At 1:00 am Teenaged boys make as much racket as twin babies

If this is what teenaged boys are like, I am not going to be getting any sleep for the next 17 years…

Last night, or do I mean very very early this morning? I was peacefully nursing Baby A, and thinking about the excess of bratwurst I had eaten that afternoon. I wasn’t sure if I was awake because of my rumbling insides, or because of the snuffling baby attached to my outsides, but either way, I was up. Which is why I heard every little noise that came from below the bedroom window, in my normally silent suburban neighborhood. At first there were voices, and then the rattle of the latch on a gate. My lovely next door neighbors have a fence, to contain their dogs (yeah, great watchdogs they have been proven to be…hm hm) and I have the same type of fence with the same type of gate. I know the neighbors have two teenaged boys, so I didn’t think it unusual to hear young men’s voice at 12:30 am.

But what was unusual was the yelling and then the crashing and thumping noises that followed the gate opening and closing. A bit peeved, I detached Mister Baby, who was a bit peeved by being unplugged, and went to the window. My my! What shenanigans were before my eyes! Three hoodlum types were attempting to open MY gate and making threatening noises to someone inside my fence inside MY own private bucolic Eden, aka, The Backyard!

Well, I wasted no time at all. I threw open the window and hollered, “Well, excuse me! Who are YOU?!”

Hoodlum Number One nearly jumped out of his athletic gear clad skin. It would have been very funny to see someone jump straight up in the air like that if I weren’t so angry at having my peace and my backyard disturbed. He landed on his feet and took off across the neighbors’ front yard. There were two other Hoodlums waiting for him by a tree and they ran to their getaway car. The foolish lads called out to each other, “Hey, Dobson, better get going!” “Okay, Jake!” as they trampled the nice neighbors’ newly sown grass. Since I am such the shy blossom, I yelled, “Watch it, Jake and Dobson! I’m calling the police on you!” as they zoomed away.

By now Mister Baby A was thoroughly awake and pretty annoyed at having his late night nursing marathon interrupted by Mama hollering out of the window. I picked him up and went down to the kitchen to call 911. Just as the dispatcher answered the line, I heard a knick knock on my back door. Hmmm, who could this be behind door number one? Ladies and gentlemen, it was a slightly intoxicated, extremely tall, sweaty teenager, also clad in athletic gear, but with only one sneaker.

Me (in a frosty voice that sounded eerily like the one my own mother uses when she is dealing with riff raff): Yes? And who might you be?

Slightly Intoxicated, Extremely tall, Sweaty Teenager (in a shaky voice with a Southern accent): Ma’am, I really hate to disturb you and all, but I’m kinda scared. My name is John Lawson, and I’m real sorry to wake you up and disturb you.

Me (still frosty, but thawing out a bit): I’m on the phone with the police.

SIETST (still Southern): Good, that’s good, Ma’am. Can I come in? I’m so sorry to disturb you.

I thought he sounded pretty shaky and he didn’t really look too criminal, and I was on the phone with the police the whole time. So I called up to the DH, who came downstairs to be my backup and let the guy in the kitchen. I got him a glass of water and told Five-O what had gone down.

The teenager kept on and on about how he was from South Carolina and was at house party and how his girl needed to get home, so he walked her home, saw her to the door and was promptly jumped by the three hoodlums (Dobson, Jake and their crony) who swatted him with a baseball bat. Why, I am not too sure, perhaps he looked at them cross-eyed. You need to be careful with hoodlums these days, I suppose.

Anyway, Baby B woke up, funny how babies can sense disturbance, and I went upstairs to get the boys back to bed. The DH stayed in the kitchen with the teenager, gave him water and waited for the PD. By the time they showed up Baby B had gone back to sleep, but Baby A insisted on coming downstairs, meeting the policemen and putting in his five cents.

