Confessions of a Bad Mother: Shut Your Trap, Darling.

one of the things i anxiously waited for was the development of language in Trixie and Dixie. and by "anxiously waited for," i mean i paced the floor evenings, scoured Babycenter, and occasionally peppered coworkers with questions about whether or not it was normal for 10 month old twins to not be able to recite The Raven.

but now that it's "coming in nicely" as the daycare ladies like to say....as if the girls language acquisition is much like a row of corn....i have to admit:

by the 200000000000th "maaaamaaaa!", i am totally over it.

i would like to share with you a snippet of what it's like living with Trixie Chatterbox and Dixie Clickygums:

"mamaaa! my juice! mamaaa! i want juice! my mouth! mamaaaa, my mouth, it hurts! mamaaa? mamaaaaa! MAMAAAAA! where's Co, mama? mama? mama! mamaaaaa, i want tv, mama! where's Dora? mama? mama! where's Ho Ho, mama? mamaaaaaa, i want juice! mamaa! up! down! mamaaa, i love you mama*! night night, mama, mama! no sleep! no sleep mama! potty! mama! mama, potty? potty! MAMA! POTTY!! mama! want to brush teeth, mama! my teeth brush! mama! MAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

and on and on and on until i want to run screaming out the door.

think about it: do you want anyone you know in your life using your name that much when they speak to you? of course you don't. after the fourth or fifth time, your hand is involuntarily curling into a fist and there's this new tension in your shoulder you'd love to release. but most people and governmental agencies frown on giving your kids the two-piece when they irk you. so you're stuck listening to your child say your name 800 times a minute while your nerves jangle around under your skin like a set of old keys.

i love my kids desperately, i really do. but serioulsy? does anyone know where i can get a bottle of Shet Up, Already? does it maybe come in a liquid i can put in their humidifier?

just saying.

*okay, that one gets me right in the old ticker ever time i hear it. it truly never gets old.

I'll never let you go.

i've always been somewhat of a packrat. as much as i talk about that tv show Hoarders, i must also admit that i too hold onto things for much longer than necessary. things i can't really bring myself to part with. for instance, today i found my mother's living will and advance directives.

"whyyyyyyyyyyyy do i still have this?" asked my rational self.

"because it has my mother's handwriting. it makes her concrete. real." responded my emotional side.

"oh, bullshit," said rational, "you didn't even know you still had it until you just found it in your closet! and you know she was real, you look just like her."

like i said: i'm a packrat.

trying to break the habit before i infect my daughters, i really thought i'd done myself a solid by finally getting their closet organized and by getting rid of the chicks' tiny baby clothes, socks, and shoes. and yet there are a few items that i cannot for the life of me part with. for instance:

Dixie's frog feet pajamas. and the sick part is, every now and then i take them out, hold them up, and hug them, trying to remember the way the tiny little person who wore them felt. its not very effective, especially when that same now-two year old person is dancing around my legs damanding juice and a cookie.

i have at least 5 size 1 diapers just kinda hanging around in the girls' room: one in the top drawer of the changing table, 3 in the wardrobe, and one one the top shelf of their closet. again: how sad is it that i know exactly where these diapers are?

ultrasound photos! just last week i found two photos from August 2007 in my car. under the seat. beside an earring and a petrified french fry. and i couldn't bring myself to throw them away, so i brought them into the house and put them in unfinished baby books....which incidentally have envelopes of ultrasound photos in them, as well as the chicks' hospital bracelets, tarnished silver bracelets with their names on them that i never let them wear, and the happy cards annoucing their birth dates and times from the hospital. . i totally plan on incorporating each of those items in the girls' graduation and wedding annoucements.

