Resolving to be Awesome

It's time once again to revel in my neuroses.

As long time readers know, I don't do New Year's resolutions. I set a series of achievable goals, and I work towards them. Or, I don't. But either way, I stop at the end of every day and rather than cross it off my calendar, I check all the boxes of things I wanted to do and accomplished from my list.

I start every year by cutting out about 370 tiny square lists, and yes, every night I mark whether or not I did the things I wanted to do. And then I tally them up, and see whether or not I succeeded in meeting my goals.

This year was a bit of a surprise. Some things, I thought I rocked. Some? I thought I tanked way worse than I thought had. So here's how it actually broke down.

It's on sale for $.99 until Monday!!!

Goal: Write daily
Target: 365
I didn't do so great. In fact, I did one worse than last year- I only wrote 292 days out of 365. I'm cutting myself a bit of slack on this- I did a lot of traveling in 2014, so that would be a problem for my writing routine. And while I might not have written every day... I did publish quite a bit. I own three lovely anthologies with work in them. I got an agent to represent my memoir! But the thing is, I know I can always at least scribble out a haiku about having no time to write... so I have no excuse. This year- 365 or bust.


Goal: Eat at least two meals
Target: 365
I'm going to call this one an unequivocal win. I managed to eat at least two meals during 358 days of 2014! In fact, it became so much my routine... I'm actually eating right now. That's right, I've finally gotten the hang of freezing leftovers and then moving them to the fridge the day before I know I'll have a hard time figuring out what to feed myself. Right now? Borscht. And I love borscht, even if the beets didn't particularly care for being frozen. It's become so much habit, it's completely come off my 2015 goals. I have actually succeeded in modifying my own behavior! Go me!


Goal: Maintained minimum hygiene
Target: 365

You'd think this would be easy. All I have to do is brush my teeth OR wash my face OR take a damn shower. But then, you probably never had a house full of toddlers and preschoolers if you think this is always easy. I'm happy to say I improved on last year's abysmal number... but sadly, only by three. I only managed to brush my teeth at a bare minimum 284 times last year. And actually, last year was an improvement over the year before. So I'm going to give myself a little break, and actually lower the number for 2015. I know, gross, right? But let's be honest. There are sick days, there are camping/travel days, there are times when I already know I won't have ACCESS to running water or a toothbrush or anything... so I'm knocking a whopping fifteen days off this goal. My goal for 2015: maintain my hygiene at least 350 days out of the year. Just splash some goddamn water on my face, almost every day of the year. At 284 times in 2014, I run no risk of overstepping this goal. But baby steps, right?

Picking apples!

Goal: Went outside
Target: 312

Hahahahahahah no.

Even though I intentionally gave myself one day a week to not even step onto the balcony, I did even worse on this than bathing- which is probably good. There was a lot of correlation between days I didn't brush my teeth and days I didn't leave the house- so you're welcome, world. I'm also cutting myself some slack. There were days last year that the school canceled for, I quote, "Life threateningly cold temperatures." No way in Frozen Over Hell am I making myself leave the house under those conditions. So I'm also dropping my standards here. I left the house 273 days last year. That's kind of depressingly low, but five days better than 2013, so... win? This year, I'm lowering the standard again. I'm going to give myself one day a week to be a shut in, and one day a month to just be antisocial. So, an even 300 for next year.

Goal: Sang
Target: 365
This is kind of depressing, but I did SO BADLY.
It actually kind of breaks my heart to say this, but in the month of October, I only sang during three days. Three days in an entire month that I didn't sing a single song.

I'm in shock. I love to sing. This goal has been a huge wake up call for me. I am vowing, not only to sing, but to resume what used to be my routine of doing vocal warmups in the shower. So when I'm showering (more frequently this year!) I'll be singing. Even warmup ditties. "See the swimmers swimming in the deep blue see," and whatnot.

That said, I also get that I do get sick. And when I get sick, I lose my voice. Pretty much every time. So I'm giving myself a little leeway here, too. One day off a week from singing, just in case the voice box needs a rest. So new goal- 312. Which is almost twice what I actually accomplished- my abysmal 176.

...I'm so ashamed.


Goal: Had alone time
Target: 260
I assumed it wouldn't be possible on weekends at the start of the year. but you know what?

296 bitches!!!!!!!

This one became so important to me I actually managed the behavior modification to make it part of my daily routine, too. So it comes off the list! I have officially learned to give myself "me time!" GO ME!

Thanks to all who sponsored me in the RAINN 5K!

Goal: Exercised
Target: 156
I didn't do too badly, honestly. I hit 137, up from last year's 123. That said, I don't feel like I got a solid two weeks of exercising in at ANY point last year, and I know the bulk of my most vigorous cardio came from dancing my ass off at every wedding people were dumb enough to invite me to. So while I don't feel exactly BAD about it, the goal stays. 156. If I improve as much this year as I did last, that should be an achievable goal.


Goal: Observe the Sabbath with the kids
Target: 35
Last year, I decided my goal of lighting Shabbat candles with the girls every Friday night was unrealistic, so I lowered the goal to 35. I figured, that more than accounted for date nights where I wasn't home, for days where we were traveling and in hotels or somebody else's home, and I should be able to nail it. I even felt like we did a pretty good job this year- all the kids know all the prayers, and they get totally thrilled whenever I remind them it's Shabbat.

I bombed. Oh, how I bombed. 22. A whole seven weeks worse than last year. This year I will do better. This year I will do better. The goal stands.

Goal: Read a book for pleasure
Target: 12
I was so embarrassed last year- I only managed to read nine- nine- books for pleasure in the year 2013. So I was determined to beat my previous goal of a book a month.

Finishing up "The Glass Castle" with a sleeping toddler

You ready for this?

I read 34 books in 2014. Take that, slacker brain!!!! I've decided that since, first of all, I loved reading as a part of my routing SO much, and second of all I often lost count of how many books I'd finished over a weekend (such nice weekends!), I'm going to go ahead and up my goal. This year? 36. Three books a month. Yes, graphic novels still count. (So get crackin' Kirkman!). But some extra fun? Now that the girls and I are reading chapter books together, I'm going to get to revisit a bunch of childhood favorites, and they DEFINITELY count. Anne of Green Gables, Pippi Longstocking, Little House in the Big Woods... these are all on the next few months' reading list. And that doesn't even count the dozen or so books I've got lined up on my kindle for after they're asleep. Should be a good year for books. :)


Goal: Finished a project
Target: 12
And how many projects did I finish this year?
Forty fucking one.
Take that, slacker hands!!!! In 2013, I felt amazing for finishing a whopping 13 projects. This year though, I finally got over some creative blocks, and I had a BLAST making things. Art, cakes, cards... and yes, I definitely counted the lavender honey roast duck I made for Thanksgiving as a project. I'm a vegetarian and let me tell you, that thing was pretty.

