My name is ZOE!

Hi,
I LOVE my dog OOLA!
Mostly I love Clara and Max but sometimes they make me want to swat at them in the face which mamma doesn't like.
I can feed myself now!
I like to perch on countertops and get really sad if people try and hold me. It makes me want dissolve into tears on the floor in spread eagle position.
Did I mention that sometimes I feel SAD?
But also I love big shoes!
I'm 115th percentile height and 50th percentile weight, on my way to becoming America's Next Top Baby.
I love my binky SO much. I really like to have three on my person at all times.
But mainly, I' just like to be cute and mamma's really crazy for my flock of seaguls hairstyle after I wake up from a nap.

My mamma calls me zizzles, but my name is Zoe and it means LIFE.

My Cooking Conundrum

I love this moment.
Writing with headset on full volume, perching Nine Inch Nails squarely on my tympanic membrane. (There is nothing like a song with a string of expletives to silence the "Lazy Town" theme song I had stuck in my head all day!) Feelings of competence also abound as a fairly delicious meal was on the table at 5:45pm. Poor Dave, I know he's wandering around right now mumbling something about the calamity I left behind in the kitchen when I unplugged. I had to unplug - I've only got an hour to retrieve my soul and restore my faculties to 100% for tonight's Americas Next Top Model!
The domestic front typically gets me down. Laundry is a problem, storage solutions are absent and the only thing that sucks my will to live more than Funshine Bear is cooking a square meal. From time to time I fall into a Fly Lady trance, which can last from 30 seconds to 48 hours, rarely longer. Her regimen strangely involves lace up shoes, a control journal, a shiny sink and a well-balanced meal on the table every night. (Personally I feel Fly Lady might really want to tie people up instead of her lace up shoes, but I'll reserve that conversation for another post!) Even when I'm not under Fly Lady's spell, I sometimes think I love cooking. On closer inspection, what I really love is what I do to prop myself up during cooking which includes, but is not limited to: drinking red wine, listening to Blues and holding Nigella Lawsons "How to Become a Domestic Goddess" book close to my heart.
All props aside, I feel that practically speaking, it's not safe for me to be cooking before Dave gets home! Sure, let's take a 5, 3, 1.5 and sleep deprived 36 year old and add hot burners and oven temperatures in excess of 350 degrees to the mix. I know Mom, the children shouldn't be allowed near the stove but I'm fairly certain I shouldn't allow them to play with knives either and there has been an occasion where I've stepped out of the room for 60 seconds (mammas have to go potty too) only to find Zoë playing with a knife that Clara had gifted to her.

I've been advised that the solution to my cooking conundrum is THE CROCK POT only that apparatus makes me dizzy. I have to project manage the process all the livelong day to avoid mushy vegetables, especially carrots! Put them in too soon, too mushy. Put them in too late, too crispy. And if I don't get it JUST RIGHT and bite into a mushy carrot it makes me feel like I might rather be dangling by my eyelashes from the nearest maple tree.

Flu Haiku

bit by the flu bug
doin time in quarantine
torrent of fluid

Come to my window

Dear Max, Clara and Zizzles,
Here's the window through which I observed the three of you, in various stages of disenchantment, this afternoon. I had to call Verizon to tell them that our neighbors phone line was down so I slipped outside to conduct a conversation without the automated phone system interpreting your screaming as answers to their questions. (This has happened a number of times and I couldn't deal with this today.) Anytime I pick up the phone your brains instantly link up to kick off a series of unfortunate chemical events where you are instantaneously rendered deprived and dejected and in need of 110 percent of my attention. (That translates into 330% which is impossible for mamma! I know, you aren't capable of grasping this yet... Even if you put your best mind on the job, you'd only be able to count to 100.)
Fortunately for me, the phone does ring from time to time and while I don't have to pick it up, I usually just need to. It's my life raft to the outer world where people live perfectly happy lives without changing 16 diapers a day and breaking up fights over My Pretty Pony. Or they are also changing 16 diapers a day and breaking up fights over My Pretty Pony so we can commiserate about the complicated soup we doggy paddle in daily.
I promise I'll only slip outside if I have to make a really important phone call... like if I need to discuss who just got booted off America's Next Top Model. If something urgent comes up while I'm out there, just press your little face to the window glass (keep your lips off the lead pane please) and mouth the problem to me. Much the like automated phone system I had to "speak" with earlier today I'll put you through a series of prompts through my automated mamma fix it system and we'll get to the bottom of the problem after about 10 minutes of me looking back at you through the window with a blank stare.
In fact I think I'll go rock that phone technology now, call my friend G to discuss how adorable all of you are and that even when I'm 10.5 seconds from calling 911 to request immediate transport to the local mental hospital, I'd endure another sea weed wrap administered by someone who doesn't speak English for you. Hopefully it won't come to that.
Love, Mamma

