The Mystery of the Crack-An-Egg House

Mystery solved: Tim Easton's song "Poor Poor LA" is where The Boy heard both hippies and crackhouse.

The Boy loves this song, which he call's "Momma's Heart." We have a whole mix called "Boy's Momma's Heart Mix" that starts with this song. He asks for it often. Here are the lyrics:

I've seen your imagination high above the halfway station,
Always working, always making something for the pile.
Then you set it all on fire.
You can learn to make something real,
That comes from the heel of your life.
I'm still trying.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.

Mama's boy's daddy is in the crack house again,
Watching car crash shows with the pipe in.

A pack of dull monkeys could write circles around,
That fourth grade, mumbly slang,
Stream of consciousness, jive that you call a song.
Is that going to be your story?
Child, you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
You're never gonna change your mind,
Don't just rearrange the lies into a straighter line.

Not too many years ago there was hippies killing people,
A mile away from the Marlboro Ma.n
Now there's sandpaper pants on the gutter punks, And lowriders with their heads in the trunks or Walking in fours, and kicking in doors, cutting it up, and filling their cup.
You don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.

Said you don't have to break your mama's heart to change the world.
Change the world.

Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.
Poor, poor LA.

The hippies reference also explains why he thought hippies were bad guys.

I am not going to start listening to only kids' music. We probably will try to listen a little more carefully to the lyrics of things. For instance, The Boy has really been enjoying Weezer lately. I'm thinking we'll skip "Hashpipe" and stick with "Going Surfing."

This whole thing reminds me of my childhood. I grew up listening to '70s rock, which is what my dad and mom enjoyed. As a very little girl, I loved ZZ Top. I know. But it was so fun to dance around my room to. I loved a song called, I thought, "Two Shake Boogie." Yeah, it's "Tube Snake Boogie" and just as innuendo-filled as it sounds. I get a little embarrassed for my preteen self, but it didn't really hurt me to like that music.

Of course, to this day, I can't listen to "Hotel California" by the Eagles. The line "they stab it with their steely knives but they just can't kill the beast" gave me nightmares.

What song lyrics have you or your kids mangled? Any inappropriate songs you can't help but love?

Back to work

My maternity leave is up and I go back to work tomorrow.

Have I gotten weepy over this? Yes.

Have I fretted about the time spent away from my girls? Yes.

Am I looking forward to going back to work? Absolutely.

It is bittersweet but I admit to being excited. I have enjoyed my down time, if you call wrangling a newborn and a sassy toddler down time, but I am ready for the bustle of the newsroom again. I have watched the local news and read the paper every day, wanting to be part of it again. I grilled my husband every time he came home from where we work together, asking him for the latest news and gossip.

Like Hillary said this time last year when she went back to work, I am looking forward to not having a little one touching me for part of the day. I am looking forward to more grown up conversations.

I am also looking forward to making the most of my mornings with the girls before I go to work and coming home at night and seeing them sleeping peacefully. I am looking forward to weekends spent as a family of four.

It is not going to be easy with our schedules. I will parent alone until I drop them off at the sitter's around 11 a.m. and the husband will be on his own in the evenings. It is will take planning and preparation, neither for which I am known. But we will do it together.

I know some mothers lament going back to work. While I will certainly miss my girls, it is time for me to be part of the work force again. I do not have the temperament of a stay at home mom.

These past nine weeks have gone by quickly. Gizmo doesn't seem like a newborn anymore. She seems like a sturdy baby who is rocketing her way through her first year of life. She rolled over from her stomach to her back at six weeks. She is generous with her big, open mouth gummy smiles and has full cooing conversations with anyone who will listen.

She gained two pounds in her first month. We will find out Thursday at her check up if that trend continues.

I have no doubt there will be tears as I leave them tomorrow and I will probably make a few calls to check on them. But I will also walk back into the office with a smile on my face.

How did you feel when your maternity leave was over?

Disney eats brains

Let me start this by promising not to get too ranty. I mean, I've put both the boys in Huggies, letting them run around with Disney characters across their little butts for the sake of fewer leaks. (And no, I am not shilling for Huggies.) The Boy's favorite underwear are the ones with Lightning McQueen racing across his rear. We have Disney coloring books and a couple action figures. And of course, there's the PBS mafia, Kingpin Elmo and his crew roping my children in with my permission. Just this week, we introduced The Boy to Looney Tunes.

