sweetcoalminer

07:39 pm: Error. Error.
We were sitting at the dinner table and Mimi was really acting out. Cory and I kept asking her what was wrong and why she was acting like that after such a fun day - her school birthday party.

She started crying and said, "I'm just so sad. I'm so sad."

"Why are you sad, Mimi? What's the matter?"

"I'm just so sad that you guys didn't get me any birthday presents for my birthday today." And she started sobbing.

"Mimi, your birthday isn't until Sunday. It's not your birthday today. You're still 3."

"Oh. Then can I have some more noodles?"

For the record, the big hits of her gifts from the party were the toothbrush, toothpaste, and bandaids that I'd suggested. Also someone bought her a tinkerbell jewelry box, which she hasn't put down. But she came home, ransacked all the gift bags until she found the toothbrush and toothpaste. She wrestled the toothbrush out of the container and, I later found, used a screwdriver to poke a hole in the foil under the toothpaste lid.

She then brushed her teeth and examined her entire bodies for injuries until she had successfully adhered 2 Hello Kitty Bandaids. The kids were like a flock of angry, starving seagulls at the beach, trying to give Mimi their gifts for her, and I could barely keep track of what was from whom. She was just ripping paper left and right, cards strewn about and the kids were passing the toys around. But when she got to the toothpaste, she yelled, "MOM!!! LOOK AT THIS!!! IT'S MY VERY OWN TOOTHPASTE!!! I DON'T HAVE TO USE YOURS ANYMORE!!! YAY!!"

My favorite thing about the party, though, was this card. I wonder if it's cultural or a language difference?

"TO MIMI, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I WISH YOU TO BE MORE LOVING AND OBEDIENT DAUGHTER TO YOUR PARENTS."

Very strange, but I'll give that an "Amen."

10:52 am: Oink Oink
Perhaps spoke too soon re the party. Cory said that a whopping 4 out of the 15 kids in Mimi's class were there today. Only one family (3 kids and the dad) had a confirmed Swine Flu diagnosis, but the others were all suspected.

I don't know how it is in your neck of the woods, but here, we received an automated message from Mimi's school not to call in if the children are ill despite the district policy because the school can no longer handle the volume of the calls.

The outgoing message at our pediatrician's office is not to come in with symptoms of swine flu, but rather to be familiar with the warning signs from the CDC website and get them immediately to the ER if necessary.

Our neighbor, with whom I had discussed the vaccine (she believes in oriental medicine and was told that the vaccine does more harm than good due to preservatives) ran over in a panic yesterday because her daughter was burning up and their thermometer was broken. Their internet was out and she didn't know what to look for for her daughter.

I'm on a listserve with Dr. Jay Gordon, who keeps insisting that taking cupcakes to birthday parties does more harm to children than the swine flu and that the "epidemic" is all media hype and the vaccine is potentially harmful. Really, Dr. Gordon? Cupcakes are sending asthmatic kids to the hospital?

I'm just a little touchy because this is cupcake-a-thon 2009 around here, although I may have to recalculate our kitchen full of bulk ingredients because there are no kids around here to eat the cupcakes at all of Mimi's various activities. I made awesome cupcakes for the parenting class this morning, and Cory brought half of them back because all the parents were sick.

I'm guessing Mimi's party tomorrow will not be as well-attended as I expected. More cupcakes for me! Wait.

09:12 am: 20 Pounds
I've gained 20 pounds or more since I got back from Greece. I've been eating my way through difficult days.

Mimi has accused me several times of having a baby in my big belly.

Frank just asked me, "You gonna sit on youh big bottom, Mom?"

Maybe it's time to hang up the spoon.

04:17 pm: Finally something nice to say
We decided to have a small birthday shindig for Mimi at the park after school on Thursday (there's no preK on Fridays). I went around and around trying to figure out how to afford a party, and in the end we just can't. Not the kind she wanted.

So, we're inviting everyone to walk to the park where we all have playdates. I am hoping to set up a table there in the a.m. with homemade pizza, homemade hummus and carrots, a couple bottles of juice and some cups, and a pan of brownies. Mimi has asked that we have balloons for all the kids to take home, and Cory and I are not sure. Honestly, not in the budget. We were not planning on doing gift bags. Mimi has really liked the beads we bought her for Frank's birthday, and we thought we could get some beads, some key fobs, and a roll of elastic, and let the kids make little fobs with their names on them for their jacket zippers.

I also will bring the portable stereo and we can play hot potato, red light green light, duck duck goose, and limbo.

The logistics are a nightmare, but only because I am an idiot and signed up to be Room Mom that day and promised the teacher I would let the kids decorate their own cupcakes. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Cory's going to swoop in and save me (although I still have to make the cupcakes and the frosting, and I don't do boxmix).

I am a little overwhelmed as we are all kind of sick. We all had 99.5-99.8 fevers again this afternoon. I have to make the pizzas, make the hummus, do the carrots, buy the beads/elastic/keyfobs, some table cloths, and maybe some balloons from the party store that aren't inflated. Oh, yeah, and there's Frank. And we only have one car.

There is a little brother that Frank plays with every day when we go get Mimi who's 2.5. I swallowed my pride and asked his mother if she'd mind taking Frank home with her while I get the party set up at the park. She was so gracious and kind.

It's so weird how everyone has politely and with gusto rsvp'd to this party, and how different it feels to last year when we threw a big disorganized and expensive bash and we had no idea how many kids were coming.

Granted, there are a ton of kids out sick right now, and I'm still not sure that we're going to be well enough for the party. It will be the cheapest party I've ever done, and at this point seems very labor intensive. I emailed the church re youths who could babysit to give me a hand and haven't heard back.

But it seems simple and innocent. I wanted a magician and all these things, but I have to say I suspect that Mimi is going to really dig this party.

09:12 am: Not Chocolate
I had a fever, sore throat and chills yesterday on top of my angry ovary, and was just generally beat down after all the insurance stuff. Mimi was home with an earache, and Frank had congestion and general irritability. Earache? Aches?

After Motrin and naps, they were running around here like energizer bunnies, bouncing off walls. I was snuggled up on the sofa, dozing off and trying to stay awake. Frank came out of his room with brown all over his face. I figured he had found some rogue chocolate, as between his bday package from my dad and his wife and Halloween, there seems to be candy everywhere. An M&M here, a piece of dropped Milky Way there. Plus they've recently discovered they can turn their toy storage bins upside down, climb up, and reach pretty much anything on the counter.

"Did you find some chocolate, buddy?" I ask Frank.

"Noooooooooooooo." He sings.

"Are you teasing me?" I ask.

I go over to him and smell him, and he undeniably smells like chocolate, which he had after lunch, but also faintly like something unpleasant. I think his ears smell and suspect ear infection.

But I watch him.

He hides in a corner of the living room, and then runs out, sticking his finger out at me. It's all brown.

"Are you hiding chocolate over there?" I ask.

"Noooooooooooo." He sings.

"I GOT POOPY ON MY FINGER. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! POOPY!!! Poops! Poops!" as he dances around, finger out.

He comes over to me meekly. "Mommy, dissa poopy on my finger."

He was telling the truth.

"Why would you put your finger in your poop?" I ask him.

Mimi says, exasperated, "Mom, it's your fault! You have to change his diaper when he poops."

I ask Mimi, "Did you know that he had poop?"

Mimi, "I don't know."

She will make an EXCELLENT attorney someday. But Frank? I'm not really sure what the future holds for Poopy Finger.

02:49 pm: One more thought about my HMO
I submitted all the kids' medical expenses from Greece, organized, tabbed and numbered in August. I made sure at every appointment I got some form of explanation written in English by a doctor.

