the 'needs to know' list

I was pulling the wagon behind him as I watched him ride his brother's scooter on the way to the park; his head was down in determination, his helmet on slightly crooked, pretty sure he had his tongue sticking out (because.. I don't know, he's like a dog and likes to feel the breeze perhaps). I was thinking 'when did he get so fast on that thing?'

He stopped at the curb to look for cars and told me 'there are new friends at the park, I'm going to be shy'. Which he wasn't, of course.

He climbed up the rock climbing wall faster with each try, knowing that Winter had made you a little rusty, but you continued up the wall and down the slide, repeat over and over.

Your figure even looks all boy, no longer in diapers, you are missing that everyday diaper sag. You are tall and thin, just like your Dad (though he prefers to call it an athletic build).

Then we go to the gym, where you and your brother peel off your shoes and jackets and slam the door in my face without looking behind you. You will probably chase after kids (watch tv), play dolls with the girls (watch more tv) and play hide-n-seek with the big kids (and dang it, you watch more tv: why do they have that stupid thing on all day, don't they know by nature kids will watch a tv that's on no matter what is on).

I picked you up where the babysitter tells me you wanted to know if she had candy in her mouth and she told you 'it's like an earring for my tongue'. You looked at her in all the seriousness that you can muster at 2 years old and tell her 'I'm going to get one of those for my Mommy's birthday'.

I hadn't really planned on you knowing what a tongue ring was this young in life. Thank you.

Just one more thing to check off that 'needs to know' list.

Dear U.S. Census Bureau

Here I am sitting here with a postcard reminding me to complete my 2010 Census. Seriously, I've had the Census sitting by my computer for a week, a week! I get more time to RSVP to a six year old's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese.

It's not like I have things that might take priority; taking care of four kids, Kindergarten conference, an OB appointment...

OK, you've got me; maybe if it was online I would have it done by now.

So, the postcard is next to me along side the Census and the letter that you sent the week prior to the Census telling me that it was coming. Should I thank you? You spent $.44 mailing the first letter and then again on the Census, another $.28 on the postcard today, that's $1.16 on little ol' me. How nice.

Times that by the millions of US citizens (granted, I assume you got some sort of government postage rate, but for argument sake) and well, that's a heck of a lot of money. Plus, you nag me like I nag my husband about saving the 1% milk for me, but at least I'm way more thirty with a dollar than you.

Promise, I'm working on my Census right after I finish this post.

And like I said, if it was online...

call him son

This past weekend, my brother met his birth mother for the first time. I have three siblings; two older; a brother and sister and a younger sister. My older brother and sister were both adopted at birth. It's never seemed like a strange thing to myself, it's just how our family was put together. We all blend quiet naturally and people have never suspected that one or another didn't come from the same mother and father. We look similar, we've taken on traits of one another, we are family.

I've never grown up on the side of adoption though, I haven't been asked what my family medical history is and not really know, I haven't looked at my dark brown hair and question where it came from. It's always just made sense.

But to me, it's never made sense to worry about that either. Why was it something to bother over, something to fixate on? Why do my siblings care who their birth parents were/are when they have great parents right now?

I didn't get it. Honestly, I don't think I can ever really 'get it'.

But it's just been an amazing story, a simple call and there she was. To have my brother move, by the grace of God, down South. Unknown at the time of his move, he is now about a 1 hour drive away from his birth mother. He has found out that he has three half-sisters.

Just like the three sisters he already has.

This isn't really my story to share, just to say that I understand more when people talk about their roots, where they come from, knowing who made them who they are today.

Today, I'm so grateful for this woman whom I have never met that can look at my brother and call him 'son' because it means he knows.

He just knows.

I'm screwed

I stood there in the bathroom tonight, hairdryer in one hand and Wyatt's underwear in the other. I looked in the mirror, 'who the heck am I? why in the world have I decided that blow drying Wyatt's underwear dry from the tiny bit of pee he had on them make more sense than forcing him to just put them back on?'

I use to be the strong one, the one who could let them cry it out, didn't give them a choice of what to eat for breakfast, didn't take 'no' without a timeout, and here I am blow drying his underwear so he would put them back on and I wouldn't have to do another load of laundry full of McQueen underwear.

I must be getting tired.

And old.

