Shannon!

Shannon, you are the lucky gal who gets the very cool daily planner for 2010. Just shoot me an email at mtm@melissathemouth.com and let me know where you’d like me to mail it to and I’ll get it out to you as soon as possible.

Hope you enjoy it!

I took Nici to my friend’s yarn shop the other day, to get her a little refresher in Knitting 101. When we walked in, my friend was working on a crown. And a hat. A crown-hat hybrid. Perfect for the coming chill. And also My Little Princess. It’s a free pattern, you can find it here. Practical and also worthy of fulfilling the must-have princess requirements of most preschool and prekindergarten aged girls but not a single shout-out to the Disney marketing machine? Thank you!

I’ve been thinking about this project for months now, and I think it’s about time I tackle it. I love horses. The girls love horses. Who doesn’t love horses? And want their own stampede galloping across a wall in their home?

Pea’s current obsession is “The Sound of Music.” She knows all the songs, she loves to tell me about how beautiful the mountains are. But her absolute favorite thing about this film is the scene where Maria and the kids are putting on a show for their father with the puppet theatre and the marionettes. She watches that scene over and over. She’s always had an affinity for puppets, but the enormous puppet theatre (hello, Daddy? You up for that one?) coupled with the puppets that actually dance has her completely spellbound. So this project is upcoming this very weekend: our very own marionettes. I’ve been tossing the idea around in my head for some time, but in light of recent destructive events at the hands of my little tyrant, I tabled it for a while. But there are some things – her things – that are precious, so why not? The link to the craft site these puppets come from is one that I’ve linked to before, and you should bookmark it. The girls and I have attacked many of these projects with gusto, and they are fantastic. The site was dormant for a while, although that didn’t stop me from religiously checking in to see if there was something – anything – new. And hey! What do you know! Today? There was! These little photo magnets that I’m dying to make for Pea’s locker at school.

This weekend it still feels like summer, but I think this is going to be the last of it. And as I’m dreaming of cooler days ahead, I totally get into the mood to attack my long list of projects: hats to knit, furniture to paint, floor pillows to sew. Yes, more things to add to my To Do List, but these things? Are good things.

My whole life is one giant stab at organization. Files, To Do lists, tasks, meal plans, baskets of clothes that need buttons sewn back on, shopping bags with items for return, Hefty bags filled with donations for Big Brothers & Sisters of Utah. It seems I just can’t get away from the constant need to reorganize, toss out the old, hand-over the girls outgrown clothing and cross items off of my never-ending To Do list.

Ugh.

I am constantly wondering when it’s going to end? Am I ever going to wake up, look at that list and see a normal day’s work? Such as:

1) go to grocery store;

2) pick-up at dry-cleaners;

3) buy tights for Pea & Coco.

Instead, in addition to the above, add on:

4) finalize wills with attorney;

5) find new sales agent to handle Texas property;

6) finish labeling and organizing all files (personal and professional) in husband’s new file cabinet;

7) reorganize the lower level hall closet (formerly known as the Art Closet, now just the closet that I hide shit in)…

To you that might seem like not such a big deal? To me, it’s a thorn in my side, just a bunch of annoying stuff that has to be done, has needed to be done for a long time, and that I just can’t seem to get to.

And so instead of attacking that list with gusto today? I made labels using my newest obsession, A Print A Day, and then slapped them inside the covers of each and every book in this house that belongs to the girls. I have no idea why, other than I was dying to use the gorgeous (and free!) artwork that the artist puts up for our personal use. Just incredible!

So, in addition I finished updating Google calendar for the month of October. I love Google calendar. After years of searching for the perfect planner only to be foiled again and again by what I deemed stupid ideas that were not going to work for me, I gave up the paper and pencil (withdrawal, anyone?) once and for all and am now wholly committed to my many Google calendars, all synced up on my Mac.

Peace of mind. Seriously, I am in love with how organized life is becoming. I may not be getting to my To Do list as quickly as I would like to, but there it is, just staring at me from the right-hand side of my open calendar!