So I'm not going to push myself to do more next year- I'm just going to push myself to keep up. The goal for 2015- 36. Three projects a month. And yes, home improvement projects count. So when I repaint the trim in the living room, that is DEFINITELY a check mark for the day!



And that's how I did in 2014. I'm adding a new one, since I can't stand living in the kind of chaos my house has devolved into.

Goal: House cleaner when I go to bed than when I wake up
Target: 156
Three days a week. I think I can handle that. I hope I can handle that.




...but you know what? Something else has been seriously lacking in my goals. These have all been small, reasonable things. Something I can do and expect myself to do. But I haven't been giving myself enough credit. I have gotten better and better of expecting more of myself, not the bare minimum.

On facebook, I phrased it- "I resolve to be awesome!" But I don't do resolutions. I do achievable goals. So now here I am, adding another goal.

Opening up LTYM Chicago

Goal: Accomplish Something Amazing
Target: 4
One a season. Because you know what? I accomplished some really amazing things in 2014, and now I can't help but expect myself to meet that new standard.

I became a professional speaker- on behalf of RAINN and about sex positive parenting. I was a BlogHer VOTY. I stood on stage for Listen To Your Mother. I got an agent for my memoir. I was published in three anthologies. Those are serious accomplishments. And I deserve to expect them from myself.

So today, I'm already checking one off my list for 2015. Because this? This is my 700th blog post on Becoming SuperMommy.

Seven hundred posts.

That is no mean feat. That is hours and hours and hours and hours, months, years, of pouring my heart and soul into the internets and actually learning from it. Gaining the love and support and friendship of amazing people all over the world. Becoming a better person. Becoming a better writer. Becoming a better friend.

...Becoming SuperMommy.

I'm still not there yet. I am by no means SuperMommy, really. But I'm giving myself a little credit. I'm giving myself the benefit of the doubt. I am patting myself on the back and saying, "You know what? You kind of rock."

So all of you should pat yourself on the backs, too, because you're amazing. Without you, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have a stack of anthologies with my name in them, I wouldn't have a finished memoir and an agent representing it, I wouldn't have a list of appearances and interviews... all of that was your doing, and I am unfathomably grateful.


Here's to 2015, lovely readers! Here's to you!

I love you all.

The Best I Have to Offer

My favorite small humans

Tomorrow is M's birthday. We're going on a date, and that means tonight we're having a little family party.

The girls planned it.

That is why we're having a strawberry cake with chocolate ice cream, and the cake will be decorated with pictures of the whole family standing under a rainbow.

Yes, I'll post pictures.

That's why I'm still unshowered and my house is a mess. Because the priority right now is birthday.

Wrapping presents. Baking cake. Mixing frosting. Making ice cream.

And yes, picking flowers. And making a giant freaking mess.

I always feel bad about the way my home looks. Always. Because my home is always a disaster zone. Take the dining room right now- there are dress ups under the easel, there's laundry on the rack that's been dry and ready to hang up for three days. There's a mountain of coloring books and picture books under the toy table. The dining room table still has breakfast dishes, and craft supplies, and random crap all over it. My desk is a an organizational nightmare. There are random trucks and clown shoes and neck pillows scattered on the floor. There's dryer sheets and bean bags and a puppy in a baby carrier just hanging around underfoot.

That's just one room. And barely the tip of the iceberg.

That laundry has been there since Thursday.

I tried to clean it last weekend, so that a professional housecleaner could come to my home and do the deep cleaning.

She deemed it uncleanable and gave me my money back.

I am constantly embarrassed by my home. I go to other family's homes and I see their floors. Their carpets, and I see their spotless countertops, and their little rows of matching shoes... and I feel ashamed and incompetent.

That's how I feel most days.

But there's one person in this world who always makes me feel better about my home.

I've never seen her home. I've never seen her family. But she's in my home twice a week, every week, and she knows when I make some pathetic excuse about how busy we've been, it's nonsense. This is just how we live.

And that person is RH's physical therapist.

You might recall RH started physical therapy about a year and a half ago to help her compensate for a possible spinal cord tether. Since then, two times a week, this woman comes into my home and plays with my children. She takes all three of them to the yard so I can take a shower. She plays games with them, and she compliments them.

And before she goes, she compliments me.

I am not the best parent in the world. Despite what my husband and kids say, I know I'm not. I know there are parents out there who make more nutritious meals for their kids, every day, from scratch, and at least once a week my kids have veggie corn dogs or fake chicken nuggets courtesy of Morningstar Farms, smothered in ketchup that's 99% corn syrup.

I know there are parents out there who keep their homes clean. Like, REALY clean. Who have EVER wiped down the baseboards. Who go through the house putting away toys once the kids are in bed. Who never leave dishes "to soak" in the kitchen sink overnight.

I know there are parents out there who are more engaged than me. Who spend all day homeschooling, or unschooling, or going on adventures. Who ration out screen time carefully. Not like me, who uses Disney Princess movies that I despise as a nearly daily opportunity to brush my teeth without being interrupted.

I know there are parents who get out of bed before the kid so they can get in an uninterrupted workout routine, whereas I stay under my covers until the very last moment it's humanly possible.

I know I'm not the best mom out there.

This is one of DD's "collections." You can find them in drawers, corners, baskets,
and hats all over the house. Only the flowers don't look so good anymore.

I know that today I've already threatened my kid with a spanking for screaming and crying and ignoring me when I tried to talk to her about headbutting her sister so hard in the face that it gave her a nosebleed. I know that today I ignored the fact that my toddler was wearing "princess shoes" before "princess shoe time" because it was the first time all day she's stopped yelling about anything and everything, even though our downstairs neighbors have more than reached their limits when it comes to the constant noise of three small children above them. I know that I've got a pee soaked cloth diaper draped over the edge of a diaper pail with no bag in it because I'm not going to risk waking a sleeping toddler just in the name of sanitation.

I know I'm dirty, and exhausted, and I smell like days old migraine sweats and somebody else's piss, and in a few minutes I'll take the world's fastest shower so I can finish baking a fresh-from-scratch strawberry birthday cake and write "Happy Birthday Daddy" on it.