Mimi's were a lot of money, but not insane. Frank's were insane. Because he got so ill after eating my dad's cigarettes and had dehydration, etc., we spent a lot of money on Frank in March of 2009.

I only had one big envelope, and I called the insurance company to ask if I could submit their claims in the same envelope, since it was the same policy, or if I had to submit them separately. They were separately paperclipped, tabbed and numbered.

We got Mimi's reimbursements toward the end of September. I called in October to find out the holdup on Frank's claims and was told they were never received. But. Clearly, they were received since they were in the same envelope as Mimi's, which were received, processed and paid.

Once again with the sympathetic but worthless customer service. The woman says, "Send it directly to me so that there are no problems." It takes me a week and a half or so to get around to sending it, but I do, to her address.

I call today to verify it was received, and yes, it was received. "What would you like us to do with it?" "Pay me."

She says she will send it to processing, but that they have a 180-day policy, so it will be rejected. I explain to her that it was initially received in August by them, they lost it, and this is a copy.

She says that I can have a chance to dispute it once they have it translated and send it for processing and it gets rejected.

"JUST DON'T REJECT IT!!!" I suggest. "Pay it!"

It is just unreal to me what this is like. What this would be like for someone who was truly ill. I hate my HMO. Hate hate hate!!! PPO was expensive, true. It was. And we paid through the nose when we had both kids. Thousands of dollars. But this constant hassle and incompetence is just unreal.

01:48 pm: Quien es mas macho? Ovary o HMO?
Oh the tale I am going to bless you with now.

Remember my ovary? The one that hurts like a mofo? These last two days have been gruesome. GRUESOME. Like the angry, pitocin-induced relentless contractions I remember attacked me fruitlessly for hours before Mimi was born by C-section.

I was so relieved to finally have some ducks in a row and have an appointment for today with a doctor to potentially get a referral to handle this.

Hahahahaha.

Let's review: Saw my PCP mid-June. Referred for ultrasound. Referral sent to wrong address. Called. Referral re-sent to wrong address. Went to office with kids and picked up referral. Called and made appointment there in the waiting room for first available. Had ultrasound. Called doctor's office to inquire re results a day after I was expecting their call. Clusterfuck between doctor's office and imaging place that had to be refereed by yours truly.

Eventual voicemail from doctor on cell phone that was breaking up badly re ovarian cyst and something else. Referral in mail to Dr. Asshat, destructor of my yoot and perhaps my first pregnancy. Call to doctor's office to request other referral. Was informed that they only refer to his office on my HMO.

Call doctor to find out why she can't follow up with me. Never returned my call.

Call insurance to see if I can get referred to a different medical group with other ob/gyn affiliate. Yes, they said, and expedited my appeal as I recounted my harrowing tale of Dr. Asshat. We will call you in three days with name of new doctor. Later calls unreturned.

Letter in the mail 1.5 weeks later that my expedited appeal was denied because it wasn't urgent. Entered lengthy appeals process, which, after 35 days, was denied because my doctor's office had never recorded my request for a different referral. I call them and ask them to submit a formal request to re-begin appeals process. Why would they do that? They ask. There is no one else in the medical group they can refer me to. It's required, I answer. Please just do it. They can't, they inform me, because they only refer to that one practice. And on and on.

Cory suggests I just request to transfer to another medical group, and it seems to be working, although I have to emphasize that the current medical group is close to my old job, and I need something close to my house. Has nothing to do with current appeal situation!

Operator and I go through local doctors to find someone who is at an address closer to me, but not at the university, which is now charging $10 for parking. Yes, I considered the cost of parking in finding a doctor. All of the kids' specialists have been at the university and when you have multiple appointments in a month, it can really add up. Not covered by flex spending!

Pick a doctor. Tells me at the beginning of September to go ahead and make appointment with this doctor, who will be mine starting October 1. I comply. Insurance card comes in the mail, and, low and behold, when I look at it the last day of September, they put the wrong doctor on there. A doctor who is not the doctor with whom I have an appointment and it cannot be rectified until October, meaning my new PCP will take effect November 1.

Following me?

Cory, who's been slaving away at work on a big grant renewal and has been scarce around these parts as I go off the deep end, actually stayed home this morning with the kids so I could go to my doctor appointment. I carefully compile all of the pertinent records last night. I leave early enough to fill out the new patient paperwork. I arrive early. A miracle.

I wait in line to check in. They ask me my name again. No appointment for me, and that doctor doesn't even work there. They do some checking and hand me an address and phone number different than the one on my insurance card. Apparently, I'd been transferred when I called to make the appointment. I either didn't know or don't remember.

I call and am on hold for 15 minutes to say, "I'm on my way! Ha ha ha, funny mixup about your address." "Don't bother." the receptionist says. They don't see patients who are late for appointments.

"You can't be serious. This isn't my fuckup! It's either yours or the insurance company's. I have childcare. My ovary hurts. I am depressed. I have been trying to make this appointment since June!"

"Hold on, I'll page the doctor." "No, she said you need to make another appointment."

She basically scratched her left nut and told me to go fuck myself. I asked for the office manager. I got voicemail. I just started sobbing in my car, after I had already paid for parking at the wrong office.

I called the insurance company, who gave me a 30-minute, polite, but worthless lot of options. Which included changing doctors, etc., but none of which included a babysitter for another day or a doctor that wasn't a completely heartless cunt.

I called Cory and just sobbed. I'd been really looking forward to getting the load off my mind about my lady parts, and also to try some medication to lift this gravy I'm living in. I'm so tired of fighting. Fighting with everybody. Taking care of everybody but myself. I lashed out at him. I was so pissed. And sad. Mostly sad.

I want to go back to work. I think I have a reasonable childcare choice. Can I find work? But more importantly, who stays with the kids when they're sick? Which is, truthfully, all the time. Mimi's home today with another ear infection. God bless her tubes, but I can't send her to school when she feels like crap and has shit running out of her ear.

I want to have better insurance. I want the freedom of paying for things. But I also want to be the one with my difficult, nutty, insanely wonderful kids. And I want our house to be complete anarchy, but with the peace that I feel knowing that this is my ONLY job. All these responsibilities would still be mine if I were working. I would just have 45=50 less hours in which to do them.

I can't work it out. The only way we could possibly have another baby is if I go back to work, but the last thing I want to do is have another baby and go back to work. I could try sharing some of this responsibility with Cory, but I'm not really sure that has worked for us at all in the past. Let's just say it doesn't really feel like it lightens the load much. And still with the sick kids. Daycare/private preschool is way less lenient about sick kids at school than the public school system.

Gah.

I finally got through to the office manager, who made me another appointment in 10 days. First available! With a different doctor at the practice. And in looking through the stuff from the other doctor, I realized that the cyst was on the other side from where the pain is now. So I will probably need another ulrasound before I can even get a referral. Fun with HMOs.

I'm going to go have some ice cream.

*I forgot to add that, ironically, the doctor's actual office is less than 10 blocks from my old doctor's office. The one that was so far away from our house.

09:52 am: On Old Friends and New
Mimi had a little best friend at university daycare. They were so close. They did everything together. Their parents and I marveled at the strength of their friendship. We hung out at their house. We hung out together at restaurants. We were, I dare say it, friends.

When we left for Greece, the mom, who is a psychiatrist, was really worried about the effect Mimi's departure would have on her daughter. They showered Mimi with presents for her 3rd birthday right before we left. Like, seriously. More than she got from Grandma. We wrote them often - Mimi drew pictures for her friend, we sent her some Greek stickers. We tried to friend them on Skype, but they didn't. Her mom made a video of the little girl for Mimi on Facebook. Mimi ate it up. I would say for every 4 or 5 efforts we made, they would reach out to Mimi. And I get it - they were both working and really busy. Their daughter was at the same place with the same people. Mimi was the one who was lost.