Its my party and I'll Barf if I want to

Oh Clara,
I've been writing about you allot lately but it's your birthday week so you're in the spotlight. Darling, we had a mishap today. Finally the time for your BIRTHDAY PARTY WITH THE DOLLY CAKE! arrived. Seventeen adoring family members gathered in our family room to bask in your radiance when, much like a fire hydrant open and spraying it's contents, you opened your little mouth and barfed up what seemed like a gallon of stuff all over a 3' radius. (Here's where I consider your beige diet is a feature). Your Damma, had the unfortunate circumstance of being within that radius. It happened two more times before I surfaced from my shock and ran for a solution, or at least a slew of non-toxic cleaning agents.
Once you were cleaned up and your tummy contents were secured, I wanted to slink off far far away. Away into a liquor, uh, I mean dark closet to hide from the judgment that I was THAT MOTHER. THAT MOTHER who invites people over even when she knows her kids are a little sick, because she's aching for grown-up conversation and or has been planning an event for days. Only I didn't know you were sick until you were sick. I promise. Plus I never start planning for an event until 180 minutes before the first guest arrives so it would have been an easy cancel. Still baby, I'm so sorry you had a rough day. Here's to a year of happy times and secured tummy contents.

Love,
Mamma

Ps. I love "THAT MOTHER" that I refer to in my posts. If you're blessed with children someday, you'll likely fall under her spell from time to time. She's always doing her best… but as they say "The best-laid plans of mice and (wo)men often go awry".

Clara's Birth Day!

Not a clear shot, but here you are with Daddy, approximately 1,095 days ago!
If today is any indication of what's in store for you, I'll make the following predictions here in permanence!
You'll be
- developing a line of sippy cups, all YELLOW
- developing a line of food all BEIGE
- a really sloppy kisser. (Before going to bed each nite you squeel "I give you BIG ONE" but in reality you should be squeeling "I'm going to try and give you raspberries all over your cheek, but i'll be laughing so hard that I won't be able to get my lips in formation so I'll just spray saliva all over instead!")

I wish I could come up with more right now, but Mamma's tired because Mamma had a FUN yet BUSY afternoon making sure that you , Zoe and Max didn't break any of the grumpy duck pin masters rules at the duck pin bowling alley.

Love,
Mamma

Two tonite, Three tomorrow!

Dear Clara,

Before I tucked you in tonite I squeezed every last inch of 2 out of you so now I'll have two you in my heart forever.
Good nite my sweet little sunshine tulip dreamboat.

