Thank you Stella.

This is a letter to my feisty, sweet and sneaky 10 year old dog. She will never read it, unless she's been cast by the Disney Channel behind my back starring as herself, reading blogs and sharing internal monologue about what an awful dog owner I am. Nonetheless, I will know this heartfelt letter is out there, and my feelings are the most important anyway.

First off, I'm not a bad dog owner and Stella's not a bad dog. She's lived in 6 different houses with Jordan and I, including a very small apartment in New York - where to pee, she had to take an elevator, walk about a quarter mile and be accompanied by a cranky human who had probably worked 12+ hours straight. She now has a yard, fence and two small children to love on her.

So...
Thank you, Stella. It's been a tumultuous morning. Jordan left early for a long work trip, and thanks to your whimpering, I was awake with him at 6 am. We found ourselves in the bathroom together - I with a sinus issue manifesting in my eyes, nose and throat, and he with what appears to be the first signs of a poison ivy invasion across his body. Without your subtle, high pitched squeals, I never would have been able to confirm Jordan's self diagnosis, nor make him aware of how miserable I was feeling. Incidentally, we both agreed to ignore our medical dilemmas until, at least, Sunday.

Thank you, Stella for consistently peeing in the same spot on the kitchen rug. I know to avoid that area and if I would've taken that route to serve Frank breakfast, I may have knocked down the Elf on the table, revealing she never made it to the north pole and back last night, crushing Frank's bubble of Christmas magic.

And lastly, Thank you, Stella for walking slowly away from me as I quietly and frantically washed bottles before Margo awoke from her nap. I then noticed the extreme amount of fecal matter stuck to your tail and body. Had I not noticed, you would have gone to get your rabies shot tonight like a total street urchin. I would not have had a good reason to throw away the dull scissors I used to clip your nether regions. I would not have had a good reason to bleach the entire kitchen. And lastly, I may not have had the immediate motivation to shower today.

You really do know what a girl needs, Stella. Thank you.

Notes on Sleep Training

It's 8:45 a.m. on a Monday - the first Monday in 6 months that my daughter has taken a nap in her crib. It's a huge sigh of relief and also another bittersweet sign she's growing up. I'm taking a few of these precious, quiet moments to jot down my experience with sleep training (the way I got these few precious, quiet moments).

First,  five years ago my chubby baby son, Frank showed obvious signs he needed a schedule and routine. He was like Gizmo (the cute Gremlin of the 80's) - he's all warm and fuzzy until he gets wet (read: until my son gets tired) and then he turns into a wicked demon that can't be held accountable for the vile things he does. We trained Frank by the book. Ferberized. The movie "Meet the Parents" was still top-of-mind and we related to DeNiro, but ruled with an iron fist. Frank was napping and night-sleeping like a baby should in 3 days and the peasants rejoiced. We still had hiccups every now and then and to this day, if he's up past 7:30 p.m., he turns into the SNL character, "Drunk Uncle"...a little bit politically incorrect and hilarious, until he's naked and sobbing face down in a pillow whining that "no one ever listens to him."

With sweet angel baby Margo things are a little different. Frank was sleep training at 4 months and in a crib a flight of stairs away from our room in the city of Chicago. At 6 months, Margo was peachy-keen in a pac n play, in our room, in a sleepy southern suburb (and I still worried and awoke at 2:00 a.m. to confirm she was breathing). I'm not sure what contributed to me feeling like I needed to coddle her - she's healthy, fierce and independent already. I never let her sleep in the bed with us at night...the fear of smothering her was too great. I equate co-sleeping with jogging in extreme heat or doing heroin - do it even once and certain death is eminent. Our situation was fine until I realized she was too big and getting uncomfortable...and I wasn't getting anything done during the day besides stacking up hours of looking at her sweet cherub face as she slept in my arms.

So with that, I checked out books about sleep training, had Jordan pack up the pac n play, and readied the crib and (of course) video monitor. Margo was used to catching a few winks in the car seat or stroller throughout the day and getting cozy in my arms or carrier. Not to say this will never happen again, but it's too unpredictable and we needed a schedule for my sanity and Margo's health. I read a mom's notes about sleep training and this stuck with me, "I wasn't ready any sooner, but couldn't have waited another day." It was totally true. Sure, not being so flexible with my days and carting Margo around was really going to cramp my style..."see you next weekend Target" and "No, ladies, we can't meet for a late lunch today." These don't seem like big sacrifices compared to a straight 11 hours of night sleep and 3 solid naps a day though. And my husband and I watching Jeopardy in peace every weeknight while our children sleep soundly.