There we all were, on the front steps at 1:00 am, the DH, the SIETST, two policemen and Baby A and I. The SIETST was telling his story, which involved a party, an empty house, the three hoodlums, another Southern couple and quantities of intoxicants. The DH, who can be as nosy as I am, was drinking it all in, and I was asked to tell my Eyewitness News version. Baby A kept up a running chatter; pointing out the lights and the trees and the moon to anyone who cared to notice and eventually we dispersed. The SIETST got a ride home, and our little family went back to bed.

At least that what I thought would happen. But nooooo. For the next two hours, Mister Baby A wanted to be up! He looked out one window, then the other, to make sure there were no other invaders. Then he played with his bears and his dolls. Then he wanted a snack, at least I though he did; he pointed to the kitchen and made the sign for “eat”. However, when I offered him yogurt, milk, banana, applesauce, peaches, cheese and juice, he became agitated and decided to nurse. So we went back upstairs, and did it all again until 2:45 or so.

Finally he conked out, and I was at a place where I couldn’t sleep either. Maybe it was the bratwurst, or maybe it was the fact that I was still pretty annoyed at having my garden invaded, or maybe it was just paranoia that the three hoodlums would return and try to “get back” at me for called the PD on them and finish their trampling antics. The upshot is, I was up until 4:00 am, but woke up at 6:30 as usual.

My oh my. If this is the type of thing teenagers do, I am not going to get good night’s sleep until they move out. A Stay Home Daddy Friend of mine (you know who you are!) got to hear one of my tales recently, involving a old gal pal of mine, her husband and a rabid dog, and commented, “I never have crazy stories like that to tell! Never!”

Well, SHDF; perhaps you should open the window at 1:00 am. Maybe you’ll see something interesting, and have a tale of your own. Unless, of course, you like to sleep at night, but as Baby A was clearly saying last night, who wants to sleep when there is sooo much going on?

George, I wish you had been there. You’re such a tough guy all three of those hoodlums would have levitated at once.

As Cecily suggested

Here is a list of blogs copied from Cecily’s and I wasted all that birth control. She is a funny, smart, caring and totally cool lady, who has been hit with some major sh*t in her life. However, she remains a funny, smart, caring and totally cool lady, so check her out!

What we are supposed to do, in this exercise, is act like journaling bees pollinating the literary flowers of the Internet. So, remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place. Then add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross-pollination effect.

Marti http://marti2212.blogspot.com/
Melody http://melslifeinanutshell.blogspot.com
Sheri http://deerledge.blogspot.com
Cecily http://zia.blogs.com/wastedbirthcontrol/
MOT http://motheroftwins.blogspot.com/

Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obligated to participate, but go ahead, BEE crazy and do it. Heh heh heh!! Ah! The Double Entendre Club lives on...)

Indigo Girl http://indigogirl.typepad.com/linda/
Library Lil http://library-lil.diaryland.com/
Mimi S. http://smartypants.diaryland.com/
Chez http://chezmiscarriage.blogs.com/
Excruciating Minutiae http://acbowm.blogspot.com/
Dani http://www.theyellowwallpaper.blogspot.com/

Okay, blogging bees, get BEE-zy, get to work, and read a new post or two! Or go make honey. Or something.

Yo! Your highbeams are off center...

I am one of those people who notice every little thing about everybody. This is not to say I am a shallow, superficial, petty and uncaring person, no, not at all. I can be friends with people with terrible eyebrows just as easily as not! I just happen to notice their eyebrows and might mention it at some point.

A friend of mine is absolutely the opposite. She’ll notice things like the clouds are gathering overhead, and that it might rain. She’ll also observe how well a child is playing with another child, and notice what they say to each other. I’ll see them playing and think, “Hmm, I wonder where her parents got that nice Absorba sweatshirt.” I will also notice what they are saying, and how they are playing, of course! But I will see the clothes and hair thing at the same time.

