If I could talk to my Mother today

I would tell her that the years have not let me forget her, no matter how they have shaped me. The pictures in my mind are still as vivid as they were back then. I have spent more of my life without her than with her in it so the pictures are fewer. But that doesn't change the way I miss her terribly. The way my heart aches just to be able to hear her voice. The way I hear her in the things I say to my own daughter. The way I wonder what she would think of me if she knew me today. Would she like the person I have become? Would she have let me wander aimlessly through life the way I did for so many years following her death? Or, would she have led me in a different path? My questions lack the answers I so desire to hear. So, I would ask her all that I wonder.

I would tell her that I'm sorry for all the stupid things I did as a kid because I understand now. I understand what a jerk I was when I was a teenager. I understand why she was so sad when I wouldn't talk to her anymore. I would apologize for wasting that precious time with her, but I would explain that I was a scared teenager and I wasn't sure I could share my fears with her. So I turned inward and stopped talking. She took it, I think, that I didn't love her. But that was so untrue. I was afraid I'd disappoint her. I would tell her that I would rather die than disappoint my Mother.

I would ask her why she stopped fighting the battle. I would ask her why after all those years, she chose that battle to lose. The most important fight of her life. Why did she give up? Didn't she know I was lost without her?

I would tell her that I need her. I need her for advice, strength, a shoulder to cry on. I need her to help me with Motherhood because I can't do it alone. I need her to tell me it's all going to be okay because sometimes I'm not so sure. I would beg her to hug me and hold me and protect me from some of those same fears I harbor from my teenage years. I would tell her that after all these years, I still need her.

I would tell her that I love her. Because the love you share with your Mother is as unconditional as it can get. I would tell her that I know the bond you have with your Mother is unbreakable. It is what gives you strength to continue when you feel you can't. I would tell her that I wish I would have spoken these things when she was still here with me. I would tell her that I wish I would have said 'I love you' more.

I would tell her that I understand now why she did/said/acted the way she did as my Mother. Because I am a mother now and I understand. I understand why she would tell me "Mommy moved out" when I would call her non-stop from the living room to get her attention. I understand why she would say, "How 'bout a punch in the face?" when I would deny all of her options for dinner and she would just give up. She always found light in any situation. I understand now why she would yell at me when I was being moody because "life is too short to waste it on being moody". I understand those things now because I say them without thinking to my own daughter when she acts the same way I did. I would tell her that I wish she could see my daughter. I would love to know what she thinks of her.

I would tell her that the last day in the hospital was the worst day of my entire life and I wish I would have stayed even when she told me I should leave. I would tell her that I regret leaving because I never saw her again after that. If I knew then what I know now, I would have stayed and held her hand until she passed so she knew I would always love her no matter what. I would make sure she knew that I would NEVER let go.

I would tell her all this because I never got a chance to tell her when she was here with me. I would give anything to be able to tell her these things today. I would tell her that no matter what life brings or takes away, she will always be my Mommy. I would tell her that I was the luckiest person in the world to have her in my life, even if it was fleeting. If I had just one more hour with her, these are the things I would say because these are the things all mothers should hear once in their lives from their children.

I would tell her that I can only wish to be the Mother that she was to me. If I could do that, then my daughter will be just as lucky as I am.

Happy Birthday Marm. I miss you.

Hug myself

Went to the beach today (yesterday) with Girl. It was so relaxing and nice to be there with her while she skipped stones into the water. As I lay on the blanket, I took this picture:

Reminds me of when I was younger and carefree.
And not a worry.

I made sure to try to relax and breathe in the cool, fresh air at the beach. I made sure to enjoy Girl and her stone throwing and to tell her how much fun I was having with her. I made sure to tell her again and again that I was so lucky to be there with her and that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the entire world at that moment. I took more pictures of her and her stones. I took video of her joyful skipping on the sand.

I just tried to enjoy the moment. Something I practiced very hard to learn to do in the past few years.

That is what that picture reminds me of. Enjoying the moment. The day with my daughter.

I had fun today just being. Being with my daughter and being with myself.

I am proud of my accomplishment today. Enjoying me. Enjoying my daughter. Enjoying life.

I hug myself today...

