Noise Pollution

Meredith has a new nickname. Up until now they've been largely affectionate; Sweet Pea, Buppity, and even the dubious "Stinky".

Recently I've re-dubbed her "Screech".

There is no other word more accurate for the ear piercing noise she emits when something in her universe is not PRECISELY to her liking. This happens roughly every 5 minutes.

With her lack of verbal ability she has resorted to the one noise guaranteed to set my teeth on edge. She knows what she's about too, as it always gets the immediate attention of everyone within a 5 mile radius.

Our most recent disagreement has been over feeding. Either because I would like her to eat something other than a Cheerio or two at the unreasonable hour of 5:00 pm or when she would like to eat at the perfectly reasonable hour of 2:00 am.

I have grown weary of being the 24 hour all-you-can-eat diner, and she protests this with a 120 decibel scream issued 4 inches from my ear.

Those tampons I have left over from my recent vacation can serve double duty. They make a handy earplug as well as sopping up the bleeding from my ears.

Even Superman Wore Training Pants

Jamie is so very eager to move on to a new stage in his life - wearing big boy underpants to bed. At the moment he's still relegated to Diego and Bob the Builder as featured on pull-up style training pants.

Other than the occasional Oopsie when he's outside playing and forgets to pay attention, and I miss the telltale pee wiggle and crotch-grab - he's a champ at using the toilet.

But come nighttime, the floodgates open and you'd swear that kid drank Niagara Falls with a Lake Erie chaser right before he fell asleep.

From everything I've read and heard it's completely normal for boys to take longer to be potty-aware at nighttime so this doesn't bother me a bit.

Jamie on the other hand finds this deeply troubling.

You see, they don't make pull-ups featuring Spider-Man or Superman. We'd even accept Handy Manny in a pinch (all of whom are featured on his underwear selection).

Every morning he wakes up and tells me his pull-up is dry, he can wear his underpants to bed now.

Except of course they're not.

Last night Dave and I were having a typical evening puttering around, watching a little TV, checking emails, when I heard a familiar sound coming from the monitor. It's not at all unusual for me to be summoned by a small crib-dweller around 10:30 pm so I prepared to go up and explain to her that yes, it was still bedtime.

But as the wails escalated we realized it was Jamie. Jamie's a pretty good sleeper and usually only wakes up if he's sick so both Dave and I ran upstairs to make sure he was okay. We found him standing up next to his bed crying and when I reached for him he felt wet from the neck down. "Jamie did you throw up?"

Then I felt a little further south and realized there was an absence of familiar padded undergarment in the lower region.

Without 3 inches of ultra mega absorbent mystery gel encased in cloth-like paper between the bed and his birthday suit, there was pee from his pillow on down to the stuffed animals at the foot of his bed.

After getting a bath and his bed changed and back into bed, he admitted he hadn't put a pull-up on before bed.

"Really Mama. Spider-Man doesn't wear pull-ups."

Is Dieting A Sport?

I'm on year 37 of my latest diet. I'm 38 years old, but that first year they really encourage you to gain weight. I think that's where all the problems may have started.

I've had a love/hate relationship with food most of my life. Mostly love. More of a hot, torrid, passion-filled affair if we're being truthful.

I have distinct memories of my maternal grandmother lecturing me on diets and how I should lose weight before I get older because "it's so much easier to lose weight when you're young."

Very sage advice from the woman who was shoveling freshly deep-fried french fries onto my plate faster than I could eat them as she dispensed her diet wisdom.

Some days I just want to say fuck it. I like being fat.

Except I don't.

I just like to eat.

I've decided when I'm 75, assuming I am fortunate enough to live that long, all bets are off and the whole life-long diet will be called on account of rain.

Rain can come in the form of ice cream right?

In Which I Overshare Again

I've acquired an odd travel habit from my Mother. All my life when we went on vacation I remember her setting aside one small hard side suitcase, approximately 14 x 12 x 12, completely for the purpose of medicines. Some of this may have started because my sister used to take several different medications throughout the day to control seizures. But she never stopped doing it long after my sister stopped accompanying us on vacation.