All of this is to say that I'm not completely anti-commercial entertainment for my kids.

But for the love of Pete, must EVERYTHING have a licensed character on it?

I took The Boy to the bookstore this afternoon as a treat after the dentist. I needed to buy a Dr. Seuss book for a literacy event I'm participating in (yes! I know. Dr. Seuss is another one ...), so I figured The Boy could get a new book for being such a brave boy at the dentist. Just a book -- one with simple words and a funny story, to encourage his attempts to recognize letters. I suggested one about dinosaurs, or what about the Elephant & Piggie books? Or how about Knuffle Bunny? Or a baseball book?

The only books The Boy wanted were ones with Disney or PBS characters on them -- or Nickelodeon characters, which he doesn't even know! We don't have cable! How does this happen?!

Let me answer that: Marketing.

All the character books were on large, brightly colored displays with books next to stuffed or plastic figures or toys or videos. The books often are barely books because of all the bells and whistles (literally, many of them have bells and whistles). The award-winning children's books -- or hell, just children's books with words and pictures -- sit sadly on shelves at the back of the section, crammed together so you can barely see the titles. He loves the books I was suggesting. We've checked many of them out from the library. But faced with all those displays, all The Boy could see were his buddies Lightning McQueen and Buzz Lightyear.

Part of me felt bad telling him no. I want him to like reading; maybe I should be encouraging him to read whatever. But I also don't believe in buying junk. I know from past experience that many of those character books have no story line and require batteries, so they end up broken or dusty in the closet, even The Boy having grown bored with them. So, I said no. And I kept pushing books I thought we might read a few hundred times with out getting sick of them.

We finally compromised on a baseball alphabet book. Still not my taste, but at last there are no Mouse Ears on it.

Maternity leave book list

I had more time to read than I thought I would during the past nine weeks. Here is my list and what I thought about each book

The Hunger Game series - I really enjoyed this even though it was a young adult novel. I was a bit skeptical of the story line where teens are picked to compete in a game that forces them to kill each other. However, all three books were well written and quick reads, even if I didn't like how the third book ended. I will reread these.

The Kids are All Right - I read this on the recommendation of Clueless but Hopeful Mama. As she said, the kids are Not all right. Great memoir written by four siblings after both their parents died. FYI, the movie does not follow the same story despite having the same title.

Gods in Alabama - I found Joshilyn Jackson through Jennifer Lancaster. She said if Jackson isn't your favorite author, it is only because you haven't read her yet. Less than 30 pages into this book, I told the husband I just found my new favorite author. It was a quick read without being fluff. Great mystery without being cheesy plus some funny parts.

The Girl Who Stopped Swimming - Another Jackson novel. I read this and Gods in Alabama in a weekend. Also a very good mystery. Both Jackson books will be reread.

An Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination - A memoir of a woman who miscarried at nine months. I read this after reading a rave review of it on NPR. Good but not something I would rave about.

Testimony - This is another book I saw on a list by Clueless but Hopeful. I enjoy Anita Shreve. One of my favorite books is Fortune's Rock. This was a good book about a sex scandal at a private boarding school. Good, not great.

One Day - This is a lovely book about two people who meet one day and follows them through their relationship through the years on that same day. The man is a dimwit but still kind of lovable. I found myself pulling for the woman through the entire book.

The Devil in the Junior League - This is an ABC Family original movie waiting to happen, if it hasn't already. Total fluff but fairly enjoyable story about a woman who loses it all thanks to her philandering husband and how she triumphs.

Quicksand - While the previous book belongs on ABC Family, this belongs on Lifetime. True story of a woman whose husband turns out to be a bank robber. It was cheap so I bought it. You get what you pay for.

Water for Elephants - Like Hillary, I had picked this book up numerous times but never read it. I wish I had sooner. I really enjoyed this book. Well written story with interesting characters. I'm anxious to see if it will translate well to the movie. Another on the reread list.