Making friends

At a Christening this weekend, I noticed a quirk in Girl that is quite similar to her Mamma.

There were a ton of kids at this party in a neighborhood restaurant, some Girl knows very well and others not so much. She sat at our table and only went over to the kid's table when she was invited by the hostess. They were doing a project. (You can't turn down an art project.)

She sat quietly decorating her creation and brought it over to us a few times to show us her progress. Then when the food came, she chose to sit with us instead of the other kids at the kid's table. She interacted with one dad in particular who was monitoring that table.

Now, I was quite impressed that she went over there at all and worked independently of me to begin with. I was almost giddy.

Then, after dinner the kids started dancing around the room, jumping and laughing and giggling hysterically. It looked like fun. So much fun that Girl decided to get up and 'join' in. (Here's where her Mamma-similarities come in....) Instead of joining in on the jumping and dancing...she stood on the outskirts of the fun and just watched. She appeared to want to join in so badly....but didn't know how.

She just stood there. Staring. With a longing in her face, that only I understood.

I've been that little girl.

The kid who wants to join in but doesn't know how.

I felt so badly for her pathetic attempt to join..I was teary-eyed.

Of course, everyone was making fun of me because I should just let her be and let her do her best on her own.

But they don't understand. That feeling of wanting.

I know, I am projecting myself onto her and maybe she was happy just watching...but the feelings that I felt as a child came rushing back to me in that moment. I wanted to hug her and tell her it was alright and that she should just jump right in because it's fun and she'll see once she starts jumping too how much fun it really is...I wanted to show her how easy it is to jump right in and all that she is missing by just sitting back and watching. But I sat back and watched.

I feel like I should have helped her get in there...but I can't have her depend on me in those situations all the time. It's up to her to get comfortable and join in on her own.

I don't know. These things are hard to let go of I guess.

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On another kid-note...
What's up with little girls and their snotty behavior?

There were two at this particular party that I wanted to bitch-slap.

Where are the parents when they are being so mean and rude? Exactly..no where to be found.

One little girl came over to me while I was coloring with Girl at our table. (Nosy bitch) So I introduced ourselves. Do you know what she said to me and my little girl...I don't like the name "Girl" it's ugly. I told her not to be so mean and ignored her after that. What a bitch.

I tell you. I told Girl when little girls are mean to her she needs to call them out. And say something like. Why are you so bratty? Or, don't be so rude! But next time I'm gonna tell her to tell them to fuck off.

She really needs to stick up for herself or she'll get walked on by these little demons.

40 months old

I don't count her age in months anymore...but I have every month labeled on the calendar and this round number stood out to me...

Where the hell has the time gone?
It feels like yesterday she was swaddled and colicky and I was a nervous new mom.

Now, she's laying in her bed yelling at her imaginary fire trucks to "Stop with the shenanigans and no futzing around!"

...And I'm a slightly less nervous mom.

Her growth and development has been an amazing journey for us as her parents and we watch her experience new things and act in new ways and it blows our mind.

She loves life and loves the safety of her home, much like her mother. Yet, she's smart and sassy like her Father. I see us in her and I giggle. Especially when she has a 'come back' for every-farking-thing I say...just like Dad.

Me: "Baby, stop washing the dishes...times up."
Girl: "No its not, five more minutes and I'll turn the water off."
Me: "I gave you five extra minutes, now time is really up."
Girl: "I'm counting to five and I'll turn the water off then...One Mississippi, Two Mississippi...."

And she gets to play in the water a few more precious seconds...Smart.

Her language is beyond our expectations and her vocabulary is outstanding. Her newest word is "exhausted". She uses it whenever she can:

"That Art must be exhausted from all that playing."
"I'm exhausted from talking on the phone too much."
"Firetruck, stop being exhausted...you better get out of bed!"

I love when she sings "Art is a Schmuck" and I know it may seem inappropriate to most but when she tells me she's 'pissed off' or I have to 'wipe Art's asshole'..it just cracks me up.

I'm trying to get her to use alternate fun words for asshole but she is hooked. Buttcrack, bunghole, crusty crack (her favorite) are some alternatives but she keeps using asshole. I'm a terrible role model. And I think it's funny.

Her teachers are gonna have a field day with us.