Taaaaaaacky ass headbands. somewhere along my pregnancy, some well meaning person who claimed to care about me gave me two packages of the most horrifically tacky headbands i have ever seen. and while my mouth said oh thank you how thoughtful, my mind thought never on the heads of my precious daughters. and i have stuck to this promise.

and that's because i put them on MY OWN heads on the weekends. yes, you heard me. as a matter of fact, just last Saturday i was wearing on and noticed Trixie giving me the "i gotta break eye contact with you right now and stare at your hair because i don't even understand what is happening right here" treatment.

you know the one....

anyway, noticing the break in eye contact, i asked her "hey! you like mommy's headband?"

she said, very seriously and without missing a beat, "no." 

but that's cool. she's two. she doesn't like anything except juice and cookies.

it's really interesting to me that someone who didn't really ever want to have kids and prayed nightly during my maternity leave for time to speed up so i could wake up to toddlers instead of wailling infants now can't seem to let go of the items marking their infancy.

i hope by the time i'm sitting my my car in on the first day of kindergarten crying into a pair of frog feet pajamas, i will have made peace with my rational self. i don't need her giving me shit over the size 1 diapers i'll have in my glove box.

touching my stuff is bad for your health

"Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister, and Lord help the sister who comes between me and my man!"

isn't it funny how you can be completely convinced you don't want or need something in your until you see someone enjoying it? then, of course, you gotta have it, right? it's the most important thing ever, right?

there has got to be no other realm other than the world of twins where this little quirk is played out regularly in all its ugly, irrational glory. the same girls who can tag-team a cohort into a corner at daycare suddenly start circling each other like Armored Bears over the smallest of things.

for instance, i submit for you this scene from a snowed in Saturday afternoon:




Boca: Dixie, do you want this teddy bear? want your teddy?

Dixie: no.

Boca: you sure? you don't want your teddy?

Dixie: no.

Boca: ok. here, Trixie. here's a teddy.

Dixie: MYYYYEEEEEEEE TEDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! *kerSNATCH*

and so it went all weekend, with various items substituted for teddy, such as crayon, blanket, baby, juice....and i just took a moment away from the keyboard to break up a battle over a stroller.

i grew up an only child with half-siblings on my father's side in their own houses touching their own shit and not mine. i'm not used to this and frankly, it annoys the hell out of me. my inner only child cries out in torment every time i see a toy jacking go down "gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd, why can't you just leave her shit alone! you got your own shit! go get it!"

See? nobody talks about what it's like for only children to raise siblings groups. well let me assure you, much like calculus and pimpin, it ain't easy.

ok, granted, i get that they are two and that means they are by nature irrational self-centered beings. but i promise you, when this carries over into their teens...and i said when, not if; i'm quixotic, not naive...i will completely lose my mind.

not that it's gonna take much. my mind is already on a long, long leash and has galloped away out of my eyeshot. the irrational fights over shirts, shoes, and (god help us all) boys will surely cause that leash to snap like an old rubber band.

so here we are. epic battles threaten to break out at the slightest provocation. if i tickle one, i better get to tickling the other. kissing one, pucker up, mama, here comes the other one, holding one, scoot over you, i need me some lap as well, and on and on and on.

let's just hope that in the furture, they are just as jealously preoccupied with one another when it comes to chores:

"but, moooooooooooooooooooooom, I wanted to do the dishes! she did them yesterday!!! why are you trying to ruin my life????"

yeah, a mom can dream.

Lupus? Depression? Hair loss? Have you tried Motrín?

One of the best jokes in My Big Fat Greek Wedding was the dad's insistance that Windex could fix or cure virtually anything. when i saw it, i thought to myself "cmon! NOBODY'S dad is really like that!"

and then I had Trixie and Dixie. and their dad because an ardent, faithful, and obediant servant to the gods of Motrin.

This past weekend, Trixie had a congested, runny nose. Early in the morning, she coughed once or twice as she was waking up. That led to this genius level conversation between me and her dad:

"do you have any Motrín?

"yes."

"we should give her some."

"why? Motrin is a fever reducer and pain reliever. she doesn't have a fever."

"because she has a runny nose."

"Motrin is a fever reducer and pain reliever."

"but she coughed. i think she would feel better if you gave her some Motrín."

"Motrin.is.a.fever.reducer.and.pain.reliever."

"oh. well, if you're not going to give her Motrín, can you go buy something to give her? something over the counter?"

*icy blank stare*

i don't know which part annoyed me the most, his desire to give her a drug that in no way, shape, or form could even possible address her symptoms OR his lack of knowledge of recommendations against giving OTC med to kids under six.

why do the mommies always have to be the ones staying on top of things???

Trix and Dix's dad was pretty unhappy when President Obama announced he'd be sending more troops to Afghanistan. Perhaps we could instead send the Taliban some Motrín.