But an hour and a half ago, when RH's physical therapist left my home, she stopped to talk to me as she does every Monday and Wednesday.

"RH is doing so well," she says.

"And SI and DD are so smart and so polite," she says.

"And they're so good with her. They're such good big sisters," she says.

"I don't know how you do it. You must do a lot of reading," she says. "Your girls are so sweet. I'm so impressed with how you deal with the temper tantrums. All the talk about choices and talking them through what they did. I tell my sister how good you are with that kind of stuff."

And I am flabbergasted that she says these things. I cannot imagine that she could mean them. This sweet woman, with two kids of her own- also four and two. She thinks I'm doing something right.

This is the woman who, one particularly rough day, SI greeted by announcing, "Mommy THREW DD onto the floor!" Which isn't what happened, but it had JUST happened. And I was sitting on the floor, hugging DD and telling her I'm sorry she fell when I yanked her out of her seat, but she needed to use TWO HANDS when she grabbed for a full cup of milk and I needed her to move instead of freezing so I could get to it before all the mess all over the dining room was soaked in milk. And while I panicked that now a state child welfare worker was going to have to report me for potentially abusing my child, she looked at me and said, "Would you like me to take the kids outside so you can have breakfast with a little quiet?"

I'm a mom who snaps more than I'd like to. I get angry, and I get frustrated, and I'm constantly outnumbered. Outnumbered by three kids who are all going through growth spurts and won't eat cheddar cheese if they know there's gouda in the house, and hate mangoes until all they want to eat is mangoes, and trash every room the moment I've finished making it livable again, and no matter what I do I can't keep up with them.

But I'm lucky. Because twice a week, another mom who's constantly outnumbered and exhausted and can't keep up with her kids either comes into my home and tells me I'm doing a good job.

Part of me hopes RH needs twice weekly physical therapy for the rest of her childhood, so I'll always have that twice weekly moment of reassurance.

Part of me feels intensely guilty for my gratitude that this woman has no choice but to come and relieve me for an hour twice a week of the constant attention of my own kids.

My little chaos machines

Today we're baking a cake, from scratch, and I can do that. I can do these fun things, and take pictures, and laugh, and have a great time with my kids.

I can help them wrap presents and I can enjoy this time with them, and I can make a gourmet freakin' dinner for M's birthday- grilled tuna steak with tequila salsa for him, quinoa garlic patties for the rest of us, a spinach strawberry salad for us salad eating adults, and curry roasted cauliflower for everyone. I can acknowledge I'll be cleaning up those dishes for another three days. I can acknowledge that while the cake cools, the children will be trashing the living room.

I know it's coming.

I know what my life looks like, and what it looks like is chaos. These are my priorities.

And although I'm ashamed, constantly, of the results of those priorities when it comes to my shabby house, my monstrous dust bunnies, my perpetually nearly-not-dying house plants and the random used bandaid that turns up in the middle of the floor, I'm not ashamed of my choices.

I'm happy with them, because they are the choices that make me happy. Rather than force myself to feel the constant frustration of my children's enthusiastic mess, I just let them live in it.

Rather than feel the constant exhaustion of not looking beautiful enough, I put my hair in a ponytail and settle for an Ariel assisted tooth-brushing.

Rather than argue with an obstinate two year old that she's making an invisible neighbor miserable, I accept the tongue lashing I'll get in ten minutes on the phone.

Facts are facts. The fact is that my house is a disaster.

But my life isn't.

And even when it feels like it is, because people can see my disastrous home and therefore must have access to my disastrous life... the physical therapist smiles and tells me my kids are great, and I must be doing something really right.

Today is our celebration of M's birthday. Fresh fish, a pink cake, chocolate ice cream, home-made wrapping paper covered in his daughters' drawings.

He deserves it.

I deserve it.

And my children deserve the best of what I can give them.

I can't give them a spotless home. I just can't. But I can give them the best of my love. I can give them the majority of my attention and affection. I can give them hugs and kisses, and songs, and stories, and green eggs and purple oatmeal, and teach them to squeeze lemon onto sliced strawberries.

I can let them make a mess.

For me, I think that's the best I can do. Because my life is messy, and they're a part of it.

And I think they know what a big part they are.

Finishing What You Start

My favorite distractions, reenacting "Little Bunny Foofoo."

Sometimes finishing what you started is hard.

For me, finishing something I've started is ALWAYS hard.  I spend the whole day doing laundry, and at the end I've got seven baskets of clean, folded laundry, and I don't put it away.

Why?

I have no clue.

And things build up.

And the thing is, I am motivated. But I think deep down inside somewhere, I'm afraid of being done. Afraid of actually finishing the task and being left with the question, "Now what?"

When I was a tween I had a poster on my wall. It was cheerful, bright yellow, with a little fluffy chick standing next to a broken egg. In plain black text it said, "What do I do now?"

I really felt for that chick.

Finishing something is gratifying, and terrifying. And it's not something I do often. It took me thirteen years to finish my BA. It I still haven't finished putting up curtains in my condo, and we've lived here for five years. I moved RH into the room she now shares with her sisters, and I never once wrote about her nursery... the most satisfying room I've ever put together.

And I'm a mommy blogger. Writing about nursery design is practically our bread and butter.

So right now I'm in a motivational slump. I'm half finished with the total house re-do (I've rearranged three whole rooms), but there are empty shelves and stacks of crap pretty much everywhere. I'm a third of the way through what I sincerely believe is the LAST re-write of my book- my motherfucking BOOK- and it sits open on my desktop 24/7, behind the iTunes window and a Skype contact list from which I'm always logged out.

And I have excuses.

The baby still has a funny marker in her blood work, and I need to take her back to the hospital for another traumatic blood draw. I over ate two days in a row and nearly re-started the month and a half of Hell my gut put me through- and have somehow emerged with no less than a few systemic infections. My sister came into town for the weekend and it was a blast. I have to double and triple check my holiday present lists. I'm still in the running for Blogger Idol, which is starting to take an emotional toll. I had parent teacher conferences. I'm teaching the kids to sing Channukah songs in Hebrew. DD puked all over the breakfast table. We have mice.

I have distractions coming out of my ears.

And distractions and excuses are funny names for each other.

I have shit to do. And I have got to get it done.

So if you see me dicking around on Twitter or facebook, if you see me raving about the latest Walking Dead or Colbert interview, try not to laugh along and throw in your two cents.

