Noah first met his occupational therapist at summer camp. He was three-and-a-half years old and had already developed a fierce dislike of school (and any school-like activities) and a deep distrust of teachers (and any teacher-like adults). But for some reason, Ms. M___ was different. He liked her. He liked her a lot. For over three years now, she's worked with him. First, almost daily, at preschool, then weekly. She was his anchor, the thing he looked the most forward to all week, the one person who could always — ALWAYS — coax the most and the best from him. Balance, coordination, motor planning, social skills, play skills, handwriting, attention span, self-regulation. She's encouraged him, pushed him and challenged him. But most of all she's believed in him, and loved him. Genuinely, unconditionally. She's the first person to hear about Noah's victories and breakthroughs, big or small. She is one of his biggest cheerleaders. She's also the first person I talk to when I'm having a rough time, or need ideas or strategies or some empathy from someone who gets it. Or maybe just to geek out about The Hunger Games. She's kind of been my cheerleader, too. Yesterday she... Read more →

Hey, Internet. It's been real. It's been really very really real. BUT IT'S ALL OVER NOW. The walking-up-the-stair like a fully erect homo sapien photo I posted on Monday is not even half of what's going on, of what Not-So-Baby Ike is now capable of. Turn your back on him for a second and voila! He's pushed a stepstool out from where you "cleverly" "hid" it and... "What?" Not pictured: The time he pulled this same trick in front of the open pantry and I found him up on his tippy toes, hurling soup cans onto the floor while trying to reach a box of granola bars. Personally, I blame the playgrounds. They are giving our country's toddlers an inflated sense of accomplishment and rewarding them for gross motor skill development and I for one will not stand for it anymore. They are a menace and must be stopped. Somebody start a petition or something. We installed drawer and cabinet latches about six years ago. We broke every single one in under a week. And that about brings you up-to-date on our current level of childproofing, save for a couple baby gates that Noah and Ezra know how to open... Read more →

Well, which IS it, Cereal Box? WHICH IS IT? Not all black and white? Or pretty black and white. YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS. STOP TOYING WITH ME. Especially in light of the National Zoo's devastating loss of the newborn panda cub this weekend. Which: No joke or snark, I am UPSET. I am feeling genuine feelings of feelingsosity and I don't like it. This goes against every word I've ever written about The Fucking Zoo and how it Fucking Sucks because it's Outside and Full Of Nature and Pooping Things and also Uphill In Every Possible Direction. But there it is. I am really terribly sad and bummed about the poor tiny wittle baby panda and the poor sad mama panda and DAMMIT, NATURE. YOU REALLY ARE THE WORST. Also the worst: Me, for deciding to tell Noah about the baby panda yesterday morning, while he pondered the above cereal box and asked questions about pandas and hey! Speaking of pandas! There's a brand-new miracle panda baby at the zoo that we can maybe go see in a couple months! And of course Noah — since he is NOT a bitter jaded Zoo-person like his mother who thinks... Read more →

Well, let me tell you WHAT; it has been a seriously exciting 24 hours around here. I mean, by blogging standards. Okay, by THIS BLOG'S standards. You know what? Shut up. Forget I said anything. Part Excitement The First: I lost my wallet for 27 whole minutes. Twenty-seven excruciating minutes, during which I ran around the house like a panicked flappy loon while Jason called a pizza restaurant I sorta kinda thought maybe I paid for the check and so maaaaaybe I left it on the table? But he asked them if they found a "clutch-purse" and of course they hadn't found a "clutch-purse" and so I hollered at him from two rooms over (where I was re-digging through my purse for the millionth time because WALLETS DON'T JUST SPROUT LEGS AND WALK) that no, IT WASN'T A CLUTCH-PURSE, IT'S A WALLET. A WALLLLLLLL-ET. He hung up without clarifying and stared at me. "What's the difference? It's not there." "HOW DO YOU KNOW IT'S NOT THERE," I countered. "You called it a 'clutch-purse.' The results are invalid." "Amy, do you really think they would say, hmmm, we did find that orange wallet that no one's claimed yet, but this guy's... Read more →

1. Under the couch cushions 2. In my pockets 3. In my children's pockets 4. Dryer lint trap 5. In my handbag 6. In my fancy grown-up evening handbag WTF? 7. Sock drawer 8. Underwear drawer 9. Inside my shoes 10. Inside Baby Ike's mouth 11. Inside Baby Ike's diaper 12. My bed 13. My children's beds 14. On the floor 15. On the floor 16. On the floor 17. OMG ON THE FLOOR 18. Stuck in the vacuum 19. Stuck to the bottom of my foot like a pointy motherfucker 20. Car seats 21. Car cup holders 22. On the car floor, duh 23. In the stroller storage basket 24. In the wipes case 25. Silverware drawer 26. In the giant Lego bin 27. Directly outside the giant Lego bin 28. Dining room table 29. Kitchen table 30. Patio table 31. Coffee table 32. Train table 33. Extra kitchen table/island thing that we bought for entertaining that is now firmly in the control of the Legos 34. Vegetable crisper 35. In the sink 36. In the tub 37. In the toilet 38. In my jewelry box 39. In my makeup case 40. In my nightstand next to Private Marital... Read more →