How did we do it? I really give Margo the credit.
Day 1 - she sobbed for about 45 minutes when I put her in the crib. I paced. I went in and rubbed her belly at 10 minute intervals. She fell asleep for about 20 minutes and I would keep her awake for an hour or two until the next nap. By night she was so exhausted that of course, she slept 12 hours.
Day 2 - same story, but this time I left the house and Jordan did it. Star husband and father. Jets pizza for everyone.
Day 3 - she cried for 10 minutes max when placed in her crib. She totally knows the drill. We have a good routine to prep for dozing and she's rocking it (not literally...Ferber says no rocking).

I'd be a wicked MomLiar if I said I hadn't gotten up at 3:00 a.m. and tiptoed to her room to place my hand under nose. I'm still a worrier, but not worried about her being over tired. I'm also not worried about leaving her with a sitter now since I can say with certainty that she'll sleep. I'm also not worried that I won't have time to do the dishes, laundry or watch the weeks worth of Ellen on my DVR - wait, I never worry about dishes and laundry...and I always watch Ellen.

Sour Sickness

Wow - almost a year since my last post, and seems so strange that my inspiration to blog is that my sweet angel baby is sick! He has had crippling diarrhea for 5 days now and it's a struggle for me to maintain the house's sanity, cleanliness and health.
We've gotten some pretty adorable quotes from him during this time though, including my favorite, whispered like an elderly man, "Daddy, tell me about the last day before I was sick..."
Today is probably the breaking point as I factor in the missed hours from work, the exceptional winter that's holding us back from even a quick leisure stroll, and my personal health goals that can only be achieved by logging gym hours...which hasn't happened in quite some time.
Who I'd like to strangle today: Women who are choosing this moment to post articles about the negative affects of screen time on toddlers. We have consumed at least eight hours of un-quality programming each day. Today we stumbled on a new show - cheers from both my 3 year-old and I! He asked what it was about and I blurted, "Well, probably one character will get in trouble and then make it better, then someone will get sick and then better, something will happen in a park, a puppy will come in to play at some point and MAYBE we will get to celebrate a birthday if we hang on long enough. God Bless Netflix streaming and the four versions of Lilo & Stitch movies that it possesses.
Who I'd like to be today: Transport me to Summertime Jena 2007. We were living in Chicago, day-drinking beers on our balcony and feeling like rockstars eating Hot N Ready pizza three times a week. Not a care in the world!
Who I'd like to see today: My grandma Gertie passed away about 9 years ago. I'd love for her to come stomping in here with rags and bleach, ready to make soup and then watch Wheel of Fortune with me. Just like the good ol' days.

I know this day could be a lot worse. I'm incredibly thankful for my most-of-time healthy boy. I give credit to mothers of multiple children who do more laundry during flu season that Chicago has water to supply. I will get through this. I have a helpful husband, and a rat face dog to keep me in line. I have free online Nick Jr. games and DVR. I have fresh yoga pants waiting for me after the next round of sickness and a bag of salt and vinegar chips waiting for me for after bedtime.

Sloppy Tuesday

What a day to get a messy dump of snow, slush and freezing rain! I felt like life starting dealing my lemons yesterday and I was doing my best to chop them up in the garbage disposal just to be useful.
Yesterday, we put my mom back on the blue line towards home after a great five days of help. Then the day just unraveled. Nothing extreme, just the usual - traffic, work stress, dramatic decisions between watching Monsters, Inc. or The Lorax...
Jordan still traveling has really gotten old and I've passed a stage of anger into sadness. Since I've been low for so long, I'm at least hoping that I've transitioned from gaining weight (from power-eating and online shopping), to losing weight (from lack of grocery shopping due to laziness). I should be emaciated in no time. Wink.
I did have a slight lunch snafu, when the Mexican Burrito Bowl ordered was a victim of miscommunication between myself and the salsa distributor. He said, "which one?" I said, "not hot." I knew better. What I got was hot hot. Maybe even hot hot hot.
I left the office a little early to get a head start on traffic, and found my car would need a little TLC. $6 on the car wash yesterday - wasted. $5 on ice scraper - genius.

I had plans tonight to take Frank out for some Targeting for real food, but the weather cramped that plan. We drove home from work/school the #65 bus was holding us up. That's when I came up with my newest words of wisdom, "Sometimes you're stuck behind a bus and sometimes you're on that bus. That's just life in the city, but either way, at least you're going somewhere."

That positive thinking is just what I needed...moments later Frank and I got stuck in the driveway. Frank repeated "Daddy can help us" about seven times before I gently said (through clenched teeth) "Daddy's in China!" 