Love,
Mamma

Max I love that you think BIG

Dear Max,
You shook your green polka dotted piggy bank this morning and exclaimed, “I’ve got a kazillion six monies in here!”
You’re saving up for some type of gun that you think I’m going to allow you to buy. That’s because you’re under the misimpression that I’m going to cave on policy #10 (refer to Mammas Manual - paragraph 6, line 9, caveat #8) and it reads as follows:
”At no time will mamma purchase a fully assembled gun for you, pretend or real and you can’t join the military until your 18 without my consent. You can turn any materials you can lay your hands on into a gun… you can craft one out of bird droppings and Elmer’s glue if you're so inclined, but I’m not, I repeat not, going to buy a fully assembled version for you.”
Your “Damma” as you lovingly call her, tells me this policy will lead to your joining some sort of “Humans for guns-24/7” organization the moment you turn 18, but I can live with that. Plus I’m so fickle I’ll probably be a gun-toting, venison eating member of the NRA by then anyway and then we can join forces and spew gun proverbs and use chicklets to cover up the stench of our venison breath. Ew.
Still, I get why you keep trying to get me to cave on the gun situation. One of the lobes in your brain isn’t well developed enough for you to comprehend how willful mamma is. From where do you think you, Clara and Zoë get your gumption? You know the way you say, “I want to play with my Leapster” over and over and over again until even Oola our dog is whimpering? Well, you should know I came within a hair of driving my white Jeep Wrangler clear through one of the snowiest New England winters without putting the hard top on just to win a bet. I knew that while I was driving at speeds in excess of 5 mph, due to some type of scientific phenomena I like to call magic, the snow was going to blow right past me and not accumulate on my person or my car. I just cranked up the heat, swaddled up in some great wooly yoga blankets and popped some goggles on to keep the snow out of my eyes. The only time I had a problem was at stop signs or stoplights, which actually wasn’t much of a problem, as I didn’t typically follow traffic “guidelines” in my early 20’s. That would have fallen under the category of following the RULES, but I will save my feelings about the RULES for another post. (Suffice to say your Pop-pop always said that the rules were made to keep people out of HIS way and he raised me in His likeness.) Sadly, I didn’t actually WIN anything for my achievements in the winter of 1991 except for the respect of all of my delinquent peers.
But do keep speaking and thinking in terms of “a Kazillion Six”. I love that you think big. Now come take my hand little one and let’s go rock the Northern, uh, I mean Western Hemisphere.

Love, Mamma

Following the 4 bagel diet to lose my muffin top

"muffin top n. rolls of flesh bulging over a waistband. "
And here's the four bagel diet solution: (presented by non other than Brent Buckman, newly ditched apprentice candidate.)
http://www.brentbuckman.com/diet.html
OR
maybe I'll just get one of these and be done with it!

Care Bears Consolidate!

Dear Funshine Bear, Bedtime Bear, Love-A-Lot Bear, Tenderheart Bear, Good Luck Bear, Cheer Bear, Wish Bear, Grumpy Bear, Friend Bear & Share Bear,

Have you ever considered consolidating? It's very difficult for me to follow your story line with so many characters, especially since you're all fairly un-inspiring and indistiguishable. I'm so busy tring to figure out which bear did what, that it's nearly impossible to determine if there is indeed a plot to your stories. Perhaps thats your smokescreen, but it's gotten to be so bad that I read 2 pages and then have to put the book down before my brain seizes and then my children start crying, which I still prefer to reading your story. I wish I could bury the book up on love-a-lot mountain but my girls won't have it. I think they ask me to read it to drive me insane, getting me out of their way. Me being the last obtacle in between them, watching TV and eating strawberry ice-cream all the live long day. I have indeed detected a correlation between my denying my daughter clara just ONE MORE SHOW and her requests for me to read the Care Bear Storybook Treasury.
So enough complaining, I'd like to become a part of the solution - lets take a closer look at this. Whats the difference between Love A Lot and Tenderheart Bear? (Other than a 15 dollar value if they are sold separately.) They seem to both have the same emotional footprint. Can't Friend bear also be cheery, lucky, full of funshine and a wish-maker? Couldn't bedtime bear just dissapear altogether? The only bear I'd like to preserve as a separate character is grumpy with the hopes that he'll eventually kick the rest of you all the way down Rainbow Trail, clear out of Care-a-lot to where the fun don't shine.

Traffic Tribunal Update!

CASE DISMISSED!

Phew.

My husbands day in Traffic Tribunal - the arraignment

Today is the day my husband pays for my crimes commited against the Traffic Tribunal. He even has our friend (thanks D!) representing him at the "arraignment". I told him I thought he should have pulled out the big guns for the actual trial, but I guess even the arraignment has his boxers in a twist. When my husband gets nervous he mumbles. He's been pacing around all morning mumbling something about not recognizing the authority of the traffic tribunal over crimes commited by his wife, lil old me. My faithful reader (Hi Mom!) knows this story, but for the rest of you (hi R!) I"ll keep it brief by summarizing via Haiku:

Dave driving to work
Gets pulled over by the cops
What was going on?