Flash forward to coming-home time. We hadn't heard from them for months. I FB'd them that we were coming back and that we'd love to get together for dinner our second week back. Nothing. We got back and I left a vmail. I left another. I sent an email. Nothing. I stopped trying. Weeks later, I got a short email from them that they'd been busy, let's get together this week (or something like that) and I got Mimi all excited to see her friend. I neglected to mention that she talked about this friend constantly until she started school in September and made new friends.

Anyway, I kept proposing times and places to make it easy for them, the working parents, and not hearing back. The dad messaged me on LinkedIn that he wanted to do a playdate after we hadn't heard from them for weeks, and, when I made some suggestions, nothing. So I just gave up. I don't really care. I understand they're busy, but I feel sad for my girl. When we went to visit Mimi's old school, we found out that they had been doing playdates with another little girl who left the daycare there after school (something I had suggested as daycare is right down the street from us) and the teacher suggested we give her parents a call and join them. And I swallowed my pride and did call, and they didn't call back. I just gave up again.

We ran into them last night at Mimi's school's Halloween party. If you could have seen the sincere joy with which they greeted each other, you would have cried. I totally have tears in my eyes thinking about it. They clearly love each other. They haven't seen each other for exactly a year, and they were so happy and silly together.

Unfortunately, after a couple minutes, it was time for me to do my shift at a booth, and Cory hadn't arrived yet. I told them goodbye, and Mimi panicked. She didn't want to leave her friend. The parents offered to take Mimi with them around the party and they were gone about an hour. Cory totally gave them the cold shoulder when they handed off Mimi. He said she told him now that she lives in CA and this girl lives in CA, they can have a playdate. She has already asked this morning about the playdate.

I had a FB friends request from the dad this morning, who has messaged me on LinkedIn. I am so irritated with them. I feel like you never know what's going on with people, and I have tried to be uber-gracious. We ran into an acquaintance at the park who had recently moved to the area and had great fun with them. We back and forthed about a playdate while our kids were alternately ill and after I left the last message, which I had completely forgotten about, she called me and said her brother had died on the East Coast the week before and fell all over herself apologizing. Which is probably exactly what I would do after not returning a call for a week or two. And this has been going on since June.

This isn't supposed to be a big boo-hoo story, but my Mimi has suffered over this friend. If you had just seen their reunion! I can only hope that it softened her parents like it softened me. I suppose I will confirm him and do the playdate dance with them again. I wonder what is up with all this?

And remember my potential BFFs from the Y? I hadn't heard from them for a while and was equally silent myself. We have extremely conflicting schedules and will probably never get together. But what's funny and what we've all noticed is that our kids don't particularly like each other. They played together at sports class, but at playdates they all wander off in their own directions, and yet we've kept subjecting them to each other mercilessly. That, my friends, is friendship!

09:51 am: The Payback
So I had bought these firetruck temp tattoos for Frank for incentives. Mimi's class asked for temp tattoos for their Halloween bag, and I just sent the fire trucks. When the teacher asked for Halloween tattoos, I just blew her off as we had already donated a lot of stuff and I had the birthdays coming up, etc.

The kids got their treat bags yesterday and they were so cute. All the little treats were so thoughtful. The other moms all bought Halloween candy or covered blow pops with tissues tied with a ribbon and made little faces on the sucker ghosts. I was ashamed.

As Mimi was going through her bag, she came across the tattoo and wrinkled her nose. She said, "I'm going to give this to my brother, since I think he would really like it." So we left it at that. Such cute stuff in that bag!

We passed out Mimi's school party invitations yesterday, and to my amazement, more than half the parents have RSVP'd. I know we're all broke, as we're going to the same (free) preschool, and one of the moms (who is working 3 p-t jobs and is 9 mo pregnant) had emailed, asking what to bring for a gift.

Oh how I hemmed and hawed over this email. Part of the weird way I've been feeling is paranoia, I think. Projecting things and meanings onto different things. She asked me "what do you think Mimi would like for her birthday?" and I read "Oh my God, you Bitch, do you seriously expect us to get her a present?" And I got really self conscious because Mimi and I had discussed not asking for gifts this year, and instead having everyone bring some food for the food pantry at church, which is really suffering right now. Mimi wanted presents AND food for the food pantry, but I thought that was just too much to ask. So she chose the presents, and I think that's ok. But I struggled with that simple email so much. I feel really guilty. There have been two other birthdays, and no one else has had a party.

So it takes me a while to come around to the fact that she is really JUST asking me what to bring, and I made the suggestion that Mimi would love some princess bandaids or a princess toothbrush or some flavored chapstick. Are you totally disturbed by the machinations in my head? I feel so exposed writing all this out as background to this little anecdote.

But anyway, it took me forever to respond to the email, and I had to write several drafts of the email to get the point where I wasn't rationalizing the whole gift thing. And during this time, the kids were playing quietly.

I heard Mimi say, "this is no good. This one is too sticky. Let's just throw it away, Frank." And I wondered, did they get into more candy after I put it away? Because I had no idea how long I had been drafting this two-sentence email. I went to investigate, and found literally half a double roll of toilet paper in different stages of wetness all over the floor in the bathroom.

"What's too sticky, Mimi?" I asked.

"That fire truck tattoo. It didn't work." She informed me.

Sure enough, near the waste basket, but not in it (heaven forbid someone throw some trash in the actual basket rather than around it like garnish) was what was left of the tattoo.

I forgot to mention that it was brisk and windy yesterday, and Frank has had a runny nose for two weeks, and so his nose and cheeks were just raw. Bright red and tender. He was screaming when I gently wiped his nose with a damp tissue.

I look at Frank, and Mimi has attempted several times to apply the tattoo to his face, just to the right of the bridge of his nose. There are pieces of fire truck all over his face. I know from experience, for whatever reason, those tattoos stay on Frank for like 2 weeks. Mimi's wash off after a couple days, but not Frank's.

And in my horror, I forgot to take a picture.

I panicked and called Cory, who suggested I let it dry for a while and then try to wax it off with some scotch tape. This worked pretty well other than his screaming and writhing in agony. There's only one piece of tattoo left on his cheek at this point, although he has a couple of wounds that look like shaving nicks from the tape on his soft skin.

If I had just sent the Halloween tattoos as they had asked, I'm sure Mimi would have wanted it, and, if anything, would have applied it to her own hand. Which would be manageable. I'm still a little tripped out that she knew how to apply those tattoos. I think she's had maybe 3 in her life. Four on the outside.

Nothing gets past karma.

09:18 am: On beggars and Choosers
It's cold here for the first time in a really long time. Cold being relative. 60s? Anyway, Frank's diaper wipes are cold.

I'm changing his poop, and he says as I'm wiping him with the icey wipes, "It's cold, Mom. Cuh you please go superfast?" I appreciate the "please", but feel as though someone who can make such a civilized request should, I don't know, shit in the toilet.

03:28 pm: Rollercoaster
We have so much fun during the day, but the rest of the time can be so awful. Frank has really turned up the volume, I think I mentioned. He's a screamer, and he gets so wound up in his tantrums I don't think he even recognizes me sometimes. He doesn't know what to do. He can't get organized.

He fights me tooth and nail when it is time to change poops or get dressed, put shoes on, etc. Not always, but usually. I try to distract him by having him do a task for me or hold something he doesn't usually get to hold (sharp knives, pepper spray, you know. . .) and it works sometimes. Yesterday he was particularly foul after a nasty poop. He just kept twisting and hitting me and kicking me and kicking his legs everywhich way. Of course he had pooped right when we were supposed to be leaving to go get Mimi and wouldn't let me put his pants and shoes back on after I change him, and I get so stressed trying to be there on time so she doesn't get shoved out the gate or something. Thrown in a tank of sharks or whatever they do to kids with asshole parents. But I washed my hands really well and took my time because I know that that diaper change was a disaster and then run my largeness the .7 or so miles to school, mostly uphill.