The Imperfectionists - I heard good things about this. Once I read the synopsis, I thought I would love it since it is a book about journalists and an newspaper in Rome. Wrong. I had to force myself to finish it. It took weeks. I read a few pages between other books and then finally finished it one day. I didn't find any of the characters likable and the writing was often abrupt, switching from one subject or time period quickly so that I would have to go back and make sure I didn't miss anything. Blah.

The Book Thief - This was another recommendation from Clueless but hopeful. I enjoyed this young adult novel about a young girl living in Nazi Germany and how books helped her survive.

Accidental Billionaires - This is the story of how Facebook was created. I was interested since I am on the site mumble, mumble times a day. It was very interesting to see how Mark Zuckerburg may or may not have screwed many people to get the site up and running. Warning though: the author, Ben Mezrich, fancies himself as a Writer. He reeeaaally likes to set a scene, many times unnecessarily.

But enough about me - This is Rolling Stone writer Jancee Dunn's memoir. Very funny and an interesting insight to some celebrities including Madonna and Barry White.

Just Kids - This was another book I had a hard time getting through. I think part of my problem is that I didn't know much about Patti Smith and Robert Maplethorpe. After some research, the book seemed more interesting but it was not my favorite.

Next up is Pat Conroy's South of Broad. I haven't read any of his books before but after a Facebook solicitation for book recommendations, someone suggested him.

What are you reading?

Sick day

I'm home sick today. I was sicker than a dog last night with some sort of stomach bug. I had chills and fever and aches. I was up every hour. And just to make everything better, my period arrived in the middle of all that. So, I decided to not even work from home, but take time off.

This is the first sick day I've taken since The Lad was born. It was noon before I felt human. I've kept down water, four saltines and a cup of applesauce. I've slept most of the day and still have a headache.

And yet I feel like I'm being spoiled, sitting home in the quiet, napping and reading and futzing on the computer.

This is motherhood. It makes you grateful for being sick.

Changing the title of the blog

If anyone would have seen Peanut's behavior Friday night, they never would believe the title of our blog.

This fit was of Epic proportions.

My husband's brother and his wife moved from Texas to Ohio last week. Since they are just 20 minutes away from us now, we thought it would be nice to welcome them with some pizza and a visit with their nieces.

After that visit, I am not sure they will have children of their own.

My husband and his brother went to get the pizza and Peanut opted to stay with the ladies. Except five minutes after they left, she changed her mind and proceeded to cry the entire time they were gone. All 40 minutes.

She wanted her daddy. She wanted me to hold her even though I was trying to balance her hungry sister, who was fussing too. Peanut wanted to go home and watch a movie.

She wanted anything but to sit there a second longer. She cried. She flopped on the floor, on the couch, on me. She insisted we all go into the kitchen and screamed when I tried to sit down.

She just wanted her daaaaaaaaaadeee-eeeeeeee-eeeeeee. And so did I.

I tried reasoning with her and distracting her. I tried pleading, conjoling, bribing, threatening, talking through my teeth, ignoring her. Nothing calmed her.

I joked with my sister in law that I always said that I would never have kids that would act like that. I think my comment was drowned out by Peanut's wails.

It was one of those times that I just wanted the ground to swallow me. And of course the moment her father walked in, she was pleasant. Telling stories and giggling.

Fess up. Tell me about your worst toddler tantrum.

Sunday night rant

I made turkey potpie today. From scratch. I'm not out to win any awards. I like to cook. I like my family. I like cooking for them. I was craving turkey potpie and we had frozen leftovers from Christmas. Sundays I have time to cook and, because we were lazy and went out to eat Saturday, I actually felt like cooking. I made pie crust this morning before I even got out of my jammies. When the husband took the boys to the park this afternoon, I melted some butter and chopped up some onion and garlic. I threw those in and some flour and some milk. Chopped up the turkey and tossed that in with some frozen vegetables. Rolled out the dough and actually managed to get the crust to crimp, which I never ever do. When the boys got home, the whole house smelled good.

It was 5:15 p.m. Dinner was technically done, but needed to sit and cool so I could cut it and so the kids' mouths didn't get scalded. No big deal. We don't normally eat til 6 or 6:30.

