Everybody poops. And pees.

So we're sort of kind of starting potty training for PJ.  We put him on the toilet before baths, sometimes other times, etc. 

He has now peed in the toilet THREE TIMES.  But yesterday, yesterday was the grandest.

I heard him screwing around in the bathroom.  I march in, fully prepared to yell.  He was pointing at the toliet, and pointing at his seat.

"Do you have to go pee pee?"

He nodded.

I pulled his pants down, whipped the diaper off and put him on the seat.

AND HE STARTED PEEING.

My little guy told me he had to go pee.  Well sort of.  He hasn't actually said pee, or anything like that, but he recognized he had to pee and let me know!

I realize this might not happen again for days, weeks, maybe.  And he just turned 2 a month ago.  My goal is to have him potty trained and out of diapers by September. 

I think I am going to stop buying diapers and buy pullups.  Or maybe just smaller boxes of diapers for night time.

Man, what will I do with all that money and time if I only have to change one child's diapers?
I just began this potty training business, but a couple things I learned already.

The "splash guard" sucks.  PJ would not pee and then I took it off and he did.  I think it scrapes their poor little weiners.  Yes, we get some pee on the toilet, the floor, and me, but it's worth it because HE'S PEEING IN THE TOILET.

If you ask your child if he has to go pee and he says no, don't force him on the potty anyway.  You want it to be a pleasant experience, not something he or she is scared of and then never wants to do again.

That's all I got.  Please share with me your potty training experience, tips, tools, whatever. 

I got an award. For Substance.

So I got an award from my blogger friend Sarah because I have a blog with substance!  And no, the irony is not lost on me that my post from yesterday was about the cuteness of my kids as opposes to not-so-cute kids.  Anyway, since Sarah bestowed this award on me, I have to share 7 things about myself with you, my fabulous readers.

1.   I love football.  Chicago Bears football to be exact. I know more than most guys, I swear and yell at the refs, I play fantasy football, you will never find me shopping while the game is on or complaining that my husband is watching the game.  I even watch the OTHER games.  Monday Night Football, Thursday Night Football, etc.  I have to keep up with my fantasy team!

2.  I love Coca Cola.  Seriously.  I don't drink coffee.  I do not like Pepsi and pretty much won't drink it.  And not that diet crap.  COCA COLA PEOPLE. 

3.  I have an extremely huge problem with obvious grammar mistakes, but my BIGGEST pet peeve is when people use apostrophes for things that are plural.  For example, "Kids eat free on Tuesday's!"  NO.  Tuesday is not possessing anything.  IT'S TUESDAYS!!!

4.  I had a miscarriage before I got pregnant with PJ.  Next to my mom's disease, it is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through.  I was lucky to get pregnant very quickly with PJ afterwards, but my heart still breaks when I think about it and breaks every time I hear of some poor woman losing a child.

5.  I hate socks. Seriously.  I have a rule that I do not wear socks from April 1- November 1. I don't care how cold it gets during these months.  I do not wear socks.  I hate them.  In the winter months I take them off the minute I get home, and if I'm not going to be outside for long, I won't wear them outside.

6.  I still watch Roseanne whenever it is on TV.  Not the later ones though, with the new Becky and when they won the lottery.  I'm talking about the early episodes, when Becky was dating Mark, and Darlene was at her prime.  That is some of the best television ever.

7.  My best friends from high school, though I don't see them as often as I'd like anymore, or even talk to them as often as I like, are still my best friends, and we always pick up right where we left off.  The same doctor delivered all three of our first borns.

So there you go!  And now, I get to bestow this exciting award on 7 of my friends in no order.  Some of these ladies are super awesome busy bloggers, so I don't expect them to do it, but if they do great!!  So here you go ladies!! :)

Christina

Sara

January

Rebecca

Tasha

Tracy

Peeper

Sometimes I feel bad for the not-so-cute kids.

WARNING:  This is going to be an extremely conceited post. 

First LOOK AT THIS PICTURE OF MY GORGEOUS BABY GIRL

Seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  She's fucking beautiful.  I mean, my awesome kick ass friend Katie Ryan is extremely fucking talented as well, but even she can't turn an ugly kid into the gorgeousness of Maggie in this picture.  And this is just one of MANY gorgeous pics she took of my baby girl.