Anyway, about one month ago, before I really decided to commit and do the whole going steady thing with Google calendar, I bought a new 2010 planner that I thought looked pretty awesome. Check it out. I’ve since decided not to use it, for the sake of keeping it simple, you know? But the copy I bought is still shrink-wrapped, nice and neat and just aching for a new home for the New Year. Will your home be it? If you’re thinking yes, leave a comment on this post with your name and we’ll do that good old trick where we write them all on little scraps of paper and then one of the girls pulls the lucky person’s name out of a hat and I send along this very cool 2010 planner to that person. By midnight tomorrow (Friday), eastern time, okay?

From one trying-to-be-organized person to another…

Good luck!

Years ago, when the original iPhone came out, I instantly became the proud owner of one. I never thought I could care so much about a mobile phone, but it was so much more than a mobile phone, you know? And although three years later when I finally put her to rest, I was teased relentlessly for not having a single application on the phone beyond what it came with, I still loved it. I received email on the run. Cool! Waiting in a doctor’s office suddenly had a whole new meaning. It was no longer wasted time, it became an extension of my time. And three years ago I had a newborn and a barely-two-year old, so there was no my time. But my iPhone made it possible for me to connect on the run in the most random places, and I again felt human. Overstatement there? No. You tell me how you feel about connecting with real people who can talk actual words when you are busy all day and night with two under two!

And then my sweet husband took it upon himself to order me the new iPhone. To replace the perfectly good one that I was still using. Which would have been cool and all, had he ordered the right one – the one that took video, as well. But he made a whoops, kind of rare in these parts, and basically bought me the same phone I already had. And it was a couple of weeks before we realized it. I’m lazy like that. And in the time between when I received the new one and realized it was the wrong one, I’d sent my old and still perfectly good original iPhone to my little sister in New York, all packaged up nice and neat in the new phone’s packaging.

And then, in a fit of rage, Coco threw the new phone on the ground at the playground last Wednesday, after ice skating lessons.

But no biggie. Besides a lovely crack clear across the front of the screen, it still worked.

But today? While at the apple orchard with all of her and her big sister’s friends, picking apples? It was dropped face down in the parking lot and it shattered. And I’ll be darned that the stupid thing still works. But I’m pretty sure that one of those shards of plastic? Glass? Is going to pierce the side of my head at some point.

So, lesson learned: never, ever replace something that works perfectly well with the newer version. Because the newer version will inevitably turn out to be a piece of crap that is not nearly as well-made as the original. Case in point: my original iPhone, lovingly tossed around in fits of rage by not one but two little girls over the course of three years with nary a scratch.

But the new version? Two weeks in my house? Trashed.

Which brings me to my next point: why do kids have to destroy everything they touch? Just added a new princess dress, hand-made, to the dress-up box yesterday. By the end of the day? Huge tear in the side of it. Total wear time? About 45 minutes. My hat that I’ve been knitting practically non-stop for the past two days? Twisted and knotted into a mess that even my professional knitting friend won’t be able to salvage. Fairy doll beheaded by Lola after being left on the floor by one little 4-year old who cannot (will not?) clean up after herself. I am so frustrated! I actually heard myself using the sentence, “we can’t have anything nice in this house!” yesterday, before my husband cut me off with a, “don’t you dare… my mom said that all the time growing up and I don’t want to hear it from you.”

There is not one room in this house that is not littered with their stuff. There is not one little nook for me to escape to in this house where I am guaranteed peace, quiet and privacy. I’m wondering when it’s going to end? When I will shower alone? Pee alone? Dress alone? Fold laundry alone? Sleep alone? Ever?

I told my husband that I didn’t want another iPhone. I hate it. It’s crap. And anyway, I can’t have anything nice (well, pricy, really) until the girls learn the true meaning of “keep your hands to yourself!” Just get me whatever phone comes free with a plan. But now? Reminiscing about the early days with my babies and my iPhone? I’m a little weepy. I know, I know. Get over it. It’s a gadget. But so often, as a mom, I feel so out of the loop! Like my entire existence is potty training, carpools and play-dates. Bedtime stories and sleep training. Sometimes, I just want to sit on the bench at the park and read the gossip blogs on my phone, okay?

Before Coco heads over my way and heaves it across the concrete basketball court and it shatters into a million more pieces.