I take the kids to the park after school every day it's feasible, and we have a good time. Yesterday morning I was feeling great, and Mimi was totally stoked because when we got there, one of her friends from school was there too. We played all kinds of games - red light green light, duck duck goose, lots of pretend. The kids had a great time and so did I. We laughed a lot and they did these crazy dance shows.

One of the moms from MOPs at my church showed up, and we chatted for a minute. It was fun to have the kids be so happy and playing so well and run into some adults that I like and know. They both kept looking at my shirt, though, and wrinkling their noses. Finally, one of the moms looked at me like she was going to puke and said they had to go. I was like, "what the fuck?" It is an old tshirt from U2's Zoo TV tour. It's totally ratty and hole-y, and the other moms jumped right out of J. Crew, but still. Get over it. The kids stayed and played for a while, and then it was time for us to come home for lunch.

I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, made, served, and ate lunch. I cleaned off the table, etc. We were getting ready to take the laundry to the laundromat and I noticed there was a GIANT streak of shit up the inside of my arm and on my sleeve. From like the middle of my forearm, but on the inside where I wouldn't normally look. Gah. It was clearly poop, too.

I hate taking both kids to the laundromat. It's a lot of work. Mimi does well. Yesterday, I exhausted Frank first. He fell asleep in the car on the way there, and I just took his carseat out and brought him in. We had a ton of laundry. Mimi's been wetting the bed a lot despite the fact we take her to the bathroom before we go to bed at night. A lot. It was a lot of laundry. I decided to wash the rug we use in the dining area that's the catchall for Frank's food droppings and also my mom got Frank new bedding for his birthday, which we finally exchanged for the right size and I took it to wash it out first since it had a chemical smell. A ton of laundry. Plus we usually wash on Saturday, so it was an extra few days of clothes and towels.

Mimi and I got through her homework and did some tracing and coloring after the wash was all in and it was going really well. She was playing on her little Leappad as I dealt with the dryers. She helped me fold. She was truly a model citizen and Frank just slept through it all.

He woke up as I was unloading the 3rd out of 5 dryers. I probably haven't mentioned this before, but Frank almost always wakes up screaming if he's in his own bed. Sometimes I leave him a piece of gum in his hand to see if he can just put the gum in and be happy, but he's usually too disoriented.

He woke up freaking out at the laundry mat. He couldn't see me when he woke up, and some stranger, trying to be helpful who had previously asked his name, decided to go comfort him, which totally made him scream bloody murder. I was so torn between helping him and getting the fuck out of there. I tried to comfort him, but didn't want all of our clothes to get wrinkled. When I saw it was not helping, I just put him back in his carseat. He didn't want his pacifier, his snack, his water, his toys or anything. He just wanted to be held, or, in the alternative, scream until the glass started to crack. I am a very efficient laundress, and I only fold what matters and shove the rest in cloth bags to fold at home with the kids. But this tantrum. Oh. My. And the worse it got, the more I just wanted to finish and get out of there, because I know that I can comfort him, but he will just scream again when he's put down.

Someone told Mimi that her mom should take Frank outside, and Mimi was all confused. Some guy came over and called Frank an obnoxious little shit, and someone else told me he was a brat. I laughed - I mean, I don't think anyone who hasn't been there can truly appreciate how stressful those situations are. It's not like anyone could swoop in and rescue me either. I had the car. And I had to fit all those giant bags of laundry and bedding into the car, reinstall Frank's carseat, get all of our stuff scattered around the place, and get the kids in the car. It was awful, but funny. I had to laugh at myself. 36 years old and doing laundry at a laundromat with two small kids. Yikes. I used to drop my laundry off there and pay $1.15 a pound to have someone else wash it! But anyway, it just kept getting worse, and Mimi, who had been a superstar, joined in the screaming. But I did it, and even though it was just laundry, it made me feel very accomplished. And made me appreciate all the more that Cory will take the kids so I can take the laundry myself.

Frank had another one of those tantrums this morning that took up our whole time alone together (Cory mercifully has also taken over attending that stupid parenting class so I don't have to sit there and get all pissed off and try to keep control of Frank at the same time). Him just telling me about it today pissed me off. I wonder if it's because Mimi's younger? But the other kids just aren't like her. I brought them their usual snacks today, except I ran out of goldfish crackers for Mimi and substituted popcorn, which she loves. Mimi always eats an apple and Frank a banana. I've tried other fruits. I've tried bananas for both of them and apples for both of them, but this is what they eat. I feed Frank his snack in the car on the way home and Mimi just EXPLODES. I can't figure out what her problem is. She's screaming and snotting and crying and I just keep asking. Finally, despite the fact that Mimi has not eaten a banana in at least 3 months: "I really wanted that banana." Sigh.

The both were really fun today when we got home though. Played together well and without incident or damage, were kind to each other and to me, and ate great lunches. I made hash, which was always one of my favorites as a kid. Frank was picking the steak out of it (they both were) and savoring it. "Dissa sucha good chicken, Mom. I like dis chicken!" We had broccoli, which is a truly hit or miss food for them but today was a hit for both, and Frank got to eat grape tomatoes for the first time and would have eaten a hundred if I hadn't cut him off at 5.

I was so pleased I let them each have a brownie. Frank promptly threw his up, but Mimi said, "This is the best, Mom. This is my favorite. This is the best in THE WORLD." And the concentration on her face while devoting all of her attention to the deliciousness of chocolate as her brother tossed his cookies all over the floor and the table was something. I think someone's getting some brownies for her birthday.

09:23 am: Maybe better
I'm not on any meds. I have an appointment to go ask for some. But, honestly, just talking it out with cory, really hashing it out rather than our usual short conversations punctuated by the kids' interjections with many words spelled out (what do people do whose kids are early readers?), made me feel hopeful.

He also talked to his boss about it, who understands, allegedly. I mean, his boss certainly knew us before we were married - engaged even - and knew I was a professional and took the kids to Greece so that Cory could do some work last year. So, anyway, he's trying to expedite some relief for us, which he says in his opinion is only fair for Cory. He really wants Cory to stay that extra year. But I am a lawyer, and his boss never promises to deliver, only to try. Cory rolls his eyes at this, but I'll believe it when I see the beef. But it does relieve some of my stress. And that maybe it will come before Christmas.

And it was a relief, for once, for Cory to be the one feeling the stress of trying to make the ends meet. I don't think he's understood for all these months that there's not really enough. When one of the other moms asked for a donation for a BROOM for the classroom so the kids could play outside because of these berries that were falling off the trees, Cory was there and said, "I don't have $2". I took $2 the next day, even though the day before I had been the room mom, I saw that they already had a broom to sweep the seeds off the table, and the kids didn't give a fuck about the seeds in the yard that's shared by like 5 classrooms. Why did we have to buy the broom?

I need to learn to say no. We haven't really advertised our relative poverty to anyone. This is as detailed as I've gotten with anyone but Cory. My car desperately needs just a service, which I could get for $18, and I keep trying month after month to squeeze it in.

But then on Sunday with Mimi's performance, even though we paid for the Greek program and food, the kids couldn't sit through it. They couldn't. Mimi did her thing, and it was taking all of our energy to try to contain them. All the other families with really little kids left. And we had planned to try to go back to the Halloween celebration at the zoo, but we were all hungry.