I was thinking about this habit as I was unpacking the medication suitcase the other day. Yes I know I've been home from vacation for almost a month. I've got a blog to keep up and three kids to raise, and I obviously suck at one, so I've got to keep busy with the other.

Anyway, as I saying.

I was unpacking this suitcase (the very same one, I borrowed it specifically for our vacation) and wondering what compels this behavior.

I packed infant Tylenol, infant Ibuprofen, children's Tylenol, children's Ibuprofen, ADULT Tylenol..........you get the picture. In addition I had Benadryl, 6 different types of sunscreen, Solarcaine sunburn spray, heartburn medication, Tums, the list goes on

Because you know, you just can't find all that stuff in the wilds of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. We're talking about the part of the country that gave BIRTH to Wal-Mart.

But as it turns out, I left out the one critical item that I actually needed. The day before we were ready to leave for home I found myself in dire need of a tampon. A major tragedy was averted by getting in my van and driving to the nearest Wal-Mart which happened to be only 10 minutes from the beachfront condo we stayed in. And I only had to battle one vicious lion and struggle through a small jungle to get there.

However the next day when we left for Pennsylvania I discovered all the joys of changing tampons in gas station and truck stop rest rooms along the highway. And as if that wasn't enjoyable enough, I also found Jamie had generously shared his case of diarrhea with me.

Turns out there wasn't any Immodium in that suitcase either.

Did you know highway gas station rest rooms can provide you with condoms in red, blue, green, or even glow in the dark (colors dispensed randomly), but they are woefully short on tampons or Immodium?

Maybe I'll take a bigger suitcase next year.

It's Just Possible She Might Be Watching Too Much Television

"Mama, can I stay up until 8/7 Central on Friday?"

A Little Extra Protein

I made myself a Peanut Butter & Strawberry Jelly sandwich today.

I spread the jelly on the bread and found something that looked suspiciously like a wing.

Could have been a piece of a strawberry leaf, but it looked a lot more like a wing.

Leaf. I keep telling myself it was a leaf.

Especially since that jar of jelly is already half empty.

Complete With Lights And Sirens

Jamie is OK. But yesterday he wasn't.

While at my Mom's he experienced his first real full-blown asthma attack. As in, couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, and wanted, desperately needed, ANYONE to help him breathe.

And I wasn't there.

I was at home switching between phoning my Mom monitoring his symptoms, calling the pediatrician's office to determine what course of action to follow, and trying to reach Dave on the phone to get there ASAP since he was already out with the van. This is pretty much Mom Hell. My baby was suffering, not breathing, possibly getting worse and not only was I not with him, I had no way to get to him.

We were directed to call an ambulance and take him straight to the hospital. At which point, if I didn't already have enough adrenaline coursing through my system, I got a shot of it powerful enough that I could have simply flapped my arms and flown there and gotten him to the hospital much quicker than an ambulance.

As I waited for my Mom to drive to my house so I could go to the hospital I suspect I looked like one of those cartoon characters that move so quickly they leave a blurry line in their wake. That hole in the carpet? That was where I paced at approximately 65 mph.

I finally reached the Emergency Room of Children's Hospital and explained to the receptionist who I was and who I was looking for.

Apparently my little Casanova had been busy ahead of me. Instead of directing me immediately to his room, the receptionist proceeded to gush about how adorable he was. How charming. How sweet he looks in those little glasses. And such a chatterbox.

Yes woman. I KNOW he's cute. NOW TELL ME WHERE HE IS DAMMIT!

I found him bouncing around on an examining bed, hopped up to the gills on Albuterol, telling everyone all about his ambulance ride and wrapping all of the nurses around his finger. "You know Mama I thought this ambulance ride was better because they didn't give me a shot this time!"

Anyone have any Clairol?

Because I just sprouted about 10,000 new gray hairs.