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Rally ’round your family,
With a pocket fulla shells.
And something about a FIST FULLA STEEL!

Not Rage fans? Okay. Never mind. Me neither. We’re more into Raffi now. Rally round your family with a Robin in the Rain. But Robin in the Rain and Baby Beluga won’t make very good background music for my next project.

I’ve decided to smash my sewing machine and serger with a large rusty mallet, cremate their remains and sprinkle the ashes all over the desks of the good people at Butterick!

Who makes a pattern that doesn’t give measurements for sizing?
Who makes a pattern with pleats, a full lining, and an invisible zipper that suggests using sheer fabric?
Who makes a pattern for a butt-ugly sausage wrapper and markets it as instructions for a beautiful dress?
Who thinks that the average woman has breasts that sit above her armpits?

I have never claimed to have a perfect body but I am not:
A) Morbidly obese…yet. (I am currently self-medicating with the Cadbury Mini-Eggs Dan brought home to me along with beautiful I’m-sorry-you-are-a-sewing-failure potted Gerber Daisies.)
B) Freakishly tall (5’6” doesn’t count, does it?).
C) Sagging to the point of needing reality-TV-worthy plastic surgery.
D)10 sizes larger in dresses than I am in pants and shirts.
E)Ever sewing for myself again.

Today has been my sewing nightmare, the likes of which I have not seen since I started sewing 20 years ago. Today is a day that would have junior high HomeEc teachers running for their lives. I swear I ripped out more seams than I sewed. I’m not sure how that’s possible but I’d advise you not to question my logic at this moment. I am currently holding a large rusty mallet, okay?

Today is a day in which I pulled a major pectoral muscle just trying to get out of the straight-jacket I like to call “my Easter dress.” Karli advised me to try icing it before I go into the ER again.

All of its lovely pieces are going into a baggie in the garage where they will await the day that I lose half my body weight , chop several inches off my staggering circus-freak height and get one of those crazy bras that bring my cleavage up to chin-level.

Now I have some demolition* to take care of. Peace out.

*Disclaimer — No equipment will actually be harmed in the process of rage and destruction I am about to embark upon. I love my Babylock and old-school sewing machine with a great love.

…They don’t want us to go naked on Easter Sunday and our dresses currently look like this:

I may not be blogging for a couple of days.

Have a great Good Friday!

Unless you are a car or an imaginary sister friend named “The Other Snow White.” If you are a car, you can eat gas for energy but you will never grow any bigger. If you are an imaginary sister friend named “The Other Snow White” you will always stay too small to go on play dates and your job will be to stay home and keep the house safe from Monsters, except the nice monsters because they’re allowed to come in the house and stay in it if they WANT!

I just thought you’d like to know a little bit about how food works.

Food goes down and down and down your throat and then says “AAAHHHHH! I’m going down!” and then it turns into pee and comes out your BUM.

If I eat my food all gone, I will grow up into a Grammy.

If Laylee eats her food all gone, she will grow up into a Mom and a Kathryn.

If Magoo eats all his food all gone, he will grow up into a Laylee.

What will Daddy grow into? Apparently like the car and “The Other Snow White, and the Beast if he lets the last petal fall, he will be doomed to remain a Daddy for all time.

When I become a Grammy and Laylee becomes a Kathryn, she would like a new Mommy because she wants to always always have a Mommy. She is accepting applications. Only apply if you’re willing to stop eating so you will NEVER grow big like a Grammy.

I have explained that I will always always be her mom, even when I become a Grammy, but she wants a backup plan.

Side-note: If your Magoo bobs around like a human bobble-head while you’re trying to feed him this morning and you accidentally jam a spoonful of YoBaby organic banana flavored whole milk yogurt into his right eye, it will not give him energy or increased growth potential. It will just make him turn red, smear the yogurt deeper into his eye socket and cry, hypothetically speaking.

Yesterday Karen was asking for suggestions of how to teach your kids the real meaning of Easter.

When we were little, my mom taught us the Easter story using scriptures from the New Testament, along with visual aids inside plastic Easter eggs. Gabriela details it on her blog.

I always make “hot cross buns” on Good Friday. They are actually two Rhodes Rolls, dipped in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar, baked and then painted with a cross of cream cheese frosting. True hot cross buns don’t seem remotely appealing to me and the ones I make give us the chance to eat something yummy, while teaching the kids about the crucifixion and atonement.