She loves to sing and dance and her new moves are to die for:
There's the hiney shake and the head bop. There's the one foot hop and the scissor jump. And the arms up in the air and swinging all over the room are phenomenal. And when the music is over..she poses. Until the next song comes on. Classic.

The 'naked balloon dance' is one only to be admired by her parents and close family but oh so clever and delightful. She can keep that balloon off the floor for an entire song by swatting it with her paw.

I am amazed by her every day and I am ever so grateful that someone out there thought I was lucky enough to be her Mamma.

I love you Girl so very much.
Forever.

Out of all the little girlies in the world, how did I get the very best one?

Thinking about....

Never thought I'd be saying this to my three year old...

Girl: Mamma, I like Weenie.

Me: I like Weenie too, baby girl.

*snort*

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There are some folks out there who seem a little shocked that I dig NIN as much as I do. Don't be. They are a phenomenal band and Trent Reznor is an amazing talent. I am a DIE HARD fan. That's why you should listen to them.

Pretty Hate Machine (1989) and Downward Spiral (1994) are my two favorites.

April 17th "Year Zero" debuted in stores. Check it out. Can't be disappointed.

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Dancing With the Stars. Love it. To pieces.
Apolo Anton Ono is the Cute-eest thing I have ever seen in my life.
And Joey Fatone is adorable.
I cry every time I watch Ratzenberger. He kills me. Too sweet.
Laila is gorgeous.
I want to be one of those professional women Ballroomers on that show. They are hawt!

Heather Mills...I can NOT believe you made it another week. Sympathy votes enabled you to beat Clyde the Glide. What a crock.

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Check out this post if you eat olives...(I do) Apparently, the FDA has recalled some olives tainted with bacteria. Yum.

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Uhm. Yum. I Will have one this weekend. I pray.

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Took Art to the vet the other day for his 'One Year Well Baby' visit. Unfortunately, it looks like he's healthy as a horse and it seems he'll be part of the family for at least a good 15 years. Damnit to hell. My cabinets are in for it. And so is my sanity.

Don't cry Art, Girl loves you.

Second Home

My classroom always felt like my second home to me and to my students. It had to. I wasn't comfortable otherwise. I had bean bag chairs on the rug in the reading corner and pictures of all the students family members up on the walls (including my own). We had rules and schedules to follow but it was all pretty cool and together.

My kids and I were comfortable and learning and communicating and it always felt like they were a part of me for the 10 months that I had them all to myself. We were respectful and cooperative (most of the time) and we tried very hard to be 'good citizens' in our classroom and school community.

I looked forward to going to our classroom and spending quality learning time in there. It was ours. We respected it and tried to keep it pretty. (As pretty as you could get in a NYC classroom...grey concrete isn't always that luscious.)

Once in a while, we'd have a practice fire drill where we'd have to line up quickly and evacuate the premises as quickly and quietly as we could. It was all very routine for all of us. We had it down to a science. But if faced with the rush of a real fire, would we be able to evacuate safely?

I always had the Columbine Tragedy etched in my memory. It was still a fresh wound in our teaching-hearts. And it made me more aware of the terrible things that people do in desperation. But this was my home. Nothing could happen in my home.

Early one morning, I was called by my principal on the "bat phone" (we used to call it)...He spoke calmly and asked me to please remain calm while he asked me if I had any family in the Twin Towers. I calmly uttered 'no' while he quickly instructed me to act as if nothing was wrong and to please close the window shades and doors and keep the kids calm and IN THE ROOM. (The towers were visible from MY room.) No bathroom trips, no unexpected trips to the yard for an art experiment and no discussing the collapse and attack of the first Tower.

I remained calm. It was all too surreal to act any differently.

I only knew these kids as my own for one and a half days. It was first period and we were right in the middle of a "Getting to Know You Conference". We were all sitting on the floor with the desks shoved in the corners. Giggling and laughing about one kid's pet Chinchilla and his dust baths. Then the shit hit the fan.

People running through the hallways and talking loudly in a panicked tone prompted the kids to question the commotion. (They were sixth graders and street smart..they knew something was up). I waited until word from my Principal to say anything and while immigrant kids were being escorted out of the building by extremely frightened parents, I began to discuss the matter as openly and calmly as I could with the kids. It was scary.

