Grandma says no

My mom is a lot like Martha Stewart. She is a great cook, gardens, and is very crafty. She is absolutely meticulous about everything from her gift-wrapping to her housekeeping. She vacuums several times a week and picks microscopic crumbs off the floor.

I like things orderly, but I am far from a neat freak. I tend to clean every two weeks or so or if there is visible dirt. I have been on edge the last month I have lived here making sure no mess is ever left behind.

Q follows my mom around like an obedient puppy. When she is scrubbing a spot off the wall, he has his own rag washing his own unseen spot. When she is vacuuming, Q is running around behind her mimicking her moves.

She is always telling him her particular rules. "Don't put your cup on that table." "You can only drink juice in the kitchen." "Wipe you feet twice before you come inside."

Now he has started repeating her rules to us. Tonight T was eating a cookie at the table without a plate. "Grandma doesn't like that," Q told him.

Q started gathered up my hand lotion and perfume from my bedside table. "Grandma said not on the table."

My mom seems to be enjoying her little rule parrot. I think it's all a little too strange. Now my mom isn't just telling me what to do. My son is telling me what my mom wants me to do!

--MM

Laissez les bons temps rouler!

My mom threw a Mardi Gras party for all the grandsons this past weekend. She served alligator (a spinach concoction) and had the boys make crowns and wear beads. It was ridiculously cute.

--MM

Infected

I have strep throat and mastitis (an infection of the milk duct). It's not fun.

-MM

Death of a plant

It has been a trying day. I feel like I say that every day, but it is usually true. It's not like I am performing brain surgery or anything, but it is still stressful.

I feel a little under the weather and rundown. Baby R was up a couple times overnight and Q was in and out of my bed. My throat hurt this morning, and my entire body was achy. To top it off, I think I may have a clogged or infected milk duct, so one of my nipples is killing me.

Because of all this, I laid down to take a nap when the boys were down for theirs. Q was in my bed but got up and wandered downstairs. Instead of getting my butt up and following him as I should have, I rolled over and fell asleep again, happy for the solitude.

A short while later, I heard scratching and running and squealing from downstairs. I had that sinking feeling as I crept down the steps to see what the boy and dog were up to. I was horrified to find an innocent plant ripped to shreds and strewn about the family room. Dirt and leaves were everywhere. Thankfully, my mom wasn't home so I had time to hide the evidence. It was a giant mess though. One plant was a goner and another was partially gnawed. Q had even unraveled thread and taken buttons and needles (!) from the sewing room. A white towel in the middle of the mess was caked in dirt.

I picked up the big pieces, tossed the towel and Q's socks in the washing machine, locked Ruby in her crate, and sent Q upstairs. I vacuumed in lightning speed cringing at the mess. Just as I was putting the tubes of my mom's universal vacuum back in the closet, she walked in the door.

"Ruby ate a plant!" I told her immediately. She didn't take it too badly, especially considering this is the second plant the tag team has destroyed in three weeks. She was mostly worried about whether Ruby would get sick.

I learned my lesson. Dachshunds and toddlers are not to be trusted together unsupervised.

--MM

Need a husband

I am dying to have my husband back. I just need someone to share the responsibility for a few days. I want someone to go get the baby in the middle of the night and change the poopy diaper. T will be back for several days next week, and I am more than ready. Late this afternoon I was near my breaking point. R was on a fuss marathon and Q was whiny and clingy. Bedtime could not come soon enough!

I have a manicure appointment tomorrow and am dying for the hour-long respite.

--MM

Deflated

The smallest disappointments can crush a toddler and make a parent share the pain. We went to my sister's house for a few hours tonight to eat pizza and let all the boys play. They started an interesting game called Balloon Stomp which is fun in theory, but the concept just does not translate to toddlers.

The object is to tie a balloon around your ankle and then run wildly around the house trying to stomp on other kids' balloons while protecting your own from being stomped. The elements were there: Q is fanatical about balloons and running and screaming is right up his alley. The problem came when a cousin stomped Q's balloon, and it burst with a loud pop. Q's eyes widened for a beat and then he ran screaming into my arms. He just did not understand it. His anger and disappointment over the ruthless attack on his balloon made me melt. We calmed him down by offering him two more balloons that no one could pop.

He carefully protected them as he carried them to the car. During the hour-long drive home he drifted off periodically but then would awake abruptly and mumble something like, "He popped my balloon."

A word of advice: Balloon Stomps are not suitable for toddlers.

--MM

I am what I am

My hairdresser opened my eyes the other day. I was paging through the Yellow Pages and clicking around online to find a good salon for my haircut. I stumbled upon a girl I went to high school with who sounded great. I booked an appointment.

I enjoyed catching up with her, hearing about her marriage to a classmate of ours, and her five-year-old boy. We were talking about home ownership, and I mentioned how much I detested yard work. She asked, "Don't you like gardening or anything?"

I sheepishly admitted, "No, none of it."

"Me neither!" she said. "I finally just accepted last year that that is just who I am. I hate gardening. I just don't want to do it. That's not me."

"I agree!" I happily exclaimed.

It was so freeing. It seems like everyone I know loves to garden. I feel like I am missing some brain connection that would drive me to dig in the dirt. It was wonderful to find kinship with another non-gardener. My mother and sisters garden and compare stories about their plants. My dad says yard work is a stress reliever. I couldn't disagree more. I love a beautiful yard but would rather someone else did the weeding.

I have tried to force myself to like it even going so far as buying flowered work gloves and forcing myself to pull weeds from the ground as I repeatedly checked my watch until an hour had slowly ticked by.

I don't think I am (entirely) lazy. I love to plan meals and cook. I don't terribly mind cleaning, and I keep my children happy and healthy. I am just a NOT a gardener, and I am OK with that.

--MM