Things That Are Different Once You Have More Than One Kid

After being a mom of one for nearly a decade I really didn't expect two to be that much of an astronomical difference when Thing 2 came along. I mean really, there is two of everything now. Right? I can handle that, I so innocently thought to myself.

I'd laugh at my nieve, innocent self if I didn't think I'd wet my pants. Here they are, the

Things That Are Different Once You Have More Than One Kid

Two kids now, that means two of everything ... right? Oh wrong. Wronger than wrong. Somehow that math doesn't work. I know math, I was good at it Before. That's before with a capital B because it was Before this. Before two kids. Because Before there were two kids I was good at math. I even taught it. But now that Before is gone I realize that either some magic happened or I now don't know how to multiply by two. Why you ask? Well because I am pretty damn sure that I have more than "two." Not more than two kids. I can count them easy enough. But there is definitely more than twice the work. More than twice the cleaning. Way more than twice the laundry. More than twice the kid crap. And sleep, I totally get less than an eighth of what I used to do on a bad day. Don't ask how the math works, remember I can't do it anymore because its post-Before.

Have I even looked in a mirror today? The answer is yes. I make a point of it. In fact, I panic if I haven't looked in the mirror and am leaving the house because its the fastest way to do a quick systems check. You know when NASA is preparing for a shuttle launch and the Flight Director checks that everyone is a "go" at Misson Control (think Apollo 13) prior to launch? Same thing.

Just a quick check that all systems are go for Operation Leaving the House. Shoes?

Check and check.

Pants?

We're "go."

Shirt?

Check.

Nothing weird on the face?

We are "go" Flight.

Seriously, I do have to check. Even with checking real quick I still have the occasional panic attack that I forgot something important, like my shoes don't match or I forgot to put a shirt on. Don't judge, it may be you someday. Mirrors used to be for vanity. I wanted to look a certain way when I left the house. Now, mirrors are just my double check that I won't be arrested or make someone need therapy when I leave. Clothing is all I need to be ready. I think being able to brush my teeth and shower is for special occasions, and make up is just so I can hide the bags under my eyes.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, I forget everything. I haven't left either kid anywhere yet. I haven't lost them at least. But anything and everything else? Well lets just say you would need to be a bit worried if your livelihood depended on my purse remaining safe. Who am I kidding, I don't carry a purse anymore, its a backpack-diaper-bag-emergency-supplies-case-that-also-contains-my-wallet. Last night my husband innocently asked me at about 6:30 what was for dinner. My response? "Oh, wow, I totally forgot about food today." We had bean burros.

Bladder control? Wait ... what's that? I remember back in the day ... oh about fourteen months and six days ago ... when I would have this signal travel all the way from my bladder to my brain alerting me that it had reached the critical fullness mark and needed to be emptied soon for the sake of comfort. I remember thinking "oh I hope I don't need to sneeze" because I would have to concentrate and flex really hard after Thing 1, but its not like anyone else would notice. Now? Now?! Well that sensor in my bladder, it seems that it waits a bit longer to go off because its not longer a matter of "hey you need to go when you have a sec or this could get uncomfy." No, now its more like,

Hoooooooly crap why didn't you go to the bathroom an hour ago?!? WTH made you think you should drink fluids?! You had better hope no one notices you running like someone tied your knees together to the nearest bathroom while holding your breath and praying you don't sneeze, cough, or have to speak.

It might not be the sensor, it might be that I now have about an equal ability to "hold it" as a potty training three year old -- but I have to go NOW! -- but whatever it is, its way worse after Thing 2.

Unicorns and Me Time. They are both fictitious as far as I can tell. Actually, that's not true or fair. Somewhere there is a much maligned unicorn just wishing people would see him/her for who they really are. Me time? Yeah, pure fantasy. But in reality, it was ever since Thing 1 came along so that's not new.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids. I love being a mom too. I am really happy. Genuinely. I even am beginning to feel like I am getting the hang of being a mom to two.

But some days I wonder if that last bit is actually me being delusional based on the lack of sleep.