Saturday was one of those days that you wake up and wish you could fast-forward through. We went from a football game to a group lunch to a birthday party to a group dinner. And in between all of that, there was no stopping at home to hang with the dogs. And I could see disaster up ahead, since the day before, cleaning up after our turn hosting playgroup, Lola inhaled a wedge of Port Salut.

Poop central in her kennel. (And yes, the girl is still in a kennel. Even coming up on 18-months old, she remains every inch a spastic pup. Clearly. As illustrated by the inhalation of said wedge of Port Salut.)

So I threw the pillow and blanket from her kennel in the washer and went about my business. This was about 9:30pm. And then I forgot about it. At some point during the night, I awoke to a disgusting smell. I went down to the laundry room, and sure enough, there was that stupid “UE” message. I don’t know, it’s an uneven load or something like that, which happens way too much with this washer. And I assumed the stench was puppy poop? And so I just turned off the washer and figured I would let my husband deal with it when we picked him up this morning.

And the smell just got worse and worse. And then I heard the sound of what I thought was water trying to fill the washing machine? And then I went to get my husband at the airport, with the girls. And when I came home, I could smell it in the garage. And I entered the house before my husband, and Nici mentioned the house smelled like gas, and did I turn on the heating system? And then my husband came in and was all, “what the hell? It’s a gas leak! How long has this been going on?”

Me: Um, since last night? I guess?

Husband: You guess? Do you not know what gas smells like?

Me: Um, yeah. Well, the kind at the gas station. And this doesn’t smell anyhting like that.

Husband: Yea, that’s why the gas company puts the smell of rotten eggs in the gas so that you know what you’re smelling.

Me: Uh, okay. First of all, I must’ve missed that rotten eggs memo from the gas company. And second of all, I have no freaking idea what rotten eggs smell like in the first place. And third of all, ARE YOU TELLING ME WE COULD HAVE ALL DIED LAST NIGHT?

Clearly, there are some things in this world that you are just supposed to innately know, and although I did not, I will do you all a little public service here and let you know that:

1) the gas company puts the smell of rotten eggs in the gas line so that you can smell the gas leak;

2) if you don’t know what rotten eggs smell like, they smell nothing like you think they would, but do smell pretty gross according to the gas company’s own personal olfactory experts;

3) never, ever be afraid to call 911 because you just that night met a local cop who said, “oh, you’re the housewife who called the Sheriff on the mating elk…” and so you think they will further make fun of you because you are now the housewife calling them because something in your house smells kind of funky…

…because as it turns out, you and your two precious daughters and your Austrian house guest were asleep in a pressure cooker just waiting to explode. That’s right, you’re worst nightmares were just so close to the cusp of becoming a reality. A horrifying reality.

For real, I used to be so smart. I have no earthly idea how this got by me. How I mistook the odor of gas filling up my home, which held my sleeping loved ones, for the sound of water filling up a washing machine that was off-balance. What the? Really?

Really. My name is Melissa and sometimes I am just really stupid.

I know I’ve been MIA for a while, posting has been spotty at best. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing with this blog. There are so many out there, you know? And over the years, I’ve read and stopped reading so many, as I’m sure others have done with mine. I don’t take it personally. But it was fun, especially during lonelier times (remember Texas?) to share with moms out there across the country. But as we’ve settled in here in Utah, life has gotten away from me. I can barely keep up with the family schedule. I miss appointments, run from playgroup straight to play-dates and hardly catch my breath in between.

And I love it.

And on occasion when I had an appointment that I remembered about, there was this great little drop-in childcare place in close proximity to us. I’d swing by, run the girls in and head to wherever it was I needed to be. But about two months ago, they suddenly closed down. Forever. Something about the economy coupled with last spring’s Swine Flu epidemic. And then we lost our last babysitter to grad school. In Wisconsin. And we knew that with my husband’s travel schedule and my weakening nerves we had to do something.

And so we did.

We brought in Nici. From Austria. She’s our au pair. And before you go getting all “oh, isn’t she fancy with her nanny,” let me say this:

Nici is not a nanny.

