Hot: Day 31-The End.

Man dudes, NaBloPoMo kicked my trash this year.

So in turn, I’m going to discuss kids kicking other kids trash.

It’s inevitable that when you put a bunch of kids under 6 together there will always be someone crying. Such was the case tonight at a neighborhood barbecue. Someone was always bawling because someone else took their stick and it was a special stick and because there will never be another stick so special in the history of sticks. Or someone threw dirt. Or someone looked at me funny. Or someone wouldn’t let me go down the slide. Or someone said I was a foofoo poopy head.

Oy.

Children.

The best part is that as parents we can watch from the sidelines and place bets on the playground brawls. Who’s going to stand up for themselves, who will best keep their composure, who’s going to cry first and who’s going straight to issuing a smackdown.

Sometimes despite the best of parental watches, something happens and no one’s around to see it right when it happens. You may see the kid go down, or you may be the first to hear a shrill shriek from a kid who’s been downed, but you’re not exactly sure how they got there.

This is where another superpower of parenthood kicks in.

You are able to deduce what happened from the scene of the crime. If there was a small slide involved and the child wailing from behind the slide is alone, chances are he or she just lost their grip and went bottoms up and got a little freaked out on the way down. However if there is another child nearby and the other child looks guilty, chances are there was a “taking turns” altercation and someone pushed someone else. However, as the parent you can never really place blame, because you didn’t see what happened and asking a three year old what happened is about as reliable as asking a dead goldfish which way is up.

So you kiss boo-boos, teary cheeks and bruised egos. You send them back out on the playground, because crap like this is going to be happening their whole life. Only at some point the playground disappears and your mom isn’t around to kiss it better.

Better learned now than in that awkward smelly teenage phase I say. (Which isn’t to say a hard playing three year old can’t work up a good stink. Whoo.)

Bye NaBloPoMo. I won’t really miss you. Sorry.

Hot: Day 30-It’s almost over.

If you’re reading this it means that I am in the backseat of my car being driven to Ann Arbor Michigan to watch Utah hopefully beat Michigan at football. If Utah can win in the Big House it means that today will be one of the greatest days of Cody’s life.

Look for me on ESPN, oh, wait. That was last year.

Just know that on the long drive I won’t even need to take Dramamine to help me sleep.

Two law students will be in the front seats.Talking. About law school stuff.

I’ll be asleep before we leave our zip code.

reset.

These are the days that puzzle me the most.

I wake up from restless sleep, begin my day only to become more and more anxious as the day goes on. Feeling overwhelmed, incredibly frustrated. I look around and realize that I’m doing the same thing I do everyday. Picking up the same messes, washing the same laundry, putting away the same toys, cleaning the same dishes. Dealing with the same tantrums, the same schedule, the same frustrations every day. Yet there is the occasional day that putting away the same t-shirt for the 37th time causes me to look around and realize I accomplish nothing great on a day to day basis. Everything I do today will be misplaced, dirty, eaten or unfolded by the end of the week and I will start all over again next week. And for the next many many weeks to come. This in turn causes me fall to the floor in a heap and cry.

It’s so dumb.

This is my life that I chose, and most days I’m happy with it.

But some days I want to throw it all in garbage bags and start over.

Tomorrow the piles won’t look so big, my imperfections won’t glare so harshly and I’ll wonder what ever happened to me yesterday. I just have to get to tomorrow first.

Happy Nie Nie Day.

The internets have come together to auction off over 165 items (165!) with all the proceeds going to Christian and Stephanies mounting hospital bills and family. (Want the full story, check here.)

So go over to Design Mom for a full list of everything biddable. I’m currently bidding on a handmade shawl. Dude, this stuff is AWESOME. And it all goes to a fantastic cause. I love the internets. LOVE.

Hot: Day 28-Useless Symptoms

Last week I went to the doctor in hopes of finding something to explain my big mysterious symptom.

Someday I’m going to befriend a doctor and somehow trick him into telling me the truth about patients like me.

And what kind of patient am I?

One that goes in with a symptom of “sleepiness.” Or “fatigue” if you don’t want to sound like such a baby.

“Can you expound on that?” asked the hot doctor.