Woody, bringing SexyBack

There are times where perfectly acceptable things are happening, but once taken out of context that perfectly innocent and okay thing suddenly seems deplorably sick and wrong. Usually, I am all over sick and wrong, I think sick and wrong stuff is hilarious 99.999% of the time, and I am quite often the one perpetrating sick and wrong.

But my sister, Cindy Lou Who, is an even greater master at sick and wrong than I am. I have to give credit where it is due, the child is a genius.

She will laugh her pasty pale tail off at a perfect stranger who faceplants in a store. This usually leaves you desparately explainging yourself to the very offended and possibly injured person, and for the record there is never an explanation that makes that scenario okay if you are the one who fell. Nothing in this world is more funny than body functions. Unleash a belch, or weld your gas and she'll laugh in admiration like nothing in the world could be funnier. Unless you happen to fall flat on your ass while doing it. If you could swing a minor injury while breaking wind and maybe sneezing you've got yourself a new best friend.

In reality, CLW has Angelman Syndrome, and a wicked sick sense of humor. She also has no concept of right and wrong and has way better things to do with her time than worry about stupid crap like social constraints and acceptability. She's just too rock star for that. She's usually too busy eating pop tarts or playing with one of her 14 Woodys.

Wait, what? Yes, you read it right. Now who is sick and wrong?

Okay, still me, I lead you there, quite on purpose. It illustrates part of my point actually.

CLW loooooves Woody from Toy Story. Loves him, downright obsessed with him. Its adorable, I assure you, but when you have seen Toy Story -- any of them -- as many times as any member of my family has you either go a little insane or you try to find some humor in the situation. Or both.

So the Woody jokes, we've done them all, said them all. Or so I thought.

While taking CLW to school today I had the radio playing because it usually knocks Thing 2 out. CLW has a giant stuffed Woody (seriously drag your mind out of that gutter) with her and is making him dance to whatever is on the radio.

We pull up to a stop light, and she is in such a good mood, and really its quite contagious. So a new song comes on the radio, SexyBack. I haven't heard this one in a while, love love love it. So I am tapping the rhythm in my I have no natural sense of rhythm way on the steering wheel while she makes Woody jump up and down to the music. She hands him to me, wanting me to do something silly that will make her laugh. And I am a good sister, so I oblige. I do the most natural and reasonable thing possible: I make him dance. Not just the bouncy dance she was doing, I am moving his arms, singing along and making him really work it. I think I had him doing the Madonna Vogue arms at one point, and there was some definite jazz hands, as much as a two foot tall stuffed cowboy can pull off.

Now lets roll play for a moment. Picture that you are some cool guy on a motorcycle at a stop light. You are waiting for the light to change, maybe feeling impatient wanting to get where your going ... who knows, maybe you're late ... when you notice something out of the corner of your eye. The woman in the car next to you is holding a two foot tall stuffed Woody from Toy Story. And she is making it dance. I mean really making it dance. Making it dance and sing. To SexyBack.

I'm bringing sexy back. Them other !#$%ers don't know how to act ...

Yeah, of course it was at that part. No, I did not say "them other exclamation point, pound sign, dollar sign, percent don't know how to act."

Back to being me in my car, with my laughing sister, who for all intents and purposes appears to be maybe 15 or so. In reality she is in her 20s, but between the two of us we clearly do not look like either of us should have a stuffed doll. Making it sing and dance is a whole new level of strange. Add to that the song ... yeah I am sure this guy thought we were massively weird.

At least, given the stunned and slightly disgusted look on his face I am guessing so.

And somewhere around a water cooler today ...

No seriously, it was sick! And when it got to the "you can whip me if I misbehave" part she made the doll wiggle its hips ...

me cramming veggies down Jack's ...

A while back I got one of those cookbooks that teaches you how to supposedly hide veggies in yummy foods like brownies in order to get your kids to eat them. I had two issues with this,and the less predominant of them was the whole lying to my kid thing. Yeah, I disliked that, but seriously I felt this was doing irrefutable damage to the brownie's rep.

