self confidence, anyone?

Earlier, the girls and I (and our inner divas) busted out the musical instruments. We banged on drums, shook the maracas and danced the afternoon away. At one point, Dizzle and I were singing our own renditions of "Sally the Camel" and "The Farmer in the Dell" when she suddenly grabbed the microphone and said, "It's my turn to sing."

Thinking I was about to get an all-star performance of the ABC's, I sat back and patiently waited. Suddenly, my little rocker started head-banging and dancing around. All while singing, "I rock. I rock. I rock." Over and over again.

When she finally ended her performance, I said, "You rock because you are a rock star, right?" To which she replied, "No. I rock because I am awesome."

Apparently, we aren't lacking in self confidence in this household.

Dizzle for President!

Last night, J and Dizzle were having a conversation about preschool when J asked, "So, do you like preschool Dizzle?" To which she replied,

"Yes, I like preschool. But America comes first!"

What?!?! Are you kidding me? Who says that?

Obviously, my three-year-old has taken a special interest in the election or something. In fact, I'm pretty sure that J is making her watch political commercials when I'm not around. I mean how else do you explain her sudden love for our country? (Honestly, I'm not even sure she knows we live in America. Virginia? Maybe. But America? Not to sure about that one.)

that so-called free sport ...

Last year when I decided to start running, much of my decision was based on my cheapness. I thought, "What could be better? Running is free. You don't need anything other than sneakers (which I already owned)."

Seems easy (and logical) enough. But I was so entirely wrong.

In an attempt to budget better and to understand where we are spending our money, J and I took a look at our extracurriculars (for me running, for him golf). Obviously, golf was going to have to be cut. It's super expensive. No, absurdly expensive. But running, so cheap ...

But then I crunched the numbers and this so-called free sport, isn't so free after all. In 2008 alone, I spent $496 on just race fees. And those sneakers, I already owned? Well, they had to be replaced three times (at around $80 a pair, might I mention). Add to that the food and travel costs for non-Richmond races (about $250) and the clothing ($400ish - dang, running gear is expensive), and I'm racking up quite a tab.

Oh, and I forgot about those two triathlons I did. Not only did they have race fees, but I needed swim and bike gear (including a road bike) as well. Bringing my grand total somewhere in the ballpark of $1900.

$1900 FREAKIN' DOLLARS!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That is the complete opposite of free. That's about a thousand dollars more than I will pay for Dizzle's preschool this year! Suddenly, golf isn't looking so expensive anymore.

where the heck is the plan ...

In case you haven't realized it yet, I am a planner. I like to think that my organization skills are one of my strongest and most valuable traits. I make lists for lists. I pack weeks in advance. My family lives and dies by a schedule. Structure is good. Spontaneity, not so much. Sure I would love to be one of those, "fly by the seat of your pants" kind of people, but that's just not me.

To be honest, I can't remember a time when I wasn't that way. Growing up, I was the kid who did their homework first thing on Friday afternoon. All of my projects and reports were finished, and often turned in, early. What can I say, I'm disciplined. I see the big picture and the many steps needed to get there. That's probably why I always won playing checkers, but hated charades (too much creativity for me).

But right now. At this very moment. I'm asking myself (and J for that matter), "What's going to happen next?" It's making me very uneasy. I think I am getting an ulcer. (OK, maybe I'm being a little bit dramatic.)

Either way, I just have a lot of questions and no real answers. My head is all jumbled.

Here take a peek:

Is this house big enough for three kids? Is our car? Can I handle three kids? How the heck am I ever going to run pushing a triple stroller? If we stay here, are the schools good enough? Can we afford to go private? Can we afford to move? Does it make sense to move? How much can I pile on my plate before I topple over? Am I running enough? Could I be overdoing it? Are the kids at school corrupting Dizzle? Will I ever get Dizzle off the playground without a fight? Should we change our health care coverage? Would a flexible spending account be good for us? Why haven't I registered for a post-baby race? Should I invest in a good pair of earplugs to drown out my kids?

So, obviously some of these questions are a little less important than others. But right now, it's like they are all yelling at each other in my head. I really need to shut them off. Any ideas on how to do that?

Oh and since I'm sure you were concerned - let me just add, this isn't a cry for help. I'm not stressed out. I am just a little off my equilibrium.

pumpkin patch from hell ...

Today was Dizzle's first school trip. And being the overbearing parent that I am, there was no way that I was going to let someone else (especially someone who I barely know) drive her from her preschool to the pumpkin patch. No way, no chance, no how. So, I was left with one option. Join in on the fun (read: torture).

We (Dizzle, Doodle and I. Oh, did I fail to mention that my going on the trip meant that Doodle had to go to? Right. So should have gotten a babysitter.)