Anyway, last week I noticed one of the women in my gym was committing a total gym fashion don’t. She had the matching stretchy shorts and bra top going on, and the socks were a good color for the ensemble. However, she had not adjusted her boobs in that pretty bra top, and as a result one was pointing up and the other was pointing to the side! Ooopsie! Number one, ouch!? And number two, my that looks funny! But how on earth to you go up to a total stranger and tell her that her nipples are all wonky? I’m pretty bold, but not that bold.

Dear Miss Manners, I have a little problem. A woman at my gym is distracting the entire floor with her off center nipples. How can I tell her she’s distracting us, and needs to adjust her cups? Thanks for any tips! Sincerely, Can’t Stop staring at a Strange Woman’s Crooked Boobs.

Of course I checked myself out, and my alignment was A-ok. Guys have it easier. In gym clothes, or in any kind of stretchy clothes, a guy can dress to one side or the other or can even dress “up”. It all looks fine. But a lady should dress to the front, or get herself a bra with a heavier lining. Oh, don’t worry girlfriend; if I see your boobs are out of whack, I’ll be sure to whisper a hint. I am one of those people who do notice these things, you know.

The Double Entendre Club

I have a running joke with my spin instructor. We are the Double Entendre Club, which means we make these awful puns whenever we meet. The original joke runs as follows:

A woman walks into a bar and orders a Double Entendre. The bartender gives it to her.

Ha ha ha! Of course, not everyone gets it, and even if they get it, not everyone thinks it’s funny. Anyway, Miss Silver, the Spin Mistress, thought it was hee haw funny and The Double Entendre Club was born.

One day the joke was a play on a fellow spinner’s name: Otto. We kept it up for a while, “He drives a pretty nice OTTO.” And, “He’s late today, he OTTO try to get here on time!” And the best, Miss Silver’s line, “This class seems quite natural for him, I’d say it’s OTTO-matic.” Ha ha! Snort snort! Hee hee ha ha ho ho! We nearly fell off the bikes.

Another day, we had fun with geography jokes. We started this by talking about an Irish band, then I said, “This spin class is a good way to get your heart rate DUBLIN.” Miss Silver countered with, “I-RISH we could cycle all night.” I commented, “Let’s cycle Bel-FAST-er.” And we just went on and on.

The last run of puns was on the energy of the class, or our Chi. Miss Silver started us off by saying, “Our energy is CHI-riffic.” I said, “Yes, and in this class CHI-ting is a good thing!” Then she said, "If we were in Kansas we’d have to meet in Wit-CHI-ta." Groan groan. I said, “We could always go to Russia, and meet in CHI-ev.” When we got control of ourselves, I then said, “Let’s stop now. I think another pun would CHI-pen the humor.”

You may think these puns are just terrible, but we think we are simply CHI-larious.

Sometimes even the best of intentions get you messed up.

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."--Ralph Waldo Emerson. May I paraphrase that into - Irritating inconsistencies are the troll-goblins of my parents' minds?

As you may know, those of you who are long time readers, my parents have this thing about not being disturbed. Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays are all very important days that must be kept scared and sacrosanct. You know those garden rocks you can buy from those horrible Lillian Vernon catalogs? There are one that read Welcome Friends, and others read Garden of Peace, or some such tripe. I want to get one for my parents that reads Go Away.

They usually leave parties and other social gatherings after about two hours; it seems to be their limit for interaction with others. I am not sure how they manage to keep going for the full day at the office. They might take the occasional fifteen-minute time-out for the sake of comfort. I also feel they like to leave my parties early so they don’t have to help clean up, but that may actually be secondary to the two-hour time limit thing.

