Letter to Herr's Former Employer

Dear Procter & Gamble:

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

Fuck you for lying to my husband to move us out here. Fuck you for promising my husband the moon and the stars (ahem--so was NOT thinking about their old logo--hehe.)Fuck you for announcing a restructuring TWO WEEKS before we got here but not picking up the phone to tell him. Fuck you for then dragging your ass for 10 months to decide that you really weren't serious about R&D for the pharmaceutical side of your business. Fuck you for being the cause of our second move in one year. But most of all, FUCK YOU for not planning on paying out severance packages until 6-8 weeks AFTER the employees are severed. That means 6-8 weeks from today. Fuckers.

But thanks so much for renting out an Irish Pub a couple of Fridays ago so that all of the employees who have lost their jobs could drink the afternoon away. I am sure they all pulled out of the parking lot that evening, flush with the happiness that good old P&G cared enough to give them a proper Irish send off. Or wake, depending on how you look at it. Oh, lest I forget my manners, thank you so much for the paperweight with the cool double helix inside that everyone got as a parting gift. I am sure it will be the gift that keeps on giving.

Sincerely,


Dr. Herr Hausfrau's Pissed Off Wife

P.S. Oh yeah, fuck you for now forcing me to prolong my shopping trips to avoid your products. I really liked my Swiffer. And My Crest Whitestrips.

How Small Do They Make Helmets, Anyway?

So, I'm thinking that Peaches needs a helmet. And perhaps a harness. In the time it took me to run to the bathroom, pull my pants down, pee, wipe, pull my pants up and run back to the living room where I left Peaches--not sure if I flushed--she ran into the kitchen, climbed up on a chair, climbed up on the kitchen table and was STANDING on the table with a shit-eating grin on her face. Did I mention that she was clapping? And shaking her behind like the dancers in a Beyonce' video? Her second favorite place to climb is the living room rocking chair. Once she is standing on that, she puts her arms out like she is surfing and rocks back and forth. And again with the shit-eating grin.

While I would love for my daughter to be added to the list of world famous female climbers, I would prefer that it not be NOW. I have avoided going out with her in public the past couple of days because she is looking pretty rough. As of 8:30 EST this morning, she has 5 bruises and 4 scratches. Just on her face. The rest of her is covered with a virtual kaliedescope of yellows and greens and browns and pinkish reds (from scratches.) To be fair, these injuries are not all from climbing. Most of them are from bumping into furniture BEFORE she tries to climb it.

We have moved chairs so that they aren't in front of tables, we turned the rocking chair around so that it faces the corner. It doesn't matter. She finds new things to climb. Or new ways to climb the things I am trying to hide. Our biggest challenge right now is that we can't just remove the offending pieces of furniture because we are showing our house to sell.

I haven't even told Herr where I found her yesterday. I had run to the kitchen to answer the phone. When I came back in the study, she was standing on my desk reaching for the shelves that hang above it. It is a VERY narrow desk and she started to lose her balance. Thank God I was there to catch her. I probably would have been fired. Or reported to Child Protective Services.

These pictures are actually quite tame in comparison to what I am describing. You know, more mothering, less picture taking, blah blah blah. What makes this current phase so difficult is that she is so damn pleased with herself.

Hausfrau's Year in Review

About a year ago, I couldn't sleep during my daughters' nap time. I was tired of watching the Food Network and I had no friends to call and invite over as we had only lived in Ohio for a little over a month. I was so bored that I actually opened up the latest Parenting Magazine. I had been getting that magazine monthly since Baby Girl's birth, but I had never actually read one. And while I was getting pissed off that my Vanity Fair hadn't shown up in my mailbox yet, Parenting had found me right away.

I came upon an article about blogs. One that was mentioned was Corporate Mommy. In reading the article, I felt an instant connection with this stranger. She was a woman who was struggling with her work, raising a family, and trying to live a happy life. Sounded a lot like me, minus the working part. I closed the magazine and went to her site.

I read her site voraciously that night. And I read some comments. And I clicked on the commenter's sites and read their innermost thoughts. I was pretty hooked. I then clicked on a friend's website to see what performances she was working on in Pittsburgh. Erin had just lost her mom and I would click on her site, to sort of check up on her. It was there that I noticed that she also had a blog. After reading this particular post of Erin's, I thought I could perhaps start writing again. I always wanted to be a writer, but over the past few years I had gotten too involved in trying to be a career woman in a frustrating vocation. I guess I thought I had nothing worthwhile to say. The birth of my second daughter in February, our move to Cincinnati in April, and my new role as a SAHM (shudder) had really changed me. And so, I got a Blogger Account and started to write.

This blog has allowed me to do a couple of things. First off, it has been very therapeutic for me to be able to sort things out in my head through this site. There are many days where I feel that I am the absolute worst mother/wife/person/friend in the world. The writing really helps to temper those feelings. The comments from others (mostly strangers) have really helped me to see that I am not so different from anyone else. Secondly, I have been able to capture some of the funnier/not so funny moments of raising my girls. This is the closest thing to a scrapbook that my girls have right now, despite the fact that I spent $100 on scrapbook supplies at a Creative Memories party before I left New Jersey. At some point, I will print off the posts that pertain to them and put them in a book for them to read later.

While the writing has been great for me, I have really enjoyed reading about the daily lives of others. Again, it has been so reassuring to know that I am not the only person in the world who worries about parenting or losing my identity by not working outside of the home. I look forward to naptime everyday so that I can read some of my favorite sites. I have been made to feel better time and time again by Mary concerning all things parenting--she's a professional, so she should know! A few writers have really made me think long after I have read their posts, MIM, in particular. Some of the bloggers decide to take breaks for awhile. I still check up on them, in hopes that they will pick it up again--but I would understand if they didn't. I have come to really look forward to reading the latest escapades of some fantastic Daddy Bloggers. I appreciate reading about parenting from a male perspective, especially since Herr keeps his cards close to his chest. Cheeky's Hideway alone makes me almost makes me pee my pants because of his text links. You never know what you'll see, but they are always funny.

One of the toughest things about reading one's favorite blogs is that sometimes, really bad things happen to the people who write them. Some get a chance to start over after dealing with their personal tragedy. Others don't. And there's not a damn thing you can do about. Because you don't actually know them. Even though you sort of do. So you sit at your computer and cry. And pray that your spouse doesn't come in and think you need to be committed because you are crying over the life or death of a complete stranger.

In looking at some of my posts from the past twelve months, I've realized a few things. Number one, I really need to work on my writing skills. I expected that my skills would improve simply by blogging. Not so much. Also, I will probably no longer write under my pseudonym in the near future. I'm not sure why I bother since nine out of the ten readers I get on a daily basis already know who I am. The next year will most assuredly be full of changes, what with our impending move, my best friend moving to a foreign land, our new "fixer-upper" in Bethlehem, PA, and the probability of my returning to work outside of the home. Oh yeah, my 20 year high school reunion will be coming up next year. I am sure I will write about my race to get my ass into a size 4 again. Terrific.

Oh Me of Little Faith

"Hey Hausfrau," said my friend Leeann, "let's meet up at the zoo on Thursday morning. It's supposed to be gorgeous."
"Umm, yeah...lemme see. Um, I think I have something going on that-"
"OK Hausfrau, you SUCK, d'you know that? I have asked you three times to come to the zoo with me and you always say you can't go. What's your deal?!"
"Deal?" I said, "I don't have any deal--it's just that I have to make sure that we don't have something going on that day. Let me call you right back."

