Mixed Emotions

There are so many things going on these days inside of my head but trying to find a decent amount of time to sit down at my blog and sort them out is proving to be quite difficult. It makes me feel better to write about things; sort of purge them from my thoughts if you will, and not doing it is making me feel all pent up. But when I finally sit down to write I just end up with little bullet points somehow trying to get it all out.

Everything with me lately seems to result in mixed emotions. Seems even my brain can't commit to feeling one way or another about life. That happens with things on the surface like the fact that it is Spring Break for The Girl this week. One the one hand I am thrilled to have an entire week where she is home with me and I get to spend some one on one time with her. On the other hand...have you ever tried to actually earn a living while simultaneously taking care of an almost one year old? Yeah, I don't recommend it. So I am trying to just give in to the fact that I am going to make crap for money this week and I should just relax and enjoy the time with my daughter. I am kind of succeeding. But only kind of. See it's tax crunch time for most of my clients (I am a bookkeeper) and this time of year I get LOTS of phone calls and emails with desperate questions that need answers right now because their taxes are due this week. So trying to handle the shit storm of craziness while simultaneously singing Kumbaya with my precious daughter rocking on my lap isn't going so well. The stress of it all makes me feel like a bad bookkeeper and a bad mother. Boo.

Also I very nonchalantly mentioned that my daughter is about to turn one. ONE. As in a whole year old. As in totally a toddler, not even close to being a baby anymore. How do I feel about this? You guessed it. Mixed god damned emotions. What an amazing little girl this daughter of mine is growing up to be. She is smart and funny and determined and a little bit crazy and sweet and head strong and everything her brother isn't. And I am absolutely loving watching her take this world by storm. Most days I sit and just laugh at her. Because seriously...she's freaking funny. We have a saying about the children in our family, "They ain't right." Now before you call CPS on me...we say it with all the love in the world, but seriously, my children are strange. In a funny way. My daughter does this thing where she rocks her head back and forth, to the left then to the right, kind of like an awkward head banging activity when she is having a good time. She will look at me, give me a big ole goofy grin and rock back and forth and then throw her head back and plop down on her back with a laugh. If you didn't know her you might worry she wasn't all there, you know? But I digress... The point is she's funny. And she gets funnier everyday. How could I want to stall the progress of her growth even a little? But then...she's my baaaybeeeee people. And my last baby. Gone are the days of sitting with me and rocking in the rocking chair; she's far too busy for that now. Gone are the days of laying on my lap and nursing; she still nurses but she is twisting her little self all around and throwing her butt in the air trying to make sure she doesn't miss anything. Gone are the cute little clothes; they are replaced with actual shoes and peasant blouses and hair styles. See? Mixed emotions.

Speaking of breast feeding...how do I feel about that? Totally mixed emotions. On the one hand I CANNOT wait to be done pumping. Seriously. Can't wait. But when I am done pumping that means that my milk during the day will most likely dry up. I am in no huge hurry to stop breast feeding her in the morning and at night but I would like to stop during the day. She really doesn't need it and I really need to get back to work without having to stop by my house to pump twice a day. But once the daytime feedings stop how long is it really before it all stops? And I used to never think I would be one of those women who breast feed past a year (no judgement on those who make that choice, I just never thought that would be my choice), but here I am on the precipice of a year and my gut is screaming "NO!!!" "Don't stop!!" On the one hand, I would like to get my body back, but on the other hand...again...my baaaaybeeee...

See? Everything is a dichotomy of choices. Everything has two sides. If I were a more balanced human being I could live with that and realize that the happy point lies somewhere between those two points. I am a smart enough human to realize that but am I an advanced enough human to actually live that? I think not.

If you made it through this craziness of rambling brain thoughts I reward you with some Spring time pictures of the kids enjoying their back yard this weekend. The Girl realized she is a BIG fan of the swing. (Oh and that is my mother with the diamonds...you should see the one on her LEFT hand. She's a big fan of jewels. Apparently it skips a generation...)

And those of you who know me should realize how HUGE it is that The Boy is going down the slide like this. We have had this backyard play set for like 3 years and the first two he wouldn't even consider going down the slide. Last year he would go down it but only with someone holding onto his hands at the same time. And this year? Progress. Big progress...

Quick Post...