Smack on the side of my head. Say, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE! You have an empty bookcase cluttering up your dining room, you have heaps of dirty laundry piling up because all your baskets are full of clean clothes, and if you don't sweep the damn kitchen you will NEVER get rid of those mice. And most of all, SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND FINISH THAT BOOK! Or at the very least, make sure you're caught up with NoBloPoMo!"

If you need to keep this page bookmarked so you can just copy and paste, I understand.

And wish me luck.

The best distractions.

My Daddy Snores, and Other Avoidable Bedtime Catastrophes

DD and SI testing out mattresses

(This is a sponsored post. I was given the book I review, but all of the opinions are my own.)

You probably don't know this, but sleep health is sort of a pet issue of mine. From the time I was about eight and a half until well into my adulthood, I suffered from severe insomnia.

And I mean SEVERE insomnia.

By the time I was ten my mother essentially gave up on forcing me to go to sleep. Eventually, she tucked me in on the couch, handed me a collection of Ray Bradbury short stories, and poured me a shot of Peach Schnapps that she directed me to, "Sip slowly." Which I did.

I think her intention was to relax me and ease me into sleep. Sadly, it didn't work.

I completely covered the wall at 16

By the time I was in high school, I had a nighttime routine. I'd lay in bed for about an hour, listening to quiet music and meditating (my father's attempts to help had been guided meditation techniques). After my CD had ended, I'd lie in the dark feeling frustrated. Then I'd get up and ransack every recycling basket in the house for magazines, catalogs, and newspapers, and cut every single eye out and tape it to my wall.

Creepy? Sure. I'm not making excuses.

After that, I'd lay down again, and switch CDs. Sometimes, I managed to fall asleep. When I didn't, I'd put on my shoes and sneak out of the house. I'd wander around the neighborhood, pilfering roses from the house at Ferdon and Granger, and leaving them on my friends' doorsteps. I walked past the frat houses, through the quiet downtown, swing on the swings at Burns Park Elementary School...

And when the sky started to get that hazy, pre-dawn look to it, I'd walk home, climb into bed, and fall asleep. Just in time to be shaken awake for school the next day.

I tell you all of this because I GET IT- sleep is important. It might sound like I was having a blast, but I suffered through my insomnia. Not sleeping? That's a big deal. Not sleeping well? It's almost as bad. Sometimes, it's worse.

A few weeks ago, I was lucky to attend a Sleepy's event, with Nancy Rothstein, Sleep Ambassador and author of "My Daddy Snores."

Nancy Rothstein has written a children's book about the importance of sleep. More importantly, she's likable book about the importance of sleep. My kids LOVE this book.
written a funny, engaging,

It's a silly tale of woe- poor Mommy can't get any sleep because Daddy snores. The illustrations are
adorable. And eventually, Mommy has HAD IT and takes Daddy to the doctor- and the doctor cures Daddy of snoring.

There are three, yes three, incredibly effective takeaways for kids from this short picture book.

1. Snoring is a curable condition, and going to a doctor can make it stop. This is great- kids have no filter, and the admonition of children is a HUGE motivator for adults. I might not be able to approach my father in law and say, "You should really see a doctor about that snoring," but my kids sure can. Because kids are awesome at just saying things like they are, as they see it.

Bouncing on beds with balloons

2. Sleep, healthy sleep, is important. It's worth fighting for, it's worth working for, and it is its own reward.

3. Going to see the doctor when something isn't quite right about your body is okay. This is a big problem in our society- this machismo regarding our health. Unless we're bleeding out of our ears, we don't want to see a doctor.

My kids love this book- and they play-act around it regularly.

"Mommy! This picture is of Johnny the Spider! His daddy snores! His daddy snores SO LOUD! They need to go to a doctor so everyone can sleep!"

It's pretty cute.

So Ms. Rothstein, the Sleep Ambassador, handed out a few spectacular tips for improving your night's sleep.

1. Turn off your devices. The light emitted by televisions, computer monitors, your phone, your kindle... those are are blue spectrum lights. Those are lights that confuse your brain about the time of day and throw off your circadian rhythm. The only color light that doesn't? Red. Which is bad news if you don't particularly like sleeping in a dark room, but great news if your kids are obsessed with pink and want a pink nightlight. That pink nightlight will be less disruptive to their sleep than a white or blue light.

2. Almond milk! That old wives tale about a glass of milk? Not so great for sleeping, as it turns out. But almonds are loaded with compounds, like theanine, that aid sleep. So replacing a pre-bedtime glass of milk with almond milk? I've been doing this at home and I can tell you- it works.

3. Bedtime music. Some music keeps you awake, and some helps you sleep. So what helps you sleep? Sounds that are somewhat unfamiliar. When your brain starts falling into familiar patterns, it wants to complete them- keeping it awake. But unfamiliar sounds... I think this is why so many lullabies are written in minor keys. We tend to associate so much of music (particularly kids' music) with major keys- those minor tones can sound discordant. And that's good- that will help them sleep. So cue up the creepy lullabies- they're better for bedtime than Twinkle Twinkle!

Baby on the move!

4. Yoga! Doing yoga before bed relaxes your mind and body, making it easier for your mind to make the transition. There is so much literature that opposes working out before bed, and there's a lot to it, but a simple, relaxing yoga routine before hitting the hay can help make the transition to unconsciousness a lot easier.

5. Consistency! It might seem like the number on the clock isn't that important, but it is. A rigid routine has lasting effects- it's almost Pavlovian. So make sure you start your bedtime routine at the same time every night.

6. Last but not least, your mattress. Ms. Rothstein pointed out that we spend a full third of our lives sleeping. So why would you choose to spend all of that time on a mattress that didn't help you sleep? People balk at dropping a few thousand dollars on a mattress (I am still balking), but she's right- you really can't put a price on high quality sleep. I could spend $2,500 on a good mattress that would keep me sleeping better for ten years, or I could spend $100 a month on the xanax that frequently helps me get to sleep, for a total of $12,000 over the same time period. That's a pretty simple cost/ benefit analysis.

With all that said, I have definitely started bugging my husband about the quality of our mattress- which is more than ten years old, crushed on one side, and has NEVER been terribly comfortable for me. So that's definitely happening in the not too distant future.

And I am taking the bedtime routine for my kids more seriously. I know the long-term consequences of poor sleep personally, and if I can help my kids avoid them?

Awesome.

Ridiculously Awesome

I know we haven't, but I like to imagine that we've all been at that same special point in our lives.

You know, the one where your old fat jeans became your regular jeans, and you didn't really mind because they were your fat jeans when you were 22 and you hade made two babies with your body since then...