I hung up the phone and groaned. Leeann is a new friend and I don't want to offend her. But how Un-American would it sound if I told her I don't like zoos? Actually, I would be quite dishonest if I told her that. The truth is, I love zoos. This one and this one are my favorites. It's just that, well, I like to go to zoos without my girls. That's even worse!

I think I have previously written that I am not a huge fan of summer, specifically heat and humidity. I like indoor activities in the summer. Now, the Aquarium? It freaking ROCKS! It is the best one I have ever attended. I would go there weekly had I purchased a family pass. But we're not talking about the aquarium, we're talking about the zoo. I never have that healthy glow when I am outside. Rather, I always look like I am having a heart attack because my face gets quite flushed if I even THINK about going outside. The thought of schlepping two children, a backpack full of crap, a stroller, and paying ungodly amounts of money to see smelly caged animals in the heat of the late morning is just not my idea of fun. Did I mention that Peaches HATES her stroller with an intense passion? Did I mention I have a 3 1/2 year old who waves and talks to any and all strangers? I just couldn't imagine anything less fun than going to the zoo. I also remembered our trip to the zoo last year the week we moved here. None of the animals we wanted to see showed up for work that day. The giraffes weren't there, the elephants were nowhere to be seen, in addition to several other animals. I was so pissed off I wanted to ask for a refund. I had no interest in going back.

After thinking about it, I felt REALLY bad. I felt that I was being really horrible to my kids by denying them the pleasure of going to the zoo. I was feeling like a miserable coward for not sucking it up and taking my kids there without Herr to monitor Baby Girl while I tend to the flailing and screaming Peaches in her stroller. I was also feeling bad for constantly turning Leeann down. So I called her up and told her that we would be there. I also told Baby Girl that we were going to the zoo so that I couldn't back out of it. Normally, I do not inform Baby Girl of our social calendar. If I do, she drives me apeshit with the constant questions.

You know what?


We had a blast!

Yes it was hot and humid. Yes I constantly slathered sunscreen on the three of us. I was a sweaty mess. But...

Peaches never once fussed in the stroller in the three hours we were there.
Baby Girl was wonderful and didn't run away from me.
The animals were cool--even though the giraffes yet again weren't there.
Baby Girl looks at the map of the zoo every single day and shows me the animals we saw.

My Babies' Daddy

"Hey Herr,"Jennifer the Nurse said, "it's time for you to come over here and grab one of Hausfrau's legs. It's time for her to start pushing."

Both Herr and I instantly went pale. This was NOT part of the plan. His only jobs while I was in labor were to stay at my shoulder and rub my hair--and order my epidural. At no point in our birthing classes at the hospital was "this" discussed. Sure, I fell asleep a couple of times in the class (it was from 7:00pm-9:15pm--I was freaking tired!) but I am sure Herr would have remembered the instructor mentioning that the husbands were actually expected to be a part of the process down there. I had commanded (and he agreed) that he had no reason to be going south of my belly for a look-see while I was in labor. He didn't even know my real weight. Why would I let him see my hoo-haa whilst pushing out a baby?!

In my head, I was thinking, "Shitshitshitshit. We're having a baby. It's all we ever wanted. My pregnancy was great, but now the baby is actually coming OUT. Of my hoo-haa. And Herr is going to see it. And then he will pass out. And then he will never want to have sex with me again."

I can't speak for Herr, but I am imagining he was thinking, "Shitshitshitshit, I don't wanna look, I don't wanna look, I don't WANNA LOOK! Hmm. I guess it's a good thing I decided not to eat the pizza in the cafeteria. SHIT! I don't want to be HERE!!!!! I may never have sex again!!!"

About 15 minutes into the process, Herr asked Jennifer the Nurse when the doctor would be coming in to take over for him. She hauled off and slugged him (I shit you not) and said, "What do you think this is, the Beverly Hills Hospital? You are staying there until I tell you otherwise."

The pushing went on for nearly two hours. The first hour I was just so terrified. I couldn't get a good breath even though I was on oxygen. I couldn't get the hang of the pushing. I would look at Herr and he looked more scared than I felt. Finally, I must have made a good push because Herr said, "OH MY GOD, the baby's head is coming out--it's almost OUT!"

Again, Jennifer the Nurse hauled off and slugged him and said, "No it's NOT! What's WRONG with you?! We can see the crown--that's all. She's got a ways to go!"

Almost another hour went by. Finally, Jennifer came over to me and whispered, "You really need to get this baby out. The baby's heartrate is too high. And I'd really like to eat my lunch. If you don't push this baby out in the next 10 minutes, you're going to have to have a c-section."

A few pushes later, Baby Girl was born. I didn't look at her right away though. I was busy looking at Herr. He was sobbing and saying, "Oh my God, look at our little girl. She's perfect. You did it. I'm so proud of you."

In an instant, Herr became a father.

Fast forward 3 1/2 years and I can now hardly remember a time when we didn't have children, despite the fact that we were together for 10 years before we had them. I have to admit, I was worried initially. Herr had never changed a diaper and had barely held his nephews when they were babies. How could he possibly be a Dad? He has really surprised me over these past 3 1/2 years. We have muddled our way through caring for two babies and we are still married. My admiration for him grows daily. Every morning he wakes up, gets Baby Girl a sippy cup of milk, Peaches a sippy cup of soy milk and me a cup of coffee (with cream and sugar) and brings it upstairs. He is the first person Peaches sees every morning. He sits through hours of Laurie Berkner and Dora DVDs. He pushes Baby Girl on the swing for what seems like hours at a clip. He always does special "Daddy-Baby Girl Time," be it tumbling classes or swimming lessons. He will do the same for Peaches when she is old enough. He doesn't push the disciplining on to me. He doesn't wait to be asked to "parent." He just does it. And I love him for it.

Hausfrau's Week in Review

Hausfrau Haus has experienced a flurry of activity of late. Much of my week was spent keeping the house clean and participating in playdates with the girls. Another huge block of time was spent occupying Peaches. The girl LOVES to climb. She is using every possible piece of furniture or large toy as a climbing device. Where does she think she's going? She climbs the book shelf in the kitchen.
She climbs up the entertainment armoire. She climbs on the ottoman and onto the window sills in the living room. She climbed onto the toilet and ALMOST made it into the sink. The worst was when she climbed on the handle of the warming drawer on the oven and started running her hands all over the glass top of our stove WHILE I WAS COOKING. For some reason, I had done my cooking that night on the back burners, which I never do. Thank God I did. We have since removed the handle. We are so out of our league with her, it isn't even funny. We never had to watch Baby Girl like we do Peaches. All of the other moms I know keep telling me that she is really our little boy. Maybe I'll change her name to Vinnie.

On Friday, my best friend, June came to visit with her 3 1/2 year old son. This is probably the last time we will get to see each other before our respective moves, so we took full advantage of the visit by eating, drinking, playing with the kids, laying on the couch and watching television. That's what we do. And we like it.

We did take the kids to see this castle. While it was certainly, um, interesting, it would have been better had it not been raining. The grounds were neat and we were hoping the kids could run around them. Instead, we walked into the castle and was greeted with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke, courtesy of the money taker. The castle was quite impressive in that it had been hand built by a man over the span of 52 years. But I wouldn't live there. Nor would I have a medieval wedding there.

