My Scream King

One of my personality traits is that I have incredibly high expectations of the people I surround myself with. I know that it is sometimes difficult to be my friend, but it is probably even more difficult to be my child. No one is perfect and it disappoints me to know how easily I forget that. #1 is two years and eight months old. He is right in the thick of things as far as toddler insanity goes. He can be set off by the word "NO" or just enjoy the random Code Red, Hurricane Level 4 tantrum.

Up until a few days ago, I started wondering if there was something psychologically wrong with him. Then I talked to some people at work. It's normal. This crazy, irrational behavior is totally normal - which makes me feel like an asshole because when people ask how the boys are doing, I say the baby is awesome (I cannot imagine a better baby) and the older one is like a little terrorist. You cannot reason with a terrorist.

Truth of the matter is that while #1 certainly throws his share of tantrums and has the kind of piercing scream that can make dogs within a three mile radius vacate, he is a beautiful, sensitive little dude. He's never tried to beat up or bite his little brother. He has a wonderful sense of humor. He's incredibly logical and strategic. His passion is not Barney or Yo Gabba Gabba - it's the Von Roll Type 101. He's goddamn brilliant. I need to remember this when we're at Walmart and he wants to go right when we need to go left and the screaming ensues (my little Scream King).

This too shall pass.

Intervention: It begins TODAY

As much as I love the A&E show, this post is not about the season premiere. After suffering a HELLISH weekend with my beloved toddler, John and I have decided to stage an intervention.

First, let me give you some backstory, #1 SUCKS at eating. He didn't use to. He used to be the awesome kid who would eat all the fruits and veggies you pureed for him. At eighteen months, he staged his first food revolt. It's been a downward spiral ever since.

I wish I could say, "At least he eats chicken McNuggets." No, he does not. He doesn't like Chicken McNuggets. (What kid on planet Earth does not like Chicken McNuggets??? Yes, I know Chicken McNuggets are shit. BUT at least they have *some* protein. We can all agree that some of it does come from a chicken, right?)

Oh sure, give him cookies and cake and he's king. Until he turns into a little psycho that is reminiscent of Regan from The Exorcist. I don't think it's the sugar fallout that makes him go nuts. I think it's the fact that he won't eat anything else.

Forgive me if I'd rather let my child starve than nourish him with cookies and ice cream.

We had a great week last week. He was eating his food. He was super well behaved. Then we went to a birthday party on Friday night. Fruit punch, cookies, cake. You name it. Saturday was ok. Sunday was a disaster. In between his bouts of psychosis -the only substantial piece of food he ingested yesterday was half a banana.

We used tough love and strategy to get the dudes to sleep through the night at three months. It's time to stage an intervention and get this kid on track. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.

Wish me luck.

Public Service Announcement

Now see here, pregnant woman, or someday pregnant woman, learn from this. I wish someone had told me how smug I was. It's too late for me. But you can still be saved.

On the Record

Check this out. A few months ago, we took #2 to the doc. It was a late afternoon appointment. Normally I keep all doc-related things in a special briefcase-like contraption, but this time, since I had all this stuff to carry, including #1, I just put everything in my purse - brilliant move. Of course, the inevitable happened. The immunization record got lost. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The next appointment rolls around and I cannot find the stupid card. At the doc's office, I do the whole, "Oh shoot, I forgot it!" Well knowing, nope, didn't forget it. Intentionally didn't bring it because it's lost. But it was the nurse who was asking for it. Then the doc comes in, sees the kid, yada, yada. Before he leaves he says, "We'll just update the shot record at your next visit." DAMN. I was hoping he wouldn't find out. I realized then that I have this fear of disappointing the doc - the doc who I love and is pretty much the only reason I endured sharing a room after delivery of #2. I could have changed my insurance but I said, "No way, man. I love our pediatrician." (I also feel like somewhat of an elitist because he's not taking any new patients.)

Then I had to clean out my car. I found the shot record under the driver's seat. Yippee! Everyone rejoice!

So #2's appointment is this morning. Ask me. Go ahead. Do you have your shot record?

Here we go again. Cleaning out my car is something I rarely do. I had to be designated driver for some dinner party so I figured I might as well give the passenger a lesser-gross experience. Thing is, I was hurrying up and then running late so in my haste, I cannot, for the life of me, remember where I put the goddamn shot record.

Of course, I spent all of last night looking for it, trying to visualize my steps that night, everything - to no avail. I'm ready to throw in the towel, get a new shot record card, and never lose it again. You have my word in writing.

I googled what to do if you lose the shot record. Apparently it's not that big a deal if you've had the same doc - which we do since the dude has only been around for four months. I found myself on eHow reading about it. Then I glanced down at the article of the day. How to Work Through Feelings of Social Isolation. Was this all an elaborate ruse courtesy of the universe to get me to learn how to make friends?

Universe, the jig is up. Please give me my shot record card back.