Except the husband hadn't fed the boys a snack. The Lad was so hungry, even milk and the little dough scrap I had turned into a mini dessert couldn't hold him over. By the time we sat down, he was red-faced and screaming. So much for a nice Sunday dinner. We eventually got him calmed down enough to eat a little, but only on my lap, so I ended up with turkey bits down my shirt and everywhere else. Supper ended with more screaming.

Mostly, I'm mad at myself. Why couldn't I just roll with it and not care so much that The Lad was throwing a hellacious fit? Why did I have to blame the husband and snap at The Boy? You know, I said I wasn't out to get any awards, but that's not entirely true. I wanted to have my family thank me for feeding them. I wanted to do something for them, like the husband dusting and vacuuming earlier today for me. I wanted to watch them enjoy something I made for them. I wanted us all to appreciate each other.

Sigh.

I know logically that once I get off here and the boys get out of the tub, we can have that moment. But damn it, it would have been nice to have had it while I was savoring a piece of pie crust, too.

E for eager

I love language acquisition. It's easily in my top 10 things that make parenthood worth it.

Ball was one of The Boy's first half dozen words; is it any wonder he's so sports obsessed? The Lad, who attacks the world at full speed, said Whoa! before anything else -- if you're asking me. Listening to the ways the boys grab onto new ideas and work out how to express themselves is endlessly fascinating to me. So, I've been especially happy lately. We're having a language explosion in our house.

The Lad has about half a dozen words he can say, though he chooses mostly not to. He'll say them once, but refuse to repeat them on command. He's no one's trained monkey. But, he has learned to nod and shake his head and does so enthusiastically. He learned the no shake first, of course, and for awhile if you asked him something where the answer was yes, he'd smile until his dimples sank into his face and shake his head vigorously no, having no idea at all how wrong -- or cute! -- he was. Now, he can nod, but sometimes when he does it, he looks like one of the Night at the Roxbury guys. The husband and I bust out singing "What is LOVE!" the other night.

Meanwhile, The Boy is starting to string together letters. He counted the Os on the preschool office door the other night, unprompted. He found an R, which starts his name. And we've been reading this book called "Capt. Flinn and the Pirate Dinosaurs" {(pirates + dinosaurs = awesome)/a bazillion readings = parents fighting over whose turn it is} and he's able to recognize "dinosaurs" and "ROAR!". Granted, some of this is memorization. (See my parental algebra.) But some of it is letter recognition. He knows the O and the D in dinosaurs and all the letters in roar.

I really can't wait for him to be able to read. I'm finding it difficult not to push a little bit. I mean, I want to encourage, but not be so relentless about it that he decides he doesn't like learning his letters.

Any fun phonics stuff you've found?

Any skill you're dying for your kiddo to learn?

Sleep training

Just when Gizmo starts sleeping better, Peanut has decided to not sleep.

Pardon me while I take a sip of my minimal coffee and yawn.

The baby is sleeping for at least four hours at a time, finishes nursing and is back to sleep within 15 minutes. After nursing every two hours with each session lasting an hour, this seems like heaven.

However, Peanut is not sleeping so well. She is getting up anywhere between 4 and 6 a.m. and crawling into bed with us. Sometimes she falls back asleep. But most of then time she stays awake, kicking us, playing with my hair and switching her six pacifiers in and out of her mouth (just imagine the sound of a pacifier being sucked out of a little mouth and another one being shoved in every two minutes and you'll understand why my eye is twitching.)

We try putting her back to bed after awhile but that requires one of us staying with her unless we risk a 5 a.m. fit, which is sure to be loud enough to wake the neighbors not to mention the baby.

This from a child who had to be pulled from her bed sometimes as late as 9 a.m. three months ago.

The sleeplessness isn't just a morning a problem. When she lacks hours of necessary sleep, Peanut is prone to fits of epic proportions for which I have no patience mainly because of my own lack of shut eye. Right now she's crying because we don't have anything to make chocolate chip cookies. Earlier she wailed because she fell over, barely bumping her knee.

The husband and I talked last night and wondered if we should start putting her to bed earlier to make up for the lost sleep. This would require pushing up nap time since she doesn't wake up from her nap some days until 5 p.m.
And this last part isn't always possible because of various schedules.

He also suggested a child proof door knob so that she can't get out of her room. I fear that will trigger a screaming fit plus the paranoid side of me worries about an emergency in which she needs to get out of her room but can't.