And then your new fat jeans became your regular jeans, and that wasn't such a big deal, because you were kind of busy making another baby anyway, so you could deal with that.

...and then one day, your latest fat jeans are so tight that as you sit in the driver's seat you can feel the horrific sensation of your back fat being squeezed up behind your shoulder blades and smooshed into the seat.

We also all know that moment when
you realize that some days  "lunch"
is five twizzlers, a third of a  banana,
and twelve blueberries... right?

And then, you cry. Oh, how you cry. And you go out and get a new HIGH IMPACT SPORTS BRA OF DOOM and you relegate an hour every morning to getting yourself in shape.

But, it's easier said than done when you have three very very little people leaving half eaten bowls of goldfish crackers all over your house, and any attempt at a workout routine becomes "jump on mommy or howl in misery" time.

And then, you come up with the brilliant idea to DANCE!

So, you dance and dance and dance with your kids, hoping that this will magically whittle your waistline and you can give those fat jeans that made you cry the finger.

But it doesn't work so well, because while dancing with mommy starts out as being a good hour of cardio a day, it becomes mommy dead lifting thirty five pounds and then spinning in circles with a weight on her shoulder for half an hour, followed by another half hour of vaguely nauseated tottering to a beat.

Yes, we've all been there.

And so I began wondering, what do we do now? When we're still angry at our not-fat-day-but-regular-day jeans, when our workout routine has fizzled, and when we have just as little freedom to leave our homes and go to gyms or zumba classes as ever before?

That's right, folks, workout videos.

I began my hunt for the perfect workout video. It had to be dance based, to fool the kids. They would think we were still having dance parties, but we would just be having them with the movie.

I picked out the one I wanted. It was the P90X guy, so I figured it would work.

But I kept not buying it.

I kept going to the website, and hovering my cursor over the "checkout" button, and just not clicking, and I couldn't figure out why.

I asked M, "Do you think this is a good idea?" and he said, "I dunno... looks kind of sleazy..."

No. Just... no.

And that was it. He had hit the nail on the head. I couldn't bring myself to buy a video to watch with my kids with the goal being "sexiness," filled with testimonies of girls who finally felt "hot" in bikinis, with the never-ending rhetoric around looking like... well... the the people on the video.

I didn't want to send that message to my daughters. I didn't want to let them think that I was losing weight to look sexy, to look like somebody else's ideal. I didn't want them to think that there was a right way to look, and that was it.

Let's face it, they're my kids. They're going to have hips, and breasts, cuves everywhere. And if they're lucky and they've got some of Mike's shape to them as well, they'll also have AWESOME butts and maybe broad shoulders.

They certainly won't look like Jillian Michaels.

I wanted to lose some weight so I could feel good. So I could feel happy in my clothes, in my skin. So I could take a walk without feeling the telltale jiggle of having made three children in the lumps over my butt.

Gross, right? Exactly.

I wanted to feel good, and I know if I feel good about myself, I feel pretty much perfectly happy with the way I look. No matter what number is on the scale.

So, none of those "hot body" workout videos.

A few friends suggested specific dance workouts. Belly dancing, for example. I decided that we had to stick with something that my kids would recognize as dance- and keep in mind, they have learned from me that "dance" means "pseudo-rhythmic flailing, the occasionally hopping or kicking, and the intermittent jazz hands."

You know, this:



So no, it couldn't be African Dance for Beginners.

No, I needed a workout video that just kind of looked like dancing, with music that the kids could just distract themselves with and dance to without paying attention. Something with people who aren't all gussied up in greasepaint makeup and exposed, rock hard tummies. Something a little bit ridiculous.

And then... it hit me. Like a bolt of lightning. The perfect workout routine.

That's right... we're Sweatin' to the Oldies.

It took me ten seconds to find a GREAT deal on a box set of DVDs, and less than two days to have it in my hands. (Thanks, Amazon Prime!) But it took me more than a month of staring at it to put it on. Why?

Because it was utterly humiliating. I mean, Richard Simmons? REALLY? Could I look at myself in the mirror without shame? I mean, the man is the biggest running joke in... almost anything.

Really.

And then I told myself to suck it up and go sweat to some oldies with Richard Simmons, because if I just laughed through feeling ridiculous and dated and weird, then the kids would laugh too, and they would think that exercise was something fun and goofy that we all did together.

And really, that was the whole point.

And so, lovely readers, the kids and I have been doin' the pony with Richard Simmons for several weeks now.

And you know what?

It's kind of awesome.

First of all, the music is totally perfect. I mean, perfect.

Second of all, by the end of it the sweat is pouring off of me. Which feels pretty awesome.

I'm sore all the time. I also shower more regularly.

But the best part is, I have no choice but to keep going. Because now every morning begins with SI putting her nose in my face and saying, "Wake up, mommy! It's time for exercise!"

She doesn't care if I was up until after midnight watching roving hordes of Chicagoans take to the streets to celebrate winning the Stanley Cup.

She doesn't care if I was up until two in the morning reading all of "Bossypants" in one sitting and had idiotically started after she went to bed.

She doesn't care if I just ache all over and don't want to do it just this one morning please please please?

Photo from Nina Falcone

Best personal trainer ever. Instead of shouting at me that I'm fat and lazy and that I need to PUSH or
STRETCH or COMMIT- she just cries that she wants to do exercises with me. Please oh please oh please.

And so yeah, I drag myself out of bed, put on my HIGH IMPACT SPORTS BRA OF DOOM (of which there are now two), and do a million freakin' knee lifts.

And after about five minutes, the girls lose interest in exercising and instead sit on the couch, watch me, and quiz me on the weight lost by the rainbow of people, in an amazing variety of shapes and sizes, sweating along with Richard Simmons.

They squeal in delight whenever the fattest fat lady is standing next to him. "She has a plump tummy! She has a plump tummy!" they yell, and I say, "Yes! And she's exercising to be healthy!"

And they list all the people they know with plump tummies. The list always includes Poppa. "When we see Poppa in Greenbush, we will tell him he needs to exercise to make his tummy smaller!"

"Good idea! We can bring our movie, and you and me and Poppa can all exercise TOGETHER!"

"Yeah! And SI!" contributes DD.

"And SI," I huff through my unceasing kicks and the tune of "Mr. Personality."

Thanks, guy.

"And Grandmommy!" she adds again.

"Yeah," I wheeze out, remembering to breathe slowly despite my impulses to gasp for every particle of oxygen in the room, marveling at how hard it can be to balance on one foot with your arms straight out to the sides, despite being in motion.

