Who's the Boss?

I don't know what it is about 5 year old girls, but somewhere in the last few months Quinn has turned into a little person. A short, mouthy mini adult. Granted, she has a little sister and it's instinct to boss your little sister around.
But boy oh boy! Does she give us a run for our money.
The shit I hear come out of her mouth is priceless...sometimes so priceless I want to slap it back in.
Last weekend my parents were in town, we were all just about to sit down to a nice Barbecue dinner when this strawberry blonde 3 foot nuthin Sassy Mcsasserton starts dictating how we are going to have a pleasurable dinner. "Now listen Everybody...we are All going to use our Manners!" She instructs. Then proceeds to critique all of us on the way we are eating our food, speaking to one another and passing the dishes. At one point my mother asked Cort to "please pass the butter" and Quinn jumps in "very good Nana, you're learning".
Whaddaydo? I'm laughing as I type this and did at the time but I also quietly told her to simmer down a little. I try to figure out where she learns it. I guess from us. I know I can be a little bossy but I'm the damn mom! How else am I supposed to be?

Tonight in the car she told us all we were going to play a game called "The things I see" (honestly, she's had me play this game with her before which is a surprise because it actually makes no sense at all and I can't really comprehend how you determine a winner!)
ANYWAY, back to this game "The things I see".
You have to look out the window and then shout the thing you see IE: TREE!
But if you see 3 trees you have to say "TREE , TREE , TREE". Therefore if you see a shitload of trees...this game just turns into a shouting match. And for some reason Cort has been really indulging this bossy Q lately so tonight he starts shouting over everyone as loud AND FAST as he possibly could "CAR CAR CAR, TREE, TREE, FENCE FENCE, FENCE SIDEWALK SIDEWALK"....I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. She didn't think the game was that much fun after that!
So then it was a NEW Game...The other game she insists on playing in the car is EYE SPY. Again, Cort entertained her games tonight and began playing it with her when we started to notice a pattern. If we were having trouble figuring out the item she was describing Cort would say "is it that thing over there?"
"YES Daddy you got it!"....no pointing at anything, no waving in any general direction...just that thing over there.
Hmm....that led us to our easy out for the rest of the game!
"is it that thing over there?"

YES YOU WIN!

Let's get personal

After reading up on a slew of celeb weddings this weekend & last: Jenna Fisher & her office writer boyfriend, John Krasinski & Emily Blunt, Carrie Underwood and her sporty dude(Ican'trememberhisnameIthinkit'ssomethingFisher) it always makes me reflect on what I didn't have.

Obviously, some of you have already heard this story or lived through it with me. And some of you don't know because I don't talk about it a lot. Because I don't want to.

I have to say my wedding day was not fun for me. Not at all.

So a quick recap of everything leading up to it.

Cort & I dated off & on for 3 years. He was usually the one to break up with me because he just couldn't commit to someone who wasn't Mormon. For those of you not familiar with the rituals in the Mormon religion...there's a lot of them. And especially if you're going to get married. Both of you have to be of the faith to partake in all of the rigmarole.

So this went on...for 3 years.

Until. I got pregnant.

Whoops!

Then shit changed. All of the sudden he wanted to get married. And all of the sudden. I was paralyzed. I didn't know what to do. I knew I loved him. I knew he would be a great partner. But I had spent 3 years hanging in the balance...and THIS is what changed it?

And then there came the "we're pregnant/breaking of the news to the families".

I come from a very liberal family that- yes- they were disappointed it had happened this way but it was no reason for us to get married and life would go on.

Cort comes from a very religious, conservative family. They wanted us to get married....and immediately. Every time we went to a family gathering that's the first thing I heard, "When are you getting married, when are you getting married."

It got to be too much. I had them on one side saying "YOU HAVE TO GET MARRIED" and my parents on the other side saying "YOU DON'T HAVE TO GET MARRIED".

And I was dealing with my first pregnancy all to boot.

Emotional combination.

I was torn. And I had too many people in my ear. Don't get me wrong- I was a 27 year old adult. I DO make my own decisions. But at that point I just didn't know what I wanted.

So I sat on it. And sat and sat. I got so tired of everyone barking at me that I finally said to Cort "fine, I'll get a judge and we'll get married."

So that's exactly what I did.

We went down to the courthouse.

They gave us a list of judges.

I picked one at random and called her. We made an appointment for the following week, invited our parents down and my bro & sis-in-law.

And we got married.

In the judge's condo.

6 months pregnant.

It was the most unromantic thing I have done in my entire life.

