Ok, ready for a glimpse into my strange mind? I have a real hang up about how my kids look. Ask Kevin, he’ll attest to my strange paranoia. Since he has the fashion sense of, well, a man, I never let him dress the girls. He’ll pick some awful mismatch, rumpled, worn outfit and my heart will cringe. One glance at my poor little fashion victims and I’ll rush to their closet and pick out an entirely new outfit. I can’t help myself. I just can’t let my kids out of the house looking ungroomed. I see other kids happily frolicing about in the PJ’s they slept in with tangled hair and flip flops and I just want to grab them and change their clothes. There are far too many cute kid clothes out there to waste a day in stained long johns people!

So, here’s the problem. The other day, Kevin let Leina pick out her own outfit. Admittedly, I was sick in bed and unable to avert this disaster in the making because Leina, at three, has about as much fashion sense as Kevin. The resulting outfit was horrendous. And now? Now, Leina insists on picking her own clothes. And it is awful. Every day I watch her approach her closet and a little part of my soul dies. I love picking her clothes. I love shopping for her outfits. I love how fresh and sweet she looks after I get her dressed. I love hugging her warm little body while she helps me get herself dresssed. Now, my soul withers when she pushed me away and announces she will be dressing herself this morning.

Now, part of me knows that I should let her choose her own daily wear. This is a sign of independence and they are just clothes. Right? But when I see Leina struggling into a pair of pajama shorts and a turtleneck t-shirt, something inside me snaps.

My new plan is to teach Leina about fashion. The idea of dressing for the weather, dressing for the activity, and dressing in style. She’s more than willing to listen and nod at the appropriate moments but I don’t know if anything is sinking in or not. She still insists that a green and white stripped turtleneck, a pink heart skirt and a pair of red knee-high Dora socks are just “perfect” for a day at the water park. I try every so gently to sway her toward, say, the tank top and shorts but no. She’s quite sure that her Dora socks are the way to go. I’m beginning to suspect she has not only inherited her father’s blue eyes but also his fashion sense as well. In which case, I have a long road ahead of me.

I always knew that eventually I’d lost control of Leina closet. But honestly, I never thought I’d be so soon. So if you see my kid hopping down the street with moppet hair and clothes that look like I grabbed them blindfolded from the Goodwill reject pile, give me a pat on the back for managing to let go ’cause I’ll need it!

Before kids, my goals were so simple. Meet my billable hours. Throw out food when it started to mold. Remember to lock the door when I left.

Simple. Easy. Non-life threatening.

Now, my goals seem so much harder. Keep two year old from running into traffic. Fend off diaper rash. Grow three year old’s mind. Remember not to swear around little ears that hear everything.

But there is one goal I have developed that I take very seriously. About once a week my goal is to corner Leina and tickle her until she pees. Yes, that’s right, my goal is to make my kid laugh so hard she pees her pants. (Am I a great mom or what?) And not to brag or anything, but I am good at the tickling. The secret is in the anticipation. You tickle, and then stop. Then you move in very very slowly. Let them sweat out the incoming tickle. Usually I have Leina so excited she’s laughing before I even touch her. Then I pounce and tickle, taking care to frequently change my area of attack. If you tickle one place for a while, it will de-sensatize. If you roam and tickle, it’s much more effective. So I tickle her belly, her neck, behind her knees, her inner elbow, the base of her back and her sides. I tickle and tickle until Leina yells, “Mom! You made me pee my pants!”

Yes! Goal attained! And let me tell you, there’s no joy like the sense of accomplishment that comes with tickling you child to the point to bladder loss. Don’t believe me? Grab a kid and give it a try. Pretty soon, you’ll be adding it to your weekly goals as well.

Yes, a mere two years ago today, we welcomed Kulia into our family. I was so nervous about having her. I was afraid I would never love her as much as Leina. How little I knew. Kulia has wormed herself so deep into my heart it’s unreal. She is, by far, the sweetest, rascal-y-est, cutest child to ever be.

Mind you, I never thought I’d spend her 2nd birthday sitting in the doctor’s office learning she has two ear infections and two eye infections. Poor baby. So there was no big party. No pile of presents. We had Safeway cupcakes in the backyard with Grandma Vicki and then watched the girls splash nekked in the wading pool for a while. But she got her birthday song and her birthday wish and in this crazy world of “theme” parties and loaded goody bags, I think we managed to retain the true heart of a child’s birthday.

So baby, tonight I will dream of you and all the joy you have brought me these last two years. It has gone so fast, but then, the good times always do.

I love you rascal. I do, I do, I do.

There are so many things I should be doing right now.

So.
Many.
Things.

But I’m not! And you know what? I bet you have a whole list of things you should be doing right now at 3:30pm on Friday instead of reading this. But you’re not!

You are so one of my kind. Ha! Take that cruel world. You can put us in front of the computer but you cannot make us work! Ha ha and double ha!

But seriously, I’m much better but now poor sweet Kulia is down with it. And so tomorrow, on her 2nd birthday, we will be sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for an unscheduled appointment to get her seen. You know how you see some kids and they have that nasty yellow/green booger slime running out of their nose? Well, Kulia has so much of that booger slime backed up waiting to get down her nasal passage that it has started oozing OUT OF HER EYES.

I *so* kid you not. My child has green boogers seeping from her tear ducts. Her tear duct people! And guess what? It turns out, that’s not so normal. (Yes, it took an actual advice nurse to tell me this. Who knew?) So we’re off to the doctor tomorrow to make sure everything is draining properly.

From her eyes people!

And with that pleasant visual, I bid you all a fond Friday adieu!