I have a ton of work to get to so just a few bullet points:

• The Boy had a visit with his Daddy last night. I can't put into words how happy it makes him. Although the three years we tried (unsuccessfully) to get pregnant with frozen sperm SUCKED, it seems as though things happen for a reason and this is how our family was supposed to end up.
• If The Girl's top tooth (there's one left out of the top four) doesn't come through soon I might have to physically go in there with my fingers and pull the little bastard out. I feel so bad for her. She is miserable.
• For the first time, today The Boy declared his room to be a "No sister zone." He has been shutting the door on her for a while now but today he pulled her out of his room (not an easy feat for my little dude) and shut the door behind her only to re-open it again and scream, "My room is NOT for sisters anymore!" (Granted she had just ripped his Green Eggs and Ham book...)
• The Girl scaled the baby gate for the first time. I looked over and her feet were not on the floor! She was trying to climb it! Never in a million years would The Boy have actually tried to climb something. He still doesn't. Of course then she started screaming because she didn't know how to get her feet back on the floor. And of course rather than helping her, I ran to get the camera first, snapped a picture, and then helped her down from the floor.
• This morning when I was getting dressed The Boy said, "Mommy? You gonna put another baby in your tummy soon?" To which I answered NO quite loudly and told him there would be no more babies in Mommy's tummy. Then he said, "You glad we are out here now and not in der anymore huh Mommy..." More than he will ever know...

Happy 11 Months Old Peanut

Dear Baby Girl,

I am not going to be able to call you that for much longer. I really can't believe that this time next month I am going to be writing your one year post. I think back to this time last year and I can't believe how far we have come. You made it here nice and healthy and you have continued to be a healthy little girl and you really have no idea how happy that makes me.

That being said...ahem...you are quite the...opinionated little girl. You are loud and boisterous and confident and strong and quite frankly, hysterical. You are still my little ray of sunshine because 99% of the time you are the happiest little girl I have ever come across. People always say to me, "Is she always this happy?" And I answer, "Yes. Except for when she isn't." A few examples of when you aren't? When you are crawling towards the kitchen and I blatantly shut the baby gates on you. That makes you quite pissed. When your brother shuts his door and doesn't let you into his room to play with him. When you feel as though you need something and I am not moving quite fast enough to satisfy you. And dear lord if you're hungry...you are simply unpleasant to be around if you are hungry.

Speaking of hunger...I am very proud to say that you are still being breast fed. You mostly just nurse first thing in the morning, before your naps and before bed. And except for the first morning nursing session I am constantly amused at how you deal with your own personal moral dilemma. The dilemma being that you really want to nurse, but you also don't want to miss one thing going on while you are nursing. So this usually results in you nursing while wiggling around and putting your butt up in the air, and banging on my face and my chest with your hands and generally just wiggling around like a little monkey while trying to keep yourself latched on. It is quite amusing. I am more done with pumping than you will probably ever understand until you have a child of your own, but I have committed to keeping it up until you are a year old. I don't plan on cutting you off the boob cold turkey at a year, but the pumping? Yeah that is done. I doubt you'll be too upset though because according to your daycare, you no longer want the bottle. You drink what little breast milk you drink during the day in your sippy cup, and even that is a sparse amount (they tell me maybe 4 ounces a day).

You are far more interested in eating "big people food." Also you want to do it yourself. You are pretty much done with the pureed food (thank you for that) and just want to eat finger foods. Some of your favorite foods right now are: Turkey meatballs from Trader Joes, teriyaki flavored tofu, a mixture of peas, corn, black beans and kidney beans, you love all deli meat, fish (talapia seems to be your favorite), broccoli, mandarin oranges, apple sauce, pasta with tomato sauce, sourdough bread, sweet potatoes...I could go on. Have I mentioned that you're a good eater? I love that about you.

You are crawling as fast as I can walk and pulling yourself up to standing on everything. You are just starting to hold on while standing and "transfer" from the couch to the ottoman but you mostly still just sit back down and crawl where you want to go and then stand back up. You sign "all done" and "milk" and just clap ridiculously when you want more. You make sounds that sound like a few words but I would hesitate to label them as actual words at this point. But you "say" bye bye, mamamama, Gigi, all done and up. This has been the month of the teeth, god help us all. You now have the two teeth on the bottom, and on the top you have three of your top four with the final one about to poke through at any time. You pretty much scream during the night when a tooth is about to pop through and I can't say as though I blame you; looks awfully uncomfortable. You usually only take one nap per day, which I find quite annoying, but that also depends on what time you get up in the morning.