We didn't do as much girl-talk as we usually do, but we did discuss our worst dates ever. I am confident that I was victorious. June merely had a date in which she had a pimple on her neck and she hid it with a flesh colored Band-aid and a mock turtleneck. Pah! Mine was worse--much worse. I was a sophomore in college and got asked out by one of THE most popular guys from my high school during summer break. I guess after a year away at college, dork girls from high school change from being dorks to being mysterious, or perhaps just interesting. At any rate, I was quite excited about my date. We went to the restaurant where all teenagers went in 1988 for a fun night out, "The Hacienda." We both remembered seeing a guy peering into the large front window of the restaurant, but thought nothing of it. We also thought nothing of it when we were seated in front of said window. But then out of nowhere, we looked over to see him staring at us. And he was doing something that should only be done in the private of one's bedroom And then someone called the cops and they hauled him away. With his pants around his ankles. After that, the date just died. I mean, really. What can someone do or say to improve a date after that?! It's pretty much impossible to recover from something as traumatic as that and expect to actually form a relationship. That is why I did not marry this now-successful doctor and have beautiful Irish-Korean babies. The End.

Other than that, we have spent the past 18 hours "negotiating" an offer we received on our house. Neither Herr nor I get a thrill from negotiating. We are very much "give us your best price" kind of people. We go directly to a business manager when we buy a car because we want no part of the "dance" that car sales people do to nickel and dime someone. We are the same way when we buy a house. We don't believe in giving multiple counter offers. One is enough for us. The people presently considering buying our house keep making stupid offers that are more offensive by the minute AND they keep throwing things in like they want our refrigerator (but don't want to pay for it) when it was clear that we were taking it with us. We gave our bottom line, but our Realtor keeps coming back with little stuff. We told him 30 minutes ago that we are done. They can shit or get off the pot. We are perfectly willing to walk away. We have the luxury of having a buyout clause if it doesn't sell by the end of August. While the buyout clause is pretty low, we're glad to have it. And we'll take our refrigerator with us.
So there.

When Does The "Stay at Home" Part of Being a Stay at Home Mom Happen?

SAHM
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
SAHM is an acronym for "Stay at Home Mom." A stay at home mother is a woman who stays at home during the day with her children while her husband or domestic partner earns a regular income. Generally the one adult earns enough money to support the entire family allowing the mother to care for her children personally instead of using childcare.

When Herr and I decided that it would be best if I stayed home full-time after we had Peaches and moved to Cincinnati, I was torn. I liked the idea of "being there" for my girls and being a part of all of their important milestones. But I had been working part-time doing recruiting for a publishing company and felt that it was important to continue making a financial contribution to the family. I had been working since I was 12, so it was impossible for me to fathom not having a place to go most days a week and perform tasks for which I was paid.

Initially, I disliked staying home. I felt that my limited financial contribution (small recruiting projects done at home) wasn't meaningful--I felt a loss of identity. I also disliked it because we had just moved to Ohio, and I knew no one. Some of the neighbors I had met were exactly what I didn't want to be as a SAHM--running around doing dozens of acitvites every week and seeming to live and do for the children, but not themselves. I also hated it because I never had a break from my then-baby who was quite unhappy most days, hours and minutes. Going for walks pissed her off because she didn't like the sun in her eyes. Trips to the store pissed her off for reasons still unknown. Hiking in the woods pissed her off because she didn't like the backpack stroller I had. She HATED the mall. While I didn't want to be running around all day everyday with my kids, I didn't want to be trapped in my house every day either. Because it became harder to predict her irrational behavior, it became easier to stay home.

In the following months, I started to accept being at home more. Sure, I had joined a Mom's Club and became involved in playgroups, but I usually volunteered to host at least one playgroup a month. It was also the only one I would attend. I started this blog, which was greatly therapeutic and a good creative outlet. I started doing all of my mall shopping online. I started to REALLY like my house. It was so comfortable. I stayed on top of the cooking, cleaning and the laundry (except for folding the laundry--God I hate folding laundry!) Baby Girl was starting to really learn to enjoy playing on her own. Perhaps I indulged her with a little too much Noggin, but she seemed so happy. Peaches started crawling and was almost seeming to be happier. Baby Girl would play in the backyard a lot and went to a tumbling class on Saturdays with Herr, so she wasn't being completely sedentary.

Around Christmastime I had this vision that this summer was going to be perfect. By that time Peaches would be walking. NOTE: I wasn't counting on her running and climbing. As a result, Baby Girl and Peaches would happily be each other's constant companions and have lots of adventures in the backyard. In the heat of the summer, they would be just as happy playing inside as we are a pasty-skinned family that no sun screen can truly protect. It had taken awhile, but I was really enjoying the thought of being a SAHM. I was going to work on a book about my family's history. I was going to start reading again in earnest; you know, BOOKS instead of magazines and blogs. I was going to get through the entire Wall Street Journal every morning. I was going to have nicely pedicured feet all summer long as opposed to a couple of times between Memorial Day and Labor Day. I was going to teach my children to be empowered and become independent creatures while I watched Regis & Kelly.

Fast forward to June: I am officially changing my title to NSAHM, or NEVER Stay at Home Mom. It all starts at around 6:45. Peaches starts beating on the front or back doors, demanding to go outside like a puppy that needs to go out and poop. I tell her "No" because, well, I haven't brushed my teeth, showered, or even peed yet. Then Baby Girl chimes in:

"Mommy, where are we going today?"

"Um, I don't think we are going anywhere."

"But MOMMY, I REALLY want to go to [insert Target, the playground, Meijer, Maddie's house, Kroger, Miss Sue's class, Ella's house, KatieAmyJackandMichael's house] today. PUUUULLLLEEEEZE?"

"Well, maybe after Peaches' nap this morning, we'll go somewhere. Why don't you [insert color, play with Play-Do, play with your dolls, paint, go watch Dora. Isn't Dora on right now?]"

"But, but, but, I WANT TO GO SOMEPLACE NOOOOWWWWW! We need to go to Target for I can get some more sand for my sandbox."

"But Honey, you threw all the sand out of your sandbox."

"I knooooow."

And so we go. We drive around A LOT looking for parks with shade. The closest one I have found is 30 minutes away. We go to the grocery store, even if we don't need anything. We go to the bank drive-thru, even if it is to deposit $5 into my checking account because Baby Girl LOVES to watch the money get sucked up the tube and into the bank. I am going to WAAAAY more Mom's Club functions than I ever wanted to attend. I am constantly spraying or slathering the kids with 50 SPF suncreen to go for walks in our neighborhood. That's the curse of living in a newer neighborhood--no mature shade trees. Peaches is way too active and into everything. She'll run into the street faster than you can say, "Peaches." She is much too young to leave to her own devices in the backyard, as is evidenced by the mouthfuls of sand she is ingesting. At least they nap though, right? But then, during their naptime, I am cleaning our house and mopping the kitchen floor every single day because our house is for sale and we have to pretend that our home is a museum and that no one actually lives here. I am beat.

The problem with the tomorrows is that the expectation for non-stop fun is left over from the yesterdays. If there is a day that I attempt to put my foot down on my ottoman so that I can read the paper, the girls completely lose.their.shit. And since all of their inside toys have lost their cache', popping a Dora video into the dvd player is not the answer. It will only get worse after July 9 when Herr goes to New Jersey to start his job, leaving me here alone until mid to late August. And my toes look like shit already.