She is an au pair. An 18-year old girl from Austria who wants to experience a year of life in the U.S. and so in return offers our family childcare assistance during times when we need it. Which for me, really amounts to an extra set of hands to replace the set that I lose when my husband gets on that plane out of town. But she’s so much more than an au pair already, she’s a family member. She’s a big sister to the girls. She joins us at all of the events that we attend, she knows all the kids (and parents) at Pea’s school. She eats with us, she relaxes with us. It’s been amazing. We are so grateful that she is here. Honestly, I could not do this without her. I know there are those of you who do, those of you who have no choice, but we do have a choice and this is the one we’ve made. For our family. And it’s working. And we are thrilled to pieces.

And so, consider yourself up-to-date. And now, moving on…

Pea is a tyrant these days. Constantly yanking her little sister, hitting her, stealing things from her and just generally terrorizing the entire household. I am at a complete loss! I think this is normal for her age? And for sisters so close to one another in ages? I found these little responsibility charts at the local toy store by Melissa & Doug, and thought perhaps they’d help us gain a little control. Kind of manipulate the situation a bit. I think they might be working. It’s been one week and she’s eager to put her ‘way to go!’ and ‘awesome job!’ magnets next to her completed responsibilities at the end of the day. It’s become an integral part of our nighttime ritual.

A big one: ‘keep hands to yourself.’

We just returned from a very long weekend with the girls in Chicago, visiting my mother and her husband. It was a lot of fun, schedules and routines were tossed into the wind, and the American Girl store will now be haunting me in my dreams for weeks to come. My sweet Pea? She was so decisive. Thank God for that.

We have some big changes going on around here. And no, I am not pregnant. Not going to happen. Two hands, two kids, remember? More on those changes in the coming days…

We’re back in school. I have a pre-kindergartner now. Five days a week. Five! And a new play-group on Fridays that both girls have been invited to join. And our first official camping trip this weekend with some of our friends and all of their kids. It’s going to be a rowdy, raucous and sleepless weekend.

We can’t wait…

Cleaning out my closet. I always do this around the changing of the seasons. Cheap tee-shirts may come and go, but good shoes? A worthy investment. These stand the test of time, I’m telling you. By a bunch of cheap pairs and toss them every couple seasons, or invest in any pair of these, wear them day in and day out, and never tire of seeing them on your feet, for years to come.

Lucchese cowboy boots. So sexy with a good pair of jeans. I once read a quote from Michael Kors that said something along the lines of a woman walking around Manhattan in a pair of these looks ridiculous. I absolutely disagree. And I used to love Michael Kors. Used to.

Frye Campus boots. These should be in every woman’s closet. Wear them with any and everything. Under jeans, over jeans, skirts, dresses. Forever. Then pass them on to your daughter. She will worship the ground you walk on when she realizes she’s now the proud owner of the coolest boots in school.

Bernardo Milly sandals. They have a fantastic selection of neutrals, but if you visit the Bernardo website, you can also opt for the more vibrant red or turquoise versions, which in summer bring a nice pop of color to an otherwise neutral wardrobe that I’ve been accused of sporting.

Dr. Scholl’s. Do you remember your first pair of these? I do. Mine were white. Over the years, I’ve had black patent leather, leopard. This time I went with a plain old nude (tan) color, and no one is more shocked than me to say that I’ve worn them more than I’ve worn my Havaiana flip-flops this summer. There’s just something so comfortingly old-school about them.

Birkenstocks! Yes! I’m not kidding! These are not your hippie-dippy mother’s crunchy sandals, either. They are so far improved from the meatloaf-looking he-walks-on-water shoes from my youth. I have a pair of Gizehs in olive leather and they are so comfy and totally respectable, in my opinion. My absolute favorite Gizeh ever is the black patent leather one, but somewhere between my studio apartment on Christopher Street in NYC and my charming Sears catalog bungalow in Ames, Iowa, they disappeared. Someday, I’ll spring for a replacement pair. But for now, I’m very happy with my earthy green ones.

A good (but relatively inexpensive) pair of ballet flats. Mine are by French Sole and are bronze leather and I wear them year-round. With jeans, with shorts, and everything in-between. This particular line runs crazy small. I generally wear a 38 (European), but in these? I have to size up an entire shoe size. Keep in mind if you ever order a pair…

I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve been pretty content with my shoe collection. The only thing I never seem to have are dress-up shoes, but seriously, where I live? There’s just not much dressing up to be done.