I find his socks on top of the vents left to dry after stepping on a wet spot on the floor of the entry way. I find his underwear near the toilet after going to the bathroom (and it's not that he misses, he just gets that little 'advanced warning pee' that he needs to go and that makes him freak out). He pulls off his shirt if he spills milk on it, his pants if water happens to drip on it.

His being half-naked can only be cute for so long, right?

And what do I do? I just pick them up and throw them in the laundry hamper.

Our lucky third child is going to have the run of the house.

I'm screwed.

fun with an Anonymous friend

I turned on my comment verification a couple of weeks ago. Sorry to anyone that gets really annoyed by typing in a few extra letters. It's annoying to me too, but honestly, I'm even more lazy when it comes to deleting Prozac comments in my posts, so something had to give in and it's you - typing in word verification.

I still get fun comments once and a while though. I thought I'd share one that I got with you this past week, with commentary from me (of course).

I know I've been slacking on the blog of late, but Anonymous went all the way back to November to comment on a post of mine, the one where I got a foaming hand soap dispenser for the kids.

From my anonymous friend:

Anon: "You realize foamy soap is mostly water, and just a special nozzle that suds it up upon dispensing?" (Me: I had no idea, when I added 2/3 water to my soap dispenser I thought it was actually making more soap!)

Anon: "So, they've found a way to charge you more for less. Or, rather, to charge you the same amount for giving you less product/ingredients on their part. It's pretty ridiculous if you think about it." (Me: It is ridiculous and to think, I *wasn't* thinking about the injustice of the soap to water ratio that I could have been charged, there should be some special CNN investigation on this.)

Anon: "And, making the soap sudsy isn't what kills germs, it's how long the soap is in contact with your skin. That's why doctors lather up for a good minute or two before washing off." (Me: I volunteer at a hospital and I have never witnessed any doctor scrub his/her hands for 2 minutes, in fact they will use hand sanitizer 10 times before actually washing their hands anymore - standard procedure - not that you wanted my opinion.)

Anon: "Pre-foamed soap gives people the impression they can skip 10 seconds of washing since they don't have to bother lathering up. So, if you think about it again, pre-foamed soap is actually quite self-defeating if it comes to washing your hands properly to kill germs." (Me: Do you even have kids? Seriously, if I can even get my preschooler to wash his hands under the sink for 2 seconds and not freak out that his shirt's sleeves are getting wet, then it's been a good day here!)

Anon: "Don't mean to be a Debbie Downer, but I'm just sayin... " (Me: No way, you *totally* don't seem like a Debbie Downer kind of a person at all.)

I'm just sayin...

WW- growing grass

Growing a little bit of grass makes me feel a lot better.

Spring is near, right?

(And I don't mean the kind of grass that you smoke, People! Geesh, I'm not that kind of an Anti-Supermom~)

Dearest Neighbor

Dearest Neighbor from across the street,

Can you believe that it's March 1st? Amazing isn't it! It feels like Spring is finally closer and the weather this weekend, mid-30's, how fabulous does that feel? (And any of you readers from Texas, do *not* make fun of 30 degrees, we Minnesotans have a skewed sense of 'warm' weather; we have to to survive it).

Perhaps you didn't know that it was March now though, I'm not really sure. The Christmas lights that you have hanging from your house might indicate that you might not.

Honestly, I feel like I've given you lots of leniency; telling myself that it's been cold, the lights aren't that bad after all they are just white icicle light and I even try to reminded myself how people get busy with kids, jobs, pets...

Then I remember that you are young and single, with two other adult roommates with (might I add) burly boyfriends, that you don't have kids' noses to wipe or dogs' poop to scoop up and that it was 30-something freakin' degrees this past weekend.

Adding insult to injury, you turn them on! You come home in the evening and for whatever reason, decide plugging your Christmas lights in makes perfect sense.

I'm begging you, pleading to you, please take them down soon. Don't drive me to eye twitches and random obscene hand gestures with your lights glowing through my picture window as I sit on my living room couch watching the twinkle push me closer and closer to the edge of sanity,

my kids already do a good enough job with that.

Sincerely,
Anti-Supermom

PS - please don't feel like I'm picking on you, I also have a letter written to our other neighbor who lets their dog out their front door and allows him to poop in our yard all. Winter. long.