Hausfrau's Vacation Update

Team Hausfrau has just returned from a journey to the promised land vacation in New Jersey. I took the girls with me by myself on Tuesday and drove to Central New Jersey. (NOTE: To all of you who are well aware of my trip with the girls, you may skip down to the next paragraph. I can just hear the collective sighs and the, "Jesus H. CHRIST, will someone tell her ENOUGH already?! Thank you.) The trip took 12 hours. Four of those hours consisted of a solid performance of screaming by Peaches, coupled with crying from Baby Girl because of said screaming. I thought I would die.

Some of you may be asking why I did it. I did it because my friend Amy did it with her kids when she came to visit me a few months ago. She left at 4 in the morning and her children slept happily in her car. They were well-behaved, ate, watched movies and I think they sang, too. I, too left at 4 in the morning. Unfortunately, my little buttercups didn't sleep. We were doing well until I hit Columbus, Ohio (it's only 90 minutes from home!) and headed due east into the blinding sun that came streaming into all of the windows of my vehicle. It quickly went downhill from there. Ultimately, I made only two stops. I went into towns with a Walmart near the highways(St. Clairsville, OH and Carlisle, PA) and let the children run around like freaks up and down the aisles for 30 minutes and then would feed them at the McDonald's inside the stores. That seemed to work well. What DIDN'T work well was my attempt to emulate Amy's "peeing in a diaper so you don't have to go to a public restroom with two wild children who like to touch stuff" thing. See, Amy has this great way of being able to take care of business without having to leave her car by using one of her son's diapers and a plastic container for easy disposal. My attempt did not work so well. I think it helps if you are a size two. I also don't think my windows are tinted enough. I couldn't help but think someone was going to drive by, see me sitting at the wheel and say, "Yep, she's peeing into a diaper." I believe that on my next big trip I will slap on a Depends and call it a day.

New Jersey was an absolute blast. We spent the first 5 days with our friends Amy and Michael and their adorable children (who travel well!). The kids wore themselves out by playing hard each and every day. The weather was gorgeous so we went to several parks and lots of picnics:














By 7:15 every night the kids were all in bed and we would fall into chairs outside and relax. And then we would fall into our beds in exhausted heaps.

Herr flew in on Friday afternoon. He had spent the week keeping our house clean for NO ONE to come and look at our house (It's for sale. On Realtor.com. Virtual tour and everything! Email me if you want to buy it.) He also didn't want to take any vacation days since he wants to be paid for them when his employers kicks him to the curb on June 30. Don't feel too sorry for Herr. Technically every single day at work is now a vacation since he doesn't actually work. He rolls in around 9:00 ish and spends a couple of hours searching for the end of the internet (his latest report is that he is close.) Then he goes and works out at the company gym, eats lunch, goes back to his desk for an hour to look at houses on Realtor.com that we may or may not be able to afford in the Easton, PA/Western NJ area. Lately, he has been home by 2:30 pm. No lie. Who WOULDN'T want to stay home and do that?! At any rate, we spent one more night with our friends eating, drinking, and pondering our childrens' futures. It was great.

On Saturday we said our goodbyes and headed to Merchantville, NJ, which is right next to Cherry Hill, which is just outside of Philadelphia. The entire reason we came out to New Jersey was for our friends who host an annual Horse Track party at Monmouth Race Track. Our friends Lisa and Albert rent a grove and have boatloads of family, friends, food and drink. Four families stay at Lisa and Albert's house that weekend. With kids, it totalled 17 people in their house. You have to realize that Lisa and Albert live a very quiet and unassuming life in a quiet and unassuming neighborhood. Then there is that one weekend a year when the neighbors look out their windows and see all of these people streaming out of their house around 10:30 Sunday morning to head to the track. I am sure it probably looks not unlike a clown car.

The event, as always, was a blast. The food was great. I distinctly remember some brownie cookies and bacon wrapped pretzel rods that were then dipped into something sweet. I don't believe there were any huge winners at the party this year. Last year, our friend Jenny won $1100 and one of Lisa's friends won $8K on the last race. While Herr and I are never huge winners, I was CLEARLY not playing my A-Game. We won nothing. We spent nearly the entire time chasing Peaches, who kept trying to sneak out of the grove with her stroller, no doubt to look for a newer, nicer family. As a result, I haphazardly placed my bets instead of studying the names of the horses and deciding which name I liked the most. The winner of the $8K was nice enough to host a little contest at the party. There was a jar of coins for all of us to guess the amount. The winner won an iPod Nano. I thought that was really nice, especially since Jenny took her winnings and went to Italy. She did call us from Florence while we were at the track, which was pretty cool.

The evenings were spent hanging out eating, drinking and playing poker. Baby Girl was old enough to really play with the big kids this year, which was so cool to watch. The kids had flashlights and went searching for bears they had seen in the yard. She just seemed so much older this weekend. Don't get me wrong--we still had temper tantrums over really stupid stuff, but she was in heaven.

I had been dreading the drive home, but it ended up being fine. All of the construction I had encountered on the PA Turnpike earlier in the week had been cleared away for holiday traffic which shaved an hour off of our trip.

Now, before you get all worked up about how I took this picture, relax. It was no different than someone driving and talking on a cell phone. Or driving and rooting around on the seat next to you to find the quarter you lost for the toll. Truth be told, I took a ton of photos and this was the best one.

So now we are back in Ohio, waiting around for someone to buy our house so that we can move back to NJ. I am also trying to plan my next trip taking place in a few weeks. I do believe I may fly.

And There Will be Dancing in the Streets

After 25 days, three trips to the doctor, one trip to the hospital, 225+ diapers with accompanying grocery bags, one tube of Butt Paste, four tubes of A&D Ointment, two bottles of Mylanta, three ruined outfits, one ruined pair of shoes, a gallon of bleach, and a case and a half of Costco baby wipes, Peaches no longer has diarrhea.

Our garbage man will be thrilled.

LaPorte, Indiana

My mother, who was the unofficial keeper of all family mementos, spent a couple of years sorting the vast amount of photos, letters, pieces of crystal, linens and knick-knacks after we convinced her to sell her house. My sister and I did what we could do to help her, by locating distant relatives and mailing things to them, hoping they would appreciate the gesture.

After we had exhausted all of our resources, there were still hundreds of photographs of my family. I happily took them, with grand plans to put them into some sort of order and perhaps self-publish a book for our family. I managed to frame a few, but reality quickly set in what with the birth of my second daughter and our knack of moving every damn year. The countless photos I have are boxed and in the basement, waiting for me to look at them. One picture is a HUGE framed portrait of my great-busia on her wedding day. I have never seen a woman look so pissed off on her wedding day. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that it was found about 65 years later in the attic of her house wedged in the eaves. Apparently she stuck it there after he left her. The intricately carved wood frame is disinegrating and I fear the photo has adhered to the glass. I think I will have to call the professionals in for that one. Another day, another project I have yet to start.

Herr showed me a review of the book, LaPorte, Indiana in the Wall Street Journal last week.
Jason Bitner, one of the co-founders of one of my favorite websites and magazines, Found stopped by a diner in LaPorte, Indiana a couple of years ago. He became interested in some old photographs that were in the back of the diner for sale. He found out that it had once been a photography studio and there were thousands of photos in the back. Apparently, Frank Pease, the photographer, couldn't bear to get rid of the photos. After Frank died, the photos were forgotten, the building sold. Several years ago, the photos were found in the building. The back of the diner now has a room where the photos can be looked through and purchased. Jason spent several days looking through the 18,000 photographs and chose the ones he wanted for this book.