DD always jumps in when it's "It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To." SI always does the cool down. We always smile and laugh and they constantly show me "new exercises" they've invented. Usually, it's some sort of bridge.

The hour that we're exercising together flies by. Every morning.

But the best part, the absolute icing on the cake, is this...

We've recently acquired a teenager. She's staying with us for a chunk of the summer, a friend of a friend of sorts.

Anyway, she's started joining me in Sweatin' to the Oldies.

And that kid? She can't keep up.

Every day I am outclassing a fifteen year old in my workout routine.

And that feels more amazing than looking at my reflection and not being grossed out by it.

Lunch: cherries, toast with goat cheese and a fried egg,
and cucumber/cantaloupe/parsley juice. That's better.

I also pulled my old juicer out, and began replacing meals (or those seven hour windows where I skipped meals) with fresh juice. My go-to breakfast these days is a beet, three carrots, and two grapefruit. In liquid form. I cut out most of the sugar, carbs, and cow-dairy in my diet. I switched to almond milk and goat cheese, and spent a few weeks taking pictures of every single thing I ate, that shamed me into making way better choices, and the habit of looking at something and thinking, "Do I REALLY want a picture of me eating this?" made a pretty big difference.

That said, I still took the kids out to Kilwin's for ice cream cones yesterday, and totally had a scoop of toasted coconut in a waffle cone. The whole point is to enjoy life, right?

In less than a month, I've lost about ten pounds, and I feel great. I'm trying to lose another twenty (I keep upping my goal) before I move forward on a breast reduction. I am definitely looking to go down to something in the first half of the alphabet in the cup size.

And the kids know it's not about how I look. To them, I'll always look the same. Like mommy.

It's about how I feel.

And I feel pretty damn great.

"Hey everybody! Come see how good I look!"

The "But" Stops Here

RH, DD, and SI playing in the back yard

I have begun to realize how wise I must secretly be.

You see, I have all of these bits of information I try to pass on to my kids. Little ways of explaining things so that it all makes sense to them.

And I keep accidentally teaching myself things in the process.

For example, SI has a bit of a "but" problem. I'll say, "SI, I won't give you any ice cream right now because it's naptime." And she'll respond, "But I want a LOT of ice cream!" or, "But it's TUESDAY!" or, "But Fiona is an OGRE!"

And then there is simply no arguing with her. So one day, I decided to just make something up. Because as the parent, I'm entitled to simply fabricate excuses for why I do what I do.

She began butting me, and I held up a hand.

"SI, do you know what 'but' means?"

She stared at me as though I had never said anything so strange.

"'But' can mean a lot of different things. Sometimes, when people use that word, they mean your bottom. And sometimes, they really mean 'and,' like, 'I like potato chips but I also like waffles.' There is another thing that people mean when they say it, though. When you say 'but' to mommy, you're not using it in a good way. What you're really saying is, 'I don't want to hear what you're saying to me so I'm going to say what I want instead and pretend that they are connected somehow.' And they're not. It's just you, telling me that you are angry and you are not listening. Isn't that right?"

I could see her thinking about this, and finally she nodded. Believe it or not, she then went off and actually slept during naptime.

And the moment she left the room, it struck me. I was right. That is, in fact, exactly what most people mean when they say "but..."

I've heard it a million times in political arguments. I've said it a thousand times on the phone to my sister. To M. To myself.

I love this kid. No "but"s about it.

I've told SI a few times now that "but" isn't a word I want to hear. She already knows how I feel about "I can't," those are forbidden words in this house. Instead, DD and SI always know to repeat, "I will try." So now, what do I do about "but?"

I am trained to live in a "but" world. I say to myself, constantly, "I'm going to exercise in the morning... but I'm really tired, so instead I'll just eat light." "I should get those laundry baskets emptied... but I still haven't watched the season finale of Walking Dead." "There's a big bunch of strawberries in the fridge... but I want ice cream." (SI comes by it honestly.)

So now I'm catching myself. I hear myself say "but," and I feel suddenly ashamed. Like I have no business telling my kids how to behave. And at the same time I feel flabbergasted by this sudden wave of wisdom that I must have actually had all along.

The list of words banned at Casa SuperMommy is growing.

...but I'm still having South African chocolates for breakfast tomorrow.

The Best Birth Control is Other People's Kids

They're incredibly charming creatures.

Recently, a friend of mine spent the weekend with us.

She doesn't have any children, and I sincerely doubt there are children in her short-term future plans. My kids made sure of that.

Now, don't get me wrong. My children are charming. Really, truly, adorable and friendly and all sorts of fun.

...but they're still small children, who act like small children.

In a brief few days, Aunt Ginger was introduced to all manners of experiences that are normally reserved to the few, the proud, the parents.

Perhaps my favorite moment of the weekend in this respect was when SI decided that her butt itched.

Now, once upon a time, I let my kids try to wipe their own butts. (Oh yes, it's that kind of story.) I put that particular milestone on hold, because... they were terrible at it. SI ended up with this itchy rash, and I explained to her that it was because there was still a little poo stuck to her bottom.

She has never forgotten that. Every time she has an itch- almost anywhere- she tells me that she has poo stuck there. Ah, three year olds.

My little insane person

So, we're sitting in the living room, watching some post-breakfast cartoons, and suddenly SI announces that she has a little poo stuck to her bottom. I happened to know for a fact that this was fiction, and proceeded to tell her so.

It was at that point that she began removing her clothing.

"Look at it mommy! Look at the poo on my bottom!"
"No- SI, please stop... don't take off your underpants..."
"Mommy- LOOK AT MY BOTOM! THERE'S POO ON MY BOTTOM!"
"SI- stop! Please stop! Just leave your bottom alone!"
"LOOK AT MY BOTTOM!"
"Get your hands out of there! Don't do that!"
"LOOK AT MY BOTTOM!!!!"
"Puh-please stop! T-t-take your hands away..."
"STOP LAUGHING, MOMMY! LOOK AT MY BOTTOM!!!!!"
"Oh God, SI, please... please stop pulling your butt cheeks..."
"LOOK AT MY BOTTOM, AUNT GINGER!!!"
"It's like the cutest little Goatse I've ever seen..."
"SI, GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF THERE!"
"LOOK AT MY BOTTOM, MOMMY! THERE'S POO ON MY BOTTOM!!!!"
"Get your butt out of my face, please! Just please stop! Please stop!"
"LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT NOOOOOOOOW!!!!"
"Please get your hands out of there!!!!"
"LOOOOOOK AAAAAAT MYYYYYY BOTTOOOOOMMM!!!"

