My guilt runneth over

I recently (meaning within the past 2 weeks) went back to work after being a SAHM since Dylan was born. The situation could not be more ideal... I am working right where Dylan goes to preschool. I (supposedly) work 5-6 hours a day. I am not paying for daycare. I am absolutely head over heels in love with the care providers charged with my children and they are happy there.

All that being said, it hasn't been an easy adjustment for any of us. I have never in my entire life before last Monday had to be anywhere on any sort of time schedule with two kids in tow. Out the door with some semblance of put togetherness and lunches for the kids and me packed. Out the door and on time every day. My kids have never been in daycare and the days seem endless to them. They weren't napping very well and bedtimes have been just short of disastrous.

I am trying to keep it together for all of us. I have gotten myself up early to get ready and pack lunches so that by the time the kids get up I can devote all my energy to getting them ready and (hopefully) prevent losing my patience. They have never seen me cry as I leave them at the door of their daycare rooms. We do fun mommy and kid stuff together when my workday is done. I tell them that I am so proud of what grown up kids they are to go to daycare because mommy needs to work. All the while I am so close to tears I can hardly keep them at bay in front of the kids any more. But I'm keeping it together.

So how my precious Dylan had the insight to say what he said to me this morning as we were driving to daycare is beyond me. Like he knew it's been hard on me even though I am trying not to let it show. Like he knew I needed him to tell me that everything is okay and I am being a good mom anyway. Like he's just a great kid, a great brother yet such a typical little boy. He said, "Mommy? Know what the best part of my day at daycare is? After nap cause we go outside and Sadie's out there too and I get to see her. That makes me really happy. Also when you put spicy chips (Doritos) in my lunch."

So I will continue to wage war with my guilt and I know that eventually we will find the right balance for us. My house needs to be cleaned, I haven't vacuumed for two (eeeww!!) weeks, there are dishes in the sink, and clean laundry is scarce around here these days. I am not doing what needs to be done, but I am doing what I need to do. I am holding my kids more, playing with them more, reading to them more, really talking with them, and making sure that they KNOW they are the most important thing to me, even though we aren't spending as much time together. So yeah, we'll figure it all out, just as long as I never run out of Doritos.

(And yeah, I'm crying right now. Cried through composing this whole post. It's okay. They're asleep so they will never know.)

(And also yeah? I know I am blogging right now instead of doing what needs to be done.)

You know your parenting skills may be lacking when...

the minimum wage paid Target employee tells you that you should really make sure that your children are properly secured into the cart. The minimum wage paid, pimply faced, cocky teenage red shirt khaki pants wearing, scanner thingy toting, young enough to be my cocky teenager. Yes, he did.

*ahem*

I guess he told me. Moments after my encounter with said employee, I rounded the corner where I failed to heed the warning of the yellow "slippery when wet" sign. That sucker WAS slippery... butt planting on the ground and nearly toppling my cart in the process slippery. Yes I did. It's a darn good thing my improperly buckled children were holding on for dear life to their Icees. (It's how we get things done around here. They get a treat and slurp away happily in the cart while I get to shop. Everyone leaves the store happy, if just a tad sticky, over-sugared and sometimes possibly overdrawn.)

I wonder if pimple-face has stopped laughing yet.

I need to find a new Target.

On Becoming Two

Every cherished moment lived and loved,

as we watch you grow and become your own little person

we stop to look, to take a breath, and can't help but gasp

in awe of the precious baby you once were

and wonder at the amazing child you are.

Happy, happy birthday sweet, beautiful girl.

You are so Sadie, our Sadie.

We can hardly wait to see

what the next year of your life has in store!

Photo finishes and other things I learned about racing

So I ran the P.F. Chang's Rock and Roll Half Marathon on Sunday. I finished! I am not a very fast runner and never will be. I came in under my goal of three hours, at 2:53. Considering I wasted about 25 minutes waiting to use every port-a-john on the course between miles 1 and 7 (too much coffee at the start?), I am very happy with my time. And hey, I got the same exact medal as the guy that came in first.

After crossing the finish line, there was a runner-secure area. Someone handed me a medal, someone else water and then I was shuffled here and there to get an official finish line photo taken. Everything was all a little blurred through the euphoria of finishing the run and the anxiety of searching the crowd for my friends and family. I was a somewhat dazed, to say the least. Anyway, the finish photos were posed in front of a logo'd backdrop right before exiting the racers-only area. Apparently, the race number must show in the pics so that they can identify the runners and market them online later. I had my number pinned on my back. The photog asked me to turn around and strike a pose. I thought he would just snap the number and then take a real shot, so that my picture could later be identified because it would be next in the cue to the one with my number. That made sense to me. So I turned around with my backside to the camera and I heard, "Click. Next, please." But wait, that's not my real photo, is it? You're gonna let me do it again, aren't you? "Nope, next please." Needless to say, I will not be purchasing my finish line photos! Next time, I guess I will pin my number to the front of my shirt. I may never purchase the official race sanctioned photos, but at least I won't make a complete ass of myself in the photo area.