So my kids are pretty fucking cute.  I know this because strangers have commented to me how cute they are, people I don't know have made comments on pictures on FB that family have posted, etc.  It's not the obligatory "Oh he's so cute" because strangers don't do that.  And of course, as a parent, you always think YOUR kids are the cutest, but you can also appreciate the cuteness of other kids.  And at the same time, you can recognize the not-so-cuteness of others.

Some kids start off really cute, and then as they get older, they lose it.  Maybe they have a really big forehead.  Maybe they look too much like someone in the family who's just not that attractive.  Maybe they don't have enough hair, and this is of course through no fault of their own, but they just look weird.  Sometimes they start off not so cute, and then get cuter as they get older.  YAY!  Whatever the case may be, I feel bad when I know my kids are cuter than someone else's.  Because I'm pretty blunt and honest, and I won't tell someone their kid is cute because they say mine are. 

I have a lot of friends who have kids and I will say the majority of them are adorable.  There's a couple that I give the side-eye too, but they are pretty much all good kids, and I'd be happy if either PJ or Maggie ended up with one of our friends' kids later in life. 

The good thing is, all of you followers of mine that have kids?  All your kids are adorable.  And I'm not just saying that because you said PJ and Maggie were. :)

My RAVE experience

So last Friday I posted a funny story of my life, and I thought it might be fun to make it a weekly thing.  So here goes.

Let's step back in time to March 1997.  Southside Irish Parade weekend (for those of you who aren't familiar with Chicago, the SSI Parade was one of the best weekends in our city, till the bastards cancelled it this year).  The Parade is on Sunday, so we're talking Saturday night.

My three best friends -- they called us the Four Headed Beast -- decided they wanted to go to a rave.  I did not have any desire to go.  Just not my scene, so I opted to go see a movie with a good friend.  Off my friends went to the rave.

Now here's where it's important to tell you that I had my own phone line.  This was both awesome and terrible, because it meant people knew they could call me pretty much WHENEVER because the phone would only ring in MY room.  Therefore, no risk of parental units answering.  Also, in 1997. only adults and important people had cell phones.  We had pagers.  We were so cool.

So I'm peacefully sleeping when my phone rings.  I look at the clock and it's 6:12 a.m.  I look at the Caller ID and it's a payphone.  Knowing it's one of my three friends, I answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lis!  Whatcha doin'? (It's the other Lisa -- I quickly discover why neither Rita or Kristine made the call - because they were afraid I'd kill them).

"Um, it's 6 in the morning.  I'm sleeping."

"Oh.  Well, um, we, were sort of, um, wondering, if you could, um, pick us up?"

"Pick you up?  What happened?  Where's Kristine's car?"

"Well, we came out of the rave and three of her tires were slashed."

At this point, I shoot up in bed so fast, I got dizzy and almost fell out of bed.

"WHAT?? HER TIRES WERE SLASHED??? ARE YOU KIDDING?"

"No, and we tried to jack up the car to put on the spare, but we put the jack on wrong and we broke something."

Okay.  Here's why I was the mom of our group.

First of all, WHAT GOOD IS IT TO CHANGE ONE TIRE WHEN YOU HAVE THREE SLASHED TIRES.

Second of all, WHY WOULD YOU ATTEMPT TO DO THIS WHEN NONE OF YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU ARE DOING, AND IT'S 4 A.M.

"We borrowed a guy in a Cadillac's cell phone to call a tow truck but we couldn't find any numbers."

"Okay.  I'm coming.  Where are you?"

Silence.

"Um, where are you???"

"1650 E. 87th Street."

"Wait.  did you just say EAST 87th Street?"

Sidenote:  The SOUTHEAST side of Chicago is NOT a good neighborhood.  This is where I will run a redlight without giving it a second thought.  Needless to say, I don't drive on the SOUTHEAST side of Chicago.

"Yeah, that's where the rave was."

Now I'm pissed.  "I'm leaving.  You better be ready to get in the car when I get there."

I get there, and the three of them are sitting in Kristine's car.  I pull up and they get in, smiling.  I am not smiling.

"Thank you!  We love you!"

Continuous glaring.

