Not my brightest parenting moment

Ah, toddlers. Who doesn't have the fondest of memories about the temper tantrums, the bedtime battles, the time your kid locked himself in the vault at city hall. Wait, what? Oh yeah, it happened.

On this fateful day, I had both boys with me as I ran into city hall for one quick thing.  As I looked at a computer, FunnyKid ran down a long (fun-looking) ramp next to me that went into the big vault full of city records. Then he ran back up and we headed to the desk to speak to an employee.

As I began speaking to the woman and FunnyBoy began fussing, FunnyKid (the 2.5 year old) saw his opportunity and took off to run back down the ramp into the vault. I picked up the baby carrier and was not too far behind him, telling him to turn around and come back. As I got to the bottom of the ramp, FunnyKid gave me a sly grin... and knocked closed a glass door at the entrance to the vault (a door with no purpose I could figure out since the vault also had one of those huge metal vault doors).

Seeing no knob on the outside of the glass door (just a keyhole), I immediately turned around and went back  to the employee I had been speaking with. "I'm really sorry, but my son just locked himself in the vault. Could you please get the key for the glass door?"

"Uh, I don't think we have a key for that door," the woman replied.

That's when I began to panic. Running back to the door, I smiled and urged FunnyKid to turn the locking mechanism on his side of the glass. Having fun playing our game, the poor kid tried to turn the lock, but wasn't strong enough. Standing there with a toy train in either hand, he watched as two different employees with two different keys each arrived and failed to unlock the door.

That's when a woman in a really nice outfit came rushing down and decided she was going to try to slide under the door (oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the glass door didn't go all the way to the top or the bottom of the door frame, making it even more useless and more confusing about what it was even there for). Despite the panic rising in my chest, that part was kind of funny because the poor, professionally-dressed woman had no chance of fitting through the couple of inches of space beneath the door, but she pressed herself to the floor and tried.

The ending of this story is a little anti-climatic: no firefighters rushing through the door for a dramatic rescue, no having to tell FunnyKid to go hide in the corner while a police officer shot through the door. Nope. Instead, we got FunnyKid to lay down on his side of the door and I reached under and slid him out.

Then we threw some more apologies around and ran out the door while the employees were making phone calls to see if anyone in city hall had a key to the door. In the aftermath, I felt ashamed that FunnyKid was able to get that far away from me and cause some mischief, but I also started to get kind of angry that a city office didn't have a key to the mystery door in its vault. I can think of a couple of (unlikely) scenarios in which that door could swing closed and need to be reopened. In any case, it's a funnier story than the battle FunnyKid and I fought over naptime this afternoon, and if I have to be embarrassed or admit some parenting failures, at least I want a funny story out of it.

This explains why I didn't major in math

An anonymous source is reporting that I allegedly turned 34 last week (I can neither confirm nor deny that rumor...) And while it's a little older than I would like to be right now, I'm way too busy with FunnyKid to think, let alone worry about how old I'm getting.

So everything was fine and I went along through the day feeling no older than I had the day before. Until kat's lil brother took me out to lunch for my birthday and casually asked, "So what do you want to do for your 35th birthday next year?"

Wait, what?!? 35? Is it possible I'm almost 35?!? That's, like, mid-thirties. Which is-- gulp-- almost 40. I can't possibly be almost 35, can I?

Ack! I've been hit!

Yesterday, the pretend sister-in-law asked me if I had been pooped on yet. I proudly said no. An hour later, FunnyKid got me.

The Pretend Husband and I were standing behind our vehicle while I changed FunnyKid in the back area. I had gotten one diaper off and was wiping him down when all of a sudden, poop shot out of his butt and hit me up one arm and across my stomach-- which was more than two feet away at the time. Two feet!

The PH almost fell on the ground from the effort of not laughing at my predicament. I had mercy on him and told him he could laugh. I would have been laughing at the kiddo's talents myself if-- you know-- I hadn't been covered in poop and all (and me having used the last wipe in the diaper bag!)

I'm chalking this one up to rookie error and vowing it will never happen again (while secretly proud of my son's firing abilities!)

Well, THAT'S never happened before...

SJ and I checked out a couple of tag sales this weekend to make sure there isn't any baby stuff we're missing (conclusion: there isn't). At one of the tag sales, the 10-year-old son of the woman hosting the sale starting following us around all used car salesman-like. "Is there anything in particular you're looking for? I can help you find it." "Did you see this toy? It's in great shape."

It was cute... for the first few minutes. And then I felt like saying, "Listen, can you let me browse through your family's crap in peace?" But, somehow, despite my looking exclusively at the baby stuff and-- you know-- the huge belly protruding in front of me, he missed the fact that I was pregnant until his mom asked when I am due.

I answered and that's when Car Salesman Jr. said, "You're having a baby?" and then reached.out.and.rubbed.his.hands.all.over.my.stomach. I mean, I understand the fascination little old ladies have with pregnant bellies, but getting groped by a 10-year-old is a first for me.

And just to show what an evil mind I have, my first thought as this happened was the desire to point at SJ and proclaim, "She's pregnant too!" while running for the safety of the car.