Where was I? We arrived at Ashland Berry Farm with the rest of Dizzle's class promptly at 10 am and at that very moment, I realized I was in trouble. The entire place is one big dirt road and you can't really maneuver a stroller onto the hayride so well. Oh, and did I mention that my monstrosity of a stomach now makes it nearly impossible to carry Doodle on my back? So I had to let Doodle walk, through the dirt, through the mud and through my own personal hell, the pumpkin patch.

Anyway, once we got on the hayride, I reconsidered the situation and thought, "This might not be too bad after all." But I was wrong. As soon as we stepped off the hayride, Doodle was gone. There was no waiting for "Farmer Jimmy" to explain how pumpkins grow. There was no waiting for the rest of the group. There was just screaming. Ear-piercing screaming of a toddler who wanted to run free.

Once Farmer Jimmy was done with his pumpkin lecture, we began our great pumpkin search. Which took all of five minutes. Then we had to wait 20 minutes for the stupid hayride to come pick us up. Again, Doodle was not a fan. She wanted to run around, sit in the dirt, throw pumpkins and cause an all-around ruckus. And did I mention that every time I tried to stop her out came the ear-piercing screams? It was FANTASTIC! And every other mom in the group either looked at me with that, "I've been there too" look or said, "Aren't you happy you're going to have a third?" (Nice thing to say to a distraught pregnant woman.)

Long story short, we eventually made it back to the car. At which point I cleaned up the kids, drove back to the preschool and vowed to NEVER take Doodle on another one of Dizzle's school trips again. Seriously, when will I learn?

************************************

On a lighter note, Dizzle said something that nearly made me pee my pants today. She had been singing, "I'm squashing up my baby bumblebee..." when she asked to go to the bathroom. Once she finished and was washing her hands, she turned to me and said, "Mom, I can't get all the bumblebee off. It's stuck." Talk about taking something literally ...

whoa ...

So, let me just begin this by saying that what I'm about to write probably isn't blog worthy (especially if you're not in that whole baby stage like I am.) But instead, a moment that I want to remember. And what better way is there to remember something than to put it in writing.

After my run this afternoon, Dizzle and I were snuggling on the couch while Doodle was napping. Noticing that Dilly (yes, we already have a code name) was moving around like crazy, I asked Dizzle if she wanted to feel the baby kick. With bright eyes and a smile, Dizzle put her hand on my stomach. I told her to hold still and wait (real easy for a three-year old, right?) And before we knew it, Dilly gave me (and Dizzle's hand) a wallop of a kick. Dizzle jumped back and yelled, "Whoa ..." After regaining her composure, she turned to me and said, "Can I kick you too?"

Um, I think not.

bathroom breakdown ...

Although it is a rarely happens that I have to take both girls into a public restroom at the same time, there are those days when it's inevitable. And today was one of those days.

Scene: TGI Friday's, W. Broad St., Richmond
Time: Lunchtime, 10/10/08
Players: Me, Dizzle and Doodle (J sat clueless at our table)

Even though I had changed her a mere hour and a half before, Doodle somehow managed to soak through her diaper AND her entire outfit. So, with diaper, wipes and new outfit in hand, I headed off to the bathroom. When suddenly, Dizzle blurted out, "I have to go pod too!"

J instantly asked if I would be OK with both of them. I answered, "Sure, no problem." (read: there is no way in Hell that this is going to go well). And off we went.

Now, I'm not sure if all Friday's bathrooms are like this, but the one we visited had the tiniest stalls EVER! In fact, the changing table cuts across the front of the toilet, leaving about two inches of maneuverability on either side. (Again, I should have seen that and left ... but I didn't).

Anyway, I put Doodle down on the changing table (which she hates) and she instantaneously started to scream. Dizzle, meanwhile was standing next to the toilet basically making out with the flusher. So, like any mother would, I yelled at her. And not a "we're in public" kind of yell, but a full on "the nearest neighbors are half a mile away" kind of yell. So now both of my kids are crying. But still I trek on. I manage to strip Doodle down and am closing her diaper when ... RIP. The damn tab on the diaper ripped off. So now I have a half-diapered, half-dressed, totally hysterical child in one hand and a preschooler who is trying to rip her clothes off because she has to pee so bad.

At this point I have two options, try to hold a squirming Doodle against my baby bump AND strip Dizzle down at the same time (yes, she had to get totally naked. She had a sundress over her gymnastics leotard. Not the best combination) or put Doodle down and hope she doesn't try to lick the toilet.

So, I put her down. (another bad choice.) She somehow managed to drop the toy I gave her as a distraction and then picked it up and tried to eat it! Fantastic! So I asked Dizzle to hold herself up and I turned and yelled at Doodle. (Again, not with the "we're in public" yell) She instantly started crying, I picked her up (wanting to cry too) and pulled Dizzle off the toilet. After she got her twelve layers of clothes back on, we headed out (no hand washing. Gross, but I was too afraid of how that might go wrong) and I vowed NEVER to take them to the bathroom alone again! Seriously, how am I ever going to be able to handle three?