Nettie from Singing a Verse of My Song has some cute suggestions too.

What have you got for us?

No, this is not about getting your post-pregnancy body back in shape. Today we’re talking about a little training for the kidlets.

I’m pretty excited that I shan’t be needing this advice again for another year and a half or so. In fact, I may decide not to potty train Magoo at all. When he turns 6 or 7, I’m sure his friends will make fun of him until he figures out what’s up.

For me, potty training Laylee has been a wild ride. It’s taken us over a year and she is finally about 90% trained during the day. Pull-ups are worn at night, except when they’re not.

Our main problem was that we tried to force it before she was ready. We got the book, courtesy of Grammy. We did all the steps but she just couldn’t make it happen. She really had no idea when the pee was coming.

Me: So, where do we do our pee pee?
Laylee: IN THE POTTY!
Me: That’s right. Are you dry?
Laylee: YES!
Me: Great.
Laylee: Oh NO! WAHHHHH!

Big puddle.

So my main advice is – don’t attempt it before they’re ready and don’t turn it into a battle. Go at their pace and have patience that they’ll figure it out sometime before Junior High.

One of my favorite young mom friends told me that she just made it a game. Let’s see how long we can keep a pull-up dry today. When it got wet, oh well, the diaper came back out. Eventually when they could keep it dry for a good chunk of the day, they got to try it with real underwear. She said this worked great and they had very few accidents by the time they transitioned to the real deal.

My main regrets come from the times I made Laylee feel guilt or shame for her accidents. She was little and she was learning how her body worked. Once I stopped chastising and started commiserating with her and cheering her on to do better next time, we started to see real progress.

I’d love to hear any fabulous suggestions you have.

Thank you for your great suggestions and encouragement over the last couple of days.

My main concern right now is not that Magoo stay hydrated, although that would be nice. I’m just really worried about him getting all the right baby nutrients found in breast milk and formula. I know breast is supposed to be best, but even formula cans claim to contain all sorts of lipids, proteins, and prilohuktazines to promote brain, eye and armpit development and who knows what else.

DHA, ARA and NRA — I’m pretty sure those are not contained in the watered down cranberry juice we’ve managed to get him to drink. Dan says, “Who needs special brain-developing formula? I’m playing BEETHOVEN for him whilst feeding him goldfish crackers. What more could his brain need?”

I do see his point, especially since “fish” are so high in those Omega-3s, right?

Anywho… Magoo has started licking and even drinking occasionally from a valveless sippy cup (a suggestion from momof3busyboys and Maine Mom), although all he’ll take is juice. His neck, chest and stomach are VERY hydrated and his body seems moderately so. I consulted with our pediatric nurse about how much “special milk” he still needs and we are getting the pumped breast milk in him by liquiding down all of his baby food.

I even created a breast milk fruit smoothie yesterday that he drank with much glee. Tomorrow, Karli has offered to have him over to her house for a change of scenery and something she calls “Operation: Drink Something Please.”

We’re hoping that he’ll discover that drinking is cool at a friend’s house…now…not so much when he gets to high school…

Alternate title, courtesy of Magoo: WAAAHHH!!!!!! (English translation: It’s Hard out Here for a Starving Melon-Head)

Dude, my appendages cannot take it anymore. If breasts were bike tires, these puppies would already be in a landfill somewhere or hanging up in some hippy commune as an art project, they’re so full of puncture wounds.

At least if a rubber tire is punctured repeatedly, the worst that can happen is a spectacular bike wreck. The tires won’t become diseased and spread up through the spokes, killing the entire BMX.

Well, enough about me. How’s your anatomy doing today? Good? Okay great. Back to me.

This is the second round of major damage the sweet little piranha has caused to my person and I’m in moderate to serious pain. This pain turns to annoyance. This annoyance makes everything seem more annoying and that makes me a very lame mama to two small people who deserve better.

Magoo will be one in just over a month and this morning when I woke up hurting again, Dan and I decided it was time to wean — today.

There are a couple of problems with this scenario. First, Magoo fell down and blammed his eye about 10 minutes after we made the decision to wean him. He now has a growing black eye which makes his crying and reaching for me all the more pathetic. Laylee took this picture of him, her first photographic effort. Quite impressive, no?