So we ate there, and I whipped out the credit card because we are out of cash. bare basics lunch for 4 of us was over $30. Which just makes me mad at myself for not planning better or packing better or being more flexible and just saying "fuck the zoo". I mean, on a normal day, that would feed all 4 of us several meals. And I was sick with myself for not figuring out a better solution.

I am trying to learn to be more flexible, and it seems to be kind of working with Mimi. I've always thought our problem was that we didn't have a rigid schedule, until I realized we kind of do. Not the half-hour increment one that we made up and stuck to the wall, but routines we observe nearly every day. And yesterday, in the face of Mimi's after-school fit, I just said fuck it to the routine and let the kids jump in puddles and play in the mud. After a while, I just opened the car door and when Mimi saw Frank getting in, she followed him and we all went happily to the park. I also need to try harder to stay calm. I know I'm making baby steps in this area. It's hard when I feel so out-of-control sad a lot of the time. But I let them "check" me like I "check" them when they're getting too angry, and Mimi really liked that power, although she hasn't used it yet except on her dad when he got frustrated with her in the bathtub for really not listening.

They have been truly awesome, and I think some of the things we're doing are helping, although I can't help but notice in EVERY picture I get emailed by the other moms at the school who are helping for their days that Mimi has a frown on. All the other kids are smiling, and I know she has fun at school, but she has a frown on in all those pictures. Lots of them. Tens of them. Even on their field trip. Why does she look so mad? And why do we have a tantrum EVERY DAY after school? Too hard to switch activities?

Frank has some serious congestion. He got his H1N1 yesterday and he saw our pediatrician (we just ran in for the nurse to give him the shot) and just ran over to her to give her a huge hug. He was so excited to see her! She was concerned about his rumbly chest that I had just talked to her about and said that it was really his nose that was sounding like a 60something lifetime smoker playing the slots at an Indian casino in the inland empire on a respirator, and not his lungs, and told us to do a sinus rinse for him. I must say I was surprised how effective that is, but OH MY GOODNESS it is very interesting giving it to him. He no likey.

Mimi's birthday is coming up and I have been really dragging my feet on the invitations, planning and party supplies. Bleh. It just seems like a lot of work. Next year I'm going to work on making a smaller deal of these things. That is high on the list of things I'd like to do to simplify and economize. The kids are totally my weakness. I love seeing them happy and I tend to overdo.

09:02 am: Oh we're a bunch of bottomless pits around here.
Frank just had breakfast - 3 (small) bowls of cereal - and is stomping around the house changing, "I want PASTA, mom! I want 'Paghetti, Mom! I want PASTITSIO, Mom!" I mean, breakfast was a little lame today because we're out of fruit and low on rice milk, but it was still breakfast. It's been less than an hour since he ate. Frank does a lot of this - eats a meal and then shortly thereafter starts demanding more food. At his 2 year appointment, he was 40% weight, 10% height, and a shocking 25% head circumference, which trips me out since his head is bigger than Mimi's. I feel like that kid has a giant head. I hope he's fixing to grow. I don't think I feed him ideal snacks. He loves goldfish, and, other than cereals, it's the only convenience food we use. He used to like raisins, but that time has passed. I mean, really, with these kids, they could eat 4 bowls of something one day, and by the next day declare they don't like it and will never eat it again. It's hard to keep up.

Mimi had her first field trip with the pre-K class. They went to a small zoo in another county. It was a long trip. We went to pick her up, and the bus was like an hour late. I had a lot of reservations about sending her on the trip at all, but we knew a couple of the parents who were chaperoning. Anyway, so the bus finally arrived, and one of the moms shoved this disheveled little boy with a rash around his mouth off the bus and yelled something at me. I slowly dissected in my mind what she was saying, and it was "Mimi has to go potty." So I stand and wait for Mimi, and then I realize the disheveled little boy was actually my little girl. All the kids had to wear matching shirts on the field trip, and they are in kid sizes, not toddler, and so Mimi was just swimming in it. I gave her a big hug with a big smile, like I do every day after school, and she started having a tantrum just like she does almost every day after school.

I said, "quick, quick like a bunny, let's get to the potty. I'm so proud of you for holding it on the bus. I know it's hard to hold it when you have to go." So she got up to come with me, but when she realized that we were going toward the office bathroom rather than the kid potties in her classroom (which was locked) she just threw herself down on the ground and launched into a full-on crazyfest. I was kind of lost. Luckily, Cory was there and he cajoled her to go with him while I stayed with Frank, who was enjoying his goldfish crackers.

The teacher just told me again and again how great Mimi was, and what a happy little spirit she is - something that's hard for me to connect. She came out, and gave me grunt after grunt as I suggested she say goodbye to her friends,etc. We finally got her to the car, and she had a total breakdown because she refused to sit in her seat. I kept telling her, "I am so proud of you. You're such a big girl. You held your pee pee for so long. You went to the zoo with your school! Let's go home and get a sticker!" So flash forward 15 minutes of exhausting every-trick-in-the-book to get her into her seat, and Cory gets out of the car and buckles her in forcefully. And he realizes that she actually had not been able to hold it, but rather had had an accident. You know, I kept telling her patiently that I just wanted to understand why she was upset and wouldn't she tell me? And she would just cross her eyes and grunt at me. I don't know why she wouldn't tell me, other than I kept telling her I was proud of her, because we never give her a hard time about accidents anymore. They just happen and that's that.

It was nice to have that little insight into her tantrum that one time, although it's certainly not the cause of the tantrums every day after school.

After doing some real soul searching, I started wondering if my own unhappiness isn't causing these tantrums. I'm not the mom I used to be. I have no energy. I'm unhappy. I sigh a lot. I don't smile and laugh with them like I used to, even when we were in Greece. I broke the day before yesterday, bringing them home from school. It was a string of unfortunate events like every day - the 30 minute tantrum at school, the screaming all the way home, refusing to go to the park, and as we got home, demanding to go to the park. Then trying to get the kids and all their shit and the giant stroller up the stairs and inside, and just as I open the door, the kids sit down right in the door so I can't get past with my arms full of heavy stuff, and I had to pee. They wouldn't move and then started fighting over a tub of toy animals, of which there are like 100 and they could easily share, but they started just beating the crap out of each other with plastic animals. Now, on a normal day, I could handle all this while making lunch and vacuuming at the same time. And I realized that it just seemed so HARD. So hard, that all I wanted to do was drop the stroller and run away. And that maybe there was something wrong with me.

Cory and I had a big talk about it. I have asked him, and really a lot of people, for help. But as the therapist said, it's asking the air. There's no one who can help me. So I need to get back to a place of being able to do it myself. I sent Cory out with our remaining cash, our shopping list, and the circulars the other day, stressing to him this is it for the rest of the month, which includes Halloween and parties at Mimi's school and Greek school. There's just not enough. And it's not like we're throwing it away on stuff, although I'm constantly learning lessons of things that I think we need, and we really don't. He came back and he was STRESSED. It's just not possible. And I was grateful for him to understand what this is like. It seems like relief is just around the corner, hopefully, but before that we have Halloween and Mimi's birthday and Thanksgiving and Christmas. It doesn't keep me awake at night, but it keeps a sick feeling in my chest all the time. I mean, I know we'll figure it out, and that this is temporary, but it's hard and I don't like it.

I can't plan it away, either. Every week we get hit up for all these things at Mimi's school - she had the field trip, which we had to pay for, and then 2 days before, they were like, hey, the kids will all wear matching shirts, so you need to bring another $10 for a shirt tomorrow. And Mimi's greek school, which costs hundreds of dollars, which are totally unearned as it is lame, is having a show, in which Mimi and her class will join the other kids in singing the opening song, and the older kids will recite poetry, etc. She will sing one song for less than one minute. I had to buy a $25 shirt, I need to buy a navy blue skirt, we need to bring a bottle of wine (hello, $2 Chuck) and we each have to pay $5 to hear this stupid song. But Mimi is excited about it and loves to perform, so how are we not going to send her. Maybe just one of us goes and videotapes her. We haven't figured it out yet.