Just a note: I did Purel their hands once we left the restaurant. Just in case you were thinking I was totally disgusting.

where are you?

Up until now, most of my child-related ramblings have centered around Dizzle. And for obvious reason. She's the one that can talk, so by default, she provides most of my laughs during the day. Sure, Doodle is cute and most of the time I can understand the point she is trying to get across, but conversations with her often lack humor and words, for that matter. That is, until today.

For the very first time, something Doodle really made me laugh. Not because it was overly thoughtful or awe-inspiring, but rather, because it was unexpected.

When getting Doodle from her nap, I peeked in first, only to see her hiding (very poorly, might I add) under the comforter on her bed. Knowing that she loves to play hide and seek, I took the opportunity to act like I couldn't find her, asking, "Where is my Doodle?"

And instead of silence (or even a snicker), Doodle blurted out, "Hiding!" Totally blowing her cover. Obviously, my child does not understand how to play. But at least she's beginning to grasp comedic timing (which is really much more practical).

toddler bump ...

I swear that in the last 24 hours, my "baby bump" has blown up to a full on "toddler bump." There is no way that my doctor is dating this pregnancy correctly. I have to be further along than she thinks. I mean, come on, how else do you explain the sudden stomach explosion?

Don't really believe that I'm that much bigger than I was last week? Well, I've got plenty of evidence ...

1. On my last run (Saturday), my shirt, while too short, managed to stay over my stomach for the entire six mile run. Yes, had I not been wearing a maternity skirt a good three inches of my stomach would have been showing. But at least the shirt stayed in place. Today was a different story. About 300 meters into my run, my shirt (the same one might I add) was up over my belly button. At a half mile, the bottom of my shirt was sitting at my breastbone. And people were staring. I just pray that the slack jaws were in awe of my pregnancy fitness and not in complete shock that the chubby girl couldn't find a shirt that fit.

2. I have lost both my belly button and my toes. When standing up straight, I no longer have a belly button and I in no way can see my toes. Again, I swear that yesterday I had an indent on my stomach and a clear line of vision to my piggly wigglies.

3. For the first time, my stomach got in my way. While lifting my stroller back into the truck, I didn't have enough clearance to get it around my belly. Instead, I slammed the front wheel into my gut, hitting what I am pretty sure was the baby's head. FANTASTIC!

Go ahead, laugh. I'm sure I'd be laughing to, if it was happening to someone else.

like a duck ...

When I woke up this morning, I looked in the mirror and thought to myself, "You know, for 22 weeks pregnant, you don't look half bad. Maybe all those people who keep telling you, 'You're all baby bump' are right. Maybe you don't look like a whale. Maybe you can be that pregnant woman other pregnant women are jealous of. (You know those super cute women who looks so good when knocked up that you want to slap them. Except that wouldn't be very motherly, would it?)."

But, then I was told that I was beginning to "waddle." Yes, waddle. Like a duck. Like a woman with many more weeks of pregnancy under her belt. Fan-Freakin'-Tastic!

That one, honest observation started to make me think ... What else have people (read: my ever-so-sweet friends) been lying to me about? Is everyone trying to protect my ego (and my rather emotional state) by telling me that, "It's all baby," "No, your a** doesn't look any bigger," "Trust me, you can't even tell in your face."

Right, I believe you. Seriously, I do. It's just that strangers are WAY more honest.

WWE at home

I'm not quite sure what my children do when I'm not around, but I am convinced that J is allowing them to watch WWE when I am out on my long runs on Saturday mornings. What gives me this suspicion you ask? Well, the obvious of course.

Both Dizzle and Doodle have recently become OBSESSED with wrestling. It's like a never-ending competition to see who can crush the other one's skull first. It usually starts off tame. One girl hugs or kisses the other and then ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE! Doodle usually finds a way to swing her leg around Dizzle's waist, pinning her on the floor in a head lock. Next thing I know, limbs are flying everywhere and someone is screaming that they can't breathe. FANTASTIC!

I'm sure it won't be long now before toddler chairs get thrown into the mix. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw Doodle climbing on the table today in an attempt to get a better angle at which to body slam Dizzle. (Yes, I stopped her.)

The problem that I am facing is that I can't stop them. Not only do they think it's a riot, so do J and I. It's hard to tell your kids to stop something when you can't keep a straight face. So, I am pretty sure that I am left with two options. Either let them keep at it until someone breaks an arm (I'm pretty sure I could keep a straight face then) or remove everything from their playroom and pad the walls. Anyone know which option would be cheaper?