We had an emergency assembly with the remaining students and had to wait until about 6pm until all the kid's parents were present and accounted for. Surprisingly 'only' one little kindergartener lost her Daddy that day in the entire school. (One too many in our school family)

We were in a state of panic.

After that. It just wasn't ever the same.

Emergency lock downs were practiced and bomb drills were rehearsed on a weekly basis. They are not the same as a fire drill I assure you.

Locking two classroom doors, covering all the windows and remaining mouse-quiet with 30+ children at the back of the room while you wait for the 'secret code' to come over the loudspeaker to let you know the intruder is out of the building or being detained is scary stuff. That I can promise you.

Yes, they were only drills. However, they were constant reminders that things have changed. The once homey classroom felt like a prison that we couldn't escape in the clutches of terror if need be.

I saw the kids differently after that. They had their own lives to live and families to protect them. Who was I? I was just a scared and newly-wed woman who wanted to go home to her own family, but whose responsibility was to protect her young charges. Could I? If faced with such a tragedy as the other day at VA Tech., could I protect my students if their life depended on it?

I pray that I could.

I send all of my love to those families from Virginia. And those brave and honorable teachers who lost their lives trying to protect their students. In an institution that is supposed to be a safe-haven and a second home, it was invaded and lives were taken. I am reeling.

Stuff

When your head is buzzing and you are feeling lightheaded, you go to the doctor right? I think I may be sick, or I think I could be stressed. Which is why I haven't seen a doctor yet.

My jaw has been clenched since about Wednesday. Every time I loosen it up it clicks and my head gets a rush of blood. The headache is constant. Then I begin clenching again.

My stomach is in knots.

The dreams have been terrible lately. Dreams of loss and death and sexual abuse and murder and falling and the paranormal all swarming my nightly slumber.

Mista says I bring this on myself. Like I'm waiting for this feeling to return. But he's wrong. I have been over analyzing crap and that usually calms me down. I have been mentally preparing myself for this time of year and I thought that was working. I thought this time would be different. I was armed with an awareness like never before and more knowledge of myself and my feelings. I was wrong.

Then. A came over yesterday for a wonderful visit. But. She started talking about when Mom was in the hospital and I felt the nausea hit and the tears well up inside my eyeballs and I had to stop eating because I thought I was going to vomit all over the kitchen table.

That's it.

I can't stop thinking about it. It is my every other thought throughout the day and I am nauseous because of it.

They say time heals all wounds. That's bullshit. Time only makes you able to live with those gaping wounds and survive every anniversary. The rest of that passing time, you are in a slight fog. Pretending to be normal. Even after you have a kid. You pretend to be normal. Then the anniversaries creep up again. And all that time that has passed means nothing.

Because it's like you just lost her all over again.

And when you are around women with their mothers for special occasions like bridal showers and weddings you pretend it's all good. But you are hurting so deeply inside because you wish you had your mother during those special times. And you didn't.

But the time that has passed should have helped you heal. It didn't.
It only makes you better able to pretend it's all good. The passing of time only enables you to make believe. Where as before, you would have just bawled your brain out and maybe not even shown up for the special occasion involving moms and daughters.

That's what time does for you. It doesn't heal. It temporarily bandages.

I know why the caged doodie sings...

I know why I am so afraid of potty training.

Eureka!

It has nothing to do with Girl's abilities as a toddler. I know she can do it. She will do it when she's ready, just like everything else.

Every task I have ever thrown at her, has been handled the best way she knows how.

Some examples:

• She gave up the bottle at 8 months old. Just woke up one day and wouldn't take the bottle. She wanted a cup with a straw.

• She gave up the binkie just around the same time as the bottle. Just stopped using it.

• With all of her social anxieties as a baby and small toddler, she is blooming like the flower that I know she can be. She is talkative and more social than ever. She is smart and sassy and brave and when she wants something bad enough. She gets it...even if it's not from me.

• She talks to her teacher and her friends more, she is open and clearly enjoying herself at school. She's not as shy as I once thought.
  

• She can enjoy parties and loud places better than ever and she even sat through Diego without much incident.
  

This kid rocks.

It's me with the issues. (Sorry to be such a downer lately...)