Secondly, the little muffin-head does not drink any liquid, including breast milk, if he’s not drinking it directly from my body. He’s sort of like an albino vampire in that respect. We’re worried he’ll shrivel up like a little black-eyed-peasin (like a Craisin – what Ocean Spray would market him as, if he dried up completely and were packaged and sold on grocery store shelves).

Thirdly, I love nursing. With Laylee, weaning was a very gradual process until at 14 months she just didn’t wake up in the night for her one remaining feeding and we were done. I cried. I think if I didn’t know we would have more children, I would have cried for weeks.

Breastfeeding is not always easy. I had to pump and bottle feed for the first 4 months of Laylee’s life because nursing hurt so bad. After I saw a good lactation consultant and was able to heal, it was smooth sailing for the next 10 months. With Magoo, it started easy as pie (with the help of a good lactation consultant) but has become increasingly difficult with each little spike that sprouts from his gums.

So now I cry when I do nurse him and I cry when I think about stopping. I’m just a big boob. (no pun intended)

Thanks for all your great parenting advice and encouragement on my “Bumps” post.

Since typing that, we’ve made a few changes, including adding small morning chores, keeping our parental cools a bit cooler and letting her make “becisions” more frequently when the outcome doesn’t really matter in the long run.

Example: Yesterday she started to throw a complete cow when she noticed I had put a “princess panty” (pull-up) in her “underwear door.”

Laylee: Ahh. PRINCESS PANTIES DO NOT GO IN THE PANTY UNDERWEAR DOOR!
Me (feeling defensive, like I needed to show her who was boss): That’s where they go because I put them there.
Laylee: AHHHH!!! WAHHH!!! (real tears emerge) BUT PRINCESS PANTIES CAN’T TOUCH REAL PANTIES!!
Me (realizing that this is a stupid argument, it appears to be a core value issue to my child, and there is no need to get all all “Brown vs. the Board of Education” about segregation in the “panty door”): Okay. Let’s talk about this. What things do you think should go in the panty drawer?
Laylee (sniffing): Only REAL panties can go in the panty door. They can’t touch the princess panties!
Me: Okay, let’s find a place for the princess panties.
Laylee (smiling): O-KAY!

We are continuing to make it clear that it’s not okay to be disrespectful to your parents, including but not limited to dancing around naked with the lights on at 11:00pm and then making a big mess on the floor when you’ve removed your own pull-ups.

Example: The new rule is that if she removes her pull-ups in the night, she has to wear them all day the next day, even (gasp!) if she’s going over to a friend’s house. Pull-ups at a play date?! The horror! We’ve gone two nights accident-free.

We’re also “encouraging” her to take a more active role in things like getting herself dressed and using the potty so she can feel a sense of accomplishment. At this point she seems to feel more angry than accomplished some of the time but she’s totally capable of doing these things.

Example: I told Laylee to find some real panties when she woke up.
Laylee: No. I can’t FIND them!
Me: I think you can. They’re in your drawer.
Laylee (in a super-whiney voice): But I want the ones with the pointy pointy things on the top (This means lace. This is where the post title comes from. When I told Dan this story, he said, “There is nothing cuter than a three-year-old circumlocuting,” which I know is a lie. Me in giant fleece footy pajamas is at least that cute.)
Me: You can do it. I’m sure you can.
Laylee: No, I CAN’T!
Me: Try.
After much whining and slamming of drawers, she emerged with the coveted underclothes. She was grinning from ear to ear.
Me: You found them yourself?! How does that make you feel?
Laylee: PROUD!

As far as the food battles go, we did stop fighting them, according to Dr. Nelsen’s suggestions. For breakfast and lunch I give Laylee two choices and she picks once but if she “becides” she doesn’t like it half-way through, then she’s done.

For dinner, I decide what we’re having and then let her choose which food items she’ll eat. The first night she ate only bread and got hungry later. We said, “You should have eaten more dinner.” The second night, she ate TWO HELPINGS of the green (spinach) mashed potatoes on her own, and then she ate some chicken when I explained how cool it was to stick it on the end of your fork like a popsicle and bite chunks out of it.