I didn't renew
our cars 2 registrations
car impounded oops!

Paid a ticket late
They say they sent a notice
License suspended

Now my husband pays
Doin the time nine o-clock
My kung fu wiggle

(I call him my kung fu wiggle as he's a black belt, but has the unfortunate predisposition to move like the Wiggles when he dances, so of course I don't encourage the dancing much.)

Putting my husband in this position must seem horrible, but dear faithful reader (mom), you know me. I'm too busy preventing serious injury (zoe likes to climb up onto the dining room table, clara likes to find knives to play with and max thinks its fun to jump from the top bunk) on a daily basis to keep up with incoming mail. I think its time for my kung fu wiggle to take over the paperwork.
OK gotta run... he's leaving now and i need prop him up - Traffic Tribunal appearances are more my schtick. We balance each other nicely.

The banana debacle

Dear Zizzles,
My willful little cherub. You're not very pleased with me right now, I've failed you yet again. You asked me sweetly for "mani, mani" (banana) which I was happy to oblige. I had over half a dozen ripe organic mani's dangling from the handy banana dangler. Pulled one off... peeled it down and as you saw me doing so you yelled no, No, NOOOOO"!!! I flinched from my hair follicles all the way down to my bruised big toe (you dropped a can on it my love) as i realized i'd set a tantrum into motion and there was no going back. Oops. I guess you didn't want to have ME peel it. But cut me some slack sweets, your really going to need to expand your vocabulary if you want me to get it right. And then we began the all too familiar toddler dance where, through screams and tears, you try and grab the banana from me. But I know you too well darling, its beond the point where you still want to eat it. I've already RUINED the banana by peeling it. You just want it so you can slam it to the ground and step all over it. But I can't let you do that baby, because then i'll have a tantrum and a mess on my hands and its only 9am and the caffeine hasn't kicked in yet. I'm so sorry I ruined your morning. I promise I won't peel the banana next time. Although I bet if I didn't peeled it, I'd be failing you as well. I know, your 1.5 and life is stressful. You've got teeth breaking through a plenty, your hairs in an awkward stage and you've not yet mastered the verb/noun situation.
But cut me some slack babes. There's not enough caffeine in the Northern Hemisphere to wake me up after the sleep deprivation I've endured over the last 5 years. Plus courtesy of alternating years of gaining and losing 40 lbs (or growing and delivering Max, Clara and you) I've got enough extra skin around my abdomen to dangle 50 bananas and wouldn't it be big of me to consider that a feature.

Love Mamma

Mom, you won't have to worry about them being under-dressed anymore...

STOP!

Please look at the children and ask youself the following

4 questions

1. You typically have less than 1/4 tank in the minivan. Are they dressed appropriately for a 3-mile walk to the nearest gas station? And base this not on what you wish the temperature to be, check the actual reading on the thermometer now... go on now, go check!

2. Are they wearing shoes that fit or did you get frustrated when you couldn't find Zoe's shoes and figured Clara's would do for a quick trip? (See item #1)

3. Do you have diapers, wipes and a change of clothes? Clara has probably had 10 glass of white grape juice already today (BAD MOMMY) and will likely pee through her diaper and clothes onto her carseat.

4. Do you have snacks and lollipops on hand in case you need to bribe them in a pinch?

OK now, your being a good mommy. Open the door and as you leave the stale indoor air behind you, conjure up some optimism and proclaim:

"This is going to be a fabulous day!"

When you see this photo it's not a good sign...

Dear faithful readers, (hi mom! hi dave!)

When you see this photo as a post, it means I'm not having a good day. It means all I have to offer, should you drop by, is a clean restroom or 2, nothing more nothing less. (You might want to bring your own toilet paper) It'll mean its one of those days where I feel like a hopeless soul trying to make my way up a mudslide on a 90 degree incline with galoshes that are 2 sizes too big.

You can also assume the following conditions exist:
- There have been too many #2 diapers to change today.
- Zoe is screaming "Up, Up!", Clara is screaming "No I want the BLUE cup!" (its too crusty to use, the yellow one is clean) and Max is asking me "Can I please have a friend over?"
- I'll be having distinct sensation that my innards are going to combust due to the inability to take care of everyone's "urgent" needs at once.