I am also looking at those kid clocks that change colors or glow when it it is time to wake up. Anyone have any luck with these?

Who knew getting a kid to sleep would require as much planning as a special operations mission.

Crack is an egg?

The scene: lunchtime; The Boy and Daddyman are sitting at the kitchen table. Momma is wandering around the house.

The Boy: When we live in California, blah blah blah blah. (Daddyman makes noncommittal noises.) And we don't like hippies.

Daddyman: (taken aback) What? What about hippies.

Boy: In California, we don't like hippies.

DM: Actually ...

Boy: We don't like hippies because they kill people.

DM: Actually, hippies are peaceful people.

Boy: NO. They're bad guys, Daddy. We don't like hippies because they're bad guys.

The conversation continues in this vein, and the Momma overhears and drifts into the kitchen, curious.

Momma: Boy, where did you hear about hippies?

Boy: (raising his eyebrows as if this is a silly question) The crackhouse.

Momma and Daddy bust up laughing because, really, what other response is there. After they recover, Momma speaks.

Momma: Boy, what's a crackhouse?

Boy: With an egg. You know. Like, you crack an egg.

----

We've given this a lot of thought, and we think he might have picked up the word "hippies" from us or my in-laws. My father-in-law basically was a hippie and has been known to talk about that part of his life and to use terms from it without irony. Meanwhile, I often have said in jest, possibly in front of The Boy, that I like to keep his hair short because I'm a closet hippie-hater. So, that's half the conversation.

But crackhouse?

Yeah, I just don't know. I don't think we've said that word in front of him, though we work for the newspaper where we both report on and joke about crackhouses. I suppose it's possible he heard it from us. But I'm also wondering if maybe he heard it from one of his friends at school. Several of them, I know, are allowed to watch more TV than my kids or have older brothers and sisters, teenagers that might be throwing that term around. I talked to his teacher about it; she was concerned, too, and said she would keep an ear open.

In the meantime, I've basically acted with The Boy like this conversation didn't happen. He was immediately onto something else and he obviously has no idea what he's really saying. We addressed the hippie thing and gave our standard "We don't hurt anyone" speech. The crackhouse bit I don't want to encourage. He's not old enough for a real definition, and I think if he knows it's a word that sets us on edge he'll want to use it more.

Have you guys encountered this? How do you edge around giving a preschooler good information and encouraging their curiosity while preserving their innocence?

How about you?

Random question edition because everyone seems to enjoy it.

1. How often do you do laundry? Do you think it depends on where your laundry is? And do you baby detergent for the baby?
I try to do it once a week but it depends on how quickly the basket fills up. Our laundry is in the basement so I like to pretend that I would do it more often if it were upstairs. At least, that is what I tell myself.
For Peanut, I used baby detergent for about a year. This time, I don't think that will happen. I am ready to switch to a no dye, no scent detergent. Sorry, Gizmo. That's what happens when you are the second kid.

2. What is bed time at your house? What time do you get up?
We try to have the kiddos in bed by 9 p.m. We are people of the night. Wake up time is anywhere between 7 and 8 a.m. Before Gizmo, we slept in more. Sometimes Peanut wouldn't get up until 9 a.m. Recently, she has taken to crawling into bed with us by 7 a.m., sometimes earlier. She also takes a 2-3 hour nap most days.

3. How do you celebrate Valentine's Day?
We used to go to a nice restaurant every year and then we had kids. Now, the husband gets me flowers and chocolates. I usually get him candy and something else small. The girls got a variety of small things including matching pink Super Girl shirts.

Bloody

My children look like abused street urchins.

It all started last Wednesday night when the husband woke me from a sound sleep shouting, "A little help please!" He says it was the third cry for assistance. I am a heavy sleeper. Anyway, I crossed the house, eyes barely open to see the husband kneeling in the bathroom in front of The bloody-faced, bawling Boy. It looked like someone had been murdered in The Boy's bed. There was a splotch of blood bigger than my hand on the fitted sheet. Somehow or other, he fell out of bed and split his lip.