But I tried it. And if you got over the fact that everything was funny colored, that the brownies left your hands coated in a sticky green leafy looking goo and had none of the sweet chewy goodness that we all associate with this delicious food group, it wasn't so bad to my adult mind. Not worth the work, but not that bad.

To a kid's mind? Pure abomination. And really, I had to agree with him.

Given a combination of things -- my freak out factor at eating animals, Mr. Deaux's health, Thing 2 being an allergic rash/reaction waiting to happen, and Thing 1's flat refusal to eat anything that didn't once breathe and bleed -- making healthy food is a challenge in our house at times.

But we have found an answer: juicing.

Not only because I find it immaturely funny to say things like "I am hitting the juice" but also because you can squish an obscene amount of veggies through a juicer (ours is named Jack) add some fruit and ice and poof, you have a smoothy.

But Mommy, smoothies are a treat! They aren't health food! They are yummy.

Yes, baby, they are yummy and I only added green food coloring to make it look gross! So much for the not-lying-to-your-kid bit, eh?

Anyhoo, you want the healthy low down check out the bottom of this entry. I am a non-proselytizing vegetarian so I won't bore you with the gore of meat and dairy if you aren't interested in hearing it. But if you want yummy juice and pictures read on ...

I made two different juices today, and they can be drank straight, with crushed ice in a smoothy, or make faboosh cocktail starters given how fresh they are! {wink, wink, now you too can mean it when you say "Mommy's hittin' the juice!"}

Usually I mix fruits and veggies, today I did them separate-ish so that I could use these as bases to make a couple different smoothies. (There are fruits and veggies in both, but not 50/50)

The fruit one:

There are 2 pink ladies apples, 2 huge pink grapefruit, and one orange. Also a small hunk of ginger. Ginger is really good for juicing, but when I bought it I got this branch of it. You don't need much for flavor with juicing, so take what you need, freeze the rest in a glass jar.

So I shoved all of that through Jack (remember, that's my juicer's name) with the least juicy thing going first. Ginger, apples, oranges, then grapefruit.

That's what real apple juice looks like. Note how non-urine looking it is? Can you tell I have a deep aversion to store bought apple juice? Now here comes the other stuff ...

I think that's the last of the grapefruit juice and the start of the orange. When I got done with all of this it was tasty, but really tart and citrusy. So I looked in the fridge and I have a bag of baby carrots that could pass for an Oompa Loompa.

Given that we had so many and carrot juice is really sweet I added that.

Because I feel that recipes are merely guidelines or suggestions to start with I tend to not pay super good attention to how much of this I use since I cook by look or taste. Therefore I would love to give you precise measurements or amounts, but alas, I cannot. It was something in the area of 6 huge handfuls of baby carrots that made that juice up there. This illustrates quite nicely one of the biggest perks of using Jack -- I would never, even in my most veggie of moments, want to consume six huge handfuls of baby carrots. In fact, a little secret: I hate carrots. The juice I don't mind, it has something to do with the texture. I am not down with eating branches of off young saplings and I am not a big fan of carrots. Go figure. But all of those branches, er, I mean carrots made that juice. All of the nutrients and vitamins are in there, why eat the rest of it? I would need a ton of ranch dressing to even consider consuming that many carrots.

Low and behold, you have pink grapefruit, pink lady apple, orange, carrot and ginger juice. For now I am just calling it Pink & Orange. And yes, I agree, Pink & Orange is crying out for her long lost friend, vodka.

Now the veggie one, and this is where the things get impressive.

There is a bag of Romaine there, igrnoe it. I took it out and never used it, but the sneaky little bastid got in the picture anyway. So you have 3 cucumbers, a bag of kale and a bunch of spinach. Kale was on sale for like 59c a bunch, so we happen to have a ton of it. Lots of good stuff in kale, but I personally don't want to eat it much. Its a real witch to clean because the leaves are all curly and it stays wet for-ev-ah. Spinach on the other hand is a friendly one to clean.

Again, the least juicy gets shoved through Jack first, ginger and kale. Then spinach. As things get stuck or it sounds like Jack is working to hard, I put a half cucumber through.