I have not been able to stop looking at these photos since I got my copy of the book. The black and white photos are of babies, older children, high school seniors and couples. There's a nurse in a very stately uniform. There are side by side photos of a little girl and an elderly woman who are both wearing the same horn-rimmed glasses. There are soldiers and a baton twirler. Some of the photos are silly. Some are sad. It is apparent that many of these people were clearly uncomfortable having their pictures taken. Some were naturals. One thing all of the photographs possess is sincerity.

My primary interest in buying this book is that LaPorte is my hometown. No one has ever heard of LaPorte. Not too many people go there unless they are passing through to go to Chicago, South Bend or Lake Michigan. It is a town that went from being a very prosperous place when I was a child, to a town that is struggling and dying in a lot of ways now. While I would never besmirch my hometown, I am always sad when I drive around and see how it has changed. When I look at the people in this book, I see people who were part of what is good about my hometown.

I keep looking at the photos and thinking that I recognize some of the people. One picture startled Herr and I because it looked exactly like my Uncle Linko. Maybe it is. Part of the allure of this book is that there are no names attached to the photos. So someone from anywhere else could look through this book and think they recognize a person in a photograph. I was most struck by the next to the last photo in the book. It is of two elderly men. One man is fixing the other man's tie. He is concentrating deeply, brow furrowed. The other man is gaze upward with an unreadable expression. If you look closer, one of the men is wearing a plaid blazer with a flannel work shirt and a black bow-tie. He also appears to have a really bad toupe. But all the fashion faux pas aside, he looks so dignified.

After getting this book, I am now feeling motivated to do something with all of the photos in the basement. My family has such an incredible history. Too bad we just put the house up for sale on Saturday. I guess I will wait until after the move back to the East Coast. Another day, another project.

My Daughter, The Girlie-Girl

This Morning...

"Mommy, can we live in a pink house when we move?"
"I don't think so, Sweetie."
"But, but, but, whyyyyyyyyy? I LOVE pink."
"I know you do, Baby Girl, I know."






Later, in the sand box...

"Arggghhh, Mommy, let's dig for buried treasure!"
"OK."

Digging, digging, digging.

"Mommy! I found sumpin!"
"What could it be?"
"Ohhhh, it's buried treasure Mommy!
"What's in the box?"
"Pretty dresses for everybody! Here's one for you, Mommy! Arghhhh!"

At the lunch table...

"Mommy, may I please have some graham crackers?"
"You may, just as soon as you finish your carrots."
Sigh "No thanks. They don't match my dress."

After lunch...

"Mommy, I want to be a long princess."
"What is a long princess?
"She's, she's, she's TALL!"


Still later...

"Wow Mommy, I looooove your pink fingernails."
"Thanks, Baby Girl. It's Play-Doh under my fingernails from earlier this morning."
"Oh. Hey Mommy? Can we play Play-Doh again?"

Fifteen Months!

Wow Peaches, it's hard to believe that you are a ripe ol' 15 months of age. You've really come a long way since your first birthday. You are now running and climbing, which is a source of constant worry since you have taken quite a few spills. You are also putting everything in your mouth that isn't bolted down. We really need to work on that.

It's been cool to realize over the past few weeks that you understand more words than, "NO PEACHES!" or "NO BITE, PEACHES!" or "NO TOUCH, PEACHES!" When I set you down and tell you to go get your sister, or your grandma or one of the dogs, you go staight to them. You don't really say "mama" or "dada" but you can say, "go go go" like nobody's business.

You are hearing me say, "You're lucky you're cute" quite frequently. It's true. It has been apparent for months that you are going to be trouble and that you will use your cuteness to get out of said trouble. But don't worry. I'm onto you. And about that bottle? It will be no more. No matter how cute it looks dangling from your teeth.

Mom

I was flattered when Kara from Cape Buffalo invited me to write about Motherhood in honor of Mother's Day. Then I looked at the list of people she asked to be a part of the project throughout the month, and I became quite intimidated. I am sure most of them write for a living ( but claim to have other vocations,) they are really that good. Go on, read them. I am sure there will be several posts that you won't be able to get through without Kleenex. I am sure a few will be quite funny. I don't think a single one will be boring--we're talking about Moms here!


It has only been since I have been married that my mother and I have accepted each other’s differences and become friendly. It hasn’t been easy—that’s for sure. My mother is the most stubborn and inflexible person I know, and any relative in my family will back me up (they are quiet about it though—they are all afraid of her.) She lies about her health and finances because she doesn’t want to “bother” us. She swears like a sailor. She drinks too much, smokes too much, and doesn’t eat right. There is only one way to skin a cat in my mother’s world, and it’s HER way. On the very best of days, our relationship can be really difficult. On the worst of days, she is a colossal pain in the ass and I thank God that she isn't my birth mother. And then I curse God for allowing my adoption into this family to have taken place. As a child, I always thought that when it came to me, my mother was mean, judgmental, stifling and regretful of adopting me. Over the years, I slowly learned the truth. My mother, herself, was stifled and afflicted with abuse as a child, leaving it very difficult for her to give and receive love gracefully. Her love, however, could be seen in the orchard, two gardens, several flowerbeds, and the 4 acres of well-clipped lawn at my childhood home. My mother’s horticultural endeavors were the one thing that remained constant in her life for so long.

I remember as a child hearing all kinds of stories of how Mom used to steal flowers from the neighbors and try to replant them in my Gramma’s yard. Gramma didn’t have time for such silliness since she worked three jobs to raise her four children without a husband. Mom didn’t realize that the roots of plants are necessary in order to transplant. Sixty years later, my mother knows EVERYTHING about flowers (and plants! and trees! and shrubs!) From the time I was old enough to know what a weed was until I moved out of the house at eighteen, the two words that ruined my life were “yard day!” That meant that my sister and I had to weed the ever-growing population of foliage in our yard. Did I mention there were 4 acres? My sister and I would cry, complain, and even accuse her of abuse. Her response was always, “Tough shit. Do what you’re told.” I would sob about how much my life sucked because I had to work so hard. I never bothered to notice that my mother was working much harder and longer than I ever did.

My mother dropped out of high school at 16. She married my father at 20 and lived a very comfortable life because my father was one of only three electricians to service all of the steel mills in Gary, Indiana. After three miscarriages, my parents found out that my mother had endometriosis and would never be able to bear children. First, my sister was adopted in 1967. I was adopted in 1969. They built a beautiful ranch home and started to reap the rewards of the middle class dream. The only mistake my father made was not checking a box and signing his name to part of the mortgage that would continue house payments if he became permanently disabled. He thought he would always be healthy.

When I was six years old, my father became one of the first quadruple bypass surgery patients in the country at the age of 41. He ended up being disabled for the rest of his life. After his open-heart surgery, the insurance company cancelled his plan and refused to pay for the then-experimental procedure. This left our family in a huge bind. Without a diploma or marketable skills my mother had no idea how to support a sick husband, two kids, and pay a mortgage. I remember a lot of crying when Dad was sleeping in their bedroom. Almost every day, my mom would spend hours outside. When it rained, she would go into the garage and tend to her little seedlings and saplings, and repot indoor plants. When a new family member was born, she’d plant a new fruit tree in the orchard and name it after the baby (My tree was a McIntosh Apple.)

After awhile, car after car pulled up into our driveway and people started buying what Mom was growing. The Chrysanthemums and Shasta Daisies kept food on the table. The apples, peaches, pears and cherries paid for my sister’s thrice-weekly trips to an allergist almost an hour away. My mother’s African Violets paid for the mortgage on the house, and the fresh and canned vegetables and fruit kept us well fed.