At this point, as I'm sure you can imagine, all the adults in the room were in tears laughing.

"Yes, I see, you're right. There's poo stuck to your bottom. Let's go wash it off."
"I have poo stuck to my bottom!"
"I guess so. STOP RIGHT NOW- OH MY GOD GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!!"






I expect that Aunt Ginger is inoculated against baby fever for at least two years.

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FYI- Aunt K is a stand up comic. And yes, her misadventures with my kids have found their way into her routines. Take a peek at about 3:30. NSFW.

Just Like Starting Over

This is how we entertain ourselves when we figure out we're all wearing purple.

These last few months have been like living in somebody else's life.  I'm serious- every scrap of our routine went out the window.  Every shred of normalcy deteriorated as we traveled, packed, had house guests, shared flus, shared colds, stopped sleeping, started sleeping again, and began experimenting with new grocery routines.

It's amazing how off it can throw you to go two weeks without cloth diapers.

This last week I have been desperately struggling to establish "normal" again.  Reintroducing the nap, enforcing regular bed and bath times, even finally taking down the Christmas tree.  This means stepping back while my kids watch "Yellow Submarine" and "Annie" ad nauseum.  (By the way, the girls LOVE John Lennon.  They refer to the Beatles as "John and his friends," and SI's favorite song is "Power to the People."  My kids are awesome.)  While the girls watch the movies, RH rolls around the floor, and I abandon my children to the electronic babysitter and attempt to reclaim my house.

RH: Six months old

It's not just cleaning, in fact it's very little cleaning.  It is the epic putting away of things.  The things are everywhere.  You start by dislodging a whole category of goods by turning your "spare room" into a "nursery."  Then you turn your "linen closet" into a "coat closet," and turn your "hardware cupboard" into your "linen cupboard" (although it doesn't come CLOSE to containing all your linens).  Then the baby goes up another size and the new things take up more space so your "first aid cupboard" once again becomes the "baby food cupboard," and baskets of bibs are switched with other baskets of bibs, and plans must be made for changing car seats- which is too daunting to even consider.  Then the holidays come, and before you can put all the things away, you're baking up a storm.  In the interest of time, food items line up in cans and boxes along the path to the pantry, to keep open the access to the molasses and vanilla.  And then comes the travel.  And then comes the desperate adjusting of toys, where the heap of outgrown clothes must become a heap of stuffed animals, and the "stuffed animal box" becomes the "dress ups box," and the "holiday toys bin" becomes the "RH toys bin," and you realize that you actually have enough things that you really like but don't actually need to necessitate both a Christmas and a Channukah storage bin to go back to the basement.  And then comes the weeks of passing around illness.  And then, because you're just finished a gift-giving season and now you've spent a ton of money and exchanged lovely things with everyone, all sorts of things that you kind of maybe need start breaking.  Things like your coat rack.  Or things fill up.  Things like your startup disc.  And suddenly you find yourself in need of buying all sorts of crap that must be built and housed in order to hold all your other things that maybe you sort of need.  And then you visit the brand new Costco and buy a million pounds of potatoes.  And suddenly you don't know where anything goes because it doesn't go anywhere, and you are quite literally losing your mind because you are wading through what feels like endless fields of random crap that you maybe kind of sort of need.

My house full of chaos.

Which is why I find myself over a month after the crazy holiday bonanza began installing shelves and hooks, filling bag after bag with things that we really DON'T need, letting them pile up in the hall to become yet another obstacle to believing that my house will ever really be under control, while watching the pile of blankets that don't fit in the linen cupboard collect dust bunnies in the corner.

I have a simple goal: To be able to decide to mop the floor in any given room without spending an hour finding where things have to go first.  Not putting them away, just figuring out where the hell I can put them.

Every vertical surface in my home was, until a few days ago, covered in crap.  Unknown, possibly important, indecipherable crap.  Two days of hard work and the addition of some shelving has yielded a kitchen that I can actually clean now.  Where everything has a place to go.  The dining room is next.

If I look at my home dispassionately, really, I'm just this side of a hoarder.

Know what I found in the dining room?  A fondue pot.  I didn't even remember that I had a fondue pot.  It's still in the box.  I could be using that space to stash the linens hanging out on top of the photo albums.

So how are my kids coping with all of this?  Simple.  Without me.

Grandmommy in my personal chaos zone

Without me, my remarkable three year olds have learned pretty much all the words to "Tomorrow," and the chorus of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."  (Granted, those are all of the lyrics of the chorus of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.")  RH has figured out that by rolling, she can cross an entire room.  I am missing most of this, because I am trying to dig what I think must be my turntable out from the detritus on my desk.  I figure if I can eliminate the clutter on top of the second "linen cupboard" I might be able to squeeze the linens onto a "linen shelf."

I am eagerly awaiting the day that I reach the living room.  On that day, I will unroll my probably spider infested yoga mat, and I will do a sun salutation.

Because I have had it with my current lifestyle.  The lifestyle of a person wallowing in the collected detritus of self pity.

I wander around my home, looking forlornly at puddles of dried playdough with wooden and velcro eggs embedded in them, sighing and thinking to myself, "I'm going to get to that..."

Screw it.  I'm getting to that.  And then I am getting to me.  I'm tired of carrying around this spare tire from making three babies.  I'm tired of just telling my friends to cram the crap on the table just anywhere when they graciously come over for dinner.  I am getting my life into the kind of order where it might be functional.  Where I could dance with my kids if I wanted to.  Where the pre-dance party cleaning isn't just a stashing things out of reach because they have nowhere to go.

Now picture them singing "Tomorrow."

And yeah, it's going to mean getting rid of a lot of crap.

But with a little elbow grease and determination, I think that soon I'll have a functional coat rack, linens that don't live on the floor, and a routine that allows me to actually mop once in a while.

It's amazing how out of control things can get in just six months.

Six and a half months ago, I had a baby.  My third baby.

And, because I'm not an idiot, I prioritized me and the baby and the girls and M over just about everything else.

But now it's time to start acting like I run this show.  Because, as it turns out, I do.  And I'm good at it.

And with that mantra in mind, I think I can lock up about two thirds of the marzipan hiding in my sock drawer, put away the plastic dishes, and make my home my home again.

Wish me luck, lovely readers.

Sometimes I think I'll need it.

Best Pictures of 2012 and Neruotic Whatnot

A runner up.  The pictures were that good.