I regret it.

I wish I would have just told everyone to kiss my ass and plan my own romantic whatever-the-hell i wanted type wedding.

I hold a lot of regret.

I feel like I shorted myself and Cort.

This wasn't the wedding I had dreamed of since I was little. This was a get-everyone-off-my-back-sign-the-goddamn-paperwork-and-be-done-with-it-wedding.

It wasn't fun, it wasn't memorable.

It.just.was.

I guess my lesson is that if my children end up in this situation I would tell them to do whatever they want. Plan the biggest fucking wedding of your dreams. And get married 9 months pregnant. Who gives a shit? You will be happy you did it!

You only regret the things you don't do. Unfortunately for me, that was the wedding I never had.

I want to end this on a positive note which is: Cort & I have been married for over 5 years. We have 2 great little girls and a wonderful life together. He is a spectacular father and our parents are wonderful grandparents. Our life couldn't be better, I just wish we could have started it together a little differently! That's all!

Crazy Mommy

I made Quinn stay up a little past bedtime to go over her counting skills tonight. She's been doing this 12, 13, 16, 17 thing and it's driving me nuts.
I know. If I start to beat her with wire hangers, please someone, call CPS...but then again, maybe that's a good learning tactic?

Oh I know! Just shut up already! I can't help it. She starts Kindergarten in the Fall and I don't know what the expectations are. The Elementary school she'll be attending is not the one we are zoned for. I applied for a permit IN JANUARY to specifically get her into this school, we were approved and damn it we've GOT to make a good impression. When I was there last at the school signing off on some paperwork they said "And she'll meet her teacher August 10th at her evaluation".
EVALUATION?????
What the hell does that mean? Should we be brushing up on Latin? I'm so nervous.

So, as you can plainly see...we canNOT have any of this 12, 13, 16, 17 bullshit at our evaluation!
They might just send her straight back to preschool. "Our apologies Mrs. PahPool errr Johnson err Pool -Johnson but your daughter just doesn't meet the requirements to attend our fancy Kindergarten. Perhaps when she's learned the correct FUCKING WAY TO COUNT she can come back. Until then, there's a mentally challenged school down the road we can put in a good word for you there?"
UGHHHH I'm going to have nightmares about this until August 11th.

I've kept my cool in front of Q...except tonight she did say "Can we stop playing this game?" UHH NO! Not unless you want to be working the Arby's drive thru the rest of your life. And even there I'm pretty sure you have to know that 14 comes after 13.

Oh Mel! You're one racist kitty kat!

He's like the energizer bunny..he just keeps going and going...an australian drunk energizer bunny...with tourettes

The Boobie Trap

What happened to my lovely lady lumps? Where'd they go Fergalicious? A sistah wants to know? Still got all that junk inside my trunk...rarely is it get- get -getting anyone drunk...but um..what was I saying?

Oh yeah.

I want a boob job.

Here's the thing...or thang as the Black eyed peas might wax....
I used to have really cute boobs. I was cool with them. They were never too big or in the way and they weren't tiny. They were just a nice perky B/C cup depending on my weight fluctuation that day/month/year.
Like I said, we. were. cool. It was probably one of the only body parts through my puberty, high school, college years I was okay with.

When I got pregnant with Quinn, I consciously walked myself through it "okay, I can do this...they'll be fine. I'll have some big boobs for awhile and then they'll go back to normal." In fact, I remember at my very first appointment asking my OB/GYN, "soooo what do you think will happen to my boobs". Ya know, a common question a 65 year old Mormon OB in the heart of Salt Lake City gets asked on a daily basis...I'm sure. (Screw the hum drum "can i hear my baby's heart beat..is everything okay bullshit." WHAT ABOUT MY TATAS??)

Anyway, he was like, "uhh what do you mean?".
ME: "you know, after I have the baby, what will happen...will they stay big, will they go back...what am I REALLY in for here?"

DR.: "well, you're planning on breast feeding so they will stay big for awhile but at your size, we usually see them just return to the same size they were previously".

SWEET. I was cool with that.

But that's not what happened.

ANYONE that has ever nursed a child knows what happened...and you've already "oh gurl"d this story a couple of times.

During the pregnancy, my boobs got big. The kid came out, my boobs got bigger. And then the nursing began.

My boobs became something I had never seen before. King Kong Boobs. They were large and IN CHARGE...of some serious milk supply....

I felt like I was carrying around two other appendages. I would try to boost them up in 2 sports bras and my chin would be resting on them. I had never see so much cleavage in my life. My husband was like "OH YEAHHH!" Until he was squirted in the face...then not so much. They became foreign objects I was attempting to handle every 2-3 hours.