We drive back to my house.  I sit Kristine down with the yellow pages and tell her to find a tow truck.  I go to Dunkin Donuts and get coffee and donuts because I am THAT good of a friend, and I am the mom.

We drive back to EAST 87th street to meet the tow truck guy.  Tow truck guy tows the car back to my house (where Kristine was "spending the night" according to her parents") and the plan is to say the tires got slashed overnight while it was parked on my block.

So we've now paid for one tow truck.  Kristine's parents pay for the second tow truck to come and get the tires fixed. 

They did anything I asked for the next month.

And Kristine's parents still don't know what really happened.

Haircuts & Chick-Fil-A

Today PJ will be getting his sixth haircut in his life.  Since he was 1.

Today we get to eat Chick-Fil-A for dinner (I fucking love CFA).

That is all.

Happy Thursday.

PYHO: Losing Mom

Linking up to Shell once again this week.

I posted a couple weeks ago about my mom, and was told by a friend I should continue to blog about her, even though I try to keep my blog upbeat and happy.  But today I feel the need again, as she's been on my mind more than usual lately (if that's possible).

I miss bullshitting with her.  I miss telling her stories about my friends -- who all know and love her -- and watching her crack up.  I miss her head tilt and smile when I talked about certain friends she loved so very much.  I miss asking her what she thought about the dress I got for so-and-so's wedding.

I miss the email I'd have everyday when I got to work.  I still have the very last email from work she ever sent me.  I sometimes still pick up the phone to call her at work, when she hasn't worked in nearly two years.

I hate that when I need advice about something with my children, I can't call her, because she can't tell me.  I hate that I've raised my children pretty much without any guidance from her -- not that I always needed it, but before, I would have told her when PJ coughed, or Maggie was fussy, on a daily basis, because we spoke on a daily basis.  Now I just tell her the milestones, usually over email that her caregiver types or when we go visit her.

I hate that we can't go out shopping, or out to lunch.  I hate that she can't watch my kids when John and I want to go out or have something to do.  I hate that she told me she would take them for a week when John and I went on our 5 year anniversary vacation, that she'd take the week off work and they'd do all kinds of fun stuff.

I hate that I hate going to her house, because seeing her this way makes me sick to my stomach.  I hate that I'd rather NOT see her because it's just so terrible to see the woman who was always on the go, so vibrant, so full of life, so loud, boisterous, such a loving woman be confined to whatever spot she was put it, without so much as being able to lift her hand to brush a piece of hair out of her face.

I hate that I want her to die, because her quality of life is nothing, and her life sucks beyond all stretches of the imagination.  I hate that she knows EXACTLY what she is missing out on, because her brain is perfectly fine.

I hate that she will never ever be able to wear the 65 plus pairs of high heels that she loved to wear again.

I hate that she will never be able to wear the dress she wore to our wedding again.

I hate that she will never attend one of my children's birthday parties, school functions, sporting events or anything else they do.

I hate that I will never receive another birthday card that she signed.

I hate that I cannot find the last birthday card she did sign.

I hate that I constantly think about all the plans that will be made when she does die.  I hate that I think about if my stepdad is going to want to move out of the house and give it to us.

I hate that although I know these feelings are normal and expected, I feel like a selfish asshole.

I hate that my mom is physically here, but my MOM is gone.

Things making me swoon

I am stealing this idea from Rebecca at Unexplained X2 (who you should really check out, and follow, because she's just awesome).

Things currently making my heart skip a beat:

**PJ giving me kisses right on the lips

**Maggie whipping her head around as soon as she hears my voice

**Maggie's smile

**PJ's giggle

**Nutella

**Ham & Swiss cheese on Rye sandwiches

**Not wearing socks anymore (even though the weather SUCKS in Chicago)

**Knowing our vacation is less than three months away

**Knowing I have just about 5 months left of breastfeeding and pumping

**Knowing in a little over 5 months I will be getting rid of the pump FOREVER

**Pepper Steak

**Jamba Juice four cheese flatbread

**Reef flip flops

**Sundresses

**The fact that PJ can color all over himself with marker, and I just laugh, because it's funny, and cute.

**Maggie trying to use a sippy cup and PJ helping.

**Maggie doing downward facing dog as she tries to crawl

And now, for a lot of pictures, some referencing the above.  All of which make my heart flutter.