Anyway, I have been hearing this Do Not Disturb thing for quite some time now, and especially since the babies exploded upon us. Last year, when I was completely shattered, my mother was coming to see me, from 10:00 until 12:30, but that’s better than never, three Tuesdays out of the month. I was going up to see them every other Thursday, from 10 is until 2 ish, but I think that got a bit much for the folks. There was one memorable day that put the kebosh on this weekly jaunt. About three months ago, my dear Dad had a bit too much wine at lunch. I had asked him to help me with the boys’ lunch. His job was to pick up what they tossed on the floor and to keep them distracted so I could shovel their applesauce and Annie’s Mac and Cheese into their gullets more efficiently. His idea of helping, in his tipsy state, was to watch them toss everything on the floor and when they clamored to have it back on the table, they were 17 months old at this time, he told them, “Life is rough. You need to learn you can’t get everything you want.” Of course, they said, “Ahhhh. Ah Ah Ah!” right back. I pointed out that they were in a relatively unfamiliar place, they were past due for feeding, so they were a bit tender and that I really needed his assistance.

Then the dear old man started going on about the necessity of learning life is rough and hardship is a good thing. Then he said I am too rough and how I have been been really angry lately. Wait, Father Dear, how did we get from lunchtime to me being angry? Actually, since you aren't helping and the dining room is a mess and Mumsie is sick and can't help us tidy up and the boys are screaming and I still have two babies to feed, and now I also have a kitchen and dining room to clean up and a tipsy granddad who is not lifting a finger, I really have the right to be annoyed right now! I got the boys organized, cleaned the house and left soon after.

Be that as it may, that was then and this just happed yesterday. A brief time line: the past three weekends have been rather busy. Three weekends ago we had a party in New Jersey for my sister, who just completed her PhD and walked at her graduation ceremony. I agreed with her that the parents kind of had to be there. The weekend after was my fabulous birthday; since I am now 36 and all and so mature, didn’t make a bit of a fuss when they skated out without helping clean up; besides, I’m used to it by now. I had heard, several times, how they were exhausted at that point, what with two Sundays in a row gobbled up by social events.

Then, just this past Sunday, they went to New Jersey again to see my lovely little niece, who is very pretty and very sweet and very five, perform in her ballet recital. I was not able to go; my babies don’t do very well at sitting still for 45 minutes, unfortunately, but I am sure she will perform her dance for me in private at a later date. My parents did go, as part of their grandparenty duties, so this meant three Sundays in a row without their essential total avoidance of all other humans.

Now this Sunday is going to be Father’s Day, and I had asked if they would like to have the babies and me up to their house for lunch or something. I was told, by my mother, that they had been invited out for lunch, and would not be able to see me, even though they would like to. Oh well.

As a result of hearing how exhausted they are for the past three weeks, I thought, and stop me if this sounds nutty, that they were kind of exhausted and wanted to be left in peace and might not welcome me and two toddlers dropping by unannounced. OK, OK, I know – where did I get that idea?! The upshot was, on Thursday, one of their sacrosanct days off, I sneaked by to drop off my father’s Fathers Day gift. I drove up the driveway, parked carefully, opened the door really quietly, wrote them a note and put the note and the package on the dining room table. I could see my mother through the window from the dining room into the kitchen and could hear my father yelling a conversation with her. She claims not be deaf, but she didn’t hear me and the old man was a’talkin’ mighty loud...

Then I left. A few minutes later my cell phone rang, and it was the parents.

Me: Hellllooo!

Daddy: When did you drop by? Why didn’t you come in? That was so silly! Where are you? Come back and stay for lunch!

Me: You guys said you wanted to be left in peace and have had too much socialization in the past little while, so I thought that meant you wanted to be left in peace and have had too much socialization in the past little while.

Mother: No! Not at all! You should have stopped in and said hello! Just stopping without saying hello is very foolish.

Hmmm. I can remember several occasions when I had arranged to have my parents or my mother meet me at my house for various reasons. Invariably they would either stop by for somewhere between four and seven minutes, or, and this has happened more than half a dozen times, they just LEFT A NOTE and had not stayed or come in at all.

Me: Well, parents dear, I have been doing some thinking about our relationship lately, and have rediscovered that you don’t treat me as I would ideally be treated, but neither do I treat you as you say you would like to be treated. I am going to be better. I really thought you’d rather not be disturbed! But please remember that I love it when people come by, so next time maybe you guys could come in for longer than a minute?