And the Halloween Hassle? To which we've donated all this shit and have to volunteer? Well, entrance is free, but to play any of the games or do face painting, you need "tickets". And - - you have to buy them! And they talk about the party at school. So, we're going. And taking Frank, since I'll be volunteering and Mimi has to be chaperoned. Sigh. It wouldn't seem so hard, but it is. And I know Christmas will be more of this.

Oh, and last week, I got a call from the church that they wanted us to bring chili to the chili cookoff to feed 20. I made chili mac to stretch it, but it still cost us almost $20. And the MOPs group I helped with last week is now going to be charging $8 a head, and how do I bow out gracefully when I'm actually helping with the organization?

On the one hand, I've never had to count pennies like this, and never really and truly realized what a burden all these little things can be, even to a resourceful person, when you're on a very tight budget. I've never lived without credit cards before, too. It is a big lesson, and we're discussing just saying no to the Greek school thing, even though we already bought the shirt because it's just too much money. Plus it's after church there, which they can't say when it ends. So we would have to go to church, which means we would have to make an offering.

I've really learned. I've been schooled. This year has been quite an education. And there's light at the end of the tunnel but the tunnel keeps getting longer and longer. I know that the antidepressants won't make a dollar out of 99 cents, but maybe will help me see that I'm not really living in clear gelatin and face it all a little more cheerfully.

The therapist also suggested I get a job to ease the finances and to have some intellectual stimulation. I'm thinking about it. But Frank is sick right now and I know the second they went to a preschool they would be sick all the time again. I mean, they've been a little sick for like 3 straight weeks, which is part of why I'm depressed - their sickness always gets me down - but I know if I were to get a job, it would be me trying to figure out how to be home with them when they're sick. I think if we can get through these few months, it would be better to wait until next September and try to put them in preK and preschool then get a job. Or not. I don't know.

But I do understand that this is all very hard - the finances, Mimi's behavior, being home with two kids - but it's not really as hard as it feels to me right now.

03:03 pm: The Rare but Blissful Double Nap (El Doble)
The kids are kind of snotty and congested, so I put them both down for a nap. It took an hour to get them to sleep, and I will have to go wake them up soon, but oh how I miss the days of naps.

I also know we'll pay for it tonight, with both of them stumbling around until 11 pm or so. But the quiet. The house is a mess and needs to be picked up, but I really wanted to download Frank's birthday pictures. That kid, we love him so.

At first, Cory and I both relished that he answered questions with a long and hissy "yessssssssss." Then it was "yeah" with kind of a flip attitude. Now it is a full-on, dramatic, eye-rolling "of course."

"Do you want some more water?" "of COURSE!" "Did you hear me tell you to get down from the sofa?" "of COURSE, Mom." He's telling everyone he's four, which totally cracks me up. He and Mimi roam wild at the park these days, and we are regulars at our local park, where everyone knows Frank with his giant red helmet as he goes flying past on the kickboard/scooter.

People will often ask him how old he is because he's so proficient on Mimi's little scooter, and he used to tell them "3", but now he tells them "4". I overheard him tell some grandparents that we often see at the park today "Four. I juss hadda birfday." Or he may say. "Four. Iss my birfday taday."

Just in time for being two, he has seriously cranked up the volume. I've had to close all the windows several times a day because of his screaming. He's on asthma maintenance inhalers and Motrin to help him through this virus as he is SUPER cranky. He often slaps the medicine right out of my hands, and, as such, every room of our house smells like "orange medicine". He's a fighter when he doesn't feel good, that's for sure. He's screaming so loudly. I've never heard anything like it, and, as usually, their being sick just wears me down. I'm sick of reading parenting books, too. They are not there for me when I'm exhausted and both kids are screaming and Frank has just headbutted me and slapped our last dose of motrin out of my hands while pulling my hair, with Mimi whining in the background, "I want to play beads. I want some water. I don't want to go to the bathroom. Where's my blanket."

That's the point where I would like an author of a parenting book to come into my house and take over. These weeks have been particularly brutal. As I get older, I realize that I probably suffer from some mild depression a good deal of the time, and that waking up and deciding to be cheerful doesn't ever get me very far. We had a lot of volunteer stuff for church this month, a ton of stuff for school, unexpected expenses fast and furious, and both birthdays and Halloween back-to-back. I am only one person, and I am finding it difficult and frustrating to try to meet everyone's needs. Frank has been sick, and so he needs a nap. Mimi has not been taking a nap. When Frank has a nap, he doesn't ever go to sleep at night. Basically, it means that I have NO waking time to myself. None. Mimi needs me the whole time Frank is napping, and Frank hangs on me in the evenings after Mimi goes to sleep until I can't stand it anymore and I lie down with him and we both fall asleep together. And they wake up again and again and again during the night.

But I would love to see someone step into my shoes in that situation and show me what to do. Walk away? Because I'm seething. I'm furious, often growling or screaming, and frustrated. Not only do the kids not know how to deal with that acute frustration, but neither do I. I often wish Cory would step in and save us, but he doesn't know how to deal with that frustration either. In fact, I suspect that his tolerance for asshole kids is less than mine.

What do you do? Even knowing that Frank feels lousy and that Mimi is trying to squeak her wheel doesn't take the edge off. That shitty parenting class at school is about discipline this week. But I don't think this is about discipline. What do you do when your kids are inappropriately expressing their frustration and you reach your boiling point? Because it happens around here a few times a week. How do you handle it? Has anything helped you?

08:53 am: I have turned on Mimi's school. I'm just really irritable, which is probably a product of my out-of-control Halloween candy consumption. Too much sugar and chocolate. Like, WAY too much.

I so didn't want it to go this way. I wanted to like the school. I was so enthusiastic at the beginning. I was. I tried. I mean, we're in no position for the hard-core fundraising right now, but anything I can do, I do. Me. Cory, no. Me, yes.

I think the teacher doesn't like Mimi. And I get it. There are lots of sweet "pleaser" kids in there. Mimi is not a "pleaser". Mimi is a clowny, immature little energizer bunny. I really loved how she shoved Mimi out the door today, into the rain, with no coat on when I was like 5 classrooms away chasing after Frank who was jumping in puddles. With my hands full, the stroller laden with all the shit I'd had to bring to the worthless and irritating parenting class to try to keep all the toddler siblings there under control. I could have cried. Is it so hard to help her with her fucking jacket? I mean, she's not yet 4, and it's cold and raining. I didn't have enough arms to do it. And my favorite part? How she shut the door right away behind her. And as I struggled to get Mimi's jacket on and keep Frank from getting lost back several classrooms away, her assistant came out and locked the gate so we couldn't get out. And then even though I saw them go back to the classroom, took their sweet time coming to the door so I could beg them to let me out of there.

She sends home all these passive-aggressive notes that seem really bitchy to me (maybe I'm reading into them) with all these fucking smiley faces on them. She's too enthusiastic, but she doesn't seem happy. It's weird and kind of gross. And she's so concerned with them doing what they're told. It is a preK, after all, and Mimi loves it and is learning a lot (but not enough, I don't think), but she's not old enough to be treated that way, in my opinion, and I suppose it's my mistake for putting her in preK. Would you believe me if I said I didn't know holding her back was an option? I figured, a cutoff is a cutoff.