Don't get me wrong, I really loved nursing my kids. And would I do it again in a heartbeat...yes...if I knew a boob job was waiting for me at the end of the milk train.

ANYWAY, after I stopped nursing Quinn and my nipples began to resemble something other than over sized pencil erasers; I could see a slight difference in them. Less perkiness, less firmness, less of the old me.

But I got pregnant again and I nursed again.

After I finished nursing Sloane I remember looking in the mirror, waiting and waiting for that bounce back with the slight change. Yeah...still waiting. In fact, what the hell happened? These sad sacks of mammary glands don't resemble anything other than deflated balloons. Sad, old, balloons, that have given up on life. I think they're depressed. Balloons that, each day scoop themselves into a bra too big for them but they're too lazy to go out and buy a new one. Balloons that in the tanning bed must stretch up so VERY VERY High or else they will have a white line under them. Balloons that have lost most of their helium...and will to live.

So, yes I want a boob job. But I'm not looking for the 20 something porn, buoyant boobies that stick straight out when you take off your bra. I'm just looking to get back a little closer to what they used to look like. That's all. Nuthin more.

And if I can find someone to finance this dream, that would be a perk!

Pissing Match

Christ Almighty.

This kid is going to give me an early death....

What I don't understand is how I can birth two children created out of the same DNA and they can be completely different. COMPLETELY.

The proof was there from the moment she came into this world. My mother has said, "I've never heard a baby crying while still crowning"....and it's true. Embarrassingly true. I've never wanted to crawl up into that delivery bed and hide in my own birthing goo so badly..but damn that child was loud and irritating. I kept apologizing to all of the nurses and she was like -2 minutes old.



And she never stopped.

They refused to keep her in the nursery because they said she was so fussy she was waking up all of the other newborns. I cried and cried. And never slept and cried some more. I begged Cort to let me surrender her at the hospital. Somehow, I'm not sure that would have gone over very smooth. Here's this middle class 31 year old, rolling up with her husband and 3 year old trying to hand over her newborn because she just can't take it anymore. Here, take the bassinet, Avent bottles...even my breast pump...you can have it all...JUST LET ME GO TO A HAPPY, QUIET PLACE!!

I'll never forget the constant questions from friends, family, gawking strangers "what's wrong with her, what does she want, why does she keep crying?" "Maybe she's collicky, maybe she's got reflux, maybe you should analyze her diet".

OH GOD! You're a fucking genius! Why hadn't I thought of all of those things for the 87 Million days, hours, minutes I've had her freaking the fuck out in front of my face...GOD! I'm such an idiot!

Instead though I was polite and would respond with something like, "i think she needs me to make her a stiff drink and tell her how pretty she is".

But I'll tell ya, that first year was something out of one of those Saw movies. I considered cutting off my own leg to escape.

ANYWAY, I digress. We are now 2 1/2 years old, pretty much out of the crying every 5 seconds (a blog for a different time!) and in full potty training mode.....or so I thought.

Oh funny mommy...always assuming shit will be on your schedule and you will be able to exercise parental authority. YOU'RE HILARIOUS!

I'll be honest. I don't read a lot of those "how to" parenting books. Because I think they're full of shit. But I do know that you're not really supposed to PUSH the whole potty training thing...kind of make it their idea or whatever. Because you can SCREW THEM UP FOR LIFE!

So we started very soft and slow. I would comment on how great the Elmo panties looked at the store and OH WOW! Potty chairs! How cool! She'd come in and watch me go and flush for me. Within a few weeks she started to get the message. So she tried it a couple times and it was great- we did potty dances and made a huge deal out of it and things were progressing nicely.

Now let's be clear...I am only talking about Peepee. Poopoo, I have learned takes much longer to get out of the actual diaper and into the potty chair itself. So WHATEVER! Toy Story pull ups will continue to be a part of the pooping ritual. I gotta say, I think it's a little confusing when Sloane will say to me in a full sentence, "mommy, can you get me a diaper I need to poop". "uh sure thing fully capable child". BUT I'M NOT PUSHING IT DAMMNIT! Don't want to give anyone pooping issues! I don't know what those would be...but I've been warned! Don't do it! Maybe she'd be in her college dorm begging her roomate for a pull up so she could take a dump in the back corner of the room? I don't know? Better than a drug problem right? hmmm...maybe not so bad.