Over the years, my mother went to school to learn bookkeeping and worked for a friend. Even though my sister and I were long gone, she still would break her back working long hours at her job and then work outside until she couldn’t see. A few years after I got married, my father took a turn for the worse. He had a heart transplant during my last semester in college, but he was starting to have so many other problems. In between hospital stays, my mother would still continue to work in the yard. After my father died, my mother tried to take care of the house and the yard, but it was too overwhelming. She was having her own medical problems and was drinking too much. My sister and I begged her to sell the place after she had lung surgery. She was drowning in debt and the once-beautiful yard was in shambles.

Mom finally agreed to sell the house. I thought she would die from the sadness. She has since been living in an apartment complex for the elderly. She calls it, “the place where people go to die if they don’t go to a nursing home first.” Her apartment is tiny and filled with boxes of paperwork. She uses a hall closet to store food. The shelving in the closet broke a long time ago from the weight of the canned goods, so she now has jars and cans on the hallway floor. We have attempted to replace the shelving but she insists that a friend is “building shelves as we speak.” There are also plants. Everywhere. She desperately wants to leave, but there aren’t too many affordable options for her since she has no retirement nest egg. We also have concerns about her ability to care for herself due to the scary-strong pain killers she occasionally has to take because the wounds from her lung surgery have never healed. We have all but begged her to live with us, but she refuses. My mother fears that we would hate her if she lived with us. I am considering a different approach with our impending move. I am going to tell her I want to hire her to be my landscape architect. I truly feel she needs a project that will make her feel useful and proud. Her flowers gave her the power to cultivate beauty and keep her at peace with herself. I would love for her to have that again.

All Sixed Up

It's been awhile since I have done a meme, but Adventure Dad tagged me to discuss six things about me that are weird or strange. What, only six? I'd like to think that I am vanilla normal and that there is nothing odd about me. But I know that simply isn't true. I am sure I could think of quite a few things about myself that could be considered psychotic idiosyncratic. My friends who sometimes read my blog will already know most of these, and they are still friends with me anyway, so maybe they aren't so bad. Besides, I've had all kinds of time to write this week because I haven't left the house since Tuesday due to the Diarrhea epidemic in our house. Here goes:

1. I cannot poop in public. I.just.cannot. When I was living the life in Corporate America, I managed to train my body so that I didn't have to risk doing that nonsense at work. It was before work or after work. There were only a couple of times where I would sweat it because I started a new job with a new company, and for some reason, my body decided it had to change the routine. But by and large, it didn't happen at work.

Until I became pregnant. By that time, we had moved to New Jersey and my office was a broom closet in one of our stores. And it was across from the bathroom. It wasn't so bad until I would travel to the corporate offices in Pittsburgh. Then panic would set in. After awhile, I found the safest place to go was the bathroom in the first floor gym.

I am equally bad at hotels if I have roommates. I used to work for a company that was big on having corporate meetings in San Francisco about 4 times a year. They would match us up with another rep from somewhere else in the country to share a hotel room. It sucked. I finally got wise and told the travel agent I needed a smoking room to ensure that I would have my own room. It was such a relief when I joined another company a year later that actually had a policy that people could NOT share hotel rooms.

2. Speaking of hotel rooms, I have a routine whenever I come into my room for the first time. I immediately remove the comforter and put it in the closet. If I remember, I bring a pillowcase for the top pillow I will sleep on(and I usually leave it there.) I also bring Clorox Wipes and give the toilet and sink a rub down. Then I inspect the towels and bed for hair. If I see hair, I call the front desk for new linens. I will not walk barefoot in a hotel room, I wear flip flops in the shower and am fully clothed (with socks) when I sleep. Travelling extensively for two companies caused this behavior. My husband HATES it. I try to hide most of it from my friends when we stay in hotels, but removing the comforter is a bit hard to hide. One would think after reading this that the bathrooms in my house are meticulous. Not so much. I am thrilled if one of the four is cleaned in a week.

3. Whenever I board a plane, the first step I make on the plane has to be with my right foot. It just does. I have a feeling it is a control issue. I can control how I walk on the plane. What happens after that is up to others. My worst nightmare is that one day, the plane will be piloted by the biggest stoner from the La Porte High School class of 1987, a guy named Glen. The last I heard from him, his father was begging me to fly with him because he needed flying time. Had I not just been at a party with him the night before, watching him partakein a big ol spliff, I might have reconsidered.

4. I will play a song I love in my car over and over and over and over and over again. It was fine until Baby Girl started to recite lyrics in public. This habit annoys my husband as much as the hotel routine. I usually only do it when he's not in the car.

5. I am terrified of clowns. I hated Bozo and his friend Cooky but my mother would turn on the damn Bozo Show every damn day. Don't even get me started on clowns that walk around and mingle at parades. One came up to me to hug her when I was a kid at the LaPorte 4th of July Parade and I peed my pants after I hauled off and hit her. It was made quite clear to Herr that he will be responsible for taking the girls to the circus or attend future birthday parties that feature clowns. I will NOT do it. I do tolerate Krusty the Clown, though.

6. I have always had the dream that I will someday be a famous rock star. It doesn't matter that I don't read music, can't play an instrument and have never sung in public sober. I know I'm good. I'm not going to let the fact that I am a 37 year old mom in Ohio stop me. I choose to not watch American Idol. I could kick all of their asses. I will be discovered by an agent while I am singing in the shower at the gym. I will be immediately signed to a label and cut a hit record. I will hire all of my girlfriends to be in my entourage and we will have two tour busses--one for us and all of our clothes and beauty products and the other bus will be for all of our children, nannies and pets. No husbands allowed on the tour bus--too much estrogen. Herr will no longer have to toil away as a Scientist, trying to cure the world one drug at a time. Instead, I will buy him a building and he can live out his fantasy of brewing the perfect beer and pondering amusing names for said beer like, "Herr of the Dog" and "v1/v2 = (m2/m1)1/2."

Now it's your turn!!! KimmyK, June Cleaver, Erin Dances with Scorpions? Beuller? Beuller?

Ten Wipe Minimum

Peaches came down with some sort of stomach funk last Friday while we were out of town. Sometimes she gets diarrhea when she is teething so I didn't worry. She was in great spirits, eating well and drinking the way she should. I figured it would go away. By Sunday, she had a violent diaper rash and would literally run away screaming if she saw me coming toward her with diapers and wipes. Sunday evening and Monday evening she was running a low grade temperature, so I decided to take her in to see the pediatrician on Tuesday morning.

I'll be the first to admit that I am not a hysterical mother when it comes to calling the pediatrician. Maybe it's because I have two children now. Maybe I just hate to bother paying a $15 co-pay to be told what I already know--it's a stomach virus and you have to let it run it's course. But Holy Smelly Diapers, Batman! I have never in my life witnessed or smelled such raunchy diapers. And since I am not feeding her fish and rotten eggs, I figured it was time to have her seen.

Have I told you how much I like my pediatrician? After I spoke to the nurse and told her that the diarrhea had gone on for longer than I was comfortable, she squeezed us in right away. The doctor was wonderful as usual, but he confirmed my suspicions--it's a virus and we have to let it run it's course. He did take samples of it (poor guy, she was able to poop on command. I swear I saw his eyes watering.) They are supposed to let me know what they find out.