The parenting class is so awful. I hate it. HATE HATE HATE. They make us do crafts and I hate crafts. What the fuck is that. You have parents captive for 2.5 hours a week, and we spend half an hour coloring? Like the hour of coloring Mimi has to do every night isn't wearing and boring enough? It is some crazy shit, man. I had to color some chicken-turkey brown bag puppet shit, and as I was chasing Frank around the un-childproofed classroom while all the other moms made these crafty, creative, bright puppets. My instinct was to make mine a drunk mime with yellow white-face and bloodshot eyes, but although Mimi would have appreciated it, I don't know that the mom brigade would have. I somehow glued the bag together while putting the wings on it, and then when we were trying to get Mimi's jacket on, it got all wet.

All the mormon siblings play so well together, and Frank is out for blood. Probably because I bring a big bag of toys that he recognizes as his and the other kids want to play, too. They went around the class, and everyone had to say a personality trait they like about their 4yo. I was the last one, of course, and everything I said the teacher said someone else had already said and she wanted something "original". Oh fuck me. I think the 20 adjectives on the board were, like, all of the in the English language, and I just don't care. I liked the idea of a parenting class with the other parents, but trying to do all the exercises and make a goddamn craft while wrangling Frank is ridiculous, and the exercises strike me as stupid. For example, they told us to make a jingle to have our kids memorize their phone numbers. I said there was no way Mimi could memorize a string of 10 numbers. We live in an overlay area so you have to dial the area code first, and of course we have the new area code. The teacher said they only need to memorize the last 7 numbers, and I asked why. She said presumably, they would get lost in their own area code????

Apparently, no one else had heard of the overlay, and a great discussion commenced. Their conclusion was that my home telephone number must be my cell phone number. Despite the fact that I was right there, insisting, NO, in fact, it is my home telephone number with the new area code. I've had my cell phone number for a million years. Can you imagine how frustrating this is? Stupid people? And with crafts?

Add to it the giant pumpkin they sent home to do as homework last night, along with the alphabet homework. It said in each area what color it was supposed to be, but of course Mimi can't read. One of the few things I remember about kindergarten and first grade was how much I hated coloring. I remember the sinking feeling as they hauled out the giant buckets of broken, naked crayons. I'm sure if you found my report cards somewhere in my mom's house, they would say that I work too fast and am careless, criticism that has followed me around my whole life. I had no regard for the lines. And I still hate coloring. So imagine how brain sucking it is for me to sit for 45 minutes, when I'm tired and have a list of shit piled up to do around the house and Frank vying for Mimi's crayons and chair, etc., and encourage Mimi in coloring this stupid pumpkin. "My arm is really hurting, Mom. Is it done yet?"

And as much as I envisioned myself snapping a rubber band over and over again at my naked eyeballs, when we had finally slogged through it (and Frank in the meantime had written all over the walls in marker), I was SO PROUD OF HER. It was amazing. Probably better than anything I ever did in the first grade. It was awesome. She kept wanting to color different things different colors, and I kept promising her that I would draw her a picture of a pumpkin and she could color it however she wanted, but for the school one, she needed to follow directions. I complimented her over and over again on that pumpkin. Even as we slugged through the stupid alphabet exercise they had sent home, and played the "emotions" card game and sang the song over. and over. and over. (oh please someone kill me. I cringe just thinking about all this stupid shit).

Cory dropped her off this morning at school because we were late from opening some of Frank's BIRTHDAY PRESENTS. He said that Mimi was so proud, she took the pumpkin out of her folder to show her teacher with a big smile on her face. Which warranted a "how nice" from the teacher and a reminder to leave everything in her folder so the teacher can go through it, and put her folder in the bucket with the other folders.

Everyday, there is a request for something. They are having a Halloween party for the kids, which is a ton of work and requires a ton of donations, and I have to wonder if it's really worth it. I mean, I'm sure the kids love it. But remember Halloween? Trick-or-treating? For candy? That was always enough for us as kids. Why the big money-draining clusterfuck of volunteers and donations? I'm irritated to no end. It's not like we don't do fun things with the kids or they lead a joyless existence apart from school.

Anyway, this Halloween Hassle has required me to donate so far: a pound of candy. A pumpkin. A bag of plastic tubs. Signed up for 4 hours of volunteer work and got yesterday a request for another Halloween-related hour or (and also clean-up if you can). And had signed up to bring temporary tattoos for their "goody bag" (Hello! Halloween! Candy! No need for a sack full of crappy toys that Frank is going to choke on). I sent fire trucks, since we already had them, and got back a request for HALLOWEEN tattoos, with smiley faces drawn all over it.

I just have to laugh. Who cares? The four-year-olds? Anyway, I'm off to take the birthday boy to the zoo after we pick up Mimi from the reformatory, I mean pre-kindergarten class.

09:03 pm: Decided, for now
I spend so much time sweating decisions, but if we make it through the schoolyear with reasonable amount of sick days (1/mo? 2/mo?), then I'm going to try to find a job next year, put Mimi in private preK, Frank in preschool, and use the extra to pay for Cory's vasectomy.

The tantrums, the behavior. It's exhausting and not very rewarding. I find it hard to imagine I'm giving them anything they wouldn't get in school. I miss myself sometimes.

This third baby idea, it's so hard. Frank's such a charmer. Mimi is just having a very difficult time right now, and we need more than 2 hours, 4 days a week apart. She is a very sensitive little girl who's really going to need a lot of help and encouragement. She's amazing and smart and loving, but she's also exactly the Explosive Child they talk about in that book. I knew it just by reading the introduction. Working with her on her homework.

I love them both, and like them most of the time, especially when they're sleeping. Or even when one of them is sleeping. I would love and like another baby. But I wouldn't like another miscarriage or yoot problem. I wouldn't like more 'roids. I wouldn't like more stretchmarks, or saggier boobs. Food allergies. Sleepless nights. And work sounds so good. This is probably about exactly the one-year mark of my being home with the kids full time. A year is a long time. I think that two years will be more than enough. I will be sad about us being only 4, and not even trying for 5, but it's so much and I'm so lucky, and oh, by the way, I'm losing my goddamned mind.

So if I could set this in stone, it would be great to move on. don't ask me tomorrow, though.

08:01 pm: More on the Psychological Experiment that is Greek School
Mimi had an assignment for some stupid show they're doing in 2 weeks (I have heard it is super-boring and goes on for hours), which was to memorize a song. I sang it around the house for a couple days when it became clear that, despite my father's assurance to the contrary, he was not going to skype with her to help her learn it.

So, I had sung it at bedtime for a few nights when Mimi crossed her eyes and clenched her fist and stink-eyed me and yelled "STOP SINGING THAT SONG. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT ANYMORE."

So, knowing that learning cannot be forced, nor can a love for learning, I quit. I sang it to Frank when I knew Mimi was in earshot.

Flash forward to Saturday morning. Mimi tries to kick me and Frank out of the classroom, where she is once again cuddling with famous daughter, but they are learning words for colors and cookies (which Mimi knows already) with play-dough. Frank cannot be pried from the room. After play-dough, she hisses again at me to leave, and so we do.

They start playing that song on the little boombox, and Mimi yells, "Mom, it's your favorite song!"

She listens for a minute. One of the words is "Ee Kambana" and Frank is scooting around on Mimi's scooter yelling "Ee Obama" in tune with the song.

After snack, they go back in the room and while Frank is scooting in the courtyard, I mosey up to the door quietly. The teacher is playing the melody of the song on the piano. the kids swarm her to try playing the piano. Exasperated and clearly not used to small children, she pushes them all back and says, "Whoever can sing the song can play the piano. Otherwise, step back."

Mimi's hand shoots up like an arrow. The teacher calls on her and she belts it all out, loudly and in tune. Perfectly. She first heard the song a week ago and maybe let me sing it for her five times. The teacher looks over to me, wide-eyed and I shrug. She asks Mimi if she knows what the song means, and, of course, she translates it. I didn't even know what some of those words meant last week, and had to ask my dad. Figures.