Parents: uuuggghhh hmmmmm ahhhhh, oh well, we are so busy and just exhausted…you really should have come in, and we aren’t free on Sunday, don’t forget! We want to just be alone. We are exhausted.

Me: I know, and I am not planning on coming by, that’s why I dropped off his gift today, you see? Do you get it? But I thought you were invited out somewhere on Sunday?

Daddy: Oh, no! We just don't want to be disturbed!

Parents: Anyway,you should have come in!

As my dear sister would say, since the completion of her PhD had made her more articulate that ever, What the F**k?

Help! I've been robbed!

It was a little bit my fault, but Jeez…

The other day I had a busy busy morning scheduled. You know, the type of day that makes most people start to sweat, but for me, The MOT, it’s just another day of errands to be completed before 11 am. I had to go to the bank, close an account, go to another bank, get the title for my car (yep, all paid up! Thanks, DH!), go to T.J.’s and pick up a few organic bits and pieces, go to a consignment shop to see what kind of money I could get for the babies’ old Absorba and Catamini/Minimini outfits, and go to Old Navy to load up on V-neck tee shirts in perfect fit. They are 3 for $12, and since the boys yank the hell outta everything I wear, I might as well wear cheap-o tee shirts with my Isaac Mizrahi skirts as not.

I had to get all the above completed before 11:00 am, because I had an appointment down town to have my hair restored to its convict length. It’s just too darn hot. (According to the Kinsey report, every average guy you know, much prefers his lovey dovey to court when the temperature is low. But when the thermometer goes way up, and the weather is sizzling hot, Mister Pants for romance is not…because it’s too darn hot! It’s too darn hot! It’s toooo daaarrrn bad I have to burst into Cole Porter in the middle of a blog as well as in life, please excuse me.)

Song and dance aside, I was doing well. I got a load of laundry in the washer and the clothes from the washer on the line, made a few calls and got outta the house by 9:00. The DH had taken Mister A and Mister B to the playground, so knew they were safe and happy. I stopped at Bank One, then at Bank Two and then went to the consignment shop. That’s where it all went down.

I entered the shop carrying my wallet in one hand and two bags of clothes in the other. I put the wallet and the bags on the counter and started discussing the clothes with the female there. She said she’d give me two dollars per outfit. Hellooo? I pointed out that these outfits cost, on average, $75 each new. She looked a bit taken aback. Now, just so y’all aren’t taken aback, or a front, or any which way, I got the clothes for about $20 each on eBay. I’m not a complete sap. Anyway, I said, and this might have been a tactical error, “I guess I’ll take these things to a shop in Old Saybrook, or somewhere more snooty. Ha ha.” I really said the words “Ha ha” to let her know I was get a-foolin’, and she smiled back, but now I think she was not amused.

I got into my paid-off car and went to T.J.’s. I parked and reached over on the car seat for my little red wallet, but...it wasn’t there. I knew what had happened; I had left it in the consignment shop! I called them up right away. I had the number in my cell phone because I had called as I was driving over to check what time they opened.

Me: (all friendly) Hi! I was just there with some children’s clothes and I left my wallet on your counter!

Woman on phone: (sounding unimpressed) Oh, let me look, Honey. (Pause of two seconds) Nope, no wallet here.

Me: Thanks.

I zoomed back anyway, all the while praying to St. Anthony, patron saint of lost things, to help me find what is missing, Nel nome del Padre e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, Amen.

