Road buddies

We just got back from a lovely and exhausting five-day trip to the third ring of hell, otherwise known as Southern California, and I came home to this slightly disturbing realization: Judybat and I are never so in love as when we're not home.

There is, it seems, something about being on the road, living out of a suitcase, outside our element, that brings out the best in our relationship. Sure, we have the occasional I'm-tired-and-hungry barking match. But as with most vacations, we spent this one staring googly-eyed at one another and saying things like, "Sometimes I forget how much I love you," and "Does my honeybunch need a nap? Of course I'll stay up with the kids."



What gives? I have several theories. First, being on the road plays to our respective strengths. Judybat packs a mean suitcase, and I have an almost supernatural sense of direction and skill at getting from one strange place to another. (My superhero secret identity: Map Girl!) There's a certain "us against the world" vibe that develops when we're outside our natural surroundings. Also, there are no chores to be done on vacation, which helps maintain domestic harmony given that a certain someone's failure to complete her assigned tasks on a reasonable schedule is usually the only thing we fight about. (Yes, yes, JB, I know that the certain someone is me.)


As for this particular trip, it was great, except for the meltdown TheBoy had during the last 10 minutes of our flight over his sudden need to pee just as the plane was making its final descent. Of course, he was also so tired from staying up until 9 p.m. every night, watching movies whenever he wanted and drinking as much apple juice as his little body would hold that he fell asleep at dinner last night and couldn't be roused even with the promise of lemonade and dessert.


TheGirl was her usual charming self, and particularly seemed to enjoy staying out until 1:30 a.m. at the wedding we attended. Even that, however, wasn't enough to make her sleep through the night.

Consequences?

I think someone (AR) may be reading a little too much into The Boy's behavior. Sure he likes to make his sister laugh, but I doubt if there was ever a sense in his head that he might suffer consequences as a result of his couch-jumping behavior. This is our problem.

We try to let The Boy know there are repercussions for what he does, but he doesn't seem to care. The other night, for example, I got more upset taking away all his toys and books and bed buddies - including blankie! - when he refused to go to bed than he did losing them. Halfway through the process, he started helping me cart the stuff out! Most disheartening. And while his behavior has improved somewhat, at least at bed time, he doesn't seem to be in any rush to earn his things back, especially if it means listening to his mommies and doing what they say.

He was a good boy this afternoon, though, and after he played by himself for a while, allowing me to get some work done, I said he could have one of his toys back. I thought for sure he would go for the motorized dump truck with remote control he had already earned back and lost again at least twice since that fateful night, but he pointed to something else.

What could possibly be more appealing than a motorized dump truck with remote control? He pointed to a pair of plastic hangars that somehow got mixed in with his stuff.

This is our problem.

The giggles

We got our first full-fledged laugh out of TheGirl tonight, a hearty "a-hoo, a-hoo, a-heeeee!" instead of the half-hearted little "heh-heh," she's been giving us.

When I say, 'we,' I actually mean 'he,' of course. TheBoy gave his sister the belly laughs; he is her white knight and her court jester rolled into one. It was one of the moments that makes me understand why people have more than one kid: We were sitting on the couch hanging out. He was bouncing up and down, buzzing from the mango he had for dessert. She was staring back at him over my shoulder when, all of a sudden, she got the giggles. Every time he bounced, she would laugh and laugh. When he stopped, she would stare at him, her eyes as round as golf balls. Then he'd start up again, and the laughs would come back. They kept it up for a good 10 minutes.

What's really funny is that this is the beginning of what I suspect and hope will be a lifetime of brother and sister against the world. He wasn't supposed to be bouncing on the couch. I've told him that a million times. Yet it got a laugh out of little sister, so he was willing to face the consequences.

But he's so sweet when he's asleep

-JB

He's got our number

The past two Saturdays, I've given Judybat a little time to herself and taken the two kids out for most of the day. We've gone to TheBoy's baseball, to the park, bowling, to a neighbor kid's softball game, to breakfast, etc. (Judybat will fairly note that one of those 'breakfasts' consisted of coffee cake and chocolate milk, so doesn't actually count as a meal.) It's been great. JB's gotten stuff done, I've bonded with the munchkins, everybody is happy.

Except ... Every so often, these wonderful family jaunts end with me harranging TheBoy to comeonlet'sgostopthatlistentomegetupoffthegroundandstopscreaming! Forget the terrible twos. We're in the unforgettably bad fours.

Bad isn't fair, really. He's still sweet and loving and funny as heck. He's rediscovering, slowly, the ability to play by himself. This morning, all four of us crowded into the big mommy bed, and as JB and I enjoyed being horizontal for a few more minutes, he played Peekaboo with TheGirl. She flapped her wings in delight and occasionally cast me a sideways glance that needed no translation: Can you believe how COOL this guy is?

And yet he still hasn't won back all the stuff in his room with good behavior. I have to ask him three, four, five times to do the least little thing. He refuses to listen, refuses to cooperate, refuses to behave. Last night at dinner, as he refused to sit still and refused to keep his food in his mouth and refused to stop knocking his Legos on the floor and then crying about it, Judybat turned to him and asked, "You're drunk, right?"

In short, my darling little man is driving me insane with his bizarre little man behavior. Take last night: Sometime between TheGirl's 1:30 wakeup and her 2:30 wakeup (rough night), I heard him making some kind of odd mewing noise on the monitor. I rushed in, thinking he was calling out in his sleep, only be told "I'm not crying! Go away!" I stumbled back to bed, and JB and I listened for another moment. He was, it turned out, laughing to himself. Probably at us and his ability to take us to the edge and back.