I'm sure that would fix their terrorist ideology RIGHT UP, along with any sneezing, depression, or hair loss they may be experiencing.

awwwww, i heart-shaped-poop-stain you too!

as i find myself nearing closer and closer to Operation Big Girl: Battle of the Buns, i find myself filled with several different emotions. sadness, because my girls are growing up; giddyness, because soon i will be released from the tyranny of Luvs; excitement over helping them reach another milestone; and finally, fear.

pure, raw, uncut, almost crushing, fear.

an incident occured the other evening during bed time (which is now referred to as the nightly meeting of Fight Club) that both chilled my heart and made my soul trill sweetly with hope.

Trixie is a rambuncious sort. she has no fear of climbing and tries to scale most things, both animate and inanimate. she has even shimmied up my leg with the intention of having me hold her. during Fight Club, she gets out of her bed, takes her clothes off, steps out of her diaper like it's a pair of panties, and runs about starkers, taunting me. we go through several instances of me catching her, dressing her, and re-bedding her....only for it to happen all over again until she finally passes out.

but this weekend, something different happened.

this time when she took off the diaper it was full of poop. and instead of running around naked, she plopped down on the carpet in her room and started playing.

and that's when i discovered her, nude from the waist down, playing with her tea set. and i discovered a couple of heart shaped poop stains on my carpet.

i've long gotten over the mortification that comes with cleaning atrociously poopy diapers. so long as i keep the action in the diaper and not on my hands, i'm straight. but on more than one occasion over the last few weeks, i have come uncomfortablely close to Trixie's fecal matter. but on this particualr instance, i wasn't horrified or grossed out...too much.

i was excited! because don't they say another sign of potty training readiness is the child's dislike of soiled diapers next to her skin?

see, if you look at it that way, then this was Trixie's way of letting me know that she knew what i was thinking and that she knows just like i know that she is indeed ready to poop in the potty!

and to that show of confidence, i say to her:

Let's Do This, Tyler Durden.

lots of tears.

i've been overcome off and on all day with this sweeping rage and feelings of powerlessness. i have ranted, prayed for the painful death of the child's mother and the rat dog piece of shit that she gave Sheniya to, and cried so many tears out of deep sadness and grief. i have discovered, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that i there is a threshold that can be crossed within me that would allow me to easily and gladly take the life of another.

when i think about why Sheniya's story resonates with me so deeply, i realize there are things about her that trigger deep emotions within me. when i look at the pictures of her being carried by someone who meant her so much harm, i see Trixie's hair in the mornings when i wake her up. when i see her hand holding onto his shoulder, i see Dixie's hands as she hold her arms up for a hug when i pick her up from daycare in the evenings.

i see her without shoes and i'm enraged. 

when i see her profile, i see my own daughters. and i am reminded that there are broken subhuman pieces of shit out in this world who don't see my girls as wonderful amazing little girls, but as things to be abused, used, and destroyed.

i love my girls more than anything or anyone in this world, including myself. i would never put them in harms way, knowingly hand them over to someone who would harm them. it's impossible for me to fathom what type of woman would do such a thing.

we have got to do a better job of protecting our girls. we have got to start recognizing that being born female makes our daughters more likely to be attacked, abused, raped, and exploited.

and we've got to do something about it.

and for all those people who saw Precious and wrote it off as unrealistic, manipulative, poverty-porn:

is this real enough for you?

when it totally sounds like fun IN YOUR HEAD.

i got a totally unexpected invitation on monday evening from an old friend from KY via gchat:

"hey! can you come home this weekend? the art's league is having their costume party and it's gonna be great. if you can make it, everything will be paid for. my mom told me to let you know she'd love to babysit the girls for you!"

i can't go. there's no way i could go.

i would love to go, would have a blast, would see friends and family for the first time since 2007, but i can't go.

there are way too many ends which need tying, arrangements in need of making, and whatnot for me to just up and go. anywhere.

it's just as well. i probably wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as i think i would. it's most likely one of those "sounded great in theory but sucked in reality situations" i try to avoid at all costs.

and yet, i totally wish i had the freedom to just throw together a bag, hit the gas station, and GO. because i really think it's gonna be fantastic and i'm gonna totally miss it!!!