We got the kiddo cleaned up -- the gash was on the bottom of his lower lip, about a 1/4-inch long and wide open -- and tried to put him back to bed. The Boy balked at sleeping with the blood. I didn't blame him, but he still was bleeding so I didn't want to change his sheets and was not about to let him on my couch. I pulled up the flat sheet to cover the worst of it and used pillows to cover up the remaining spots. He was ready to crawl in.

Then, he spotted the Blanky. It was bloody, too. He demanded I wash it before he went back to bed. (For the record, this is the only time in that child's life he has requested the Blank be washed.) I explained that couldn't happen: Either I could wash it or he could sleep with it. It was a Sophie's choice moment. The Boy dithered. I wanted desperately to go back to bed. I talked him into lying down with me and the Bloody Blank. It was the most expedient way for me to lie down. It worked.

So, that was a night.

The next night, while I was away at a work thing, The Lad climbed up onto the coffee table. This was not a big deal. The table is huge and the boys like to play boat on it, now that Beastie can climb up. But it became a big deal when The Lad fell off and split the back of his head open. The bleeding wouldn't stop, so the husband put on a bandage. Have I mentioned that The Lad only really has hair on the back of his head. He was pissed the next morning when we pulled the bandage off. He has a little bald spot and a scab.

Then, the next night, The Boy was jumping between the couch and the coffee table -- something he's been warned not to do because he could get hurt. My point was proved when he missed and scratched a place on his face just above his lips, like a beauty mark.

And because apparently all of that wasn't enough, today while we were at a hiking trail, The Lad slipped on the pine needles underfoot and fell as only a toddler can. He still was on his feet, but his head was in the dirt. When he righted himself, he had a goose egg and scratches on his forehead and a little bruise by his eye.

And after all that, the two of them picked up sticks and wanted to play swordfight.

(I am not making this up.)

The husband said, looking at our little ragamuffins, "Well, at least we could say they got into a fight with each other."

"That doesn't make it better," I said.

Is this just life with boys? Or am I a negligent mother?

Because she is so cute

Shhhhh. She finally sleeps.

First documented smile.

Cross between "I didn't do it" and "I'm suspicious of what you are doing."

Irresistible cheeks.

Heartbreak

My family likes to tell a story about me when I was The Boy's age. We lived with my grandparents in a house with big bay windows in the living room and an elementary school down the street. Everyday, I would stand in the windows and watch the kids going to school, and I wanted very badly to go with them. One morning, my uncle convinced me it was my day to go -- only I was late! I better hurry! I had to go to school.

And I believed him. I believed myself. I was going to school. Frantic and sobbing, I couldn't understand why Mom and Grandma wouldn't let me go.

---

The Boy was telling me in the car today that when he was 5 he would go to elementary with his friends W and S. Our daycare has a school that goes up to 8th grade, but we plan to send the kids to public school. I figured I shouldn't set him up for disappointment, so I said, "Yes, you'll go to elementary when you're 5, but you might not go with W and S. You'll go to a school in our town and they might go someplace else."

"But S and I are going to live together," The Boy said. "We're going to live far far away, in California."

For weeks, all we have heard is how The Boy's going to live in California with his friends, W and S. They're going to have skateboards and a pool and a nice shark named Jasper who will let you ride on him. They'll wear light up shirts and light up shoes (Skat-chers, Momma) and ride on light up surfboards. Fifteen times a day, he asks when we're going to California to visit. Sometimes that question is the first thing he says to us in the morning.

We usually play along, but we also remind him gently he'll have to be older than 5, which seems to be the magic age for The Boy. Tonight, not meaning to be, I was a little more blunt.

"You can't live in California when you're 5. You'll still live with Momma and Daddy and you'll go to school here."

Silence from the backseat. I thought he was thinking it through; he does that. But when I looked in the rearview, I saw The Boy's face crumpled -- not in a prefit, silent wail, but as if someone just told him his blanky had been thrown away.

He sobbed for the entire 15-minute ride home. Every consolation I offered -- we can visit, you can pretend to live in California, the police would be mad at Momma and Daddy -- was met with, "But I wanna LIVE there! I wanna live in California." He stopped long enough to hiccup out, "I need a tissue."

At home, I showed The Boy on a map how far away California is. I got him giggling. But then he started crying again. Dinner and bath distracted him, and, as I lay snuggled with him at bedtime, he finally seemed to come to peace with it. I told him he could move to California when he was 25.