I rushed Lola to the animal emergency room a couple of nights ago, not sure what was wrong with her, but just certain that something was amiss. It was in her eyes. Just that look, not much different than the one your kid gives you when she has a high fever.

Turns out she had a freakishly high fever. And the doctor told me she felt a lump on her neck and that she probably had Lymphoma. As in cancer. And as soon as I could hear her again (as the wailing – mine – subsided), I nearly punched her. It was my gut reaction. My entire life, I did not have pets. And then, well into my 30s, when I finally am able to bring animal companionship into my life, I lost not one, not two but three beloved creatures in two years? I was ready to hurt someone.

They kept our Lola Bear overnight. Pumped her full of fluids, ran all kinds of tests, had all kinds of specialists look at her, and in the end? They don’t think it’s cancer. It’s some rare disease having to do with the lymph nodes, highly curable with long-term steroid treatment, blah blah blah.

She’s home. That’s all that matters. And she’s going to have a long and fun life with our family.

Just when it was beginning to feel like I couldn’t catch a break, I caught the best one of all!

These last few weeks have been hell. I’ve had a chronic cough that’s kept me up at night, made my sides ache, my throat bleed and my psyche weep for relief. My doctor said I had asthma, made worse by allergies. She wrote prescriptions for two inhalers and gave me an in-office breathing treatment. By the next day, I was on all fours on the floor, gasping for what I was sure was to be my very last breath ever, as Pea rubbed my back and said, “that’s okay, mommy. If you go to the hospital, I can just get a new mommy.” All the while, my husband paced around his office with his stupid earpiece in his ear while on a conference call. Completely oblivious to my last desperate gasps for air.

I was ‘diagnosed’ with asthma as a kid. And in the decades since then? I’ve hidden those stupid inhalers in the backs of cabinets, never taken a hit off of a single one of them. I’ve denied the asthma mark of shame* vehemently. I’ve even gone so far as to become a certified scuba diver. A big no-no for someone with asthma.

I do not have asthma.

Let me repeat… I do not have asthma.

When are doctors going to listen to me? I may be a little nutty, but I know myself. I know my body.

Fast-forward to last Tuesday and a trip to an allergy / asthma specialist. Hours of scratch tests bookended by breathing tests.

Guess what?

I don’t have asthma.

Let me repeat… I do not have asthma.

So, while it’s not coming up on six weeks and I still have this nagging and dry cough, it is finally dwindling down. Dying a very slow death. I mean really slow. But the good news? I don’t have asthma! The bad news? We don’t know what I have. It’s been recommended that I visit a lung specialist. But I’m not going to do that. Not just yet. I’m over doctors. They don’t listen very well.

And I’m over summer. It’s been a rough one, as it turns out. Both girls are getting over pink eye and ear infections. And little Coco put a big old exclamation point on her illnesses with a nice case of croup. Fun!

Cough*cough…

*…Why the ‘mark of shame’ comment? A foggy memory of that weird chubby kid in 4th grade gym class with the asthma inhaler on the lanyard, roped to the outside of his Jansport backpack and a wicked game of Dodgeball…

So I don’t know what I’m doing. With this blog. Summer has been kind of hectic around here. And, well, you know. I just haven’t been making much of an effort to get down to my computer. To read. Or to write. Oops. It’s not like me. Or is it? I don’t know. I guess I needed a break? Something like that? Anyway, I think I’ll give it another go here. Summer seems to be quickly winding down, doesn’t it?

But not so quickly that I didn’t finally find a hat! To protect my face from the scorching sun here that is making my face resemble that of a raccoon. Lovely. Anyway, I can’t believe how much I hit the jackpot with my chic little raffia fedora-looking number by Hat Attack. I found mine at a local boutique in a natural color, same leather strap as in the photo. Best purchase of the summer, by far…

Okay, so I know it’s brief, but that’s it for now…

It’s good to be back.