A daycare day goes like this: I wake you up at 6:00am to nurse and then put you back to bed while I get in the shower and get ready for work. You get up anywhere between 7:00 and 8:00am usually. We leave to go to daycare at 8:15am and I pick you up sometime before 5:00pm. When we get home first thing you do is nurse and then off to play until dinner time. At dinner time you sit with the family and eat while we eat. Then we do a quick bath, jammies and a little play time before around 7:45pm when we do our night time routine which involves darkness, your lovey ("Kitty"), and nursing. Then I put you in your crib and you fart around in there for a while before you go to sleep.

Weekends are similar except for the getting you up at 6:00am to nurse. That just happens whenever you feel like it and if it is before 7:00am I put you back to bed but if it's after that you just come to bed with Mommy and hang out. Your brother joins us (or will be there first sometimes) and our usual routine is for the three of us to hang out in Mommy's bed until around 8:30 or 9:00am. I think that might be my most favorite part of the entire week; when all three of us just get to relax and roll around in bed. It's fantastic. Then we just enjoy our day. You eat when we eat with a few snacks of nursing here and there but basically have left the world of "babyhood" and entered into just joining the family with what we have to do.

Let's look at your month in pictures. The weather finally got nice these past couple of weeks and you have been outside for the first time since you could move around on your own. It has been interesting to see you crawl around in the dirt and grass and get filthy but enjoy exploring this new part of your world. This was your first taste of crawling on the grass...

And then when it really warmed up, you got to experience your back yard for the first time this year. You hung out on the patio (didn't have any desire to be on the grass) while your brother played with a friend on his play structure.
Here is a shot of you plotting your destruction, and also deciding whether or not it is worth it to scream at me to see if I will let you in behind the gates...
You experienced your first St. Patrick's Day this year and both you and your brother wore green. And as per usual, trying to get a shot of both of you was most difficult and we had to choose this unfortunate shot with your brother looking like he is smelling bad cheese because you were screaming in all the other shots because I hadn't given you something to hold in your hand. Silly Mommy.
It was also your Gigi's birthday this week and while your brother was being a punk and refused to take a shot with his beloved Gigi, you were all too willing to be the "good child" and pose with the birthday girl.
And oh dear...how long did I commit to taking these monthly bean bag shots? Just a year right? Cause it is getting to the point where it isn't so much fun to try and get a shot of you sitting still in a place that I deem appropriate for a picture. You laugh hysterically and arch your back to try and get off the bean bag...
You immediately roll over to get off that way...
You just blatantly get off the shot and crawl over to me with the camera because apparently you think you could get a better shot if only I would just give you the camera so you can do it yourself...
And really, the only shot I can get of you on the damn bean bag is when I use my hand to hold you there and simultaneously tickle you to try and make you laugh. So here is your final 11 month old bean bag shot...
I love you my little Peanut. You continue to bring joy and light into my world and our home. I can't even imagine life without you and although I am sad to see your babyhood coming to an end, I am excited to see the little girl you are becoming.

Wordless Wednesday

It's been a while since I posted any pics of the kids so... (since I know you all live for that...)

"The sun is out! The sun is out!!" It's supposed to be between 70 and 75 all week long! The kids are finally getting to enjoy their back yard again. If you look in the background you will see The Boy enjoying a play date with a good friend...

And here's little miss I'm almost 11 months old just sitting trying to look innocent as she plots her destruction of brother's room...
And here's the big boy chillin' with his quilt right after waking up from a nap.
Hope you are all having a lovely Wednesday.

It's Been At Least A Week Since I Bitched About This...

The Boy and his eating.

He kills me.

I could end the post right there but I won't. I need to vent. We went to his gastro doc on Friday for a weight check (we do that every three months). He had lost almost a pound from three months ago and didn't grow at all in height. He is still on the charts but literally by the skin of his teeth. He is below the 3rd percentile. His doc said if he didn't gain again in three more months he would definitely be off the chart again. Which I probably don't need to tell any of you is a bad thing.