Anyway, so things were sailing smoothly....until summer hit. Damn you summer and you're warm sunshine and kiddie pools and bathing suits and fun outside time! It started as innocent as this: our adorable sitter was playing outside with the girls and accidentally locked the front door. They were locked out of the house for probably 15 minutes before she was able to connect with Cort on text message and figure out where the hide a key was etc. So in that period of time I guess Quinn had to pee. So our sitter just told her to pee in the bushes.

That was it. That's all it took. Sloane had found her calling in life.

What a concept. Peeing somewhere other than the toilet. This was AWESOME!

Every morning we would wake up and Sloane would ask "Can I peepee outside?".
No.
We would pull into the driveway from being out "Can I peepee in the grass?".
No

I thought the peeing in the outdoors was it.
Until I was sitting in this exact same spot just about a week ago and in walks naked Sloane and straddles the dog "What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm going to peepee on Roscoe".

We invited some friends over the other day and all 4 kids are in the kiddie pool. We are lounging in chairs just chatting away and I look over in the distance to a Sloane still in her swim suit, squatting by the side of the pool peeing on the grass. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

"I peepee outside".

In the last week she has peed somewhere in the house once a day and not told a soul. I walked into her bedroom and KNEW I smelled pee. It took me a few minutes to hunt it down and there behind the toy box was a puddle....accompanied by floating, soggy Nemo stickers...poor Nemo.

The victim most days has been our downstairs TV room. Which is very, very unfortunate because it's CARPET! EFFF!

We've dumped gallons of that Pet & Kid spray on it but it doesn't matter, that entire room needs to be recarpeted at this point.

It's one of those things that now when I walk into the house I'm paranoid that all I smell is pee.

And honestly, I'm not sure exactly what type of discipline to take on this whole journey. My aunt suggested the angle "well I guess you're a baby and you'll need to keep wearing baby diapers all the time, no big girl panties for you". Which is a good one and I'm kind of doing that but Sloaney enjoys wearing diapers and those things are expensive! So right now, we've just kept on her every 20 minutes "do you need to go, do you need to go?". It's the times where no one knows exactly where she is that she takes the opportunity to do it.

In conclusion: I just never saw this coming. Quinn was such a play by the rules kid. She would have NEVER DREAMED of peeing on the floor, let alone her dog! It's comical to watch this complete polar opposite behave...and I guess that's a good thing, I'm not trying to surrender her still.

Going Postal

So lately every afternoon without fail, there is a loud banging on my door by a lovely Post person. As I open the door, I'm anticipating the dialogue, mood, demeanor. Standing in front of me...it's always somewhat the same: male/female in all the postal gear, one ipod ear phone out, holding my mail, kind of out of breath, kinda sweaty "WE WILL NOT DELIVER YOUR MAIL WHEN THE DOG IS OUTSIDE.... SO HERE!". the mail is shoved into my abdomen.
I nod, with a smile and a sarcastic tone say "okay, thank you".
Secretly, I'm pissed.

Let me explain

My Dog is outside. My Bassett Hound/Beagle mix dog is lounging in the front yard. He's so threatening...with his drool and laziness and droopy eyes. Yes he will cut you, rip your head off...he's force to be reckoned with. Seriously?
Secondly, we never have the same postman/woman/person. It's like we are the red headed step child of mail routes...no one wants to deliver in our ghetto Millcreek neighborhood. It's a different person everyday. In fact, when we first moved into this neighborhood 6 years ago we had an awesome post dude...he was a dude. Long hair, tan (kind of my type ;)). He would bring Roscoe treats, pet him and deliver our mail everyday and fortunately avoided any altercation with my easily irritable dog! But these days, I don't know what it is, I've never seen the same person twice deliver our mail. So everyday they knock on the door and think they're telling me something new. I want to be like, "yeah dipshit, the person that delivered the mail yesterday explained your hang up and the person that delivered it the day before that and the day before that...but I'm afraid I'll get myself so worked up I'll papercut their face with my overdue bills.
Thirdly, because of our random bag of players; the mail never gets delivered at the same time everyday. So even if I wanted to make sure my dog was in the house I wouldn't know what time to bring him in. It's anywhere from 1p-6p daily...yeah...so that's cool.
Basically, I don't want to call up the post office and bitch at them and I don't want to be rude to the next person as it may be they're first day of work. I'm not quite sure how to remedy the situation other than right now it's so hot out Roscoe rarely wants to be out there so he just goes out, does his business (maybe kills one human) and then comes back in to relax in air conditioning.
The bigger question here is, why are people still sending stuff regular snail mail?