Yesterday, Peaches' good mood came to an end. I pretty much held her the whole day when she wasn't sleeping because she just wanted to bury her head in my neck and whimper. She refused all food and drink and started vomitting. I was supposed to go to a Mom's Club function yesterday but called one of the moms to cancel. Within an hour, two of the moms had come over with 4 different kinds of Pedialyte and a detailed printout from Children's Hospital on what to do when your small child has a stomach virus. One of the moms also brought over a bottle of Mylanta for the raging diaper rash. I must have looked at her like she was a crack whore trick-or-treating, because she hastily promised that she wasn't crazy and that it really works.

We spent the rest of the day giving Peaches the unflavored Pedialyte by the dropperful and applying Mylanta. This morning she woke up much improved. She is still blowing nastiness out of her butt, but that Mylanta really works. She ate and drank well today, so I thought we were out of the woods.

There's just one problem. Baby Girl now has diarrhea...

Worst. Mother. Ever.

It started a couple of months ago. It was subtle and not very obvious.
"Mmmmommy, may I please go play with Maddie?" Baby Girl would ask.

Then, it got a little more pronounced, but only when she was truly excited.
"I I I I I I I I I I I love that song!" Baby Girl would say when I would play a Wilco song in the car.

Over the past couple of weeks it has become more pronounced and this week, every sentence is starting with a very long stutter, especially questions.

"Can can can can can can can can can can may may may may may may may I please have some raisins?"

I feel horrible about this. Everyone is telling me that it is perfectly normal for kids to stutter and they outgrow it. My pediatrician told me not to worry about it. But if it's perfectly normal, why is it getting worse? And the worse it gets, the more annoyed I get. And then I feel like an absolute shithead for being annoyed that it took her almost an entire minute to tell me urgently that Peaches threw up. I already knew she threw up because she threw up on ME. But I waited there, puke dripping off of me and the baby because I thought Baby Girl had something really important to say. She did--it just took her awhile to tell me.

I am trying really hard to not guess what she is going to say and finish her speaking for her. I did that in the beginning and it was upsetting her. Sometimes I keep thinking that I am causing her to stutter because I am constantly correcting her speaking or making her say things over again using manners.

I nearly cried today when she said, " I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I--"

"WHAT, BABY GIRL?!?!?" I yelled. "WHAT are you trying to say????????"

"I I I I I I I I really love you Mommy."

Hausfrau's Week in Review

Things are back to normal at Hausfrau Haus. We decided to cancel the trip to Boston because Peaches has had a nasty poop virus since Friday and we didn't want to leave my MIL with the kids alone when one is sick. I am taking her to the doctor tomorrow. I am sure that she will be perfectly fine and will be producing perfect poops by then. But had we left, we know something bad would have happened and we would have felt horrible about it.

We had an awesome visit with our friends Jen and Joe and their kids and their dogs. Baby Girl is going through severe withdrawl by not having them around. The oldest daughter was the perfect age to give her the responsibility of babysitting while we were there. Baby Girl was so happy playing outside with them all day. It is apparent that we need to adopt some older children pronto so that they may entertain her all day long. I was impressed with the restraint I showed by NOT being pie-eyed every single night. I wasn't even hung over. Jen and I left the house sans children one afternoon and got pedicures while Herr pretended that he knew how to fix our plumbing problems.



I was right when I thought that my appearance at the wedding would guarantee a drama-free event for my cousin. The wedding was beautiful, my cousin and her bridesmaids were GORGEOUS and quite tan (she manages a tanning salon--free tans for everyone!) I got a fantastic upper body workout because I held Baby Girl for nearly the entire 60 minute ceremony. She weighs about 45 lbs. My uncle was there to walk my cousin down the aisle with her mother, which was really nice. My uncle's wife didn't attend the wedding, but her four sisters came and no one mentioned her. I didn't really ask around as to why. If she is really still mourning the loss of her father from 8 months ago, then she needs help, not snarkiness from me. I ended up not having to worry about my mother being all catty at the wedding because she didn't attend. I'll get to that later.

While the wedding was wonderful, the visit with my immediate family was pretty much what I expected. Annoying. There is no such thing as a stress-free or enjoyable visit with my family. It isn't possible. I fall for it every time. I drive home to Indiana and am always so excited to see my Mom and any other family member who may be in town at that particular time. I drive home a couple of days (or sometimes one day) later, completely annoyed and usually amazed by comments made or events that transpired. I am always grateful to have witnesses (ie. Herr) because I worry no one will ever believe me. Comments about my weight, my clothes, my hair and my first bout of acne in my life flew through the air throughout the two days.

Let me set the stage: My sister and her sons decided to stay with my mother from Monday until Sunday afternoon. That would be great if Mom didn't live in a one bedroom 450 sq. ft. apartment that is full of crap. It would also be great if my nephews were well behaved and repsectful. And it would be super great if my sister wasn't so loud and always yelling at her kids from another room. My mother called me a week before, telling me that she wanted my sister and kids to stay in a hotel and was willing to pay for it. I am pretty sure she wanted me to volunteer to tell her. I didn't take the bait. Then my mother got food poisoning from eating a hot dog that was probab ly a year old in her refrigerator and was laid up for over a week because she is a sickly woman. A cold can put her in the hospital because she has a shot immune system. And she smokes. And she drinks. So no reservations were made and my sister brought her sons and all of their crap to my Mom's. I called my mother during the week to ask how things were going. My mother sounded exhausted and annoyed. She informed me that she needed to clean house before I got there and had a huge list of things she needed to get done, but hadn't because she had been so sick.

"Can't Sister clean, Mom?"

Sigh. "She doesn't do anything except yell at the boys and they ignore her. I'll get it done while she is in Chicago for the day tomorrow. I will, however, need you to get my groceries when you get into town."

"No problem."

Friday morning I called my mother when I was an hour from town. I told her to make sure she had the grocery list ready so that I could get it done quickly for her.

"Um, I actually need you to do some cleaning."

When I got the apartment I spent nearly two hours scrubbing the mold out of the toilet and the layer of black soot off of everything in the apartment while my sister ate pizza, yelled at the boys to stop playing their Gameboys 27 times and told me how dirty the apartment was. She was also nice enough to inform me that I had missed a spot on the television. I kept my temper in check and finally left when I knew I would blow--I also had a raging headache. I refuse to have a fight with my sister when my mother and nephews are near her. I did tell her that I need to have a serious talk with her. She thought it was about Mom. I told her it was about her. She looked all confused. Why am I not surprised?

I am angry for two reasons. I am angry that my mother will not allow me to hire a cleaning lady to come into her home to clean. I am angry that my sister imposed for 7 days and couldn't pick herself off the couch to scrub a toilet or even make her bed while she was there. What makes me even more angry is that my sister told me a couple of months ago that I needed to come home more to help my mom because she has been coming home so much. Our friends who visited us this week were only at our house for three days, yet they left it cleaner than when they got there.

The only other annoying thing that happened this weekend dealt with my aunt. She decided that bringing up my mother's inability to care for herself was perfectly appropriate to discuss in front of the rest of the realtives during dinner at the wedding reception. She kept sprinkling comments into conversation that we need to move her with us wherever we go. I ignored her as long as I could, but then she mentioned that SHE doesn't want my mother to move near her because SHE doesn't want the responsibility. I finally said that we cannot force my mother to go anywhere and that she may lives with us if she chooses, but she will probably never leave her apartment. And then we left the reception.