So we discussed his pediasure intake (2 a day in the morning) and how he is still pretty much doesn't eat lunch at all at his new school and decided it was definitely time to put him back on the medicine. So I started him back this weekend with a half a dose and he was a mess. Tired and lethargic and weepy. It was pretty hard to watch. He doesn't understand why he feels fine one day and then like crap the next. I understand and I hate to have to see him suffering the side effects of his medication but at the same time...JUST EAT!! Is isn't that simple. I get it. But it is so frustrating I can't even put it into words. What I wouldn't give to have a child that just gets hungry and eats. Plus as he gets older it is becoming more and more apparent that he is about half the size of the other kids his age. People are going to start to make fun of him soon and I desperately don't want that to happen. Sigh...

Last night at dinner I almost lost it. I gave him his favorite: Kraft Mac and Cheese. Not a kid on the planet that doesn't like that, right? Well he ate about two bites (literally) and then started to sing and play and watch the fish tank and talk to his sister and basically do anything and everything BUT eat. So after his sister and I finished dinner I told him he was all done and he could get down. But here's the kicker. My grandmother had come over earlier and given him a large peppermint patty that he wanted for dessert. I never make him "finish his plate." Ever. I don't want to be that parent. But if he wants dessert he has to eat a certain amount. So he started crying and screaming that he wanted his dessert. I told him he had to finish his dinner if he wanted to eat that. So he cried that he wanted it back and I gave it back to him. He then told me "I am very angry with you Mommy." And in general just started being an ass. As if for some reason I am the evil food police who has forced him to do some horrible thing!!!

Just eat your damn food kid. Or don't. Frankly at this point I don't really give a crap. Either be done and get down or eat. It isn't rocket science. He bitched and moaned and cried but he ate every single bite of that mac and cheese simply because he wanted his peppermint. So the end result was fine. But he ruined my dinner time. Again. I don't like fighting with him. I don't like begging him to eat. I don't like having him treat me like I am such an asshole simply because I would like to sit down to the dinner table and enjoy dinner with my two children. I don't like spending the time disciplining him (not for not eating but for being rude and using "bad words" and saying things like he was going to go and get a "shooter gun and shoot Mommy" because I am giving him the option of eat or get down). It is exhausting.

I know there isn't much I can do about this. I am not necessarily looking for advice, I am just venting. I know there are people with kids that have problem MUCH worse than mine and I am grateful we have come this far with our health issues. But man...sometimes I wish I had a kid who would simply get hungry, sit down at the table and eat. But that probably isn't going to ever happen.

That Baby Looks Familiar...

So I saw The Girl's donor Daddy this week. I can't put into words how strange it is to look into his eyes, whom I have only met a handful of times, and see my daughter. Usually it is the other way around. You know an adult in your life and you meet their child and smile mildly at the resemblance between parent and child. But it is so strange when it works the other way around.

Obviously I look at my daughter constantly. I know her little face by heart. So on Wednesday when I saw her Daddy it didn't hit me immediately. I was having a conversation with him and looking into his eyes and just felt like, "You look like someone I know..." and then I realized it was my daughter. She totally has his eyes. And he has great eyes. Her eyes are one of my favorite parts of her face. They are so expressive and wonderful. And when I was talking to him it became apparent exactly where those beautiful eyes came from. I smiled at him and said, "She looks SO much like you." And he smiled and said he was touched. He has four kids of his own from previous marriages he has had and apparently my daughter looks very similar to his daughter that is over 10 years older.

This is such a strange thing yet it is so wonderful at the same time. Every time I talk to her Dad I like him more. He is a wonderful and caring person (obviously considering what he did for me) and each time I spend time with him I know that I made a great decision in picking him for her donor. He has told his children and his family about her. They might all meet this summer. She is really young right now but I think in her future she will love to know that she has some half siblings and people out there who care about who she is and where she came from.

Don't get me wrong. I tried to get pregnant with The Boy for 3 years using frozen sperm so I am not the proponent of known donors. But since my life took this path I tend to think that things happen for a reason. Watching my son, who is 4, really want to know where he came from and who his Daddy is, I am glad that the path we ended up taking allows him to have those answers. He can talk to him on the phone and see him in pictures and really understand and know where he came from. I think it is in innate desire to know our roots. Again, that is not to say that using a frozen sperm or unknown donor is necessarily a bad thing. But look at how my path turned out. I am single and raising these kids on my own. The Ex is a part of The Boy's life but The Girl doesn't have that "second parent." I think being able to know and actually talk to her donor Daddy will be a good thing for her.

Either way this is where we ended up. I am eternally grateful to the two men who helped me to make my family. And when I look into their eyes and see the eyes of my precious children I can't help but think they gave me the greatest give a person can give.