“I’m really sleepy all the time. I eat well, I sleep well, I drink plenty of water, I don’t really drink  caffeine and yet I could curl up and take a six hour nap if you could just get me a pillow that isn’t wrapped in paper. Sorry dude, but all I have for you is sleepy.”

Then came the depression questions, if you have in your chart that you suffer from depression you know what the depression questions are.

“So do you have any hobbies?”

“What do you like to do?”

“Are you feeling withdrawn? Like you don’t want to be around people?”

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

Now I’ve never had the depression questions when I haven’t been “in” for depression, they sounded kind of funny, like “Who would ever want to hurt themselves? And of course I want to be around people! I’m a people person! What kind of questions are these? I’m sleepy, not suicidal!”  And bless his little heart, this was the same fresh faced doctor that asked about my uh, p.., erm, uhh, uhm, er, uhhh, menses. I answered them of course, proving that it wasn’t depression that was turning me into a hibernating bear in the middle of the summer.

I told him I like to write (I left out the bit about “I like to write about my life on the internet for complete strangers” only becase that would have led to a whole other string of questions that I didn’t want to answer. If you’ve ever had to explain to someone that you blog (and sometimes even blog about hot doctors) then you know why I avoided the question.) I also told him I like to hang out with my kid and go on adventures, I like to take pictures, I like to bake, and I like to hang out with friends and like totally hang out at the mall and listen to my new NKOTB CD.

He asked how old my kid was. I told him.

“Well that’s probably why you’re tired, you have a lot going on.”

Oh, well. Now my life has a lot going on to the point of utter and complete exhaustion. Good to know, Cody, did you hear that? Mama needs a break. Now I’m not going to claim my life is easy, but it’s no Deadliest Catch either. I’ve been at this mothering gig full time for a few years now, I was just starting to to think it was getting easier, not harder.

After sucking blood out of me the doctor concluded that I have lovely blood without a hint of abnormalities.

Apparently I just, wait, how did he put it?  “Have a lot going on.”

Guess that’s a pretty fair diagnosis for someone who came in as “sleepy.”

Right?

Hot: Day 27-Modesty is Hottesty

The competition is on. And you’d better believe I’m representing.

Why you should vote for me (besides the strong desire to have me hanging on your wall for 28-31 days in 2009), YouTube style.

Here’s the link to the Hot Blogger Calendar poll.

Here’s the poll itself (3/4 of the way down-Moosh in Indy)

Want hot? See post below.

My kid is sick. I think. She’s like a puppy. You can never really tell that something is wrong because they’re so happy! and peppy! and excited! and waggy! and wiggly! and exhausting!

Well, at least you can’t tell anything is wrong until they hit a wall, foaming at the mouth, twitching uncontrollably. Or in the moosh’s case, screaming every time the desire to pee hits. As long as she doesn’t have to pee? HAPPYPEPPYEXCITEDWAGGYWIGGLYEXHAUSTING! But if she has to pee? Misery for all within earshot. (earshot=me)

For those of you without penises, you’re already nodding and uttering the letters UTI, urinary tract infection.

Maybe.

You see, the doctor came in after seeing the moosh’s test results his exact words were “Huh, well, it looks like we’re going to get her on a broad spectrum antibiotic and you’re going to have to call back in two days to see what’s going on with your little kid.”

So that’s not good right? If it was just a normal UTI the doctor would come in and say “Hi, it’s a UTI, here’s this prescription.” Of course if it was worse he would have kept her overnight or something, ultrasound maybe?

This is the point where mild hypochondria and parenting don’t mix.

Thankfully the moosh will continue going on with the PEP! and the WHEE! and the FUN! and the LOUD! and the EXCITEMENT! I love that little kids are so resilient.

mai kid.

Three and a half year olds are the best dang example of a good attitude. They are incapable of throwing themselves a pity party. It’s actually kind of obnoxious, sometimes.

Now go down there and vote please. I have a deep seated desire to be in a calendar. Srsly.

Hot: Day 26-Hot Blogger Calendar

Okay my peeps. Hot. Hot blogger. Hot theme. NaBlaPoMo. Hot.
I’m 3/4 of the way to the bottom, you only get one vote.
May I have it, please?

xoxo