I said I wanted to go. Even though I didn't really want to go. But I felt like I was supposed to want to go. Or something. So we went. I drove my mom back to the cemetary, back past the funeral staging area where we waited in our cars for what felt like forever, in the cold and the rain. Where I had stared out the window and told Jason I wanted to be cremated, then stared at my feet and silently regretted my choice of footwear. The weather was beautiful this year, so we parked farther away, where the car wouldn't possibly get in the way of any other funeral. We started walking down the grassy aisles and I silently regretted my choice of stroller. I should have brought the sturdier one, not the cheap car seat stroller frame that got stuck on every lump and divot in the ground. The ground that was full of bodies. My mom got turned around and confused about the rows. The rows and rows of identical markers, so we marched up one and then had to turn around and the stroller got caught on a bit of raised earth around the... Read more →

Today is Noah's final IEP meeting of the year. This is the big one, where we determine his placement and service level for first grade. And I get to argue with someone who thinks we're "hiding" a medical diagnosis from the school because she observed him for 20 whole minutes and therefore knows more than any of the dozen other people who spend hours and hours with him on a regular basis and STILL can't settle on a single diagnostic label because "QUIRKY" DOESN'T COUNT. It's super exciting, especially since this week needed just a little more stress. The papers on the left are the remaining goals from this year's (admittedly lean) IEP. The stack on the right is the draft for next year. I anticipate that it will roughly double in size by the end of the meeting. And that's with a recommendation for more time in general ed next year. (Turns out Noah is very good at math. I still can't multiply by nine without looking at my fingers.) Anyway. Wish us luck? Afterwards Ike and I are headed up to visit my mom and...all that other stuff, so maybe wish me some wine, too. Flip side, catch... Read more →

Wednesday is coming. Wednesday is coming and with it comes sadness and heaviness and a sense that I will need to say something -- to write something -- and that I should know what that something is by now. But to figure that something out, I would need to be thinking about it, about the sadness and the heaviness, instead of pretending that Wednesday is not coming. Pretending it doesn't mean as much as it does, this weirdly arbitrary-when-you-think-about-it block of 365 days plus one, for leap day, which makes it feel even stranger, like I should be dreading Tuesday but the Gregorian calendar is dictating that no, thou shalt be sad on Wednesday. Pretending that I will not be spending it visiting his grave and comforting my mother and basically powering through the day (C'MON THURSDAY!) as quickly as possible so it doesn't crush me like a gnat and I'm not making any sense here, today, on the Friday before, which doesn't give me much hope for coming up with the right words on Wednesday. Ya know? Probably not. That's okay. Me neither. Here's a video of Ike begging for ice cream while Noah asks for permission to watch... Read more →

Hey! Let's talk about Ezra's cooking camp, all of a sudden! Because I am literally going to explode all over the place if I don't get some of this cuteness out of my system. (WARNING BRAGGING AHEAD WHATEVER FUCK YOU IT'S MY BLOG) So a couple weeks ago, Ezra started a once-weekly "Mini Chefs" class at our YMCA, for three- and four-year-olds. I admit we didn't even know exactly what we were signing him up for, other than OH EM GEE CHEFS THAT ARE MINI. It was $50 for six weeks and sounded adorable. Sold! We'll just go ahead and assume it's not a Hell's Kitchen reboot for the Disney Channel, or something. I admit I was a teensy bit disappointed at the lack of little kid-sized aprons or chef's hats, and it's a drop-off class so I haven't gotten any good photos of Ezra in full mini-cheffing action. However, 1) IT'S A DROP-OFF CLASS WHUT WHUT, and 2) holy crap, Ezra is having the time of his life there. Every day, he begs and begs to go to cooking class. There are tears, when I must tell him that alas, not today. At pick-up, while most of the other... Read more →

Here's a bit of advice I wish someone had given me, once I had a child: HIDE. YO. JEWELRY. (DUMBASS). I know! Small, shiny, expensive things plus small, grabby, impulsive toddlers. Who woulda thunk THAT was a recipe for disaster? Certainly not me. Because, well, (DUMBASS). Once, a looooong time ago, my engagement ring vanished from my dresser. I looked everywhere for it. I knew it had to be in the house somewhere, and I suspected that then-two-year-old Noah was probably responsible for the disappearance, but that didn't exactly help me find it. And the house is full of places from which no ring would ever likely return: floor vents, an uncovered hole in the wall from a budget cable install, drains, toilets...God. Damn. It. About a month later I randomly picked up a small ceramic Noah's Ark someone gave us (because GEDDIT?) and heard something rattling around inside. After a little shaking and prodding...out fell my ring. There was exactly one gap large enough for it to fit through -- right between a giraffe and a elephant -- and that's exactly where Noah had put it. Lesson learned! Except...not. Two years ago, my wedding band went missing -- not... Read more →