Maggie, this is how it's done. And PJ's big boy bed.

Maggie had her six month check up Saturday.  My baby girl weighs 14 pounds, 13 ounces, is 25 inches tall and has now started on puffs and cheerios.  Not sure how many she's actually getting in her mouth, of course, she has her big brother helping her.  He's also being very helpful sticking the sippy cup in her mouth and trying to show her how it's done.  Same with the puffs.  He is very concerned when she misses her mouth.  It's a good thing she has her big brother around.  I wonder how he figured it out? :)

We got PJ his big boy bed this weekend. So far, he loves it. We got some Toy Story bedding and last night he STTN for the first time in a long time. Hopefully it keeps up. :)   The bed is nice and comfy and his room now really looks like a little boy's room.  :(  It's kind of sad to see my little guy growing up so quickly, but I do love this stage (minus the tantrums.  and the picky eating). 

Oh and can I just say, and this is TOTALLY unrelated, that I could not care less about the stupid royal wedding?? Gah. I'm not invited, I don't know then, I am sure it's going to be ridiculous and over the top and I just don't give a rat's ass.  I am SO SICK OF HEARING ABOUT IT.  I don't know when it is, but I might find out so at least I know when they'll STOP FUCKING TALKING ABOUT IT.  I bet my wedding was way more kick ass and it wasn't even in the newspaper.

Showering with the door closed.

In my first 29 years of life, I never realize that showering with the door closed is a luxury.

Usually, both PJ and Mags are sleeping when I get up to shower.  I wake them up after I have finished getting ready.  My morning goes smoothly. I still take a quick shower, still leave the door cracked, but the door is mostly closed and I am alone.

Sometimes, like today, they wake early.  And it's never one.  If one wakes up, it's no doubt the other will wake up within 5 minutes.  And my hopes of a door closed shower are dashed.

Our bathroom is the size of a couple stalls.  Seriously.  Brian Urlacher would not fit to pee in our bathroom.  So I put on Handy Manny for PJ, give him some grapes and juice, stick Maggie in her high chair and drag her into the bathroom so she can hear and see me when I poke my head out.  Thus, the door is wide open. 

Sometimes PJ comes in, and throws toys in for me (he's very thoughtful).  Sometimes he brings a cup and wants me to fill it with water so he can pour it out.  Maggie is usually content while I take my 4 minute shower.  And then I have to get ready as quickly as possible to prevent any screaming or crying.

My mornings when they are asleep are much calmer.  Easier.  I feel more prepared for the day.

But the mornings like this?  When I get to spend an extra 26 mintues with them because they got up early?  They're pretty awesome.

PYHO Wednesday: My Pet, the Peeve

Once again, I'm linking up to Shel today for things I can't say.

My Pet, the Peeve.

The people that stop in the middle of the aisle at the grocery store, making it impossible for you to pass on either side, while your 2 year old is grabbing and knocking everything off the shelves as you try fruitlessly to maneuver past.

The people who every time it rains, snows, is sunny, is windy, is cloudy, suddenly lose all ability to drive with any sort of basic skill.

The mom who lets her kid run around with snots running down his nose, and into his mouth, and watches her kid try to hug your kid, and then wonders what the big deal is that your kid now has her kid's snots on his shirt.

The person who has no idea how a revolving door works, so they stop when they get out and you inevitably hit them, because you know how a  revolving door works.

The person who uses the self checkout but has no idea how to and ends up taking 100 times longer.

The people who make signs for businesses and add extraneous apostrophes.  Kids Eat Free on Friday's!
Friday isn't possessing anything, morons.  It's simply PLURAL, as in, FRIDAYS.

The people who for some reason can't type "your" on FB, but instead put "ur".  Yes those extra keystrokes are just too much for me.

The people who see you getting your child or children out of the backseat of your car, yet when they park next to you still park like such an asshole that you have to turn your child sideways to get them back in their carseat.  Forget about it if you have an infant seat to put back.

The people that assume because I have children I want to hear about your niece's cousin's baby or whatever.  Unless you are another mom with your child I don't want to talk to you.  Sometimes not even then.