As you may recall, I am a crazy person who feels the need to shame myself into doing the absolute minimum to assure that I am healthy, passable as sane, and generally presentable.

This year, my goals were as follows:

1. Write (daily)
2. Complete my homework (daily)
3 Leave my house (daily- at least step onto the balcony)
4. Eat at least two meals (daily)
5. Maintain my hygiene (daily)
6. Exercise (at least 3x week)
7. Observe Shabbat with my children (1x week)
8. Finish reading a book (1x month)
9. Make art (1x month)

Now, some of these should be absolute no-brainers.  I mean really, to fulfill my fifth goal, I simply had to shower OR brush my teeth OR wash my face ONCE each day.

And some of them are obviously easy.  I finished school at the end of May, so for a full half of the year (and then some) I had NO homework, and therefore it was already completed.  Free checkmark for me.

Sadly, I am gross and lazy.  This is why I give myself a check list.

Read about it!

1. Did I write?
This year, I wrote in my journal on 320 out of 365 days.  That's awesome, but it still means there were forty five days when I wrote nothing- and one day less than I wrote in 2011!  I am willing to accept this amount, as I recall how exhausted and busy I was while finishing school/being pregnant/taking care of my big girls.  Plus. even if I apparently blew off a month of writing, I also wrote a draft of a novel in a month.  So I'm going to call this one a win.  Go me!  I wrote a lot!

Read about it!

2. Did I complete my homework?
I completed my homework on 330 days.  That means that for 35 days, I did not complete my homework.  Keep in mind, I was only in school for six months.  Which means, I am a lousy student.  This is simply not good enough.  Good for me I passed anyway.  That said, I only completed my homework 244 times last year, so I think I might have actually improved a little bit.

Read about it!

3. Did I leave my house?
I left my house during 255 days- including days that I didn't leave the house but was in a house that isn't mine.  That means that for 100 days this year, I didn't see the sun.  This is particularly embarrassing. as last year I left the house a whopping 301 days.  So this year, I was worse at leaving the house than the year before.  I'll blame the pregnancy, but I know I'm going to have to do better.  No way can I be a happy person if I'm always cooped up.  That said, it's not on the list for next year.  Next year, my list includes, "alone time."  Alone time can include leaving the house, but I think at this point taking some time to myself every day is more important to my mental house than being outside.  So, we'll see if I end up crazy and cooped up in 2013.

Read about it!

4. Did I eat at least two meals?
Leaving all of my other goals in the dust, I managed to eat two meals on 347 days!  I actually beat my total for 2011 by a whole 13 days.  Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I confess that some of those "meals" were three slices of raisin bread or an apple.  But I did force myself to stop and eat something, two times a day, nearly every single day.  I'm keeping it on my list for next year, because I know that the reason I did so well was that I was holding myself accountable.  But still, I'm pretty proud that I'm learning to take the most basic care of myself.

Read about it!

5. Did I maintain my hygiene?
Do you really want to know?  In my defense, I spent half the year pregnant and exhausted and chasing small people, but who's really buying that?  This year, I failed.  Yes, failed.  In 2011, I cleansed myself in a minimalistic way a whole 251 days.  This year? 216.  That's right, there were only 60% odds that on any given day I had even brushed my teeth.  I am humiliated.  Next year I am going to do better, dammit.  Because OMG I am so gross.


6. Did I exercise?

Read about it!

Hell, yeah!  I had a goal of 156 times in the year, and I almost made it!  Mostly thanks to two months of daily dance parties with my kids.  That said, I exercised 141 days, that's only 15 days short, and that's considering that I was, as previously mentioned, miserable and pregnant and whatnot.  I'm going to do better this year.  Keeping the same number as my goal, but this year?  I'm gong to BEAT it.

Read about it!

7. Did I observe the Sabbath?
Well... I was certainly more honest about it than last year, when I claimed fast days and Channukah and whatnot as "observing," which is bogus.  This is a weekly observance, and that's 52 times a year.  Now, I don't light candles and whatnot if M and I are going out, if we're out of town, all of that.  And M and I did make the effort to do a lot more dating this year.  I lit Shabbat candles with the girls 28 times this year.  That is easily double my number for 2011.  So I'm going to say progress is good, but we still need some work.  Still, better than every other week is something I feel good about.

Read about it!

8. Did I read a book a month?
Sort of.  I read 16 books in 2012, which is 12 fewer than in 2011.  And most of them were graphic novels.  Still, I managed to read a little bit.  I am planning on reading more "real" books this year, but finding the time is hard.  Hopefully, it will get easier as RH becomes more independent.  We'll see.

Read about it!

9. Did I make art every month?
Sort of.  I intentionally left "art" open ended last year.  I decided to count all sorts of crafting as "art," so decorating RH's room, making our holiday cards, making Halloween costumes... that was most of the "art," if not all of it.  This year I'm actually prioritizing making REAL art, so we'll see if my number goes up from 2012's 18 "arts."


And now that I have forced you to suffer through the madness that is my neurotic cataloging of my annual failures, I give you- the best pictures of 2012!

January 2012: The girls are STILL talking about the time Daddy threw snowballs in the air.

February 2012: The girls' hair is finally long enough for pigtails, and they begin having tea parties.  Occasionally with robots.

March 2012: a three way tie

March 2012: a three way tie

March 2012: a three way tie

April 2012: Passover dresses

April 2012: Passover dresses

May 2012: a four way tie.  I (finally) graduated, at nine months pregnant.

May 2012: the girls' enjoy a boat ride

May 2012: M becomes a Master of Structural Engineering

May 2012: my friends shower me for my upcoming third baby.

June 2012: a six way tie.  It was a big month.

So. stinkin', cure.

RH is born, and I am in love with her.

Her daddy is in love with her.

DD is in love with her.

SI is in love with her.

July 2012: Our first family photo as a family of five

August 2012: A three way tie

The whole family enjoys a bonfire at Grandmommy and Poppa's house

I learn the hazards of DIY photography

September 2012: DD and SI's first day of preschool

October 2012: a tie.  DD and SI turn three years old.

October 2012: The family dresses as the Wizard of Oz for Halloween.

November 2012: Another tie.  We eat the baby.

November 2012: I took my kids to vote.

December 2012: Hands down my favorite of the month.  RH desperately tries to de-beard Santa.  DD and SI are still pretty sure this is actually Uncle Robot.  I've told them that I don't think so.  I am officially a liar.

Happy New Year, lovely readers!  May 2013 bring you all the joy you can handle.  :)


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