Please keep your salmon salad 5 miles away at all times.

So far, my favorite pregnancy-related symptom hasn't been the nausea. Nor the four times in one night up to pee. Nor has it been the bloat that comes before the belly. Or the break-outs that bring me back to high school.

No, no.

My all time favorite thing so far is my ability to sniff out every single scent, odor, fragrance, etc within a two mile radius.

It's kind of crazy. And generally, it's helpful. I can recognize ingredients before looking at a dish. I can tell when it's time to do the laundry well before my hamper is overflowing. And I know when my husband has eaten the last Oreo before I even come downstairs.

Unfortunately, I can no longer stand the smell of my own house. The combination of the leather couch, new carpet and J's abundant use of "Fantastik" has overwhelmed my senses. I'm fine with the upstairs. But the downstairs - where I spend all of my time - has got to go. I'm not sure if scented candles are the answer, or if I just need to spend the entire weekend with the windows open.

But something has got to give. Either I need to have an army of Keebler elves start baking away, or I need an unscented febreeze kind of fix.

So I beg you, Internet. Please help.

Something I will never do again

Number one on the list of things I will never do again is go to Wal-Mart on a Friday night. Perhaps where you live, Wal-Mart is the heart of the community and everyone dresses appropriately, speaks clearly and has all their teeth. At the one closest to where we live? Not so much.

I actually had never been there... and now I know why. Wal-Mart on a Friday night is insane. Let's see, we were treated to half-dressed people, little kids screaming their heads off (perhaps because it was 9:30 p.m. and they were still awake?) and some of the rudest, least helpful employees I've ever met.

We had to go to the automotive section of the store for the battery the PH needed for the new love of his life, his riding lawn mower. As we stood there, two teenage boys who had been checking out the stereo systems cranked a bunch of them up then ran off laughing. While a nearby employee didn't seem to mind having to scream over the noise, I did, so I went over and turned all the stereos back down (and yes, I realize how old that statement makes me sound).

Then, while looking for a certain product to cover all the gray hair that has been invading my head, I spotted an employee stocking shelves and politely said, "Excuse me." That's when she grunted at me-- grunted! When I asked her where the magic potion was that will make my head go from looking like it's 50 to looking my age was, she muttered, "last aisle, on the wall" without looking up. Ok, then.

The last straw was as the PH and I were each lugging a heavy lawn mower battery through the store and we started hearing what the PH thought was an injured bird loudly crying out in pain. It turns out it was some type of toy that some kids in the toy aisle kept making squeal over and over and over again. We hustled to the cash register, having to scoot around a trio of 20-year-olds dressed all in camouflage with the girl trying to make out with her big, steel toe-booted, NASCAR hat-wearing boyfriend while his identically-dressed friend looked on.

And that is why I shop at Target.

Oh my God, it's twins!

At least I have an explanation for my huge appearance in that last photo, but I'm still kind of freaking out about how we're going to handle this one.

We went to the doctor this morning and she found a second heartbeat. There was some explanation about how they could have missed it the first two times we heard the heartbeat, but I'm kind of in shock and can't remember what it is.

We have an ultrasound scheduled next week to confirm it, but the doctor is 99 percent certain there are two big-headed kids in there. The Pretend Husband keeps talking about how much more expensive it's going to be to get double the baby stuff, double the clothing as they grow and double the college tuition, but all I can think about it when I'm ever going to sleep again with two babies needing to eat, be changed, etc.

Oh, and one more thing.....

(scroll down)

April Fools. (Apparently, I am just that huge with only one kid in there)

I've never wanted to kill my husband more...

... than when the midwife reported that the STD testing they are required to do on pregnant women all came back negative... and the Pretend Husband tried to fist bump me in celebration.

This one is worth reading to the end...

A few weeks ago, the Pretend Husband and I had my dad and his fiancee and the PH's parents (the Pretend In-laws) sit down for a discussion. I began with, "As the dogs' grandparents, we have something to discuss with you. You know how Molly and Casey have been asking for a brother or sister? Well, we have narrowed it down to three options and we want you guys to help us decide."

Immediately, the groaning started up. "A third dog?!? You guys are crazy!"

Quickly, I showed them a photo of a black dog and said, "This is the first option."

The comments continued, "I'm not taking care of three dogs when you go away. This is ridiculous!"

I showed a photo of a white dog and said, "This is the second option."

I was a little scared for my life as we got hit from all sides, "I can't believe you would do this! Three dogs is too much!"

So I quickly put down the third photo, saying, "This is the third option."

(It was a unanimous decision to go with option three.)

My lady parts ache just thinking about it!

My nephew, Wyatt, is five weeks old and he's-- well, he's a hefty eater. To the point where I don't know how kat's lil sis gets anything done other than breastfeeding him. And that hefty eating has led to Wyatt becoming a hefty kiddo.

It started with his one-week check-up when the doctor told lil sis he wanted the baby to have gained seven ounces since birth. Our little overachiever weighed in with an additional 23 ounces! And that was just the beginning.