I zipped into the store and saw the same three women were there, helping a few customers. I asked and asked and looked around, but no one saw a thing; so they said. Now, just so you know, I had called between 10 and 12 minutes after I left the store, all my errands were in the same neighborhood, and I got back to the shop about 20 minutes after I had first left. What can happen in 12 minutes? Two situations come to mind. One: the wallet fell on the floor, and, due to the plushness of the carpet, I did not hear it drop. (That’s sarcasm by the by. It’s a cheesy shop and the threadbare carpet wouldn’t muffle the footfalls of an ant.) A customer, who came in after I had departed and left before I made the call, saw it and scooped it up. Situation two: The woman who was manning the counter saw me leave it there and either didn’t notice at first, or didn’t like my snooty remark and didn’t tell me it had left it behind. Then, once I was gone, she took it. Shehad a look inside, saw it was a Coach wallet, full of cash, I had just closed a bank account remember, saw my big ole birthday check from Mumsie, saw the gold Amex and decided to teach the snooty be-atch with her fancy clothes a lesson.

Naturally, I would like the think the former, but the latter situation is somehow more plausible. A friend, to whom I related my take of woe, told me of a study performed by his alma mater. The study was a test of basic human honesty/decency. A wallet, full o’ cash money and some ID, was left in a public place. A hidden camera recorded what people did upon the discovery of the wallet. About 70 percent picked it up, took a peek and took off. Only a small percentage of the people tried to return it at all, a slightly larger percentage took the money and returned the ID.

Hmmm. I tend to believe in the basic greediness of my fellow man, so I have no expectation of anything being returned. However, membership does have its privileges! Did you know that Amex not only got me a new card, Fed Ex’ed overnight, but they also called my Master Card, Nordstrom and Discover for me? AND, the best of all, they faxed the DMV to get me a new driver’s license! I love Amex, I really do. If that weren’t good enough, later I discovered I had tidied up the wallet, and had taken my childrens’ pictures and the gift cards for B and N out and put them into the pocket of my handbag. I was relieved not to have lost my photographs, let me tell you!

This was also an interesting robbery from a historical perspective. Many years ago, when I was mightily insecure and not yet convinced of my worth as a human being, I used to date this freakin’ scumbag, who totally brainwashed me into thinking I was unable to live without him. Or get dressed without him, or speak without him, or get a haircut without him, you get the idea. Anyway, this troll, who shall go by the alias Tommy Rodriguez, used to also get me to pay for all the grocery shopping. One time, as I was getting all the shopping bags into the car, I put my wallet on the car roof. Yep, you guessed it, I was so busy thinking of this that and t’other, and so busy being insecure, I drove off. By the time I realized it, it was almost half an hour later and the wallet was definitely gone; I lived in the big city at the time. I was VERY upset, because it was not only a wallet, but also a Filofax, with all my addresses and some photos and my lovely lapis lazuli Waterman pen clipped on the side. I actually cried. As my chips were down, this freakin’ slimeball had the nerve to say, “Oh, mi amor, are you going to leave one of our children in the parking lot too?”

I was THIS close to smacking him, lemme tell you.

The DH, man of my dreams, could not have been a bigger contrast. I called him and told him I had been robbed, but it was a little bit of my fault and so on and so forth. He said to come meet him, because he knew how much I wanted to keep my hair appointment and lunch date. I hooked up with him, and the boys, at his parent’s house. He gave me a hug and a kiss, told me how much it sucks to lose a wallet, handed me his spare credit card. Then he took all the cash he had, without counting it, and handed it all over. (Wow. I think I'll get "robbed" again next week.)

What a man.

I met my lunch date, aka Preacher Mom, after I had had my hair restored to the felonious length I prefer, and told her the story. She was suitably sympathetic, and a bit surprised that I wasn’t more upset. I told her I was letting it go and that I felt I might have deserved it a bit and she was kind enough not to agree! I had to tell her, since she is a minister and all, about my cyclical prayer to Saint Anthony en route back to the shop, and what I said, in my head, as I left the shop.

En route to the shop: Dear Saint Anthony, please help me find what is lost, Amen. Dear Saint Anthony, please help me find what is lost, Amen. Dear Saint Anthony, please help me find what is lost, Amen...

En route from the shop: Well, F**k you, Saint Anthony.