*

I discovered why live blogging by runners during events will never really catch on. Here is a sampling of the texts I was sending during my run:

mile 1 have stopps to pee

peing agaan

again

stopps to pi agin

jsut passed h alfway peeng againslc.

at galvin and priestf (in response to the question where was I? There is no such intersection!)

less tladjfna 2 lflsdkjft

And now my cell phone seems to be shorting out. I wonder if the dried, salty sweat stains all over it have anything to do with that.

*

My kids were darn cute rockin' out and cheering me on between miles 11 and 12.

*

The race was four days ago now and it still hurts to stand up. But I ran 13.1 miles. Yes I did! And next year I'm going for the full 26.2.

Yeah, I taught her that.

The other day, I was driving with Sadie in the car. We were nearly in an accident, although it would have only ended up being a small fender-bender.

I had just entered the left-hand turn lane (completely within my right-of-way) and a jerk in front of me to the right decided to swing on over. I had to slam on the brakes and swerve left (potentially into oncoming traffic) to avoid being hit. I laid on the horn as I felt the surge of adrenaline.

You know that moment when you are in the midst of protecting yourself and your loved ones from perceived danger and you feel that rush of energy? When your heart starts racing and every ounce of your good sense and judgement are thrust into getting out of danger? That moment when you are just starting to realize that the situation has been averted and you are desperately trying to regain your composure so that you can appropriately answer the "whys" coming from the almost two year old in the back seat? Do you know which moment I am talking about? It was in that moment that Sadie and I had the following conversation:

SADIE: What, Mommy, what?

ME: That guy was driving like an ASSHOLE! That's what!

S: Asshole, Mommy? Asshole?

ME: Um, yeah, baby, that's what I said.

S: (proudly) Oh, asshole!

(Repeatedly bangs head against steering wheel in defeat.)

The New Do

Due to an overwhelming response, but mostly because of my own personal preference, we went with the no-bangs-bob.

Hair-cut day was an smashing success, as my little Sadie was quite the pampered princess. Yea! She is looking forward to a long career of salon visits.











Most importantly, everyone (especially Dad!) was very pleased with the results. Here are a couple shots of Sadie showing off her sassy new style:

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I know that I have not posted to my blog for *aack* nearly two weeks, so I do not deserve any feedback whatsoever. But help a girl out and maybe I will feel encouraged to stick to my resolution of blogging more consistently!

I am probably setting myself up for some sort of catastrophic adolescence with my daughter here, but so far I consider myself lucky as the mom of a little girl who lets me indulge in girly things with her. She is all about playing with my make up brushes as she watches me get ready in the mornings, putting on "lipstick" (I swear I only let her use clear balm. REALLY!), letting me paint her little toenails pink, and wearing my heels (the one pair I actually own) around the house. And oh, her hair. She is all about the hair. If I don't make a move to get out the comb and the case full of hair doodads as we are getting dressed each day, SHE WILL REMIND ME. She asks me to put styling products in it. She wants barrettes and rubber bands all over. She lets me do whatever I want to her hair. I have put curlers in it to make her a Shirley Temple look-a-like. I even get to french braid it. She sits still the whole time and asks me for more.

The problem is, I desperately want to cut her hair. She's had one haircut, about a year ago, and just the bangs. Now her bangs are grown out to chin length. I really want to get all of her fine baby ends chopped off and have all of it cut to the length of her old bangs.

I thought the hard part would be convincing Scott to let me get her hair cut short. He's on board, so I called and made an appointment for later this week, before he can change his mind. Now I'm the one who's having a little remorse. Is shorter, easier hair going to "cure" her of wanting me to style it in cute, girly ways?

Anyway, I am posting a couple of celebrity kid styles for you to help me choose:

We can go with the Suri Cruz look, with bangs. Personally, I am not a fan of the bangs. I think they are to die for on girls like Suri with thick, glossy hair. Not so much on fine, mousy haired girls like my Sadie. The reason her hair is two different lengths in the first place and making me crazy is because I had bangs cut on her which I later didn't like and wanted grown out.

The second option is to go with this very chic Dakota Fanning; the bob with no bangs.

The third option is the easiest, but possibly very dangerous. Easy, because I would just leave her hair the way it is and keep doing what I am doing, but dangerous because it might make me so insane that I would have to sneak into her bedroom one night and snip it off myself.

I think we'll go with option 1 or 2. It is almost her birthday, and she should have a cute, sassy new look to go with her new age, no? Besides, there's always pink nail polish and lipstick. Either way, I will be sure to post "after" pics. The appointment is Thursday, so check back!