(What up, people. This is a sponsored post. Big thanks to Oreck and the AirInstinct Air Purifier. As usual, there's an awesome giveaway at the end and lots of me making an idiot out of myself in the meantime. Enjoy!) One of the weekend prompts for the March Photo a Day challenge on Instragram was "a corner of my home." A lot of people chose nice, neat, book-filled corners. As I do not own one those corners, nor did I have the energy to clean and organize and stage a fake one, I posted this instead: I admit that even before I had all these children (and all their related sold-separately accessories), housekeeping was not really my forte. I have a very high tolerance for clutter and a natural knack for procrastination. (Both of which I am clearly passing on to the next generation, since that photo above was at least taken after we told the kids to "clean up.") Now there's a cat and a dog and three boy-children -- two of which have officially started to Smell Like Boys on a regular basis, and I have not nommed on their little footsies in a very long time because... Read more →

Aaaaaaaaand...crash. I woke up this morning and felt it: The last of the adrenaline left my body, probably out my ears and through the spaces in between my toes. You know what I'm talking about. I'm so anti-confrontation (what if the Imaginary Authority Figures shush me for being too loud?) that this week's Unfortunate Unpleasantess kept me amped and on edge for several days and nights, until: BAM. WHOOSH. On the plus side, I am no longer stomping around my house, composing endless emails and blog entries in my head or engaging in imaginary arguments with the walls. (Fuck you, walls! Being beige is not an excuse!) I also lost five pounds, somehow. But on the other side, turns out the comedown is a bit of bitch. It's like a conflict hangover that sucks the fluff out of you. Oh, lawndiapers, I know just how you feel. Also writing kind of not so much with the goodness. Or something. That like. Which means...pictures! Again! More! Oh, whatever. SOMEBODY has learned how to play the "SOOOOOO BIG" game. He's really proud of me. I'm only 34, after all. Now, here's where I get obnoxious (YOU: OH SO JUST RIGHT NOW, THEN?),... Read more →

Fifth disease. Ezra has it. Now, if you're anything like me (read: insane), you hear the words "fifth disease" and think HOLY SHIT, DISEASE? THE FIFTH ONE? OUT OF HOW MANY? LIKE, ON A SCALE OF THE TOP TEN MOST TERRIBLE DISEASES YOUR PRESCHOOLER CAN GET? Not so much. It basically means: He had a cold, and then got a rash. Oh, and it looks like someone backhanded him across the face a couple times. No biggie. *** I recently ordered a retractable clothesline for our backyard, pledging to take my dirty hippitude to a new level: I was gonna hang my baby's poop-rags outside to dry, in the sun, in front of God and my dog and the one neighbor who can see into our yard. It started out well. It even made Ye Olde Annoying Instagram! Aw, how pretty! Points deducted for not using vintage upcycled shabby chic wooden clothespins from Etsy, however. I was only about halfway through the diapers when I posted that, and once I finished I sat up on the deck and admired my obnoxious hipster old-school handiwork. Look at me! I own a perfectly functional electric dryer but no, I am conserving! I... Read more →

I'm sorry, Internet, were you saying something? Because we've got a baby in a fucking laundry basket over here. We've got a baby in a laundry basket WEARING A COMICALLY OVERSIZED HAT, over here. Is there another mommyblog on earth that can give you ALL THAT, AND MORE, plus an additional four or five whole totally original sentences? There is? Which... Oh. All of them? Really? Well then. Nothing to see here, moving right along. Good call, Mom, before someone else sees those jeans. Read more →

Or, Hey Girl, I Heard You Were Blogging My Blogs On Your Blog, And Then Again On A Blog That Paid You To Blog, But You Were Blogging My Blogs And Not Your Blogs, In Other Words Stealing Stuff I Wrote Which I Am Pretty Sure Is Not Cool, Girl Or, Choice Excerpts From The Most Fun Email I Have Ever Had The Honor Of Writing Dear You, Well. It's unfortunate that we had to be introduced under these circumstances. Before I go any further, allow me to tell you a little about myself. I think some of this may be relevant in a bit. Like you, I married very young -- I was 20 years old at my wedding. Couldn't even drink the champagne! I put myself through college a course or two at a time, while working full-time, until I finally got my degree when I was 27 years old. I started my blog in 2003, when I was 26. I was hired as a columnist for AlphaMom -- my first "real" professional writing gig, when I was 28, right after having my first baby. Holy crap, was that ever a dream come true. Like you, I have... Read more →