Cucumber is one juicey mutha.

After I got done it smelled so green and I know kale and spinach are pretty bitter greens, so I put two apples in to make it a bit sweeter.

While I am sure it sounds gross, I swear its actually pretty good. Now that green mixture is good by itself (it has to be super cold, but I promise it is actually tastey) or it can be poured in the blender with fruits to make it sweeter and thicker.

While this isn't really a Betty Crocker list-worthy moment, I was trying to mimic all the really non-domestically challenged women out there who blog foodie stuff. Frankly, I respect the dedication they have even more because not only is real cooking a lot of work, but respect the pictures man! Not only taking them (without dropping your camera into the juicer!) but also putting them in these dang posts. They always load at the top and I am seriously far too lazy for this crap. Enjoy it, I may never do this type of posting again!

*** The healthy babble: Google "juice detox" or "raw foods diet" or watch Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead or Forks Over Knives or read any of the Skinny Bitch/Bastard series. If you wanna be real hard core, go read the China Study. Seriously, I just made it pretty damn easy for you, just get link clicky!

me + atari joystick = injured lab assistant

So I was reading this article detailing a study that found that lactating women, in a nutshell, are more aggressive than their non-lactating counterparts.

The study took a group of lactating moms, formula feeding moms, and non moms and ultimately their level of aggression was determined by how long and loudly they punished an opponent who behaved rudely to them with a blast of a sound.

Now I admit I had to stop reading there because I was laughing too hard and the words were coming out of focus. I wasn't laughing at the study, more the mental picture:

Me sitting in a crisp lab environment. Every surface is so white I look downright tan.

In front of me is sits a plain white table. On that table rests an Atari joystick (not sure why I picture that but I do).

I am told to teach my opponent, whom I just beat in a game, a lesson. My opponent has been a rude little twerp to me.

The room is dead quiet, I appear composed. I take a deep breath.

I suddenly jump on the table and screaming like a mad woman squeeze that button and throw the lever at full throttle blasting my counterpart with a deafeningly loud noise for about 3 minutes all while laughing like a mad woman.

At this point I wipe the tears from my eyes, control the laughter and wishful thinking that I could have been contacted to take part in this uber fun study, and I continue reading.

They ultimately determined that the lactators blasted twice as long and as loud as the none milky ones.

Had another giggle bought there because I was surprised that the article didn't end with "but the study was prematurely canceled when one participant attempted to beat the innocent research assistant about the head and neck with an Atari controller."

Aaaand getting me back on topic again, it got me thinking. Not only do I appear to have a teensy bit of repressed aggression, but given the thoughts I have previously shared with you regarding the full contact sport nature of breast feeding I am wondering why it is that no-one has made this connection before. Why they needed to spend, I am sure, a truck load of money to tell them what logic should have spelled out for free.

Think about it: You take a woman who's boobs inflate with fluid seemingly at random, she has to worry about leaking through all of her clothes, working on very little and interrupted sleep, has a baby that will alternately bite her like vampire while clawing her throat then smile the most angelic smile so that she cannot get angry with him/her, deny her free access to alcohol ... then put her in a lab with a person who is supposed to act rudely to her then give her the choice of how to punish them? Seriously, they didn't have any deaths as a result of this study?!

I think something got swept under the rug.

You know it's an exciting day when ...

Some days are just mediocre at best.

But then there are days when smurf's explode, you get hit on even though you are a walking billboard for Sooo Not Available or Tons of Baggage, or you get to take part in alien breastfeeding (more on that to come, I promise).

Here are examples of somethings you might say, or hear, that could alert you to the fact you are having a special day ... and you might just be with me.

"Whoa, mom you just peeled out in front of a cop!" -- I'd like it noted I said that, my mom was doing the driving.

"Oh, bring it biotch!" -- I said it in the Parent Pick Up Lane for my child's elementary school. More on that to come too. She couldn't actually hear me say it though ... her window was rolled up.

"Don't spank your Woody like that." or "I scored a Woody!" -- both were in reference to the doll from Toy Story, but really, do you think that matters when you actually say something like that out loud?!