Confessions of a Bad Mother: first comes the TV, then comes McDonalds....

i am a tv junkie. i love it. i have no problem spending time indoors watching a parade of stupid on tv until my eyes feel blurry by the end of the day. when i was in middle school and met a classmate who told me her family didn't own a tv, i felt sad for her. SHE WAS MISSING THE YOUNG ONES, FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!

i am alarmed to report that i seem to have spread my sickness on to my kids.

see, it all started innocently enough. their dad got them a tv with a dvd player, so they could watch Blue's Clues and Baby Einstein and whatnot. but....well, the dvds got old and their mom stayed cheap, so i came up with the fabulous idea of hooking their tv up to the cable. so they could watch Noggin and only Noggin.

so you know what happened next, right? Sing-alongs with Moose and Zee, dance-alongs with The Backyardigans, rescue-alongs with The Wonder Pets, jam-alongs with Yo Gabba Gabba....man, even the commercials are the bomb!

now don't get me wrong, they still like to read their books. as a matter of fact, brown bear is STILL on the Trixie and Dixie Times Bestsellers List.

it's just that now the first thing Dixie says to me in the morning when she wakes up is "Coos-COOS!" as she points to the tv.

then, she scratches her neck like a crackhead.

i'm not a dumb bunny. i know there's "research" out there proclaiming that tv exposure has been shown to "negatively impact" your child's "cognitive functioning."

yeah, yeah, blah blah blah, you ol' killjoy scientists. i have yet to see any signs of persistent and pernicious stupid coming from either of the chicks, so STFU with your boring lab coats.

but nonetheless, it's jarring to see your kids actually express a desire to watch tv. i wanted them to enjoy it, not exactly seek it out like they need it. but what did i think would happen?

however,  i am drawing the line at getting tvs and a dvd player for the car. i don't care how effortless they are claimed to make road trips!

anything you can do, i can do better!

i was thinking the other day, as i do often, about what my motherhood experience would be like if i could call my mom and get her opinion and guidance on some things. I told myself that my having daughters would most likely have brought us closer together, that we would bond even tighter over my experiencing some of the same things i'm sure she experienced with me when i was small.

and then i snapped out of it.

because the fact of the matter is, most Moms and GMoms don't meld into this invincible unit in which ideas are shared and built upon for the betterment of the child. No, a battle of wills usually occurs centered around who has the best idea, greatest tips, and most steady head, heart, hands, and temperament.

i like to think of this conversation, soon after finding out i was having twins, as a hint of what would have been:

Wilma: now....you're not going to hit them are you? you're not going to spank, right?

Boca: yes! often! daily! whenever the mood strikes, all pun intended!

Wilma: ohhhhhh, you can't do that!

[readers, have i ever told you about the *spanking* i once got that started in my bedroom and ended in the living room? because i was running? and she was chasing? did i?]

yeap, she was geared up and 'ret to let fly a stream of hypocrisy the likes of which i would have sworn up to that point was merely legendary. it was going to happen.

and in response to it, there would be much teeth gnashing, complaining, and silent eyerolling with an few "who's kids does she think these ARE anyway!"

that alllll being said, it would still totally rock to be able to talk to my mom about this experience and listen to her tell me for the 1 millionth time, squared, that if SHE could do it, i can DEFINITELY do it....even if she did do it better.

And that's why i don't go to Vegas.

Of all the crap i have to lug to The Thunderdome for Trixie and Dixie's 8 hours of battle, the items that annoy me the most have got to be the Change of Clothes. I hate packing these items because

1) i have to think out another whole outfit for each kid the day.

and

b) the clothes in the bag take away from other outfits i plan during the week.

but i usually* put myself through the pain in the ass process because the MOMENT i forget to put clothes in the bag, i'm reminded by the daycare staff.

but lately, i haven't been that, shall we say, vigillant about the clothing i've put in the bag, telling myself "self, if they actually end up NEEDING clothes during the day, it will surely only be a shirt or a pair of pants. not both. SURELY not both, self. so it don't matter if the tops and pants don't match. you'll be replacing pieces, not outfits!"

well, guess what the hell happened today?

yeap: they ended up needing both the shirts and the pants. and what sight does that mean i was greeted with when i showed up this evening to pick them up?