The people that think by reposting some statistics about cancer, child abuse, military pay, etc., on Facebook are magically going to solve this problem . By saying "repost this if you agree" you can pretty much guarantee I won't repost it.

This is in no means an all-inclusive list, but I feel better getting it off my chest.

Also, a big huge thankful to all of you who commented on my post from yesterday.  Your words and thoughts mean a lot to me and I appreciate your support more than you could ever know.

Paralyzed.

I don't usually write about my mom's illness.  It angers me, saddens me, and robs me of emotion all at the same time.  But today I feel the need.

In case you haven't read the tabs on my blog, my mom has ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease.  She's was diagnosed nearly two years ago now.

She is paralyzed from the neck down.  For weeks I have been saying she has "no muscle function" and the other day someone said something about being paralyzed, and it dawned on me, that's what she is.  Paralyzed.

She's losing control of her head.  She can't pucker up to kiss me.  Her ability to chew and swallow foods gets worse and worse.  Her ability to talk is 90% gone, and when she speaks, she is extremely difficult to understand.

When I got married in November of 2007, I imagined how excited she would be when I had babies.  I'm an only child, you see, so my babies were her only grandbabies.  I knew she would spoil them so, love them so much, be our go-to babysitter.  We even discussed she and my stepdad keeping the kids when John and I went on an adults only vacation.

None of this would ever happen.

She held PJ a handful of times when he was a tiny baby, when she could still move her arms and still walk with assistance.

She's never held Maggie.  She never will.

She's never hugged either of them.

She's never, ever changed a diaper.  Fed a bottle.  Picked them up in the air and watched them smile and giggle down at her.

She's never been able to go shopping and pick stuff out by rifling through the racks.

She's missed so much of their lives because she can't come to our house.

She didn't come to PJ's birthday party.  She'll never be able to come to one of Maggie's or any of PJ's future parties.

She's never written them a birthday card.

She's never wrapped a present for them.

My own mother didn't meet my baby girl until she was over a week old, because she couldn't come to the hospital when she was born.

My mother in law is our go-to babysitter.

My children will not remember their grandma.  If PJ does, it will be in a sense that is not her.

ALS traps you inside a body that does not work.  It leaves your brain in tact so you know everything that is happening to you, and you know everything you cannot do.

Because of all these things, she is suffering.  She is in more pain than any physical ailment.

Because of all these things, and many, many more I haven't listed, I don't want her to live this way anymore.  She's not living.

Well, nice weather, it's about freaking time.

It was unseasonably gorgeous this weekend in Chicago.  75 on Saturday and 84 yesterday.  I'm talking beautiful.  So we spent 4 hours outside each day, which of course led to glorious early bedtimes and mama being able to relax.

Our backyard is "the backyard."  We have a bouncy house (yes, our very own), a slide, a swing, a sandbox, a water table (when it's warm enough), golf, baseball, basketball, lawn mower, Cozy Coupe, big wheel, and a swimming pool.  I am talking there is something for kids to do at our house.  It's super nice because PJ is never bored outside, and next year when Maggie can actually partake, there will be the addition of girly toys to this mix.  Good times.

Anyway, my son is a better golfer than I am.  Not that I am any kind of golfer, but he already sets up his hands on the club properly and has the stance down.  He also tries to tee up the ball on anything he can.  And he hits it pretty far.  I am perfectly okay with my son becoming a wildly successful professional golfer.  And his daddy wouldn't be able to contain his beaming pride.

Saturday we went to Fogo de Chao with some friends, so MIL babysat.  Which is perfectly awesome.  She's so strange though.  I love the woman, but here's a few things that happened.

1.  She locked EVERY SINGLE WINDOW IN OUR HOUSE.  Now, our windows have those stoppers on them, so the window only opens about 2 inches, and I always have those on at night.  But she closed and LOCKED every single window.  I went to open them yesterday and had to unlock every single one.

2.  She forces (sort of) PJ to stay up.  When PJ doesn't nap, and he plays outside, he's out by 8 (last night 745).  She said he went to bed at 830.  It's funny.  I know he's tired so I get him relaxed on the couch and he inevitably falls asleep.  She just keeps him going.