So, it’s Memorial Day, a three day weekend, Kevin’s home, and the weather is great, and I’m sick. Yup. Sick. I’ve got the usual head cold with a fever, runny nose and wicked sore throat so pretty much, all plans are off. This sucks. Grrr.

Now, I have a strange fascination with sickness. I’m not at all squeamish at the sight of blood. I was the kid who kept peeking under her band-aid and picking at her scabs before they were ready to fall off. I adore poking and prodding all sorts of cuts and lesions and find myself over come with a strange morbid curiosity around wounds and cuts. Have a splinter you need pulled? I’m your girl. Have an ingrown toenail that you need dug out? Call me up! Oddly enough, Kevin has no stomach for my strange love of all things icky and he appears to derive no please what-so-ever from examining all my hurts and scraps. Odd, no?

So really, it’s no surprise that whenever I get sick, I delved willingly into every sick symptom. I marvel over the green color of my snot, I find myself almost giddy as I plot my rising temp and my all-time favorite sickness event is the viewing of the soar throat.

Ah yes, the unsurpassed joy of looking at a throat lined with white cold soars. Is there anything more fascinating, I ask you? Poor Kevin is frequently dragged into the bathroom with me to hold the flashlight while I admire my ravaged throat in all its red and white spotted glory. Unfortunately, now that we have kids, my joy is often squashed because finding a working flashlight in this house is about on par with finding a square foot of clean floor. It just ain’t happening people.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all about the disaster preparation. Living in Oregon for the last 10+ years, I’ve discovered that losing power is pretty much guaranteed. In case you didn’t know, we tend to get just a little bit of rain here over the winter months and power lines tend to drop like flies. For just this reason, I have strategically placed flashlights and candles throughout the house. In closets, drawers, and pantries I’ve stashed a torch or two so I don’t have to stumble around in the dark. Well, my love of cold sores is but a mere ember compared to my children’s bonfire of love for flashlights. To say they adore them is a severe understatement. Short of ice cream covered in sprinkles, nothing brings forth a squeal of glee in my kids like a flashlight. Go figure.

Now, here’s the problem. I open the coat closet to get a coat and Leina spots the flashlight I have thoughtfully stashed in there and her eyes grow as big as saucers.

“Oh, mommy, can I please, please, please have that flashlight?” she’ll ask dancing in place at the mere thought of getting her grubby mitts on it.

“No honey, that’s for emergencies only.” I’ll reply in my best mommy voice.

“But mommy, please! Just for a minute! I promise I’ll put it back when I’m done!” Leina will whine as she tugs mournfully at my leg.

“No Leina, every time I let you play with the flashlight you forget to turn it off and the batteries die. This is not a toy.”

“Please mommy, please!” Leina begs me, “I promise to turn it off when I’m done. I promise! I Promise! I Promise!”

About now, I begin to cave. I mean, it’s just a flashlight. I can pop in new batteries. It’s not like she’s asking to play with the kitchen knives.

“OK, but Leina?” I relent, “you have to give it back when you are done. OK?”

“Oh thank you mommy, thank you, thank you, you are the bestest mommy ever!” she shouts and runs right up to sister. Of course, she immediately begins waving the flashlight under Kulia’s nose and chants, “look what I’ve got, and you can’t have one, ’cause you’re a baby, na na na na na.”

Kulia, of course, reverts to her place of power and unleashes a scream/whine/cry in an octave that only a younger sibling unfairly scorned can reach. Toddling over to me, bottom lip quivering, big crocodile tears dripping slowly from her big eyes, she holds out her pudgy baby hand toward me and with a word of protest, I place the back-up flashlight into her little hand.

And they are off. They disappear for an hour or so doing who knows what with their hard won flashlights. I won’t actually see those flashlights for another 3 weeks when they will mysterious reappear in their underwear drawer or mixed in with my curling irons. Inevitably, the kids will be right next to me when they are unearthed and the whole dance will begin again.

So the kids are happy because they get their flashlights. Kevin is happy because he is no longer pulled into the bathroom and forced to inspect my throat sores. I’m the only one who suffers really but then, it really isn’t so bad because Leina thinks I am the best mom. Ever!

I’ve decided to try a new approach to life. You know, just for the fun of it. Ha.

I consider myself a very efficient person. I pride myself on moving quickly and decisively. I can whip together a meal, whirlwind clean a room, or organize a closet with lightening speed. I’m one of those people who would rather find a way to balance 12 grocery bags full of food and make one trip rather than slowly carry in two bags at a time. For whatever reason, I like to rush. I like to “bang” things out. I have little patience for the slow and steady approach. That just isn’t me.

But, I’ve decided that maybe I could do with a little more patience in my life. You see, the side effect of my current break neck lifestyle is that while I can whiz through my primary objection, the secondary suffers. For example, I can get my kids fed, diapered, clothed, shod and out the door in about 15 minutes. (For those of you without kids, this is nothing short of a miracle.) However, the unintended consequence of this super-human speed is that in my wake I leave a trail of dirty dishes, used diapers and strewn clothing behind me. So when I return home, I find a whole new set of chores waiting to be done. Sigh.

So, my new plan is to slow down and follow through. Sounds easy, right? Yeah, not really. Instead of seeing something and saying, “I’ll get to that later”, I’m trying to pause, take a minute, and clear the hurdle instead of running around. It isn’t easy for me to do, but I’m going to give it a try. So instead of breaking my arms carrying in 12 bags of groceries, dropping things willy-nilly, and killing my back, I am going to try and remember that life is not a race. There is no shame in making more than one trip. And maybe, just maybe, I