Attendance is mandatory

Lately Sydney has come to grips with the odd collection of people (or collection of odd people?) that make up her family/daily life. She is starting to see the pattern of who comes and goes regularly, and who she can't get rid of. With this newfound perception comes a lot of what Dan and I describe as "roll call." She will shout out, at any given moment, not unlike a high school gym teacher, someone's name and expect an immediate response. If you don't reply quickly enough she will start screaming at you to stop bouncing that basketball.

I picked her up from school yesterday to go to the pediatrician's office for her 18th ear infection of the year. Once we were in the car and on her way, she started in:

"MAMA!"
"Yes Sydney?"
"Maaaaaama."
"Yes?"
"JAAAAAACKY!"
"Jack is at school."
"DAAAAAADDY!"
"Daddy is at work."

...and repeat for nine miles.

Later that night, after we had finally got both kids in bed and were sitting down on the couch to enjoy the peace and quiet, we heard Sydney in her room, shouting. We looked at each other, both of our jaws beginning to dislocate.

Then we noticed that she was just barking "DINAH!" over and over again.

"Is the baby yelling for the dog?" Dan asked me.

"Um...I think that Dinah might be IN HER ROOM."

(Dinah often accompanies me into the baby's room for our nightly ritual of singing and/or screaming. I guess I had snuck out and shut the door behind me before she could herself escape.)

Dan went up and cracked the door to Sydney's bedroom. Poor Dinah came bolting out, no doubt completely demoralized by being yelled at for 20 minutes by a 21 lb. drill sergeant.

I am enchanted...

• When you tell me that I am the smartest person you know because I was able to accurately guess when the last time you went to the bathroom was.
  
  
• When you humor my competitive eating/food obsession and let me text you pictures of the awesome things that I eat.
  
  
• When you call me on your way home from work to complain about people b/c I am the only person who will understand.
  
  
• When you card me at the grocery store and audibly choke when you see my age.
  
  
• When you assure me that there is no way that you will attend a happy hour if I am not also going.
  
  
• When you have a huge, fancy, expensive wedding and I can actually attend and am so super-excited about going that I bought two dresses.
  
  
• When we go out to lunch and it turns into a 5-course meal...including cocktails.
  
  
• When you reminisce about my last pregnancy and recall it so fondly...you weirdo.
  
  
• When you insist on squeezing my face even though your hands are coated in banana shmutz...and I let you because you are irresistable.

Overheard

Jack, while I help him put on underwear and pajamas: Do you know at night my penis and my butt trade places?

Me, distracted: Wait...what?

Jack, totally serious: Yeah, like the ceiling fan. They go around--my penis goes to the back, my butt goes to the front. My butt goes to the back, my penis goes to the front.

Me: Wow.

Jack, skeptically: What, you've never heard of this?

Yah Retahded.

So this weekend I spent a blissful (and ridiculous...hey, it's me, what do you expect?) 3 days in Boston, MA. The trip was planned originally because if I don't leave this madhouse every once and awhile and do things that are unrelated to a) work, b) kids, c) dogs, d) laundry, e) husbands, f) family, g) poop, h) dishes, well, I get a little crazy. So one of my favorite people and I booked a trip to Boston in the middle of winter. Great idea, right? Well it WAS. So suck it everyone who told me it was really dumb.

First of all, I love snow. North Carolina, while beautiful, friendly, and warm, doesn't get a lot of snow, and when it does, it's really lame snow and everyone freaks out and pretty much ruins any childish excitement I have over being snowed in. So to go to a place where they shrug off snow the way I shrug off a turd on my carpet was really refreshing, despite the phrasing of that sentence (I CLEAN UP up the turds, I just don't freak out...sheesh). Also I got to use my ski jacket that I love (both of them actually) and that made me happy. There are secret ninja pockets in that jacket that I love to fill with crap and then get flustered and alarmed when I can't find something...oh wait, there it is in that pocket! (This is especially enjoyable for the people that I'm with.)

The incredible cake of the weekend was spending so much time with awesome girls: we both met up with college girlfriends who are adorable and so, so fun. Top that with the icing of going shopping, dancing and eating almost every meal out (I think that because I love to cook so much, I truly value a meal that another person has prepared for me...and when that meal includes oysters, well I am just about in heaven). Also I am a huge fan of sharing food (in my book "sharing" includes reciprocation, which is not the standard around this house) so to eat with other adults that share this mealtime philosophy was sublime. We visited the "Oldest Restaurant in America" which was in a three story, tiny house that was clearly built when our country was still a blushing virgin. The people were awesome--everyone responded to my shit-eating grin with smart remarks and I felt very at-home. We visited Cambridge which was adorable, and ate at a gastropub there (Lord Hobo) that provided me with probably a year's worth of incredible cocktail recipes (this was all at breakfast too), including a margarita topped with pale ale.

Hold on a sec, I have to stop drooling.

The final, clutch straw of this amazing weekend was seeing one of my favorite artists perform at the House of Blues. Girl Talk is basically a guy who, while getting his Biomedical Engineering degree at Case Western, starting dj-ing at parties and performing mashups of samples of songs from his childhood along with (relatively) current rap tracks...and the result is euphoric, upbeat, dance-heaven for anyone, but especially someone with a short attention span, like yours truly. I'm posting a little teeny clip of video for you to hopefully see the awesome ambiance and atmosphere of what basically amounts to the best dance party you will ever attend.

Oops I did it again...

Here's a bonus that I didn't publish from January (further proof that 2011 is a sneaky bastard):

Last night I was awakened by the pathetic cries of a child in distress...and greeted them with the pathetic grumblings of an adult who was comfortably sleeping. Jack was banging on his bedroom door and sobbing, and as I took the last step towards his door to open it, I heard the telltale splash of a deluge of pee hitting carpet. I opened the door to find him, half-asleep, confused, ashamed, tired, and standing in a puddle. I was shocked and tried to get him to explain why he didn't use the bathroom that is off of his room. He couldn't put together a coherent answer, so I stripped him and got him into a steamy shower and then proceeded to mop up pee. Now I can't tell you how many times in the last 10 years I've been suddenly awoken by someone's need to defecate...or to the evidence that they ALREADY HAVE. Not to shock you, but this is seedy underbelly of life with children and dogs.

When all was once again peaceful (and dry) I consoled Jack as I put him back to bed. He was really embarrassed that he had had an accident (who wouldn't be?) so I consoled him the only way I knew how: "At least you didn't have to poop!"

Conception

Jack has been expressing more and more interest in the origins of human life. While I'm tempted to sign him up for a biology class at Wake Tech, I've resorted to sharing my knowledge...in child's terms, which I prefer to use anyway...because it's funny. Jack comes up with a lot of his own generalized answers, which I haven't corrected because they're all sorta right anyway.

We've covered the bases ("inside-out penises"), and where babies grow ("girls have a guest room in their belly"), why mommies nurse ("you have holes in your chest and the milk you drink falls out nice and warm...because babies don't like cold milk"), and why men don't ("my nipples are for decoration").

Tonight, as part of the ongoing discussion, Jack explained to me where babies come from originally--as Sydney crawled all over both of us on the couch. "Actually, I'm pretty sure that babies come from a factory."

"Really?" I said, eager to hear his new line of thinking.

"Yep. And I'm pretty sure it's the same place they make sausage."

Overheard

Jack: I'm really pumped about the Superbowl this weekend.

Me: Really?

Jack: Definitely.

Me: Wow...who are you rooting for?

Jack: The Steel Packers.


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Sydney, upon seeing any professional sport on tv: FOOTBALL!!!!