"Yeah. And when I'm older, I'll be 25 and S will be 25 and we can drive. And we'll live in California. Be we won't be 5. We're never going to be 5."

Apparently, if 5 can't deliver everything he wants, The Boy isn't messing with it.

---

I don't remember that morning at my grandparents' window. I don't remember crying or wanting to be one of the kids with the backpacks. I always thought the story was just a way to make fun of me, bookworm and nerd that I am. (And it probably was, a bit.)

But I get it now. That was a sincere heartbreak for me, possibly my first.

It's hard to see your child's dreams crumple, however, silly they are. I didn't know whether to laugh at or cry with The Boy as he sobbed. Once I got past my giggles, though, I realized this is just the first of many heartbreaks I'm going to have to help him get past. Helping him to rearrange his hopes is a huge task.

Thank god we get these little things to practice on.

Preschool visit

Peanut and I visited our first preschool today. And, I might add, it might be our last because we liked it so much.

I told her last night that we were going to school today. She woke up jabbering about it all morning, telling us "I'm going to school today!" (The husband looked at me and said morosely "I am not ready for her to go to school.")

She went in, acted bashful with the teachers, saw all the toys and kids and took off. "Momma, look! Barbies! Momma, look! Crayons! Momma, look! Blocks!" Everything was said with an explanation point!

It was organized chaos with the kids allowed to flow between different play stations. Some kids were free playing, others working on hats for Valentine's Day while others counted or learned about germs. They work on writing names every day as well as numbers, letters, addresses, phone numbers, etc. Each week a form is filled out so parents know what tasks their child has accomplished.

They even have a little toilet for the kids. I told the director that Peanut isn't potty trained and she said they would work with her if she hadn't mastered it by the fall. She asked Peanut if she wanted to try the potty and Peanut crawled under a table. Sigh.

She can go for two half days a week, which is what we wanted given my schedule as well as Peanut's age since she will just turn three in the fall. It is reasonably priced and highly recommended from a friend.

I asked Peanut if she wanted to come back and play and she said yes, which is probably the most important thing.

I feel kind of lazy just going with the first place we visit but not many places around here offer part time plus I feel very comfortable with it. I have researched a few others and this seems the best choice for us.

How did you pick a preschool?

Things I don't understand

Things I don't understand, specifically about my children:

How Gizmo can sleep five hours for the first part of the night and then get up every two hours after.

How Gizmo knows the minute I get Peanut down for a nap, choosing that time to wake up, leaving me no time for a nap myself.

How she can sleep peacefully while I hold her but start crying five minutes after I put her in her crib.

How Peanut can ask for one thing, get it and then throw a fit, asking for something else.

How Peanut can be so excited that family is coming to visit and then insist on hiding in our room the minute they get here.

How Peanut is completely incapable of sitting correctly on her chair, causing her to fall out of it regularly despite our warnings.

How I am going back to work in less than three weeks. Where did my maternity leave go?

Anything you don't understand?

Super

So, my boys are in bed and the husband and I are sitting on the couch, each of us with a beer and an iPhone. I was thinking what a far cry it was from Super Bowls past, when we got schnookered at one friend's house or another. But really, it's not that bad. It can't compare, probably, to the Super Bowl the husband spent (without me!) at a mansion, where the munchies included filet mignon, however, the wonder of Facebook kind of makes it like a This Is Your Life! sort of Super Bowl party. We get to read thoughts on the plays and the so-bad-it's-good, awful half-time show (really, Fergie? And Will.I.Am, what is with the sculpted silver hair?) from everyone we've ever hung out with. Not a bad way to spend an evening. We have funny friends.

(And Erin, if you're reading, Joe's post about Axl going all Axl made me laugh so hard I nearly spit beer across the room.)

Anyway, other things that are super:

1. My hair -- I've come to terms with it for now. Thank you guys for your comments and suggestions. I am committed to growing it out and donating it. It'll be long probably for the next year, and I'm OK with that. I cut some layers in it and it'll do. I've contemplated bangs, however, I think they're too high-maintenance for me, especially because I have a little cowlick near my hairline and natural wave.