Let me paint the picture:

Light Blue long-sleeved shirts with pink horizontal stripes and a pink heart in the center, topping a brown pair of pants with pink, green and yellow stars.

as they say during New York fashion week: the outfits were an atomic hot mess.

and my kids were standing in a room, dressed like demented Peeps, amongst other children wearing Levis and Baby Phat ensembles. and i was convicted.

see, that's what i'm saying: i wagered and lost BIG TIME. and any thoughts i had of winning the lotto or hitting the jackpot on a slot machine flew out the window, along with my entire family's dignity.

well, i've learned my lesson and this Foe Pah must never be repeated. because you know what dressing your children like idiots leads to?

them one day dressing themselves like idiots. i won't have that on my conscience.

*yeah, sometimes i don't bother because i like to live on the edge. and i'm lazy.

Halloween Effin Sucks.

and here we are again.

i said to myself "self, this year will be different."

i said "self, you have one halloween under your belt already."

said "there's absolutely no reason for you to get as stressed out about costumes as you did last year."

"you had a tendency to blow things out of proportion. that was just another example."


and then i started looking around online for costumes. and i remembered why i was stressed out about something as stupid as Halloween.

Many of the costumes are cheap, ugly and uncomfortable looking.

A lot of the costumes, while not looking like anything special. will kick your wallet into the stratosphere. Until this moment, have you ever seen a $34.00 monkey? Know what i can get for a little over $34? TWO WINTER COATS!

the costumes are never EVER sold as complete as the picture illustrated. You might see a cute kid standing there in a red and black ladybug costume for $15.00. but what you're getting is a red and black sleeveless tunic and a headband. the t-shirt? those leggings? those shoes? you're on your own, kid.

pressure. your kids don't CARE that it's Halloween and they may or may not even register their costumes look any different than their spaghetti sauce covered play clothes. but everyone else knows. the daycare. your coworkers. your friends. your family. and if you skip out on a costume and subsequent photo opportunity, someone is calling CPS behind your back.

when you find the perfect costume at the perfect price, it's either sold out or not in your kid's size. yes, that's right: everyone has the same eye for perfect as you do. the only different is they have credit cards, iphones, and more time on their hands to make their dreams come true.

and so now, on October 5, i am again feeling the stress of finding the most adorable, mostly complete, totally affordable ladybug and bumblebee costumes this side of the grand canyon.

i fear my odds of success are just as high as being able to pick out a yellow flower growing along the basin of said canyon from a helicopter with the naked eye.

If you ain't got no money, keep yo' broke ass in daycare!

Chugging along towards the twins' second birthday, i have a nagging thought in the back of my head:

how am i supposed to make pre-school work for the girls and myself?

See, here's the thing: around 3 years of age, a lot of parents start thinking about placing their kids in pre-school to prepare them for kindergarten. However, pre-school does not keep your child for the same length of time as daycares do, and many of them don't keep your child 5 days a week.

Which means, if you work, you'll still have to find childcare arrangements for your child until you get off work.

Now, i don't know if you noticed, gentle reader, but it was a nightmare just trying to find a daycare that i could afford. Having completed that mission, i know how to set my sights on finding a pre-school i can afford with aftercare services i can also afford.

Which, in the long run, is going to end up costing me even more money.

That i don't have. And may not have when the time comes because....no one is going to get a raise at my job until fiscal year 10-11.

And we may not even get one then.

Here's the harsh reality of the situation: unfortunately something as important as access to education for your child is based on your financial ability. If you don't have it, then no, little Kimmy is not going to be able to take language classes or go to a award winning pre-school.

and if little Kimmy is poor, she's going to go to her crappy neighborhood school.

and if little Kimmy graduates from a crappy school, she may not do well on her SAT.

but if she does and gets into a school but can't get financial aid, she ain't going to college.

and then Kimmy is going to be working in Burger King, dating convicts, rapping her orders, and telling customers who want to change their orders "Gurrrl, i will CUT.YOU!"












Yeah, yeah, the girls are only 21 months old. I have plenty of time to sort all of this out. But the whole notion has me feeling a little panicky, knowing this new problem is right around the corner.


Kinda like Uncle Frank in the attic, except with eyelids. Being caught out there unprepared can make a person a little jittery....

In Memoriam

When we look back upon the ones who were lost on September 11, 2001, rarely does anyone talk about the children who perished. Children taking trips with parents. Children excitedly flying across the country to take part in a special reward for doing well in school. Sibling groups. 


Children as young as Trixie and Dixie. 