It took 5 attempts, and I was on the brink of tears before we rolled into the garage. Frank happily hollered, "you tried and tried and tried and you did it!" Yes, Sir, Little Man.  I did it!

First of 2013!

Blerg! The Blog! I haven't forgotten, just got caught up in things...you know - mothering, wife-ing, The Bachelor, being so cold I can't tell whether or not I've peed my pants!
Today's been full of random thoughts and the first I'd like to share is about tearing the address off of subscription magazines...is it really essential? I finished a Parenting a the gym (yup, I'm that chump WALKING on a treadmill, reading) and wanted to put it in the giveway bin, but felt odd about leaving my address on. Is it rude to tear it off? Is it cool/hipster/risky to leave it on? Do people rip their address off because they are afriad that someone with similiar editorial interests will hunt them down at their home address? Am I just niave?
Next, I just learned that "emo" is short for "emotional." In that case, Frank and I are both emo for sure. Jordan has only been gone since Sunday (4 days) and I'm in phase 4 of my self diagnosed missing Jordan syndrom. First I feel independent. Next I feel overwhelmed. Then I get sad and lonely and the fourth phase (today) I get straight pissed. I don't know how single moms and military wives do it. They must not be as  emo as me.
That reminds me of a similiar life spectrum I broke down to Jordan over our valentine's day dinner. We both got a prix fix (why not just call it Price?) selection and by the third course I was going to burst. I didn't really realize I was speaking out loud and mumbled, "Great, I'm full...now I just going to get mad." I had to explain to Jordan that my hunger-to-full scale is very sensitive and begins and ends with sleep. When I'm really hungry, I just sleep. When I'm really full, I just sleep. Everything in between hangs in a delicate balance between just right and over stuffed. If I gorge myself, the time in between being really full, angry because of it and fast alseep is short lived.
It was a romantic evening for sure.

We took Frank to the Field Museum. I got him all jacked up to see Dinosaurs and forgot he is afraid of skeletons. I didn't make the connection until he saw the bones of the T-Rex and lost it. The day wasn't a total loss though - also happening that morning in the same area was: free days at the aquarium, Chinese New Year, Auto Show and Cross Town hockey at Soldier Field. Mommy earned a "F" in failure to research that day. Traffic gave him a lot to observe and when a giant Land Rover reversed into our car, smashing the bumper, Frank thought it was HILARIOUS.
Until next time...hopefully within Q1 of 2013!

Pool Party Pooper

It's HOT. Real hot.

Last Saturday we got Frank a great pool for the roof to cool off. We plopped him and he went wild. It was a total success and even prompted him to debut the phrase, "Five more minutes, please." As he splashed around, Jordan and I dipped our feet in and then noticed the water get cloudy..."Wow, our feet must have been dirty!" said Jordan.
Well, we learned about 20 minutes post-soak that the cloudy water wasn't feet dirt or pool dust. It was Frank poop.
Fine, no biggie, right?
Not until we take him to a friends' birthday party and shortly after his first splash in their kiddie pool I hear from his friend, "Something smells disgusting."
Yup. Again. But when it's someone else's pool, filled with someone else's toys and children, it's WAY more embarrassing to see your child's farticles floating aorund.
Total evacuation.
Dump the pool.
Deflate.
Scrub.
Limit Frank's water play to hoses and sprinklers outside our rooftop pool.
Gotta love my party pooper.

Dirty Mushroom

Tonight I found myself overwhelmed with dinner and I was only "making" a frozen pizza and a salad. Seriously. It's been a long day and I'm still recovering from my birthday tom-foolery. Jordan was out (rushing to file our taxes!) so Frank was in the chair feasting while I chopped veggies for the Digiorno. There were plenty of mushrooms to go around, so I sauteed a few for Frank and kept on with my "cooking". My lack of 100% attention enraged him and he windmilled his tray, sending peas, carrots, cucumbers and mushrooms all over. I count on Stella to eat the mess.
Jordan sashayed in moments later and sat across from Frank while I finished dinner. We talked (he talked and I mostly thought about how half-assed I do things nowadays) and then I started to clean up.
I snatched a bowl from the table and ate a few leftover mushrooms...as they were going down something felt gritty. I whipped around to see wide-eyed Jordan, about to tell me those mushrooms had been on the floor.
Awesome.
Could they have been in Frank's mouth? Stella's mouth? When did I last Swiffer? Where had Jordan's hands been before he picked them up?
Answers I will never know.
I'm hoping Corona has antiseptic qualities.
I keep telling Jordan he can laugh now, but he hasn't cracked...yet.