Things like “advanced” table manners and forced vegetables (of the non-concealed variety) will come after she’s turned 5, I think…

Two things:

1. My special powers are still strong and vital. I had a bit of a lapse there for a while but recently pulled off THIS:

and THIS:

The second one may not look that great, but at the historic first Costco ever built in the world, during rush hour, this is an AMAZING spot. Cower before my staggering awesome-nossity.

2. If you have recently misplaced a pair of black leather boots, please contact the Daring Young Family Search and Rescue Team at 1-800-SORRY-ABOUT-YOUR-TOES.

(Please do not call that number. I just tried it and it’s a real phone number of some company. That’s what I get for trying to be hilarious! :))

Okay, Dawg. I’m watching American Idol as I type this. I think this is the 7th episode I’ve watched this season. I’m sort of an “idle” Idol fan. If I happen to be avoiding certain growing mounds of festering house chores on any given Tuesday night or I’ve spent so much time “parenting” my 3-year-old that my brain is rattling around loose in my head, I turn on the tube.

Maybe it’s just cathartic to watch someone else get ripped on. I don’t know. We’ve been having a few parenting “issues” lately. Every time we think we’ve got things pretty much figured out, Laylee throws us another curve ball. If nothing else, parenting is making us humble.

Okay. American Idol is over and there’s nothing not-icky on TV so I can continue to type this. First, I must say that Katharine McPhee was hands down the best performer tonight. I don’t know what type of crazy corned-beef hash-pipe they’re passing around at that judges table.

So, the parenting. Laylee’s been getting more confident in her ability to exert her own authority and only do something if SHE “becides” it’s a good idea. Our instincts are to get all authoritarian-I’m-the-boss-of-you on her and verbalize her into submission.

However, our advanced verbal skills are no match for her lungs, stubbornness and flailing appendages. How do you “make” someone go to sleep (in a “they”-won’t-take-your-kids-away-from-you sort of way)?

I spoke with a family therapist who is a follower of Adlerian parenting philosophies and he suggests not fighting back unless what they’re doing is a real hazard, thus taking the “sails out of their wind” when they have nothing to push against.

So two nights ago when she was dancing naked in the hall with the light on and a washcloth on her head at 11:00pm, we ignored her. At 5:00am, Dan found her out of her pull-ups with a big mess on the floor. I consider that a hazard. She had also stacked up several containers, forming a precarious tower with which to scale her tall dresser. Also a hazard.

Yesterday I started madly reading the first of four books our therapist friend had suggested, Positive Discipline by Jane Nelsen. I was seriously nervous that it would be one of those hippy-dippy, positive-at-all-costs, feel-the-love method books. “You just kicked Mommy in the head, darling. What did I do to make you feel that way? Please stop causing Mommy blunt head trauma, sweet little muffin-bum, child of the earth.” I really annoy myself when I speak in third person.

We’re not major authoritarians but we definitely believe that children need limits and we serve them better acting as parents than pretending we’re all just buddies, hanging out in this little frat-condo we’re so lucky to cohabitate.

So far I really like the book, shockingly so. Dr Nelsen talks a lot about showing respect for your children and expecting it in return. She also talks about natural and logical consequences, kindness and firmness at the same time, mutual respect, encouragement, and the role of chores and responsibility from an early age.

One good point she brings up is that traditional “punishment” just makes a child feel resentment, desire for revenge, rebelliousness or retreating with a possible reduction in self-esteem. How do you feel when someone corrects or berates you, showing no kindness or respect? Children feel the same way. They’re human too…well, most of them. SURPRISE!

I also like her because she says that if any of her suggestions go against your parental instincts, don’t do them. I love a parenting book that takes into account that I am a fully developed adult-type person with a brain who has actually met my children and might know what they need. I will keep reading and let you know what I make of it all.

As for this moment, I should probably attempt to clean up some of the dresser drawers and their contents that are currently strewn about my home. I removed the hazardous dresser and tall bookshelf from Laylee’s room and have been shuffling furniture around for the safety of all concerned.

Every surface in my house is covered in books, clothing, the personal effects of several Disney princesses and Desitin…which brings me to a point — American Idol. Isn’t there ANYTHING else on TV right now?

(For a little fun, I’ve included a picture of the outfit she “becided” to wear to her playdate today. It’s a little too WWF for my personal taste but it did look fairly smashing when she added her bouncy pink Airwalks.)