If only she would take this confidence and skill over to preK, we'd be in business.

09:32 am: Raise your hand if you've heard this one:
FRANK:

Frank (sitting at table alone, clearly on the verge of tears staring at big bowl of oatmeal in the center): I'm hungry; I want some oatmeal.

Me: Let's wait for Daddy and Mimi.

Frank (whining): Oatmeal NOW!

Me: Tell daddy and Mimi to hurry up. Say, "Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!"

Frank (smiling): Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!

( a millisecond passes)

Frank (sitting at table alone, clearly on the verge of tears staring at big bowl of oatmeal in the center): I'm hungry; I want some oatmeal.

Me: Let's wait for Daddy and Mimi.

Frank (whining): Oatmeal NOW!

Me: Tell daddy and Mimi to hurry up. Say, "Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!"

Frank (smiling): Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!

(a nanosecond passes)

Frank (sitting at table alone, clearly on the verge of tears staring at big bowl of oatmeal in the center): I'm hungry; I want some oatmeal.

Me: Let's wait for Daddy and Mimi.

Frank (whining): Oatmeal NOW!

Me: Tell daddy and Mimi to hurry up. Say, "Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!"

Frank (smiling): Come on Daddy. Come on Mimi. Let's have breakfast!

(continues for at least 5 minutes until Mimi and Cory come to table.)

MIMI:

(sees oatmeal on table, and with great drama collapses onto the floor, whining)

I don't WANT oatmeal. I want COLD cereal. I want cheerios.

Me: OK. I'll get you some cheerios. That's fine.

Mimi: I don't WANT oatmeal.

Me: I said ok. You can have cheerios for breakfast.

Mimi: Cheerios!

Me: OK! I said OK. Stop arguing with me.

I dish up Frank's oatmeal and Mimi's cheerios. We all sit down and start to eat breakfast.

Mimi looks at Frank's oatmeal with interest and back dejectedly to her cereal.

Mimi: I don't want Cheerios. I want oatmeal.

03:43 pm: A note on the school
Thanks for the thoughtful feedback re holding Mimi back a year. There's plenty of time to make a decision, and I would be stupid not to get on some lists for Mimi just in case.

Part of it, that I couldn't articulate yesterday, was seeing my own child not performing well. In fact, perhaps being the least capable in the class. It was a shock. I remember in first grade always being the first done with my work, and I remember going to a parent-teacher meeting with my mom in kindergarten and the teacher telling my mom as I played with toys in the back that I was the brightest in the class.

I know Mimi is smart. I just don't think she wants to perform. Whether that is something I have caused by my shoddy mothering or whether that is something she inherited from my father, I'm not sure. I know that my dad and my brother, who are the only people in our families that are as physical as Mimi is, and as active, and as quick to anger, hated school. Had trouble with school.

It's an interesting concept, having an underperforming child, that I never really considered before. But I know that she is very bright, and very excited to learn at church, at choir, and at Greek school. I know we'll figure it out. It just was unexpected, that's all.

03:08 pm: More to Blog
I think I'm blogging so much because the kids are sick and they actually take naps. Or maybe because Mimi is so confounding right now. But, anyway. Sorry.

Frank had a fever again last night, so I opted to force Cory to go to the parenting class and take Frank on a hunt for a second-hand play kitchen this morning. Cory's class was on stress management, and I know he has a lot of stress. I pretty much shove him and the kids either through the door to the kids' room or out the front door the very instant he gets home. Mimi is so SO SO SO difficult right now, she exhausts me. So difficult. The tantrums and the screaming and fighting are just unimaginable.

Last night I asked her what she wanted to get Frank for his birthday in eight days, and she said, "a kitchen". I had been toying with the idea of getting them that as a joint gift for Christmas, but I thought it was a wonderful and insightful suggestion on her part. Frank loves all of our kitchen toys, he loves to pretend to cook things, and I think he would really like a play kitchen. I had already been watching for them on craigslist. Can I just say that I hate craigslist? Every once in a while, we score something awesome or have an unremarkable sale of something of our own, but mostly, I find that people are scourges and assholes.

Frank and I went a-hunting for this kitchen, and something that had been allegedly indoor and was in full working order had clearly been stored on a dirt farm in a mountain of cow shit and didn't work. At first I was totally pissed to have wasted gas to drive all the way down there, but then I decided to make a very low counteroffer. Her price was about 60% of the purchase price of a new one, and I offered about 35%.

What was irritating is that her house was a castle, and although she called me several times and told me she'd be home at 9:20, her servant (housekeeper? babysitter?) led me in, showed me the kitchen set, and told me that the owner had told her that I had her phone numbers. But, she had also made a point to tell me she had the morning off, and that she'd be there after she took her kids to school. So, during this odd scene, I hear someone in the kitchen, and I'll bet it was the lady of the house. How weird is that.

Anyway, she sent me a nasty email that whatever she gets for the kitchen will be donated to charity, so she won't come down on the price. Whatever. Irritating. I'm glad though. With that out of our budget, I'm much more zen about making it through the birthdays.

Mimi's homework for school yesterday was to find things at home that start with "b". She got a little paper sack with her name on it to fill up. Despite our admonitions to the contrary, she put her beloved blue blanket in the sack. The thing she needs to have a peaceful slumber/existence/demeanor . . . . Cory took her this morning and went to the parenting class. I totally forgot about the sack after I told him to get it this morning. Mimi got in the car, and as we were driving Cory to work, I asked her how the "b"s went, and whether she got her ball, banana, bats, Barbie, and blue blanket back.

She didn't, and it was the beginning of a 1.5-hour-long tantrum. I kept trying to calm her down saying we'd make a plan. We'd get it back. I dropped Cory off and drove straight to school. The preK gate was closed, Mimi's teacher wasn't there, the door was locked, the key was missing, and it was a full-on taste of hell. The principal came out and tried to help calm her down. She was screaming like you wouldn't believe. I kept telling her that we would make a plan, I would call the teacher, etc. Her green blankets were at home. Children were trying to learn so she needed to stop screaming, hey, see that butterfly, how many songs do we know in Greek STOP SCREAMING, I'M GETTING VERY ANGRY!

It was crazy. And we got home and she was such a shit to Frank. I blew up at her, again, and sent her to her room after I told her she acts like an animal and all I'm trying to do is help her.

I made lunch and played one of our favorite games, pillow mountain, where I gather up all the pillows in the house and bury the kids in pillows. She was fine while we were playing, but then she would just melt down. It is a horrible, horrible age right now. I know it's just temporary, but it's so hard. It reminds me of Greece.

I decided since I'm already insane and since Frank was taking over an hour to settle down for his nap, and it's cool enough to leave the windows closed, I let him cry it out. No mommy to cuddle, no pacifier. The first time I shut the door on them after an hour (Mimi lays down for quiet time while Frank goes to sleep, then we do a project together, which today was to be writing a letter to Great-Grandma Marge with glitter glue decorations), it was quiet for a bit, and then loud.

I went in to check out the noise. Mimi had fallen asleep despite our project plans, and Frank had taken off his diaper and was marching around his room naked, yelling "Frankie the Tank! Frankie the Tank!"

I didn't even know he had seen that movie.

I'm totally fucked, now, though, because I realize that with the kids sleeping, it will be impossible to get the blue blanket back today. If the sound of me hitting my head against the wall over and over and over again is too loud, just let me know. But Frank must have fallen asleep, probably naked in a puddle of his own urine, with one hand firmly around his beloved "tsuni" for comfort, but it's quiet for a moment and it feels good to breathe.