Did I mention that Herr and I went to the reception without the girls? That was fun. The girls stayed with friends of ours. Their two kids kept Baby Girl amused the entire weekend. The older daughter even stayed home on Friday night when she could have gone to a middle school dance--on her own accord. They are really good kids. I just wish Peaches wouldn't have been so miserable the whole time. She pretty much cried the 4 hours we were gone. Lorrie and Scott denied it, but their daughter came clean. We felt so bad. The upside to her misery was that she slept well at the hotel.

The drive home was uneventful. We stopped for lunch in a very quaint town called Berne, Indiana. It was settled by Swiss Mennonites in the 1850's, I think. Most of the buildings in town have exteriors that look like Swiss Chalets. There are also tons of Mennonites. They even have special parking for their horses at the McDonald's:










I guess the only thing left to mention about is that Herr has accepted a position to return to his former employer in New Jersey. It is a great opportunity (a promotion) and I am excited for him. We will probably look to buy a home in the Easton/Allentown, PA area. Should be a hectic summer.

Busy,Busy

Things here in the ol'Hausfrau Haus are quiet at the moment. The kids are in their rooms napping and I have been cleaning like a madwoman. They are still tired from our trip to Bloomington this past weekend. We dropped off the girls with Gramma and we met up with our friends Rob and Laura and were the IU alumni we used to make fun of when we were 22 partied it up. To be more precise, we drank a lot and also ate our way through Bloomington. I don't know why the girls are more tired than we are--they only went to Wendy's.

After a quick Easter lunch at Gramma's house we headed back home yesterday. Herr left the house at 4:30 this morning to get a flight to Newark to see his old boss. Fortunately, he will be home tonight, which is a good thing as our friends Jen and Joe and their kids are due to arrive this evening. We try to see Jen and Joe once a year, if not more. It's challenging as they live in Maine and we've been living in Ohio, but they are being nice enough to come see us before we move. At least we will be closer to them when we move. However, I am not sure that we could visit them a lot, as Corey and I turn into complete idiots when we are with them and drink ourselves into shameful stupors. Who could forget our "Goodbye New Jersey" weekend last April? What made that weekend all the more painful was that somewhere between drinks 12 and 17, I forgot that I had a 2 month old baby to care for. I have my hopes that Jen and Joe's oldest kids, Harry and Anna, will be able to prepare breakfast for the five younger children tomorrow morning. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

This weekend we will be going home to attend my cousin's wedding. While I might be able to recognize her if I saw her on the street, we are not close. I figured that the last time I saw most of my family, it was at my Dad's funeral. I missed all of the family drama at my Grandmother's funeral between my mother, my aunt and my uncle. I am tired of hearing about family fistfights events second-hand, so it is high time we made an appearance. It should be interesting as there are doubts as to whether the father of the bride (the aforementioned uncle) will be attending. According to my mother, his wife (my cousin's stepmother) is too busy mourning the death of her father from eight months ago to even THINK about attending the wedding. It just wouldn't be appropriate, you know? The reason he may not attend is that he hasn't spoken to my cousin in a long time. And that's sad--she's a nice girl. Truth be told, I am coming to keep an eye on my mother, to make sure she doesn't decide to have one of her Joan Collins moments and reduce someone to tears from some imagine infraction. And while the weekend recap I will write next weekend will certainly write itself if the wedding is action-packed, a big part of me hopes it is uneventful and beautiful for Tara's sake.



And as if that won't be enough stress, we will have to drive back to Cincinnati on Sunday morning so that we can pack and fly to Boston that night. One of the company's Herr received an offer from is bringing us out to "show us around" and set us up with a Relocation Specialist before he decides if he will accept. We used to do this stuff all the time when I worked for "Large Corporate Sporting Goods Retailer based in Pittsburgh." Pittsburgh was a tough sell for executives, so we would fly their families out and do it up so that they would fall in love and move there. I'm just going so that I can eat some Legal Seafood. The rest of the time I will be getting poked in the side by my husband because he will have caught me rolling my eyes after the umpteenth time of hearing, "This is a great neighborhood with fantastic schools. I think we could DEFINITELY set you up with a cute little fixer-upper in the mid-$400's!" Weeeeee!

A Little Bit of This, A Little Bit of That

I am counting down the hours until Herr comes back from Cambridge (10.5). Even though he has been the one with the enormous pressure to perform well in interviews so that he may be employed and provide for a family, I am selfish and am tired of him not being here. Sue me. I'm a baby. After he comes home tonight, he flies to New Jersey for the day on Monday to speak to his old employer as they want him back. After that, all interviews will be over. He got a head's up that he is getting an offer from a pharmaceutical company in Cambridge on Friday. While I am thrilled that he is getting offers, I am scared to live in a place where a 70's bi-level fixer upper that is 1800 sq. feet is a mere $450,000. And that is 45 minutes away from Boston. Sometimes I wish we never would have moved here. It took no time at all to get used to the midwestern suburban life with a home that would take me years to fill up with crap. It will be tougher to leave than I thought.

The girls and I went to our first Passover Seder last evening at my friend Leeann's house. It was really nice. The Haggadah was really interesting and long but I can't complain. The Jews were stuck in the desert for 40 years--what's a couple of hours before dinner? Leeann and her husband decided to mix it up a little by doing the Haggadah with puppets. I made my theatrical debut as Jochebed, Moses' Mother. The text was designed for school aged children and the songs lyrics were amusing and put to music like "Clementine" and "He'll Be Coming Around the Mountain." I was certain, however, that I ruined their seder because it was WAY past the girls' dinner time and they were FREAKS. I was the only solo parent with two small kids there, so there were a few looks of pity (and probably annoyance as well.) The food was AWESOME and I am anxiously awaiting Leeann's recipe for her brisket. I overheard her say it had barbeque sauce and Skyline Chili seasoning in it. I despise barbeque sauce, but this stuff kicked ass!

I have recently discovered that Baby Girl has several invisible friends. Most of them are real friends of hers who are just not at our house at the moment. She does have two friends who truly don't exist named "Daba" and "Bala." Initially, I was freaked out by her discussions and arguments that took place, but now they amuse me. The problem is that about the same time these "friends" started showing up, so did the lying. Baby Girl is now lying all the time. For example, I asked her yesterday to go up to her bedroom and put some socks on so that we could go to the store. Five minutes later, she was sitting on the steps barefoot.

"I asked you to put on socks. Please put some on."

"I can't."

"Yes you can." I said. "They are in the basket on your dresser. They are in the same place they were yesterday and the day before that."

"But Mommy, they aren't there," she whined.

"Well then find them," I said with gritted teeth.

"But Mommy, they're on the roof."

Weekend Recap--Akron Edition

Fun fun fun (Quiet drive to Akron in car) fun fun fun (Erin, Lorna, Jenny, Annie, Angel) fun fun fun fun(drinks) fun fun fun fun(DAVID SEDARIS) fun fun fun fun(Laughing at David Sedaris so hard that my jaw hurt) fun fun fun fun fun(presents) fun fun fun fun fun(birthday cake) fun fun fun fun fun (fudge)fun fun fun fun fun fun (playing "Name That Tune" with Erin on Kazoo) fun fun fun fun fun (trying to find a bar in downtown Akron) fun fun fun fun fun fun fun (the distinctive clatter of a butter knife falling in the middle of the street) fun fun fun fun fun fun (outdoing each other with stories of small children who swear) fun fun fun fun.


Sigh.
UPDATE: For an actual well-written account of the weekend, as opposed to my lazy-assed post, read Erin's blog . It explains the whole butter knife thing.