All of the children lost were on the planes. Some had their parents with there to comfort them. Some hopefully were comforted by others on their plane. Comtemplating the horror and devastation felt by those parents left behind is almost too much to bear. 

I want to list these names and not only mourn for the loss their families have suffered but also for the loss to our society. What kind of people would they be now? How would they be doing in school? What colleges would they be attending this fall?


What might these children have accomplished in their lives if given the chance? 

Christine Lee Hanson - Age 2


David Reed Gamboa Brandhorst - Age 3


Dana Falkenberg - Age 3


Juliana Valentine McCourt - Age 4


Zoe Falkenberg - Age 8


Bernard Curtis Brown II - Age 11


Asia S. Cottom - Age 11


Rodney Dickens - Age 11

I tried to tender my resignation.

i asked a friend this weekend "why do i feel so burned out by midday on the weekends?"

the answer to that question is "because you have twin toddlers."

after watching my girls zip from one corner and then zoom to the other, i am convinced that that inspiration for the Gremlins' Christmas Party had to have come from the energy and attention span of your average 20 month old.



and so, after many hours of chasing, saying no, and stop, and get down, and that's not a toy....and gritting my teeth as i watch a child purposefully suck milk into her mouth for the sole purpose of letting it dribble down her shirt and legs to the floor....by Sunday afternoon, i'd had enough. so, i decided to quit. i found a scratch of paper that used my be a piece of mail and hastily scribbled out my goodbyes.

"you people with the eyelashes: i quit this bitch!"

as my last act as their mother, i fixed trixie and dixie lunch. then i took a shower, got dressed, and left.

i took myself to lunch and at without anyone trying to snatch my food away from me.

and then i sat outside with a glass of wine. and i slouched. and i put my feet up.

and at no time did i have to tell anyone no, stop, get down, or that's not toy.

it was marvelous.

i sat there and i thought about how carefree my life used to be and how on the weekends, i could sleep as long as i wanted, go wherever i chose, and....waste an inordinate amount of time and money trying not to feel so lonely and sad .

and then, after a few hours, the warden called and informed me that i didn't actually quit: i was just on furlough. my services in the Prison Kitchen were needed.

something or another about "dinner."

i grudgingly went back home but after getting there and being greeted my hugs and kisses, i couldn't remember why i'd wanted to get away so badly.

and here i was just using some old Tupperware!

we humans are funny. and by "funny" i mean crazy as hell.

for instance: i love how we can't find a cure for AIDS or cancer, but can invent little decorative boxes to keep our children's body parts in!!

behold, the Umbilical Box

the company who has brought you this, also has boxes to store your kids' teeth and fingernails. and when they graduate from college and find a menial low-paying jobs, you can get them one to keep their hopes and dreams in.

i think those boxes come with tear stains on the top.

and in 13 years, they won't talk to me at all

Trixie and Dixie have certainly been talking their little pants off lately. which is both exhilarating and terrifying.

exhilarating because i get a kick out of Dixie's insistent "nyooo!" and out of Trixie's earnest "uh-owhhh." as well as they way they ask if it's time to "eat?" how the tell me their body parts "noh....eye....ear...har...." how they tell other kids at daycare stop, and sister, and no ma'am! and how when told to do something, they respond "i will!" with attitude.

and hilarious how, despite his best efforts to be called Papá, Trixie has christened her father "DADah!"

terrifying because....weren't they just babies? wasn't that them in their car seats sitting inside the shopping cart at Sam's on our Saturday morning shopping excursions?

wasn't that just me so excited that they could pull themselves up to a stand at the couch?

one of the hardest things for a modestly middle class family to do is pay daycare expenses for multiples. i have often asked god to please, speed up along to kindergarten for a break in expenses.

....i didn't mean it, god.

Summer Storms

yesterday evening, after getting everyone home from daycare a storm blew through. since this storm didn't have the added special effects of "thunder" and "lightening" (which then evokes "terror"and "screaming" and "running"), i decided to open the patio door so Trixie and Dixie could see "esta lloviendo! it's raining, chicks!"

Trixie and Dixie were pretty impressed! and when the good times were over and it was time to shut the door, I soon discovered that Dixie loved it a wee bit more than Trixie did and took it quite personally when i decided to close the door...

