Long Days, Short Years, Stiff Drinks

We've been guests to quite a few birthday parties of late and to the enormous credit of the moms who throw them, they have been super great.  It is not easy to throw a party that tiny chocolate loving trolls and giant beer loving adults will enjoy equally.  In throwing three of them myself so far and attending far more than that, I've picked up a few tips to make your toddler birthday partying more enjoyable for all involved. 1.  Preschooler pre nap:  Whether the party starts at 11 am or 3 pm, make damn sure your tiny attendee clocks some serious z's pre party.  Use whatever tactics are necessary to achieve said sleepy time, such as screen time bribes or Benedryl.  Whatever works for your family. 2.  Pre party sexy time:  While the tot is dosing or quietly playing in his room (or really loudly playing..no diff so long as is door is closed and he is inside) meet your man in your bedroom, bathroom, or closet for a quick (is there any other way with kids?!) love connec

The Smilus woke up early from his afternoon nap fussier than usual, especially after a nice long nap.  I was determined to finish this one damn email for the love of all things holy so I let him fuss a bit before going up to get him.  I tiptoed up the stairs to avoid waking Boy Wonder who had JUST drifted off after extended effort and bribery on my part, opened the door, and was nearly knocked backward with the sweet scent of breast milk poop, and I mean sweet in the way dead things smell sweet not in the way cake smells sweet. Whoa, baby!  The blow out of his lifetime awaited me.  It had soaked through his onesie onto his sleep sack and right on through to his sheet.  So prolific was the poop that the material of his onesie was more tarnished than not tarnished.  I peeled that sucker off down his shit smeared body and threw it directly into the trash can. And here's what I don't get.  Blow outs are like a great unexplained mystery.  The back of his diaper was completel

Ever since the babies came along, we don't get to connect nearly as often as I'd like and when we do, although it's gratifying and so worthwhile, it's all too fast and short lived. Every time I see you, I just want to climb on, caress your softness, and feel the firmness of you below me.  I long to spend hours on end feeling the warmth of you surrounding me. How I dream of the days when I can get tangled up in you and upon slowly coming back to consciousness, roll over and fall blissfully back into your embrace. I want to sleep in you so hard that I'm awakened with an intense satisfaction, allowing me to endure having to wait an entire day to see you again. I miss being with you all through the night.  I know we will get there again and until we do, I'll settle for fitful and furious quickies, which is, as they say, better than nothing at all. I love you my king.  Until we meet again...

Don't get me wrong.  It's not as if I don't actually do yoga.   I do.  I actually consider myself to be somewhat of a serious yogi.  But in order to justify the number of hours in which I sport yoga pants I'd have to own, operate, and teach every session of yoga at a bonafide studio and well, that's not me. What I am is a yoga pant wearing, preschooler and infant rearing Stay-at-Home-Mom and it's really easy (and super comfortable!) to look the part. Staying in? Squeeze a sports bra over your outrageously huge hogs, flick the dried spit up off that 3/$15 tank top, and slip into your house pants.  Your house pants are the yoga pants that have been washed so many times that the black is a dark gray hue and the crotch sags as if you're carrying a load from seeing you through at least one and possibly two pregnancies.  This is very likely the exact outfit you wore yesterday or maybe even the day before… Venturing out? Even SAHM's have to leave

I had one of those long, semi-tortorous nights during which I clocked maybe 4 hours of sleep and that was intermittent at best.  The Smilus has a runny nose and can't breathe well when he lays down nor when he nurses so I basically can't bring him any comfort and he can't sleep.  On top of that, for some inexplicable reason I couldn't fall asleep around 11 when I went to bed, even though I cracked open The Grapes of Wrath , which up until last night did the trick of putting me right out nearly instantaneously. We spent two super awesomely fun hours from midnight to 2 am crying and trying to sleep, and I do mean both of us.  I've reached a point in this rearing an infant phase where the sleep deprivation is so profound that I have thoughts only a crazy person would, like, "He's five months old.  It's high time he gets his shit together."  You see my point?  Only months and months of less than adequate sleep can produce such ludicrous ideas. Thou

I have been doing lots and lots of blog reading for the last 5 months or so.  I've also been doing lots and lots and breastfeeding the last 5 months or so.  Coincidence?  I think not. I also thought I kind of had this mothering thing down considering I grew, birthed, and successfully reared my first son to the ripe old age of 3 years before his brother came along.  How hard could it be to add a second child?  Well, let's just say that since becoming a mother of two I have many more stressful days, much less sleep than even the first time around, and not entirely pure and loving thoughts about my offspring every single second of the sometimes never ending day than I did when I was a mother of just one.  Coincidence?  No, I think not. As a family we already have a place where we post family photos and tidbits about our daily lives for posterity and for extended family.  But as someone who loves to write and finds herself in need of an outlet for my sometimes extreme thoughts