I also reassured her that, yes, I did apologize to the saint, the poor guy.

A lesson "they" have yet to learn...

I was at the playground the other day with my posse of three mothers and our five children, of assorted sizes and flavors. One of my twin-lets, Baby B, decided he wanted a Popsicle, and ever one to please, I let him have a luridly colored rocket pop. He wanted to hold it by himself, and, like many other twenty-month-old toddlers, he made a right royal mess of himself. I wasn’t particularly bothered by the red, blue and green slobber ornamenting the front of his white tee shirt. I have finally learned to let it go. Some other mothers in that park that day still need to learn that lesson.

Baby B is an independent, social creature, so he went over to another child, to chat and make friends. This other child was about six or seven months old and seemed happy to meet him; but the child’s mother was absolutely not.

I could see trouble was brewing; mother and baby were sitting prettily on a pale blue blanket; the baby was dressed in a madras romper (immaculate) and the mother was in beige shorts and a white shirt (spotless). Here comes my Baby B, full of bounce and go and coated with Popsicle drippings and sand. I let him "visit", as they say down South, for a few minutes, and then went over.

Me: Hi! I guess I had better get my little one! Your baby is sweet; is he your first?
Mother: (with a look of eww-what-a-gross-dirty-toddler on her face): Yes, he is and yes, I think you had better take yours away.

Me: (inside my head): Ok, Be-atch. I know my toddler is a bit sticky, and your baby is neat and tidy, but as soon as that baby of yours starts to walk/eat/be a more of a person and less of an inanimate life form, you will know why I am out in public with a dirty, messy baby, yo!

Me: (in reality): Hee hee, come on Baby B! Say bye!


It’s funny how I could have said x, y and z! I had such an opportunity of making a point. I could have taught her a valuable lesson; namely, don’t give other mothers that holier than thou look when you are not in the same place! I know! Because the universe will bite you in the butt, as sure as toddlers toddle. The more you feel and act above it all, the more of a come-uppance you will get, my dear! That’s just the way it goes.

I had a chance that I might have taken six months ago and totally would have taken a year ago. But I have softened with age, and showed such restraint! Being 36 is really wonderful – maturity comes so naturally now! But don’t fret, my friends; I’ll still post the what-I-really-meant-to-say inter-loquations on my blog. You know, in private for the whole wide web to see. Yo!

Happy Birthday!

Or not really, but it was a nice day.

Yesterday I hit the big 36, and woke up feeling a bit unwell, with a nasty hoarse voice. The babies were a bit worse; Baby A threw up his breakfast and Baby B had the kind of diarrhea that no diaper created can contain. I changed the bed, changed the babies and changed myself, put everything in the washer, and Baby A threw up again. I didn’t analyze it too much, I went with the gut, and called up my favorite knight in blue dress pants and button down shirt. (Shining armor is no longer de rigueur, thanks to the advent of business casual.) The DH came home lickety split, like the good man he is.

He took one baby out with him to get some bananas and some bread, to fill in the gaps in our pantry. (You know, the BRAT diet – Bananas, Rice, Applesauce and Toast. It’s perfect for an upset tummy baby, all parents agree.) I went back to bed for an hour with Mister Vomit Baby and woke up feeling better. I got the laundry on the line, had a little cereal and the baby woke up when the DH came home.

Then our nice day began; we spent the rest of the day putting in some bedding plants, snacking on bananas and drinking a lot of water and really, really watered down juice. The boys were very happy to have their Daddy home, and, man! An extra set of arms is really useful! Everyone took an afternoon nap, and I felt well enough to go the gym in the evening.

So, it wasn’t a bad day, it wasn’t a fab-o day, but I did have a nice day. I also got a bouquet of flowers, two cards and some sweet phone messages, one of which is worth saving. That Preacher Mom has a lovely singing voice, and her dogs barking in the background added immeasurably to the song.

Happy BARK day to you…