As in, just when you expect them to zig... They zag. In the most dramatic, bone-meltingly way possible. I took Noah and Ezra to the dentist this morning — usually I only attempt one child at a time due to my lack of seventeen arms and super-human strength, but thanks to some scheduling weirdness the boys ended up with back-to-back appointments. But last time things went pretty well, and everybody knows that things like childhood visits to the dentist always move in a logically linear, upward, it-can-only-get-better-from-here direction. Right? (AH MAH GAH.) Monsters. Both of them. Boys, I adore you both and am no big fan of the dentist myself but MY HEAVENLY WORD, you were completely ridiculous today. And are maybe kind of lucky that I did not abandon ship at some point during HOUR TWO of the x-ray protest and leave you there. There was a Chipotle like, two minutes down the road. Don't think I wasn't tempted. Ezra, being three-and-three-quarters, basically behaved like he was three-and-three-quarters. Everything was suspicious and he refused to cooperate and kicked and thrashed around while the hygienist calmly completed the cleaning like it was no big deal. Sure, I will willingly stick... Read more →

I don't know about you, but I'd give money to that face. Before anyone jumps to the wrong (yet probably all-too-common these days) conclusion: No worries, Noah's photo wasn't ganked from my blog or Facebook. TLC is the non-profit organization that has been helping Noah (and us) for years now. It's where he attended the Miraculous Summer Camp of Miracles and The Preschool That Changed Our Lives. He still receives weekly occupational therapy there for ongoing issues with rigidity, self-regulation, social skills, etc. A couple years ago they asked if they could take photos of Noah and his therapist for brochures and stuff, and we agreed. I always forget about it, though, until one of the photos shows up somewhere, blast-from-the-past style. I don't know how much longer Noah will require OT. (After several ridiculous tussles with several ridiculous insurance companies, we are finally on a plan that covers the weekly sessions without protest, so I am admittedly in no rush to change anything or draw the slightest bit of attention to ourselves.) All around, the reports are good-to-excellent: his teachers, his therapists, even his karate instructors are singing his praises and talking about corners turned, strides made, breakthroughs and... Read more →

This post is sponsored by Kraut Rocks I've written about the semi-complicated process of sponsored posts. I love them, I need them, I also kind of fear them because I tend to overthink them. What if the client hates it? What if you guys hate it? Cue the self-doubt-fueled writer's block gaaaaahhhhhhhhh. But then sometimes a sponsored post comes along that involves hanging out with an old friend, gossiping, drinking beer and cooking mussels and hot dogs and sauerkraut over an open flame on a bar counter wait WHAT. There's a month-long sauerkrautaganza going on in D.C. right now called Kraut Rocks. Top Chef's Spike Mendolsohn is the host and several other local chefs are featuring their take on sauerkraut on their menus. I was asked to write a post about it. Amy's Mouth: Sure! Why not? Amy's Brain: Why not? You mean other than the little fact that you don't particularly like sauerkraut? Amy's Wallet: QUIET, YOU FOOL. At first I thought maybe I would do a cooking demonstration of my own, or we could visit one of the participating restaurants and photograph me attempting to gain a new appreciation of sauerkraut the superfood, but then when I saw... Read more →

People, this happened. This happened and I need to thoroughly document that this happened. Because it will probably never happen again for at least another three years. All three of them! Sitting together! For multiple willing minutes! Making physical skin-to-skin contact without howling about being pinched or bothered or mortally wounded by their brother's knee because it's touching me and it burnsssss! IT BURRRNNNNSSSSS!!!! Sure, they are obviously deep into video-stare mode. On a school night. Fine. (They are watching Ratatouille in speshul celebration of Noah eating pork tenderloin and mashed sweet potatoes and LIKING THEM BOTH, OMG. Because Remy taught him that it's okay to taste things together and he's suddenly been all "cheeseburgers! steak! things with sauce on them!") (And yes, Ezra donned an apron for the occasion.) (Ike's all, meet me on the holodeck, ladieeeezzz.) WHATEVER. POINT IS, my multiple children sat together long enough for me to frantically take multiple photos of them before... Crap. I've been spotted. The hamming-it-up-for-the-cameras has begun and... Gotta go rescue baby before Extreme Hugging To The Exxxtreme devolves further into wrastling and screaming. BRB. Read more →

I feel like we're maybe starting to get our sea legs back, a little bit, when it comes to taking our herd of children out into the world. The addition of a third baby was no big thang at first, back when he was more like an easily-portable, wearable meatloaf. We could still go places and do things — one of us could strap the baby on our back and we'd each take responsibility for one other child. (Though we definitely had our fair share of BUT I THOUGHT YOU HAD EZRA ZOMG moments.) But now Ike is a third wholly-formed child; a third independent sentient mobile walking/running vulnerable disaster area. Now it's zone defense. It's taking calculated risks that Noah doesn't need constant monitoring on the playground or is continuing to walk behind us at the aquarium, or that Ezra will stay put at the front of a store for five goddamn minutes if you hand him an iPhone. With Ike, you cannot take such risks. Turn your back on him and he'll have found something disgusting to eat on the floor OR have managed to pull over a jewelry display and leave you on the hook for the... Read more →