I find myself doing too much for her including dressing her...because it's just faster.

Why wait for her to dress herself and start earlier in the day when I can get 20 more minutes of sleep time and dress her quickly myself?

brain says: Stupid.

...It's because I am helping her gain self-confidence and independence...

brain says: Stupid.

...If she gains those things too quickly, she won't need me anymore...

brain says: Stupid.

These days I am just finding it difficult to let go. I feel like losing her too fast would again make me feel that deep pain of loss I already feel on a daily basis. But for her. And I can't do that. That's too much pressure to place on such a small person.

Do you realize she has never been in anyone's car other than my own and my husband's? I won't allow her own family drive her anywhere. I won't allow her to sleep anywhere but home and I won't allow her to go anywhere without me or my husband.

I'm an official helicopter mom. I hover.

Even at the park I follow her around.

I never thought I would be, but I am. It just happens.

I gotta getta grip.

Mista says that when I'm not around she's a different kid. She's outgoing and uninhibited. I see her that way too...but he claims even more so. He took her to a friend's house recently where I have never seen her go into the basement to play with the kids. They went without me. (I musta been partying it up on the boulevard somewhere.) He says she went right into the basement and he only saw her again when it was time to leave. Where she proceeded to KISS everyone G'bye. Including the KIDS...What the? Not with me she doesn't do that.

And it's not like I don't tell her to do those things either. I force her to play and kiss and shit. Jesus. I can't stand it.

I have to let expect her to be more independent. And I do. Sometimes. I let her do certain things on her own. But I have to start letting go. She's getting big and she's strong and she's smart and I have to give her the benefit of the doubt in this thing called toddlerhood/preschool years.

She is so eager to please and will do (almost) anything I ask her to. And she is really eager to be independent..But when she knows I'll do it for her, she gives up. That's a terrible trait to have taught my daughter. And I did that. Hence, potty issue #4,367.

And I am so proud when she is independent and strong. But. I feel her slipping away. Ever so slowly...its happening. But. I need to know that she will always be my heart and my daughter. And I will always be her mother.

Otherwise I am going to stunt her. Just like I am stunted today. I am not fully 'grown up' for many reasons but when my mother passed, I died a little too...I lost a lot of my teenage years due to blinding greif. And if I was allowed to be just slightly more independent as a kid, I may have handled my grief differently.

I can't allow myself to do that to the only person I let live in my heart. I can't hold her back any longer.

I need to let her be.

Or she will leave me because I smother her.

Maybe then, she'll start using that potty.

I'll think about her teenage years when I get to that bridge...

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I know why the caged bird sings:
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.
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*And on to a much lighter topic*
Last night, my best bud/step sister (Hey A!) came in from Virginia and we took pictures of our cleavage and other obscure body parts on our cell phones and use them for photo iD's when we call each other now...
Talk about deep. Right?
No, you will NOT see those posted up here.
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It's all...good

Girl's new rug was installed from Home Depot. A surprisingly smooth transaction. No complaints believe it or not. I am just as shocked as you are, believe me. I'll wait quietly for the rug to start lifting or the padding to curl...it can't possibly be that easy!

Here's some before and afters.

Old "doodie-brown" rug.

New rug.

(Kinda looks the same doesn't it?)
I assure you it's not.
It's a beautiful light beigey-speckeld color.

Old rug.

New rug.
Enjoying the cushy-goodness of the new fibers.
Then, the wrastlin' began...


The Jolly Green Giant
BEFORE Girl broke his nose with her foot...
on the new carpet tonight!

Is it wrong that I was more worried about blood stains on the new rug than my husband's broken schnozz?
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Girl got a new bicycle this weekend too...

What a big girl.
And of course it's full of Purpley goodness!!!
She is already a pro with the training wheels...

I never thought she'd get the hang of it so quickly. Now, we have to get on it every day...'Practice makes perfect' she always says...

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We have a playdate set up for 'us'. Why am I so nervous to have these new people over my house? I've already canceled twice. We went to their house for a playdate and now I am reciprocating. However, I feel like I'll be judged on my crappy housekeeping abilities and clutter. Why do I feel like my poor domestic abilities will be called out? It's not like I live in a sty. My home is beautiful. And fairly neat and tidy. And still being worked on 11 months after we've moved in.