So if you see this photo, you might want to drop me a line and remind me that they won't be 1.5, 2.95 and 5.1 forever.

Namaste.

Love letter

Dear Clara,

You're my bright-eyed tulip sunshine dreamboat.

Love,
Mamma

Dear babies, toddlers and Preschoolers under my care

Dear babies and toddlers who are under my immediate care,
So that you are not dissapointed with my performance as mother, I feel we need a clear understanding as to what I will and won't do for you in this relationship:

I will:
- love you unconditionally 4-eva
- love your daddy conditionally 4-eva. Even if he ignores yard debris in full view, he's brilliant and has a great wit, so we'll make it.
- provide you with at least 30 minutes of clean fresh air even in the most inclement of weather, so long as you don't torture me with screams of protest the entire time. (Note that it takes me nearly 90 minutes to get the three of you outfited in appropriate outerwear.) In spring/summer and fall I will increase this time to 2 hours.
- provide you with the opportunity to eat 3 fruits and 3 vegetables a day. Clara, there are only so many foods that are beige in color, so while that is the only color you care to ingest, I can only do my best unless we employ some fancy produce engineers to create variants which we can't afford so forget it.
- change diapers for 4 years, pullups to age 7
- afford you the opportunity to take a 2 hour nap daily
- Provide you with the opportunity to learn about community service, recycling, beach cleanups and other things I consider "good"
- do my best to ALWAYS be enthusiastic about your endeavors and provide you with opportunities to find your joy
Lastly I will always share with you the magic I've found in this world

I will NOT
- Take you to see the Wiggles Live in Concert. Im sorry, I just can't.
- Resort to corporeal punishment.
- Allow you to use the word "hate"
- Speak to you during a time out, unless its to tell you that you have one minute left.
- make idle threats
- Endure more than 60 minutes of unrelenting unreasonable unfounded behavior. At the 60 minute mark I will (without the aid of narcotics) slip into another more pleasant dimension. However if my skin becomes cold, clammy, and/or pale or blue in color you might want to dial 9-1-1.
- Take leave of you for more than 3 weekends a year.
- drink "mommy juice" before 3:59 pm at which time I can only promise that my blood alcohol level will not exceed .05% when you are in my care. At .05% I will simply be in a more relaxed state, that will benefit you, where I will feel a release of tension. However, if you notice that my movements and speech are clumsy, I'm at .10% and its time to call Daddy

Yours until the end of time,
Mamma

The Lady of the House

Administrators of Sea Weed spa treatments need to speak English

I wasn't sure whether or not I should pay for anything called a "Sea-weed wrap" but this was part of a bridesmaid spa day package, so to take one for the team, I put my concerns aside and followed a hairy little man into a room much like the shower stall I bathed in at the hospital post-partum. Cold, aseptic space with gray tile above, below and behind me. I suppose optimal conditions for power washing post-sea weed wrap and post-partum. Upon entry, hairy man murmers in a thickish accent: "Relax, your in my hands now". I had to turnaround to make sure it wasn't a groundhog speaking to me. Frankly it wouldn't have surprised me to hear that he had surfaced from the underworld where this type of wrap is a specialty.

Fast forward 2 minutes: I am covered in a lima green paste. I thought I was going to be wrapped in the type of sea-weed I avoid at the beach, so this seemed fairly harmless. Next, the hairy little man covers me up in plastic and towels so I start to realize this is not meant to be relaxing - its meant to make me value every moment of every day when I'm not wrapped in plastic, covered in green paste. To make matters worse, he pulls the plastic wrap and towel up over my collar bone to an area where I don't like the feeling of pressure... the front of my NECK. Yes, I'm one of those people who can't wear turtlenecks. I maintain I was strangled in a previous life.
Vehemently I ask the hairy man (several times) to keep the wrapping below my neck and each time I say this he lowers the washcloth on the top of my eyes, down over my nose. This perfect example of a language barrier went on until my eyes were uncovered and my nose, including the air passages through which I breathe, were covered. It was all I could do to not SCREAM: "IT MOVES THE PLASTIC WRAP AND TOWEL FROM MY NECK OR IT GET'S THE HOSE AGAIN!". (Anyone know in which movie this phrase was coined? And by anybody, I mean my brother who is probably the only person reading this!)