MAKE the time...

It is amazing how much you need something without even knowing you need it.

Tonight I left both of the kids home with my mom and I went out with a friend. We went to a wine bar and had three tastings of wine and then went and had dinner. It is something that is so simple and yet, for some reason, I never seem to make the time to do it.

I can't put into words how wonderful it felt to be out with a friend without my kids. Anyone who reads this blog knows how much I love my kids. But partially because I am a single parent, and partially because I don't have any other babysitters besides family (a subject which was discussed tonight and which will soon be changed), I literally never get out without my kids. My mom helps me so much on a regular basis that I feel horribly guilty to ask her to stay late and watch my kids, you know, some more. So I don't do it.

My friend and I have been trying to make this night out happen since her birthday. Her birthday is January 11th. That's how bad we are. It wasn't all me; she moved and had to reschedule a couple of times too. But man, I just don't think I have given enough credit to how good it feels to take some time out. For me. Even as I sit here pumping away (because my daughter went to bed with a bottle instead of being nursed to bed like usual), I feel like I gave myself the best give I could give. Some time for myself. I really must do this more often.

It Was Bound to Happen Eventually...

For the first time in his whole life...

At four years and two months old...

My son told me he hated me.

Want to know why? Because I had the gall to tell him to clean up his room. Then when he blatantly ignored me, I went into his room and turned off his TV and told him he could finish watching his show after he had done what I asked.

Then he stood outside the door of my room and stuck his head in and said, "I hate you Mommy."

Needless to say we had a discussion that we do NOT say that to anyone; especially the people we love. I told him I would never say that to him and he threw his arms around me and told me he was sorry and that he wouldn't ever say it again. Then he went in his room and finished cleaning up. We had another hug and he got his TV show back and the world continued to rotate.

Certainly won't be the last time I hear it I am sure...

"Mommy...Where Did I Come From?"

It isn't a news flash that my family didn't end up looking the way I thought it would when I dreamt of having kids. I had peacefully come to terms with the Two Mom household and was even proud to be able to call myself someone who could fit within those limits.

It seems I am having a bit of trouble defining my situation now that I am no longer part of a "two mom household." You might remember when I did a short post with bullet points talking about all the things I wished I had the time to post about. I still don't have the time (it is almost 11:00 at night and I should definitely be in bed) but I am also sick of having a blog where all I post is cute little tid-bits about my kids with the occasional picture. It isn't an accurate picture of my life.

Truth is I struggle on a daily basis on how life is defined for me now. Am I single mother? Yes. Am I a single mother by choice? Well yes. For my second child. For the first one I had no desire whatsoever to be single and have a baby. Am I a lesbian? Absolutely. Lesbian mom? No doubt. Two Moms raising a child? Well we have two moms but... But when you see me? None of those things necessarily come through. I know that I most definitely do NOT fit into the category that I dreamed of for years and years when I was trying to get pregnant with my son. I wanted the perfect picture. Don't we all? I wanted a two mom household with a house the we owned and a yard and the two kids and the love... Well I wanted the love in my household to ooze out of its very pores. And I wanted my kids to know that. I wanted them to feel that. From the day they came home from the hospital until the day they went away to college. And while I have no doubt at all that my children feel an immense amount of love on a daily basis, this isn't what I meant.

I never thought I would have to have a conversation with my children about how their Mommy isn't like the other Mommy's they hear about in school. Mommy doesn't like "Daddy's" like the other ones. Mommy wants another woman. I never thought I would have to "come out" to my kids. I figured it would be part of who they were. It would be all they ever knew. But it isn't. And they don't. Recently I watched "A Family Is A Family Is A Family" on HBO. It is a documentary about all the different types of families there are out there. I sat and watched those children being interviewed and those children absolutely knew where they were from. They knew that they had two Mommies or two Daddies. They knew they were adopted. And they knew it meant absolutely nothing in terms of how much they were loved. I was so in awe of those children. They were so...proud of who they were and where they came from. It was the way I had dreamt that my son would be. And if I'm honest, he isn't. If you asked my son to define his family I can guarantee that he would not tell you he is part of a two mom household.

He knows he has a Mommy and he has a Mom. He also knows he has a Gigi (who is more like a Mom to him than even I am sometimes) and he knows he is surrounded by all sorts of people who love him to death. But he doesn't know how he came into this world. He doesn't know that his mother and I once loved each other dearly and worked for years to bring him into our lives. Sure, he sees his birth video where we are both present and he knows the logistics of the day he was born. And maybe that's all his little 4 year old brain can handle, I don't know. But the reason he doesn't know about his definitions is because, quite simply, I haven't told him.