I just can't find a place for the dust and clutter.

Maybe because I'm so sensitive about it. Maybe because every new home we visit is SPOTLESS with not an ounce of dust. Just toys. I have toys. Big deal. How do they not have dust? They have housekeepers. I do not. THAT is the difference.

Keeping up with the Joneses is on a much smaller scale here in my land of Mommyhood. It's measured in dust, not toys.

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I am very overwhelmed this week. It's April. I feel my brain's incessant humming and my heart starting to palpitate more now. It's here and I am working very hard to stay sane. Very hard. I am not successful so far.

It's been very difficult, but I am trying to enjoy these moments. I am still learning to live in the moment and not wish my days away...This post tries vehemently to celebrate that.

I *heart* you if you are still reading this.

Silent Battles

Wow! I feel 1,00 times better after this post!
Thank you for the comments!
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One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.
- AA Milne
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Arguing without opening your mouth.
What goes where and who puts them there in the grand scheme of things doesn't really matter, but christ it's annoying as hell.

The wonders of marriage/living together:

• The hairbrushes not put away in the bathroom.
• The milk left on the counter and not returned to its rightful place in the fridge.
• Toothpaste stains left on the glass ledge in the bathroom.
• The (long) hair left in the drain.
• The makeup fragments on the bathroom sink.
• The dirty kitchen sink.
• Unloading/loading the dishwasher.
• Dishes left on the counter and not put in the dishwasher.
• Laundry on the floor and not in the basket.
• Newspapers piled up all over.
  
• Socks under the coffee table.
• The coffee table and where it is hiding under all the toys.

How do you deal with your silent battles? What are they?

It's overrated anyways....

Girl had a small success this weekend! She peed on the pot for the first time ever in her entire (yet short) little life.

I, on the other hand, need a stiff drink.

I think she does too.

The promise was to give the diapers to the Easter Bunny because she needed them for her new babies and since we really didn't need them anymore, she could have Girl's.

The trip to the mall to meet the big bunny should have been the tip off. We saw him/her (is it a boy or a girl bunny anyway?) sitting in his/her chair holding a small electric fan to his bulbous head.

"What is he holding Mamma?"
"It looks like an electric fan baby, he must be hot here in the mall. You know, he's a hard worker."
"Ok, I'm done, lets go!"
"But we didn't tell him to come and get your diapers this weekend. How will he know to come to get them?"
"He won't."

OK then, mission aborted.

Saturday we (and I say we because it's like we're dealing with my ass as well) woke up fairly dry so I suggested sitting. All went well. Just sitting. Patiently. Waiting. For. A. Long. Long. Time. On. The. Potty. Doing. Nothing. But. Sitting. Oh! And Reading. About. 2,000 books.

She pops up.
"I'm done!" Was her reply after what had to be three hours.

"But you didn't go yet."
"I know."

OK...Mission aborted.

With all the enthusiasm I could muster with cramped legs and a pain in my lower back from sitting on the floor in front of the potty, I whimper..."Want to try on your big girl panties?!"

"Okay Mamma...I'll pick them"
That's when the real-life artwork comes to be. Panties strewn all over the bedroom floor a la last summer's attempt. Welcome to my nightmare.

We finally get her downstairs with her new panties on but nothing else. What is it about this kid? She has to have the panties showing. She has to wear a short shirt so they stick out and under no circumstances will she be wearing pants over them. (Ugh...I see it now...trouble at 13!) Just like her mother.

Needless to say, she held it in most of the time! Running to the pot every time she felt the urge, but nothing. Peein' on my floor more than Art ever did. It finally happened after much M&M persuasion and she clung to my shoulders for dear life. What a scene. We cheered and laughed and high-fived but that was it. It was over. She was cooked.

That night she refused to give her diapers up. She said to give that bunny a couple of diapers and she'll keep the rest. (Swear that's what she said!) She didn't want to keep him hanging, I guess.

Cut to the next day (Easter) when she peed all over the floor and slip-slided all over it. But refused to take a bath....We had to go to the in-laws smelling like Penn Station.

Fun times for all.