I love the idea of Monkey Bar Buddies. Pea won’t wear anything but a dress these days, and if you could only see how she carries herself in one, you’d totally be on-board with my new rule of “only shorts on camp days.” You’d also totally be on-board with my need for major damage control after wrangling her into said pair of shorts on camp days. It’s more than my psyche can handle. So her best friend’s mom and I were talking about the situation last week, and she showed me the cutest little ‘boy shorts’ made for little girls, in pink, with little bows on them, and I thought to myself, “these are totally going to be Pea-worthy, perfect underneath a dress on a camp day, buh-bye to the morning battle of clothing options…”

Of course, it took me an entire week to get around to looking them up on Google, and when I did…

No. No no no no no. A big fat no.

$16 a pair.

I don’t even pay that much money for my own panties. And I like nice bottoms!

Next…

The idea is a good one. And yes, I’ve sent her to camp in a dress with shorts underneath, but she was miserable, and her complaints of feeling “bulky” sent me back to my own childhood. It was also spent in dresses with shorts underneath. Hanging upside-down from the monkey-bars. And feeling nothing short of… well… bulky. And so I’m not going to put her through that. Again.

And bicycle shorts? Eh. They conjure up unpleasant thoughts of women stuffed into them – like sausages in too-small casings – women who should not be wearing them – do you know what I mean? And do I sound mean? Oh, well. Sorry. But I speak the truth. Not pretty. Doesn’t look comfortable. Besides, do they even make them for a 4-year old? I don’t even want to know…

And so, it’s back to the drawing board…

Hi there! What’s going on with you? We’ve been busy enjoying summer over here. I’ve been off my computer for what feels like forever now, not even surfing my favorite blog reads. Well, barely. I guess it’s been about a month now? Three weeks, or so? Practically a lifetime. In that span of time, I broke my nose, my doc told me, “eh, don’t worry about it,” we celebrated the 4th at a few too many barbecues, got a lot of sun, a bunch of famous people died and my husband has been in and out of the house, coming and going. A lot. Well, in my opinion it’s a lot. Maybe not so much for him. I’m feeling all kinds of emotions, just tugging me in all different directions, and I guess I just needed a break?

We have some pretty good outlet stores not that far from us, so I headed over to the Nike shop a few days ago. Bought some shorts and tops. Picked up a pair of 3-lb. hand weights. Going to get busy with the Tracy Anderson Method. Anyone familiar with her? She trains Gwyneth and Madonna? I’ve been reading about her for a while and finally decided to give it a try. I like to dance. A lot. So, why not? I’ll let you know how it goes…

We’ve been doing some work on our house, a little bit here and there. It’s been so satisfying, seeing it start to come together. And thanks to my little sis, who sent me a hand-me-over camera, I’ll be getting around to posting some pictures soon. Finally, right? My gosh, without that Adderall, I can’t even tie my shoelaces. Let alone be bothered with shoes…

We’re planning a trip to Chicago in late August. Excited for that, Coco hasn’t been yet, and Pea hasn’t been since she was 11-months old. I can’t wait to show my now old-enough girls where their mama grew up. And my own mama can’t wait to show off her granddaughters.

So, that’s it for me. Hope you’re enjoying your summer, taking it slow and easy…

I’m having one of those days, you know? The kind where you wish you could go to sleep, rewind and start all over.

Sunday night, reading books in Pea’s bed to the girls, I’m pretty sure that Coco broke my nose. She beaned me, square in the face, with her tiny little head. She was fine. Me? Not so much. After hearing a distinctive ‘crack,’ the blood came gushing. The geyser finally stopped, but now I’m sore and my nose is stuffed up, on the left side. Big time. My poor husband, he actually had to sleep with his headphones on – music playing – all night long, and he still didn’t get any sleep, on account of the difficult time I was having simply breathing through my I’m-pretty-sure-it’s-busted nose.

Can we say “snore?”

Yup, that says broken to me…

And then, while outside playing with Coco before her nap, I noticed two odd-looking freckles on my arm, that have never been there before. Of course, my being the hypochondriac that I am, you can pretty much figure out how this afternoon is going to go…

Don’t you ever feel like you just can’t catch a break?

My time is valuable. I once heard that if stay-at-home mothers were actually paid for the work that they did, they’d make somewhere around $800,000 a year. Can you imagine? How do we work that one out?

I don’t need permission to have a life – to take some time off. I work just as hard as the next person. I really do. Believe it or not.

(And if you’re a mom? I’m pretty sure that you believe it…)

Read more on this topic at The Bump…