Update: It really isn't a big deal to get a new shot record. I envisioned a smack down from the nurse, or at the very least, a disappointed frown. When I told her it was lost, she nodded and said, "OK, I'll get you a new one." The card stock is not the same caliber as the original but it's yellow and up to date. It'll do.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Black?

So I was messing around on the World Wide Web looking at other people's blogs about their families. They were pretty boring. I want to say that people should only write about their kids if they have funny stories about puke, or their kids shoplifting, or how they think the urge to have children was a momentary lapse in good judgement. But these boring blogs are strangely fascinating.

I was reading this one blog where the mom was talking about the kid's baptism. Who cares? Does anyone really care (aside from the numbers people at the Catholic Church who are worried about a drop in, well, numbers). I'm fascinated by the fact that this lady thinks people care, or more so, the possibility that some people do read and do care. And what about the jerks like me? People who don't care and read ONLY to make fun of others. I know, fucked up, right?

Here's more fucked up stuff. They had all these pics of the kids on the blog. The kids were ugly. I'm sure they'll grow up to be incredibly handsome, bright human beings, but they're just not enjoying their most photogenic years so far. So how fucked up is that? Some complete stranger/asshole (me) is looking at their blog, making mean-spirited remarks, and posting it on her blog. Where's the humanity in that?

(This is precisely why I don't have any pics of my kids on this blog. I am afraid of Internet Deviants who will Photoshop mustaches and devil horns on my kids.)

P.S. I know, I know. To each his own. Lord knows people don't need to read about my IUD or how I'm short-changing #2 with generic baby products.

On the Up and Up

Let's talk about Target. There are people out there that swear that Target is one of the greatest contributions of modern man. The fact that you can get an Isaac Mizrahi blouse, motor oil, and Cadbury Cream Eggs all under one roof is the stuff dreams are made of. I didn't used to be one of those people. Walmart is down the street from me. The service can drive me bonkers but driving the extra ten minutes to get to Target just wasn't worth it.

And then I had a baby during the Great Recession.

Actually, I shouldn't put it all on the new baby.

I procrastinate. I am a SUPER PROCRASTINATOR. In all aspects of life. This includes buying essentials for the babies - like diapers.

I used to buy Huggies diapers at Costco. I hate going to Costco by myself and because John hates going to Costco period, I kind of ran out of diapers. So I scrambled up some Target coupons for Pampers but the coupons were the kind where you had to buy wipes and diapers to get a measly $4 off. The total transaction would have been way more than what I would have paid at Costco but since I waited until that absolute last minute, I was screwed. So off I go to overpay for these Pampers. When I get there, I notice that (yes, I know I changed tenses. Eat me.) there is a mustard yellow package with a nice clean design. It's Up and Up - Target's new generic brand. I think to myself, "Screw it. I'll just buy these for now since they're super cheap and go to Costco in the morning."

I never went back to Costco for diapers. My kids' hazardous waste goes exclusively into Up and Up diapers and they are AWESOME. And CHEAP. I wish they had super jumbo packs (like Costco) but other than that I have only kind words to say about these diapers.

BUt that was only the beginning. I started exploring other Up and Up products for the babies. As of today, we use the following Up and Up products: Diapers, baby wipes, baby laundry detergent, baby corn starch powder, AND (drum roll please) FORMULA!

The decision to move to Up and Up formula was a hard one to make - taking about four minutes in the formula aisle. Normally, we get #2's formula in Tijuana - Enfamil Premium at a whopping $19 for the mega can (vs. $35 at Costco). Again, I ran out and waited til the last minute when it was raining and super inconvenient to go to TJ. I gathered my coupons and hopped off to Target at night. I was standing there with my friend Anne, showing her the price of Enfamil vs. Up and Up. She asked why I couldn't just get the Up and Up. To which I responded, "YOU DO NOT MESS WITH FORMULA." If it works, let sleeping dogs lie. If you change it, you could open the flood gates to a night of HELL - crying, gas, CRYING. And then it hit me. Big deal. If #2 doesn't take to the formula, I'll just switch back to Enfamil. But if he does take to it, this could save me a bazillion dollars. Here's why. The Up and Up mega can is (another drum roll please) $16 and change. No crazy trip to TJ required AND cheaper!

Fortunately, #2 didn't skip a beat. He's been on the Up and Up for about a month now. Still thriving, still loving life.

Which reminds me, I have to go to Target right now. I don't think I have enough formula for tomorrow.

Status Update

ball, bowl, help, hat, hand, monkey, apple, cool, bubble, cake, cupcake, sit, walk, go, mine, fall, shoe, nose, mouth, eyes, TV, eat, food, out, up, down, bath, hot, cold, mama, daddy, dude, moon, goat, panda, dog, cat, bed, water, cookie, please, yes, no, fish, head, open, poop, car, milk, pop, one, two...

Dally has over fifty words now and can identify the letters of the alphabet. His teacher thinks he's going to be a really good reader because he sounds out letters when he sees them. She's also convinced that he's brilliant - something we already knew but nobody else did because he didn't talk.

Whaddup now, bitches.