3.  She told us she had some of our Chips Ahoy cookies.  No problem.  Now, after I had some Friday night, there was a whole row left, save for a couple cookies.  I went to have some last night and there were 7 left.  SEVEN.  The woman ate about 15 cookies.  Seriously?   15 cookies??? I guess if that's the payment for babysitting, that's not too bad. But 15??

The "Hair Down There" Discovery

I am not sure why this just popped into my head today, but I felt the urge to share it with you fine ladies who follow me, and maybe, just maybe, get a few more followers in the process (I know some of you read and don't follow, come on dammit!!)

Anyway, I suddenly remembered the day -- hell the fucking MOMENT I realized I had pubic hair. 

We were at GREAT AMERICA.  Yes, Six Flags in all it's wonderment.  I was 9.  It was me, my mom, my stepdad and my uncle.  My mom hates roller coasters.  She went on the carousel, and maybe a water ride.  So she was basically there so I didn't have to go into the ladies room by myself.  I digress.

So I had to go pee, and we go to the bathroom.  I go in the stall, close the door, pull down my pants.  I'm doing the squat and hover (which, at 9, when you're about 4.5 feet tall, isn't really all that easy).  I decide to look down.  Sidenote:  Had I never looked down before that day?  It's not like all the hair just grew that morning or something.

Whoa.  I have hair.  Between my legs.  This is weird.

Continue to take an unusually long time staring at the hair between my legs, meanwhile almost falling onto the toliet (gasp, germs) because my nine year old self cannot hold myself up this long.

I am amazed at this discovery.  Must tell mom.  I quickly wipe and run out of the stall, to see my mom waiting for me at the sink.  I wash my hands.

"MOM! MOM!!"

"What?"
"Come here."  I gesture for her to bend down so I can whisper in her ear.  She obliges me.

"I have hair between my legs!  I saw it just now!"

My mom, to her credit, did not laugh hysterically.  She simply patted my head and said, "Honey, everybody does."

I spent the rest of the day wondering what "everybody" meant.  Did boys?  Did all my girlfriends?  Did my mom???  Why did we have hair down there? 

A couple days later, I got the nerve to ask my best friend (the best friend who got boobs before anyone else in school, who due to her boobularity forced me to wear a bra long before I needed it, just so when boys would clap me on the back, they'd feel a bra strap) if she knew about this revelation.

"Duh, everybody does."

A little bit of a fam update

So my beautiful Maggie will be 6 months old on Sunday.  Yes, that's right.  SIX MONTHS OLD.  Anyway, she can sit pretty good.  She's not totally steady -- I wouldn't leave her on a hard surface because she still falls over - but she can sit for a decent amount of time, and reach for toys to play with.  YAY!

She also can get all fours like nobody's business.  She is constantly rocking back and forth, and can scoot backwards -- she's going to be crawling soon, I think.  She will even push herself up on her tippy toes like she is stretching!  My baby girl.  She's so fucking pretty, too.  It's kind of annoying.  ;)

PJ is saying more and more words, some we understand, some not, but I wish he would say I love you already!! I am dying for it.  He understands so much, which is good.   He also is pretty much a pro at going up and down the stairs, which he has been able to do for awhile, but now I am comfortable letting him do it on his own, without me holding his hand because he's such a pro.  He also turns anything and everything into a golf club and tries to make his own tees.  It's extremely adorable and makes his daddy VERY proud. ;)

He's still waking up at night, which sucks, because usually I end up bringing him to bed with us so he'll stay asleep.  But I think he needs a twin bed.  I think part of the reason he wakes up is because those crib mattresss are hard -- he needs a cozier bed.  I think we might get him one real soon.  Because he'll sleep all by himself in our bed, so I don't think it's so much us as the bed!  At least I hope.

Johnny boy and I are going to dinner with some good friends tomorrow night to the always awesome Fogo de Chao.  I'm excited.  We haven't had a date night in a long while. 

Have a good weekend everyone! :)

If you really knew me...

I am stealing this from Sara at Life's Recipe because I thought it was a terrific post and wanted to do something similar.  So here goes.

If you really knew me...

 ...you would know that I hate cleaning.  I am terrible at it, and tend to "tidy" up more than clean.  I firmly believe people are too anal about germs now days.