For his five-week check-up, lil sis was guessing he was up to 10 pounds (he weighed just over eight at birth). Well, that little chunky monkey tipped the scales at 12 pounds! A 50 percent weight gain in five weeks!

He now weighs almost half of what his big brother does (and Peyton is 17 months old). We're going to visit them all soon and all I can say is, there's a reason I've been lifting weights while watching television all week. I'd like to be able to hold my younger nephew without my arms giving out. Oh, and it makes me very scared for the delivery of my future children. I'm hoping giving birth to little linebackers doesn't run in the family.

In case your resolutions are as trite as mine...

I received the best, best, best piece of cleaning advice ever the other day. Which, normally wouldn't make the blog except for A) One of my resolutions for the new year is to keep the house cleaner and better organized and B) This is the only cleaning tip that has ever changed my life. So, on my scale, it's worth sharing.

The Pretend Husband was in complete charge of choosing our appliances (seriously, the first time I saw them was when they were delivered) not only because he's the cook in the family but because he likes to research the crap out of things and appliances bore me (I bought myself a couple of Saturday afternoons of bliss while he stalked appliance salesmen). Anyway, like everyone else in the world, he bought stainless steel appliances. Which drive me crazy because they never look clean, what with all the streaks, fingerprints, etc.

And here's the advice that is going to change your life too (uh, but only if you actually own stainless steel appliances...) Here's how you clean them. Buy a microfiber cloth. Spray water on the face of the appliance. Wipe with the cloth.

That's it. So not only do you get shiny appliances, but you don't waste your life cleaning. Since I hate to clean, any other amazing tips are welcome.

With apologies to SJ, who has heard this story a dozen times since it happened (but wouldn't you tell it a lot too?)

I was helping out at my church on Friday night when I had the chance to meet the father of one of the members in the youth group I lead. Upon meeting me, he started to talk about how great it is that someone so young is leading the group and how the kids can relate to me a lot better than they can relate to someone older, etc. Then he stopped and asked my age. When I told him I'm 33, he got a shocked look on his face and said, "I thought you were 22!"

A few minutes later, he didn't seem to be paying attention to what I was saying and said, "I'm sorry. I can't get over the fact that you're 33." Yeah, that pretty much made my year right there.

How the PH locked up the Best Husband Award for 2009...

The night before my birthday, the Pretend Husband asked if I was going to stay up until midnight to mark the start of my birthday. I looked at him funny and said, "No. Because I'm not 10 anymore." When I headed to bed, he was staying up to play video games, but said he would wake me at 12. Which I thought was weird, especially because I already had my one birthday gift, a purse I had picked out myself. So I told him he had better not wake me up without at least giving me a card (to which he asked me if we had any blank cards in the house he could write in...)

I fell asleep around 11 and, lo and behold, an hour later, he turned on the lights and the radio in our bedroom and yelled, "Happy birthday!" Then he handed me my Christmas stocking (yeah, I'm not sure of the connection, either...) and told me to open it. Inside was a small, wrapped box. And inside the box was an awesome piece of jewelry. For my birthday. From my husband. The husband who told me I could have either a purse or an electric toothbrush for my birthday, but not both, because we need to cut back.

And the story was the best. He remembered how I had mentioned more than a year prior that I had always wanted a certain piece of jewelry. Then he called my sister to talk about it (thanks for giving him the green light, lil sis. Feel free to do that anytime jewelry is involved!) Then he went to four or five stores until he found the exact right thing. And he got the gift on sale (that scores big points with me).

And the best part? He said he was so excited to give me the gift that that's why he stayed up until midnight and then woke me up. Because he didn't want to wait until the morning to see my reaction. I mean, who needs jewelry when your husband is so awesome? (Although, don't get me wrong, the jewelry is pretty nice, too...)

Uh, Mother Nature? We need to talk...

We need to talk about why, when I woke up this morning-- Oct. 16-- my yard looked like this:

I'm not trying to be a pain, but... well, it's a little early for me. Perhaps we could hold off at least until the outdoor soccer season is done? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the snow. Love it. When I was a kid, I used to hope it would snow on my birthday. But that's the thing... my birthday is in early December. So, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job or anything, but maybe you could save the white stuff for a little later in the year? I mean, I wouldn't want you to run out. And, you know, all my soccer leagues will have moved indoors by then.

Wow. This real estate thing is hard.

.... Seriously! You have to keep your house clean for days.... six of them to be exact.

Why just six, you ask?

Because. We just sold it. Yesterday.

Well, okay not exactly. But we did accept an offer (after countering) and our house is Under Contract.

Exciting, right? Oh, sure, it was nerve-wracking. And yes, maybe we did under price it. And I'm sure we'll have lots of people tell us this (as they have already). And I assure you that DOES NOT HELP EASE MY MENTAL STATE. *

You know, my mental state that is currently all confuddled because I won't actually have a place to live in about six weeks. So the house hunt is ON like DONKEY KONG. **

And also because, as my sister just pointed out, my closing is FRIDAY THE 13th. ***

* - Sorry for the over caps. I'm really excited.
** - Again, sorry. But hello? I don't have a place to live in six weeks.
*** - Surely this one too is a gimme, no?