What happened next will go down in our family history as the night mommy needed a young priest, an old priest, a vial of holy water, and a flask of whiskey to overcome the terror from within. I have a picture of the incident, but until i have a chance to upload it, you'll have to make due with this illustration:




as i was shutting the door, Dixie started to protest.

as the door was being shut, she started jumping up and down.

by the time the door was shut completely, she clocked completely out. This included

- throwing herself down onto the floor
- turning read in the face
- biting her fingers on her hand in rage
- rolling across the floor to my legs
- pulling herself up by my pants legs
- trying to rip my pants off my body
- making a grab for my shirt, which i deflected
- throwing herself back into the floor and,
- while stiffening her body, howling in rage.

throughout the entire thing, Trixie kind of stood off to the side, eyes round in disbelief. Finally she and I sat on the couch and just watched the drama unfold. This was also my only way of making sure Trixie didn't somehow end up with her toupee torn off in the event Dixie decided to take her tantrum to Cage Match levels.

and this went on for 15 minutes until she was finally finished. after which, we went to the bathroom, put cool water on her face, and dried it with a towel.

and for the rest of the evening, she was my same old sweet toddler. by this time, the rains had stopped outside as well.

these sudden summer storms really do inspire "terror" and "running," don't they?

Confessions of a Bad Mother: Snacks? What Snacks?

i got another one of those fantastic weekly emails that notes how old your child is and what you should expect last night. this came from pampers.com, telling me (a few days early) that hoooooray my child is now 20 months.

and as i was scanning the email, making tiny check marks beside all of the things i do "right" and beside what the twins are doing on target, i got to this line:

At this age, meals are generally short affairs. Make the most of the time your toddler does spend eating by offering him calorie-dense foods six times a day (three meals, three hearty snacks).

uh, sorry? three hearty snacks? three? snacks? EVERYDAY???

this is the part where i pull out the cat-of-nine-tails and practice some public mortification of my flesh.....i don't really give my kids snacks.

yes, i said it.

i feed them like they are people. breakfast, lunch, dinner. milk, juice, water. maybe on occasionally a cracker or 2, give or take 20.

but that's it, people!

so after reading that email and having a panic attack (scurvy! they're going to get scurvy!!), i decided to change my evil ways and get them ladies some snacks! and i must say, the snacking has gone over like gangbusters. as a matter of fact, when i gave them bananas, Dixie actually said "ooooooooooooooooooooooh!" while making a grab for it.

i am amazed at the stuff that never occurs to me until im finding out i'm not doing it right. when is it going to get easier?

Party's Over.

one of the things that has consistently gone right with Trix and Dix has been my faithful and unwavering dedication to the 8:30 pm bedtime. granted, we had a slight hiccup with daylight saving time, but once they got over the whole problem with having to go to bed while it's still daytime, it was smooth sailing.

and then 19 months happened. actually, 19 months, week 4 happened. and my sweet children who had gone to bed at 8:30 last week are now chitty chattin, jibber jabberin, screaming, crying, and whining well past 10:00 pm now. In addition to this change in events, i also had the pleasure of wrangling them over the weekend without benefit of them taking a nap.

and did i mention that they seem to have gotten yet another burst of outrageous energy and stamina? they're like Tasmanian Devils on meth!

and did i tell you that Dixie seems to have been possessed by a bipolar demon? She can go from shits and giggles to punches and scratches in nanoseconds!

Babycenter has been sending me weekly emails trying to warn me these changes were coming. i glanced over the article titles, but i didn't really read them. because underneath it all, i said to myself "yeah, but not my little chicklets."

welp, it's my little chicklets.

a friend of mine told me yesterday things will be better when they're three. i'll do my best to hold out until then...

reading is dys-fundamental

a scene from a mother and child, bonding over a book:

"ajure?"

"shirt."

"ajure?"

"door."

"ajure?"

"apple."

"ajure?"

"door."

"ajure?"

"frog."

"ajure?"

"milk."

"ajure?"

"frog."

"ajure?"

"frog."

"ajure?"

"hat."

"ajure?"

"baby."

"ajure?"

"bathing suit."

"ajure?"

"door."

"ajure?"

"chocolate."

"ajure?"

"chicken."

"ajure?"

"flower."

"ajure?"

"frog."

....boy, i really owe the person who invented picture books a big ol hearty roundhouse kick to the nads.