"Ohmyfrikkengawd!" -- said by me after my teething 5 month old chewed on a frozen teething ring then wanted to nurse. Further proof how rough breast feeding is!

"Moss is such a misunderstood plant" -- Said by my oldest. I was too confused by the sentiment to ask why. He is much more Zen than his mom.

"Just use the breast milk freezy pouches." -- we were trying to pack an ice chest of beer.

"Oh I need therapy" (followed by vomiting sounds) -- said by my oldest when he was told the "girl" he just said was "cute" was probably as old as his mom.

And I am going to have to revisit this topic, because my brain just left the building and the baby needs feeding. More to come later.

things I've learned about Parent Pick Up

You know all those survival shows? The ones where some dude parachutes into some random place and wears a llama carcass for 7 days and "teaches" you how to survive? I think I have found their next, and most lethal location.

Elementary School Parent Pick-Up Zones.

Seriously, if you are laughing its for one of two reasons. You either get it, or you don't because you have never ventured that far into the dark side. Ah, ignorance is bliss. I will give you adrenaline junkies and drama seekers this heads up -- go to your nearest elementary school right around dismal. If you want to make friends bring a chilled six pack and a box of wine and leave all sharp objects at home.

While I was sitting in the 42 car deep line yesterday with a baby screaming in the back seat waiting for my 4th grader I had a few epiphanies. In no specific order, and I do not admit to actually doing any of this:

• When you find your self wanting to say, or hearing someone else say "Bring it, biotch!" while waiting for your child, it may mean someone has taken things a little too far.
• The child on the playground who hip-checked their way to the front of the line at the monkey bars because rules don't apply to them ... they grow up to be the jackholes who pass me and my 41 other line-waiting-rule-abiding-compatriots and zip in front of someone who has accidentally left a car sized gap because they have slipped into a waitingformykidinonelongassedline coma because the rules still don't apply to them.
• When describing the parent pick up process to your spouse, who has never ventured that far into the great wilderness, and the only descriptive verbs you can utilize all rhyme with "ducking" and you can't say them in front of the kids, your kids may go to the same school as mine.
• It is better to quietly hope for a pigeon to poop on the head of the moron who drives on the wrong side of the road because they can't seem to understand the difference between right and left rather than to tell them they should go back to kindergarten because they seem to have missed that critical lesson. The kindergarten teacher really has enough on her hands as is.
• Accept it going in: there are two lines that merge only at the very end. I will be in the slower one, no matter which I chose. Always.
• Its damn fun to fantasize about running over the parents who won't use the crosswalks while calmly explaining to your children that this is precisely why we always use crosswalks, but its not a good thing to actually do.
• Keeping that last epiphany in mind, maybe I should stick with taking the car and not drive the truck, ever, to parent pick up. I don't pride myself on things like self control.
• Yelling at the teacher whose sporting a funny smelling orange vest and sweating his/her underpaid and under appreciated butt off keeping your child educated AND safe doesn't make the line go any faster, but it does make you look like the raging asshat you apparently are.

Having been a teacher I can tell you that I was always baffled why normally composed parents seemed so frazzled and deranged at parent pick up. Now, I know. I am a rational woman. Heck I think I am even a pretty nice person, always trying to give people the benefit of the doubt and all that. But by the time I pull up to have my ten year old get in the car and say "sheesh mom, what took so long?!" its a bit hard to keep the sane facade up.

Oh who am I kidding, I haven't been pulling that off for years.

begging, boobies, & battle cries

I am departing from my norm here, but I would ask that you bear with me. My hope is that this will reach some people and maybe be of some help to myself and my teammates.