That's right, I haven't told him.

I am still so eaten up by guilt and by shame that I have ended up in this situation; a product of divorce, that I don't even talk to my child about his origins. And I am so angry about my own situation that I don't know how to tell him the simple truth without adding on "but she LEFT US when you were six months old. She WALKED out on us and on my dreams for a whole family." And I know enough to know that it isn't fair that he hear any of that. Like I said, I am a product of divorce and I know better than anyone how shitty it can feel when your two parents talk badly about the other one and for that reason my son has, quite literally, NEVER heard me say an unkind thing about his mother. And he never will.

There is also the societal picture that goes along with this. I live in California and while we are definitely one of the more "gay friendly" places to live, there is still a small stigma attached with having kids. Want to be gay? No problem. But want to bring kids into that household? Well...more people seem to have issues with that. So for me, I am cool with looking into anyone's eyes and telling them that yes, I am gay and that yes we will be having children. But for some reason, admitting that my gay relationship with children didn't work out, well it just feels like all those naysayers out there are chanting, "See? See? We told you you shouldn't be allowed to have kids..." So I am embarrassed. I am embarrassed to admit both parts of the story. Embarrassed to admit that I am gay? Not at all. Embarrassed to admit that my marriage didn't work out? Not at all. But put both of those things together and somehow my shame level goes up about a thousand notches. And how does this affect my kids? Well sometimes it means that my shame translated to conversations that never take place between my children and myself. And that leads to my son not having a clear picture of who he is and where he came from. And guess what? More guilt.

And what my son does need to hear me say is that he came from a place of love. And that he does have two moms and that he should absolutely be proud of that. Because we both love him dearly. And even though we aren't together now, we once were and he was a product of when we "once were." And even though I am still angry and hurt and betrayed, he was the best thing that has ever happened in my life. And his sister follows in that vain. And that the three of us are the best family anyone could ever hope for.

And I guess I just hope that the definitions don't make the family. And I guess I hope that my son knows the love even though I haven't taught him the origins. And I guess it is also my hope that I can get to a place where I can leave my own guilt and anger in the background and have many a conversation with a child who SO deserves to know where he comes from.

When My Son Channels Chris Farley

The Boy talks just to hear himself speak on most days. I still can't get over how much money I paid out in speech therapy given that on most days I would kill to just get him to be quiet for like 10 minutes. I mean, don't get me wrong...I love to hear what he has to say, it's just that most of the time there isn't much substance to his words. He literally just wants to hear his own voice.

This morning we were driving his sister to daycare before we took him to school and he was rambling on the entire way. I had on my radio show in the background so I was sorta tuning him out until I had these flashes that I had heard what he was saying somewhere before. So I started to listen more closely...

"Mommy. The oder day I was in my room and I was watching Spiderman and it was where Spiderman fights Electro and den Electro goes down into da big building and den he tries to shoot Spiderman with his electricity and den Spiderman puts on boots and den dey fight for a while and den...den dey don't fight anymore... Mommy. You remember dat?"

And I have to answer. He will continue to ask me until I confirm that yes, I do indeed remember such an event.

"But Mommy. Yesterday I was in my class and my teacher she tell me that we gonna learn da numbers so I hafta listen. So den I listen and we talk all about da numbers but den I tell her dat I don't wanna talk about numbers a'cause I think we should be talking about bugs and she tells me no but I still wanna... Mommy. You remember dat?"

"Mommy. Yesterday when we were in Hawaii I tell you dat I don't wanna eat my dinner because I just wanna play in the sand and you tell me '[Boy], you have to eat dinner, we can't play in the sand right now' and then I got sad a'cause you were so mean to me and den you never let me go to the sand because you were so mean... Mommy. You remember dat?"

I kid you not. This went on for the entire ride to school (and we are in the car for over a half an hour). All I could think of was that old Chris Farley sketch on Saturday Night Live where he used to interview all the famous people and he would be like, "Remember when you made that movie and you got to fly all those cool airplanes and stuff...remember that?"

Perhaps you had to be there. If you made it through this entire post I will reward you with a picture of The Boy when he was "in the pink." His left eye totally infected with pink eye.