Happy half birthday

TheGirl turns six months old today. She'll be celebrating with a bowl of banana mush and some quality time with her best friends, the nipple twins.

It's been an exciting few weeks for her. First, we introduced solid foods in the form of a yummy banana/breast milk/rice cereal combo. After a week and a half, she finally understands that she needs to open her mouth wiiiiide and let me stick the spoon above her tongue. That said, she still ends up filthy. If only I found eating this difficult, perhaps I wouldn't have gained 10 pounds since January.

In other news, the littlest one is sitting up like a champ -- to the point that her day-care providers have moved her from the teeny-tiny baby room to the big baby room. It's like moving from the oven to the cooling rack -- she's not quite a person yet, but the promise of fresh-baked goodness is right there for everyone to see.

TheBoy hit his own milestone this week: We took every single thing out of his room except his bed. That's what happens when you don't listen to your moms for the 1,237the time.

As for me, I'm feeling much better. (Unlike my spouse: Poor Judybat! I will not guilt you into blogging.) The vestiges of my post-partum depression still lurk, and I'm still taking my Zoloft religiously in my continuing effort to keep passing the open windows. The chief difference is that I no longer fear the onset of my anxiety. When it happens, I deal, knowing that it will pass. Plus, I live in terror of being alone with the two kids. I'm finding I actually quite enjoy this parenting thing. Which is good, given that it's my life for the next 50 years or so.

The dog ate my blog post

I've been feeling overwhelmed lately. I'm not sure why, but maybe it's having two kids, a job and a house to take care of. That seems like a lame excuse, though, since my job is part-time and - sock-strewing spouse notwithstanding - I've got lots of help with the kids and the house. Sure, I've got the extra-special bonus feature of having MS, which leaves me profoundly weary, (don't tell my mom; she gets upset,) but I know there are women out there who manage much more with much less in the way of back-up.

At the end of the day, I can't seem to muster the energy or focus to balance the check book, (don't tell my dad; he lectures,) let alone string a few words together to form a sentence - so you can just forget about my writing a whole blog post.

The funny thing is, I don't even feel guilty about it. Used to be, if week went by and I hadn't posted, anxiety would drive me to the key board. Lately, when it occurs to me how long it's been since I last tapped out anything beyond a vaguely coherent email regarding play dates, I just wait five minutes for my brain to move on to the next thing I've neglected to do. This is either progress - I'm finally cutting myself some slack - or a sign that I'm clinically depressed.

I'd write more at this point, but you know, whatever.

Where are we?

Not sleeping. Eating poorly. Staying too busy with work, life, the kids, cleaning the house, picking up dog poop, etc. I have several things to post about but, in all honesty, I'm waiting for Judybat to come back to the blogosphere. This has turned into shesaid.org and, really, I'm not that interesting.

So hang tight. I'll get the little lady back here shortly. Meanwhile, topics to discuss:

- Why do I like the Tony Blair of "The Queen" so much more than the real version? What happened to that guy?
- Three more seasons of "Lost:" Good thing or bad thing?
- Melinda, Blake or Jordin? (And is it true that Jordin is a right-wing nutjob who has performed at anti-abortion rallies?)
- Barack, Johnny or Hillary? (Bill Richardson is not an option on this one. Sorry.)
- Bigger new skill for TheGirl: Sitting up or eating solids?
- Better band from adolescence: Huey Lewis and the News or Tears for Fears?

My answers:
- George Bush and his Texas charm offensive.
- More "Lost" is always good, even when it's bad.
- Melinda. But she won't win.
- I haven't figured out which one I think can actually win.
- Solid foods, baby. Every step away from 4 a.m. feedings is one in the right direction.
- Like there's any question.

Think maternal thoughts

The mommy books all say that to achieve maximum output during pumping, you should think about your child and stare lovingly at their picture. Me, I prefer to kick the everloving snot out of people.

Pumping is a drag, has been a drag and will remain a drag until the day six or so months from now when I finally get to "hang up the horns" as we working mothers say. At first, I was so anxious about getting it right that I wouldn't do anything but stare at TheGirl's snapshot as the machine went wonk-wonk-wonk, suck-suck-suck. Then I started listening to the iPod. Then I realized that if I balanced the obnxious plastic cups just so, I could free up one hand to read. Then I got so good at hooking the things on under my bra, I freed up two hands ... perfect for working, or reading, or playing with my Playstation Portable.

Now while I do my maternal duty (Moo!), I unleash my inner 15-year-old boy. I was playing tennis for a while, but that got boring. Ditto soccer. Then I discovered Grand Theft Auto. This would be the game that has Congress and the FCC and assorted other censoring types up in arms for its depictions of violence, sex and general mayhem.

The game is reprehensible. And I love it. There's a basic plot, and all sorts of missions your gangster alter ego can perform for money, ammo, women, etc. But I prefer to freelance, wandering around town stealing cars and beating people up. Sometimes, I am ashamed to admit, I steal cars and run people over. Sometimes I use a hockey stick or a baseball bat. Sometimes I go out of my way to antagonize the little virtual police officers so I can lead them on a high-speed chase that invariably ends with my character "wasted." Sometimes I stick to robbing little old ladies for their meal money.

This is horrible, I know. I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with all the rage that is coming to the surface. All I know is that it helps pass the time a lot better than staring at that cute picture of the little one and thinking about all the ways in which I resemble a cow.