2. The kiddos -- They're driving me nuts, but in a good way. The Beast is starting to talk a bit. He picked up the sign for more somewhere along the way. (Not us, maybe school? God love school.) He used it repeatedly this morning along with "mo, mo!" until he had put away three pancakes, half a large banana, milk and a handful of blueberries. The Boy, meanwhile, will not shut up. I am so tired of hearing about California, which is where he's going to live when he's older -- older meaning 5. But, I am endlessly impressed by his imagination and love hearing all the little sayings he picks up. We went out together today and, after other errands, stopped for lunch at Panera. Sitting down with our sandwiches, he looked at me and said, "WHOOHOO! Momma-Boy adventure!" I melt.

3. The weather -- I'm sorry for all you in the frigid North right now. You can pity me come October when I'm still suffering in 80+ degree heat and 100 percent humidity. But February in Florida is ideal. I'm soaking it up. Windows open, curtains blowing, sitting on the patio reading. Life doesn't get much better.

Loving

I have been fairly cranky this week. A bad case of cabin fever, the husband working a long day (not his fault) and a long night with a not so sleepy baby has not been the best combo. Plus, I am about halfway through my maternity leave, which has me torn between being ready to go back to work and not wanting to leave the girls.

So in an effort to be more positive, here is a list of things I am loving.

HGTV - I am addicted. I love watching room redos and dreaming of what I could do. I also like guessing what people do for a living that allows them to buy $1 million vacation homes in the Bahamas or Italy.

My nook - My parents got this for me for Christmas and it has been wonderful. I've read nine books already (I plan on doing a run down of them in another post at the end of maternity leave.) I love that I can just download books although sometimes it is a little too easy. Good thing I got gift certificates for Christmas too.

The girls - Gizmo is thriving, already putting on two pounds, and smiling, which makes it easier when she won't sleep at 2 a.m. And Peanut is an amazing big sister. Plus, watching her imagination develop is fun. She has taken to making up songs that usually include a line about how her sister cries all day.

The husband - When he gets home, he puts his dad hat on and takes both of the girls for me so that i can get dinner together in peace or have some quiet time.

What are you loving?

Coveting

I am growing my hair out. And all I keep thinking is how much I want to chop it off.

In 2006, I chopped off my long hair after growing it for years out of laziness and thrift. My sister is a hairdresser and I was used to showing up at her salon, where she would magically d0 something with my hair and charge me little to nothing for the service. After college, finding a stylist, telling her what to do and paying her was more than I could handle. Then, I was getting married, so I figured long hair was a good idea. Options, right.

(Actually, that's not entirely right. I had short hair when I graduated high school and loved it. LOVED it. It was different and sassy and me. And then I went to college and was no longer the only bookish girl with short hair. It wasn't that unusual and it tended to attract either gay guys or assholes. While assholes were, in fact, my type, it seemed a better looking breed of asshole liked girls with long hair. So, if we're being honest, I first started growing my hair out in college to fit in and attract boys. There. I said it.)

Anyway. I ended up with long hair, which was nice, but eh. I'm never ever going to be a woman who does more than blowdries her hair. I'm just not. Ask my sister. She gave up on me a long time ago. My long hair mostly hung around my face or was scraped into a ponytail. I'll never forget the night I told my sister, proudly, that I had worn a bun to work. She gasped in shock and dismay.

When I finally cut it off, I donated it to Locks of Love and it was a wonderful thing. I mean, yes, the charity is a nice cause. But the act of chopping off 12 inches of hair in one fell swoop -- that was AWESOME. It was an instant attitude lift. I practically bounced out of the salon. I felt feisty.

I want that feeling again. Plus, you know, I want to help people. I think this time I'm going to donate through Pantene, which helps adults. I've had several family members with cancer, and this seems like a nice way to remember them. I swore before I went really gray, I would grow my hair long enough to donate again -- that's at least an 8-inch ponytail.

After several years of short hair and two pregnancies, when I was worried I was falling into Mom Hair, I decided it was time. I am committed to doing this. But lordy, it's taking forever. I miss short hair. I want these hairstyles.

Here's where you tell me how lovely and low-maintenance long hair can be. Talk me down, people. Also, I want to know -- if you have long hair, how do you make it look professional?