...you would know that although I hate makeup, and never wear it, I sometimes wonder what it would be like if I did actually know how to use it and did wear it. 

...but I worry that John wouldn't think I was pretty without it if I ever wore it, so I never will.

...I think ALS is the most devastating disease a person can have.  A person with ALS is trapped inside a body that doesn't work.

...Because of this, I wish my mom's suffering would end, because she's not living any kind of life, and the mom I had is gone.

...I am very picky about who I trust with my kids.  I trust my BFF over my SIL.  I can't tell you why, and I could never tell my husband that. 

...I worry that PJ won't be good at sports and John will be devastated.

...I worry Maggie will hate sports and I will be devastated.

...I hate bugs of all kinds.  HATE.  Will scream like a little girl for John to come kill one and if he's not home, the kids and I will leave.

...I am a very loyal friend, and very forgiving.  However, if you decide that you don't have time for me in your life, I won't have time for you in mine.

...I fell in love with my best friend.

And a few other things:

Maggie is almost sitting up by herself.  She's got the tripod down.
PJ gets his own spoons now.

Check out Sara's blog.

PYHO Wednesday - Stop Inviting Me to Your Pity Party

It's time for our weekly PYHO, thanks to Shel. 

I am tired of pity parties.  They aren't fun.  They in no way reflect how I want to spend one iota of my time.

It's one thing to bitch.  Life sucks sometimes.  Bitch away.  Bitch about your job, your boss, bitch about not having enough money, your husband sitting on the couch playing video games, bitch about the fact that your kids are in that "I do whatever I want stage", bitch, bitch, bitch.  I will gladly join in bitchfest with you, because lord knows we all have something to bitch about.

It's when you start whining, start saying those vague statements, or posting vague FB statuses, where it's obvious you want pity, that I don't give a fuck anymore.

"It's so hard to be happy when everything is going wrong."

Really?  Am I supposed to say something caring like, "Oh honey, chin up! It'll get better!" or better yet, "Oh NO!  WHAT HAPPENED?" so you can tell me your sob story and I can feel sorry for you.  Neither is going to happen.  When you unleash your pity statements, I suddenly go deaf.  I no longer care about anything you have to say, because I do not want to come to your pity party.  Don't say the open ended things so I can ask you what's going on.  (Big sigh) "I haven't had any time to even watch Grey's because I've just been so busy."  I'm not going to ask you what you've been doing.  But if you say, "I've been so fucking busy at work I haven't even watched Grey's.  (SPOILER ALERT) what the fuck happened to Callie??" I will GLADLY indulge you.  I will even bash your work that I know nothing about.  Because you are bitching.  Because yes, your life sucks right now, but when you bitch you are putting the attitude that you realize that although your life is crappy now, you realize that OTHERS are having hard times as well, and a lot probably harder times than you.  When you have a pity party, you think you are the only one.  And let's be real.  You're not.  Someone has it worse.  Probably a lot of someones.

Some people, who I DO feel sorry for, never have the pity party.  Most of the time, the things they deserve to be sad about aren't even the things that bitch about.  And then there's the ones who complain and whine about things that in reality aren't even worth it.  

So the next time you want to whine, make a vague statement that is begging for me to inquire, do me a favor.  Send the invitation to someone else.

Monday Musing

So, the music wasn't the end all of Maggie's sleeping issues.  I am hoping my poor little girl is getting teeth, because otherwise, I don't know what to do.  She's waking up often, and it's taking a toll on me.  She seems to be doing the pain cry as opposed to the I just don't want to be in my crib cry, so maybe we'll get some teeth soon and then I can get some sleep.  Wowsers. 

It was a beautiful day yesterday and we were able to play outside a lot.  PJ is quite the golfer.  He hits his golf balls pretty far.  Maybe he'll be the next Tiger Woods -- but a moral Tiger Woods, of course.

I had girls night out Saturday and it was so much fun.  There were 8 of us and we did fondue and it was just a great time.  All of us are now married and most have kids (two pregnant ladies) and it was just great to get together.

And Finally, my beautiful baby girl had her six month pics this weekend.  Tell me she is not absolutely fucking gorgeous.  I mean SERIOUSLY.