"No pull ups, or panties, I don't want to wear anything"...screaming and yelling and physically fighting me. On our way to the in-laws, with a very pissed off kid and a very pissed on mother. (I figure, when it gets physical, she's just not ready. Right?)

Oh, did I mention she's been holding in the poop too.. On ex-lax no less. I can't even take a half a corner of an ex-lax without keeling over...she's been' on them for a week and held it in for two whole days. (I'm doomed.)

Needless to say, after her fits of fear, rage and anger, she's sleeping in a diaper and wearing pull ups during the day.

Mission aborted once again.

Sorry Easter Bunny.

Family FunDays

Today, we saw Go! Diego Go!

I know. I hate him too.

But the show was phenomenal. What a joy to see! I loved the plot, the characters, the songs...everything. The mambo, merengue, cha cha and salsa dancing helped a lot too.

Those BoBo Brothers made us laugh and Dora even made an appearance. And she wasn't stuck up at all.

Click the camera had a wonderful solo and so did the rescue pack. His hip-hop dancing really made me giggle. I wasn't allowed to sing the songs as per Girl's personal request. So I followed her rules and bit my lip. It was very difficult to do. I can't understand why she hates when I sing those songs so much...maybe it's my awkward singing voice. I am a much better dancer than a singer!

I won't go into detail because you really should try to go see it yourself. It was similar to the show if you watch it and as the story begins, Baby Jaguar needs help to become the chief of 'Carrrrnival'...(Please note the tongue rolling the 'r'). The singing and dancing really made it a lively treat. I tell ya.

To top it ALL off...Girl watched the entire show!

She always adores the city and she loved Radio City Music Hall but she cried when we first entered the theater. She does that often. We did stick it out though and when the show started, she was mesmerized the entire time! The M&M's didn't hurt either.

I was so proud of her today. What a trooper. She was surely scared, but she toughed it out and hung in there with us. I always cry at a live show. Today was no different. And to see her actually enjoying it. Yup, the waterworks were there!

We also went to the aquarium this weekend. I love it there and so does Girl.
This year she was older and really got a chance to enjoy the place.
She luuurved the hands-on activities set up throughout the exhibits. She only wanted to stay at those spots in the aquarium. I knew that she would. She's like me that way...Very hands-on.

Here, she got to pick up a horseshoe crab and starfish.

Here, we fed the stingrays and they splashed us until we were soaked.
We spent the majority of our time in this very spot.

Us getting really soaked!Notice the hungry guy.

And to top it all off, we drove there in my new ride!

Gotta love that new car smell!

Happy Birthday to me one month late!

Yeah Baby!

Where is Art?

The dog was in the yard. Happily playing with his chew toy. I heard him barking sporadically at passers by while they laughed at his funny face.

The phone rang and I answered it. I was expecting this call. It was Girl's doctor and I needed to speak with him urgently. We talked for a good 20 minutes while Girl watched The Upside Down Show. I hung up with my new found information and started tidying up the house.

I cleaned the floors because it was raining outside and I vacuumed the rug because we were having a play date. They were due over at noon.

Then, the phone rang again.

"Where's your dog?" The question was asked by a husky, unfamiliar voice. I ran to the side door and called for Art. No answer. No sight of Art anywhere.

I closed the door and peeked out the side windows. Girl started getting nervous and so was I. This was a creepy voice.

"Who is this?" I asked warily.

"I have your dog." Said the voice on the other end of the line.

"Who is this?" I asked again impatiently.

"I want $2,500 in cash or I keep your dog. Place it in a plastic Target bag on the corner of the block. Don't call the police, you won't catch me. Don't try to watch me pick up the cash, it won't be me...Someone will be waiting"

The phone clicked. Dial tone.

I ignored him. It had to be an April Fools joke.

I called again for Art to no avail. He was nowhere to be found. I searched some more through the neighborhood. Nothing.

The phone rang about an hour later.

I picked it up.

It was the same voice on the other end...I heard a dog barking in the background.

"Where's my money?" He asked angrily.

"You can keep him!" I yelled as I hung up the phone.

A smile crept across my face as the thoughts of a clean home and no dog piss on my floor entered my brain.

Then, I woke up. It was a fantastic dream while it lasted.

Damnit.