Finally, little hairy man leaves me in the room alone for 10 minutes so that I can "relax". Immediately I slither my hands up to my neck and wrangle the packaging down. Post package wranglin, I endure the situation for another 9 minutes and 30 seconds at which point the timer goes off and hairy man releases from my salty captivity.
To top it all off I was severely dehydrated as apparently the seaweed sucks all moisture out of your body.

But really my point is that I feel strongly that people in the position of adminstering spa treatmeants need to be able to differentiate between the words NOSE and NECK.

Namaste.

Hail Hail the Bride!

THE Wedding Day has come and gone.

• I engaged in all required spa day events, including sea-weed wrap gone wild.
• I reluctantly allowed the hairstylist to:
• a. Create tendrils of hair cascading along the sides of my face to "soften the angles"
• b. Secure thousands of bobby pins into my hair - I'm still undergoing a search and rescue 3 days later.
• c. Spray unimaginable amounts of product into my hair

I knelt down behind the bride during the ceremony several times, in front of hundreds, to assure that the most voluminous train ever created was in it's fullest expression. (This garment had a life of its own)
I endured 8 hours of shallow breathing in a dress 2 sizes too small.

My dress will now be transformed into satin accent pillows.

Ps. The bride was beautiful and I enjoyed every loving minute of it!

BLASPHEMY!

Bill Maher on America's Next Top Model: "These women seem nice but they are not top models because they aren’t breathtaking beauties, eastern European or 12. Let’s call the show what it really is: A Bunch of Nines Taking Shit From Tyra Banks."


I never did like that guy.

Blogging from Disney so I can remember every dollar (I mean moment) spent here.

Highlites and reports from the field:
- Character breakfast in Animal Kingdom. Clara and Max are the most excited I've ever seen them in their collective 2,920 days spent on this fine earth. Max's mouth is nearly frozen in a smile and he tells me his mouth hurts for hours after we leave the breakfast! Clara however freaks out as Pluto approaches our table with his big 60" sloppy tongue - Frankly I was a little frightened myself, but Max loved this!

Love letter from MAMMA in Disney

Dear Max,Clara and Zoe,

I love you always, but on Tuesday I was in LOVE & in AWE of each of you, all at the same time!

Here's the play by play of our 3 hour flight to Disney Whirled:

Max (5.1) - You were THRILLED for 3 hours straight! You especially enjoyed take-off.
Clara (2.9) - You were THRILLED to be in the clouds for one hour (And in perfectly appropriate in flight volume, yelped "Hello Clouds! I Yuv you clouds!" Then you slept for 2 hours.
Zoe (1.4) - you were thrilled for 30 seconds and then slept for 2.5 hours and then we jollied you down to the tarmat with some peanut butter m and m's.

You are my dream children and I will be grateful to each of you always for not be "that child" and making me "that mother" on Tuesday 3/7.

Love,
Mamma

Exploring the time space continuum with a 5 year old, a.k.a "When will we be in Disney Mom?"

Max: "WHen are we going to Disney Mom?"
Mom: "In 2 days Max"
Max: "Oh is that in the morning?"
Mom: "No its the morning after tomorrow morning."
Max: "Is it the morning after tomorrow morning and then the morning after that and then were going?"
Mom: "No its in two mornings."
Max: "Tell me how many numbers I have to count"
Mom: "Max, I'm going to slip into another dimension now so we'll have to talk about this more later. I'll still be loving you but I won't be able to talk anymore. "
Max: "OK Mom but when are we going to Disney World?"

Conclusion to the Husband Test#1

Findings
Status: Debris still in place
Time elapsed: 78 hours, 32 seconds
Verdict: Husband charged with debris neglect in the first degree.

Disclaimer: This test has not been evaluated by the FTC. It should also be noted that wife conducting this test recently received judgement of civic disobedience by not only forgetting to renew her registrations on both her and her husbands cars but also her license was suspended for not paying a late fee on a ticket that she claims to have not known about. As such her husband, who is incredibly irresponsible with ignoring debris in full view, was pulled over by the police, car impounded and given a police escort to work. Based on the lack of credibility of the test director, you may want to reconsider the validity of this test.

