweat. And puke!

Still, though...

I didn't want to close the door completely. I couldn't. I feel good that I went through with it. I feel a sense of relief that I didn't expect to: I am safe from pregnancy for at least 5 years (well, I will be in a month). Instead of feeling sad about that, I find that I am feeling, well, free.

I have a gorgeous son and a beautiful daughter. This didn't make the possibility of another child gone forever just a little more difficult to achieve.

And it totally didn't hurt as bad as I expected. And, that is ALWAYS a good thing.

So, tell me something new with you....

I Have A Confession....

Sometimes I hide from my children.

Yep, I do.

I go into my bedroom and pull the curtains closed making it a little dark and hard to see in there. Then I pile pillows at the bottom of the bed so as to obstruct the view from the doorway of the chair that sits in my room.

My children will come to the door, look in and not see me even though I am in the chair.

Then they move on to another room, looking for me.

And sometimes (sometimes!) they will get distracted by something in another room and forget they were looking for me! And I get a few minutes to be Toni and not Mom!

Now, those are the moments a mom cherishes:sitting in a quiet, slightly dark room, sipping mouthwash a cold drink and relishing the solitude.

Today will be one of those hide in the bedroom days. Indeed.

Claire is home from school and bored to death for the holiday and Liam awoke on the wrong side of the toddler bed at 5!AM!

Yes, today I will skulk into my room and briefly hide from my children.

And, you know what? I'm not even ashamed of it.


Legal note: No children are neglected or injured as a result of this mother's reprieve. She can totally hear everything going on and only hides for a few minutes to recoup her sanity.

Hay!

This photo of my two children was taken by a friend of ours last weekend and it is one of my favorite ever taken. While Liam is not smiling, he is sitting still- something at 22 months is quite a feat! I chose to share this image because I love it and that you can see the beautiful brown of both of their eyes, as well as the affection they share. It is moments- and photos- like this that I will cherish for years to come.

That ends the unusual sappiness- now back to our regularly scheduled programming!

Shhh...Listen To That!

Do you hear it?

Or, rather, do you NOT hear it?

My phone has finally stopped ringing. Thank God.

For the last month my telephone has been ringing incessantly each and every day from the political party that I am affiliated with reminding me to get out and vote. But, today, glorious day, it has been silent in my home.

And that is a sweet, sweet sound.

Living in Ohio- a battleground state- is never really fun or crazy cool, fo' shizzle, but watching TV or having a moment's peace has been next to impossible because of Obama and McCain's persitence in trying to win my vote.

Well, one of them did.

But, despite Obama's landslide victory of last evening, I feel like the winner today. I have won back my phone and my TV- y'know, the important things...

Ain't America grand?

Exercise It...

“Let each citizen remember at the moment he is offering his vote that he is not making a present or a compliment to please an individual—or at least that he ought not so to do; but that he is executing one of the most solemn trusts in human society for which he is accountable to God and his country.” —Samuel Adams

It's A Bird! It's A Plane!

Nah, it's not Superman.

It's just Liam doing his latest and greatest trick.

That is, he drops to his knees and then, gently, to his belly and extends his arms and legs as if he were the Man o' Steel.

This happens when something doesn't quite go his way and can happen at a moments notice- indoors or out. The kid doesn't care where or on what surface, he just lays down. Then he whines until someone picks him up.

He is doing this 10, sometimes 20 times a day.

And, I gotta say, it is never NOT hilarious.

It's really no wonder I don't have time to blog because it is hard work raising a wannabe superhero.

Just A Question

Is anyone else SICK SICK SICK of the freaking political ads?

I think that is an issue we can all agree on regardless of which side of the party line we land on. And, honestly, are either of those guys really going to fix anything???

And, yes, I am a voter but one who just wants them to SHUT UP!

Still

The rocking chair squeaks as Liam and I settle in. He wiggles and jabbers. I sigh, thankful the day is nearly done.

Clutching his satin baby blue blankie, he settles in with his head on my chest. His hair, still slightly damp, smells of Aveeno baby wash. His jammies smell of Dreft and allow me to believe he is still small, although he is far from that these days.

A toddler- a little boy- now cozies into this spot once occupied by a baby. I marvel at how his fingers, once so tiny and chubby, now grasp the snagged satin with startling strength. His legs now dangle to my knees.

Each day, he grows. And each day, he learns something new. And I must bid goodbye to the baby that has grown into a little guy who shouts "Mama" at 5AM.

As his long- so long- lashes dip sleepily onto his soft, pale cheeks, I cannot resist and allow myself to kiss that tiny mouth. He smiles and chatters momentarily, then drifts into slumber.

These moments of quiet, of calmness, come less often all the time. He needs to run! to jump! to climb! Sleep is less elusive than before and I linger like this, holding onto him and drink in the smells, the sight and the sounds of my little boy who was once, not so long ago, my baby.

What Was I Thinking?

I have always tried to keep the attitude that being a SAHM is a gift that many others would LOVE to have and that I am lucky to be able to stay home with my children.

Well, for the last few days, I would like to return that gift.

My little monster darling Liam has been a terror. He has been constantly tormenting the cat by throwing toys (small and large) at her and running full steam at her just to watch her jump out of her fur and scurry away. These things delight him.

He has also taken to undressing. Apparently going commando is all the rage amongst the toddler set. He shrieks. He cries. He stands at the door shrieking and crying and demanding to be taken outside immediately- do not pass go, do not collect $200 or go pee!

The icing on my cake of crap was last evening when I had just gotten most of his dinner cut into bite sized pieces and put on his plate. I turned for a nano second to grab a spoon and he grabbed his plate and flung it onto the floor.

Chernobyl happened again in my kitchen and I was ground zero because this mom had had. enough. I shrieked. I nearly cried. I demanded that he get into his high chair and I left the room. I left the food on the floor and Claire standing there agape. I went into the bathroom and sat there for a couple minutes because I wanted to kill someone.

Of course, I didn't kill him. Or myself. Or anyone else. But, oh God, I wanted to for just a brief few moments.

This gig is hard. It is exhausting. It is 24/7 and sometimes it sucks big time. Moms don't get a break to watch House or read a Jodi Piccoult novel. Nope. We have to wipe bottoms and hands and mouths. We have to clean up crap and puke and listen to whining and crying.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I signed up to do this.

Don't you??