If you want the short and sweet version, here you go:

If you can do anything, anything, to support my 3-Day team as we raise yet again another substantial amount of money for breast cancer I would appreciate it. Anything means anything: donate money, donate goodies for a raffle, help spread the links, bring us a beer while we are walking 60 miles over the course of 3 days in the hope to raise awareness and funds that will wipe breast cancer off the map ... you know, whatever you can do, we would appreciate it.

www.the3day.org/goto/chrissy

(some of my links aren't working so just c&p)

This will be my 6th year walking in the 3 Day. My doing so was, like most big things in my life that I take on, completely unexpected and a bit haphazard. Breast cancer had affected my family, my life, and I had enough pink ribbon crap to choke a moose ... but I hadn't done anything. Buying the pink ribbon stuff doesn't do anything on an individual level, no matter how much they say the proceeds go toward fighting cancer. Its like 10 cents. I would need a lot of water bottles and socks to cure cancer at 10 cents a pop.

So when a friend asked me if I wanted to do this walk called the "3 Day" I said sure, thinking it was like normal walks. Sane people walks. It wasn't until I had signed up, and glossed over all the read-this-before-you-agree messages that I realized the peeps walking in the 3 Day go 20 miles a day for 3 days. That seemed a bit challenging, but seriously, its just walking, right? I can do that. Oh how naive. The part that scared me was the fundraising. At that time you had to raise a minimum of $2,200 to walk (today it is $2,300).

The fundraising was by far, and still is, the hardest. People work hard for their money, and they have a hard time giving any away regardless of how valiant the cause. I got so sick of hearing"we have to check with our corporate office" which is a weeny way of saying "no." I begged family members with letters and emails -- recall it runs in my family so these people should be easy to fleece, right? WRONG! -- I sat outside of a store with a jar like a girl scout. I sat outside of my church and had 99% of the people be kind to me, and 2 people decide to yell at me (long story, its another post in itself). I did everything I could think of, and after a lot of misery, most of which I have actually blocked out, I had $3,000.

And I swore this would be my first, and my last walk.

After all, I had just busted my keester to raise all this money so that I could walk 60 miles, sleep in a tent, eat "camp food," and do all of this in Ari-freaking-zona where it would be 100 degrees the whole time. I was quite sure I would do my part, wear my pink and sweat it out, and when all was said and done I would file this under "I experienced it and can now say I don't like it" right next to brussel sprouts.

So when Day One came and I dragged my exhausted but-not-yet-sore butt out of bed at 4 AM so I could get to opening ceremonies I was feeling pretty certain this would be a one time gig.

Five years later I am still begging for money so that I can do it for round 6. Seriously, I challenge any of you to sit through the opening ceremonies and not sob like a baby and feel emotionally committed to return year after year.

I have walked with a broken foot in a cast/astronaut boot and I have walked nearly 6 months pregnant. I will never willingly NOT do this walk.

Its also not just because I know that curing one cancer will open the flood gates in curing others, after all the treatments for some cancers are precisely the same as those for breast cancer .Its not just because I have seen women I love go through lumpectomies, mastectomies, and wig purchases. Its not just because I have to go have my boobs crushed and imaged twice a year because of my own risk. Its not just because I have had a lump removed and had to wait on pins and needles for 3 days to know that it wasn't cancer ... this time. Its not just because as a walker/fundraiser I have had countless people choose to share their stories of their own battles, or the memories of those they have lost with me, and I cannot help but view this as a responsibility now. Its not just because I wear a ribbon in memory of someone I miss dearly.

Its all of that and more. Lots more.

The only reason I could not walk again this year is because I can't meet my fundraising minimum. Bringing us back to the point of this post, and the uncomfortable part where I hit you up for stuff.

We are doing a raffle and we need some awesome stuff for it. Anything you can donate or get for us (handmade items, iPods, gift cards, anything cool) would be appreciated. Donations of any amount would be awesome. Get me in touch with anyone you think could help, I will gladly beg them for you! Share my donation page, our website, like us on facebook, there is lots you can do without even spending money!

If you still want to know why I do this, check out the picture. This is the shirt we wore while walking last year. Every year we wear these shirts and proudly display who we are walking for.

I know and/or am related to eleven people on that shirt.

I don't wear pink because it looks good, quite the contrary pink looks horrible on me. But to walkers like me, pink is more than a color, its a battle cry.

My donation page is www.the3day.org/goto/chrissy if you are having a hard time getting it to open. My team page is www.the3day.org/goto/teambettyboobs.