On Max's block building - The Phallic stage or maybe I'm reading too much into this...

The Oedipus complex is an important concept in Psychoanalysis and Freud believed that this case study of Little Hans supports this idea. Freud believed that children pass through five stages of development, known as the psychosexual stages because of Freud's emphasis on sexuality as the basic drive in development. These stages are: the oral stage, the anal stage, the phallic stage, the latency period and finally the genital stage. It is the first three stages which take place in the first five years of life of a child.

The best 2 words I ever taught you to say...(even if you don't know what they mean)

(on a bad afternoon)
Mommy: "Zoe, who loves mommy?"
Baby Zoe: "I do!"

(On a day when Mommy's shower was de-prioritized):
Mommy: "Who thinks mommy is perfect and beautiful?"
Baby Zoe: "I do!"

(On an afternoon when three children 5 and under seems like one too many children 5 and under):
Mommy: "Who wants to take a nap?"
Baby Zoe: "I do!"

HOORAY ZOE!

Please God (d.b.a UPN and Bravo networks respectively) let it be true!

CLARA IS POTTY TRAINING!

Husband test #1 follow up

Time elapsed: 36 hours, 20 minutes, 2 seconds
Status: Debris is still in place

My zen moment

Somehow silently bearing witness to "O0la Mercedes" bearing down in the crispy snow helped me find my quiet happy place away from the daily rigours of bedlam.

Husband test #1

Test: To see if husband will pick up debris placed just to the left of our front door. Highly visible, highly disgusting semi-washed glass jar of organic applesauce. (I consider the fact that product is organic to be mitigating. Makes it bearable for me to pass it. Winter is also optimal time for test as product is frozen in snow making smell less of an issue. When I get stronger and can find more humor in this I might switch to a half used can of spam and run the test in August.)
This is just to confirm what I know to be true... that my darling husband shares the same DNA material as Sanford and their Sons.

Hypothesis: Husband will walk by this debris daily, make mental note and take no action. I will probably last 3 days at which time I, as a result of a complex combination of satisfaction and disgust, will combust and transport it 15' to the debris receptacle.

Flagged for follow up on 3/6, day before we leave for DISNEYWHIRLED.

Why I love having babies around...

Clara: "Mommy do you know why boogies like me?"
Mommy: "No, Clara why?
Clara: "Because they're wittle wike me."

Today in a nut-case shell

The fact that I waited until 4:59 to drink today is a testament to my will and strength of character. I figured that by the time I started feeling a little buzzy Daddy would be home and perhaps I could bargain for a nite out.

Today in a nut-case shell:
Children's museum - Zoe, Max and Clara all running around spasmodically in different directions. Onlookers seemingly dissapointed that I was unable to control my children. I'd love to see anyone control a 5, 2.95 and 1.5 year old with my genetic material in a highly stimulating environment! (Without resorting to corporeal punishment). So after some suffering and 1,2,3 magic, I scooped them up, tears and all and dragged them to my Grand Caravan 2000sx.

Thought I might redeem the day with a successful errand. (Did I mention I am unrealistic?) So I dropped by a tuxedo shop to get max measured for his ring bearer tuxedo get-up. (wedding next week) Unfortunately wee three, exhausted from emotional outpouring at museum, were completely zonked out. "Having no choice" (due to threatening phone calls from tux shop looking for measurements) I walked us in, children hanging from various limbs, and presented my request for a free measurement in return for the pleasure of our company. (Including, but not limited to Zoe screaming "Mama UP UP", Max screaming "NO I WON'T DO IT" and Clara sleeping and drooling on disgusting grey tuxedo store carpet.)

I was able to leave with measurements after much bribery with aforementioned MAX. With 2 movies a lollipop on the table, I felt I got off fairly easy. Heres my shout out to mr. manager at mr. tuxedo for allowing this debacle to unfurl in his store and being so pleasant about it!

OK now, gotta get back to, what Max calls, "Mommy Juice".