The Sunny Side

I used to love seeing photos of Jennifer Garner with her adorable little girl. They seem so happy and normal and they go to the park and laugh and giggle. It's really sweet, and different from what most of Hollywood is like.

But then I started thinking, damn, doesn't that kid ever cry? Don't they ever have a bad day? Because my kids certainly don't look that happy all the time. They whine because they want milk and not water and they cry because I went to the park with the green slides not the blue slides and they scream because they didn't WANT pretzels they wanted grapes and what kind of stupid fucking whore of a mother ARE YOU anyway???

Which, I don't really understand why my kids aren't joyous all the time. Because, me? I'm a ball of fucking sunshine.

From One Generation to the Next

Husband: What did they eat for lunch?
Me: Hot dogs. Pretzels. Grapes. Cheese. And scrambled egg yolks........ with ketchup.
Husband: Why? Why do you do this? Ketchup on eggs? It's just wrong.
Me: Because they didn't get my eyes, that's why.

Klassy

E: I can read this box all by myself.
Me: You can? What does it say?
E: Beer. Was. in. Here.

The Secret Evil

I recently got out a set of pictures to show my parents. See? This is me at 3, I told them, because they don't particularly remember me at 3 (or 12 or 25), doesn't my little girl look like me? I asked. And I saw the picture that I submitted to my high school year book's baby page. A hundred or so babies, laughing and smiling, silly and chubby. Except me. I chose a picture of myself sitting in a lawn chair, looking sad. Alone.

After my first baby was born, I cried. For six months. Even for someone whose baseline is depression, postpartum depression was... worse. It was "bad" depression, Supersized with an extra-large dose of guilt. And more guilt on the side. And, oh yeah, could you top that with some guilt?

This is going to sound stupid and maybe like an ad, but I joined Weight Watchers. And I was really good at it. Unlike parenting, there was a formula, and if you follow the formula, then you have success. And every week I would go, and I would succeed, and I would feel better. And I'd feel more capable. And I started feeling okay. And I started feeling good.

Good enough to have another baby. And I didn't cry this time. Because I denied my depression. I just let myself become numb.

Then this summer, I had a pregnancy scare that may have been an early miscarriage. And I went on the pill. And one or both of these things made everything so, so much worse. I think it would be okay to say that, at that point, my depression had become life-threatening.

And then I went off the pill. And I started feeling a lot better. Much better. Maybe too good. But okay, for now. And maybe I've levelled out. After four years of pregnancy and nursing and babies and chaos, things are starting to feel okay. But I'm afraid that I never know that I'm depressed until I'm not anymore. But I do know what helps me. Succeeding in the little things - losing weight, keeping control of the budget, getting enough sleep. If I can feel, every day, like I got a gold star in something, then I'm okay.

But I also know that a totally healthy person wouldn't really need that. And so it is.

Awwww.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoI07Mjt3b4

Dear E,

Three and a half. Already.

Where to start? Kind. Generous. Smart. Funny. Beautiful. Particular. Emotional. Exuberant. Coy. Wonderful. Blessing.

For every ounce that you make me crazy (by being just like me), are pounds worth of missing you when I'm not with you.

For every second of frustration, hours of joy.

For every penny of annoyance, dollars of love.

In every way to measure, you are the person who changed my life more than anyone else. You challenge me every day to be a better person and a better mom. If all I accomplish in this world is to have done my best by you, it will have been enough.

I love you, my sweet pea, my babelah, my girl. Happy half, plus three.

Dear D,

Today, in just a few minutes, you turn 18 months old.

You're funny. And silly. You named your lovey after your grandma. You think your dad is hilarious. (You are correct.) You like to jump on the bed and hide under blankets and tickle Mom.

You're smart. You can count to 20. You know most of your colors, most of the time. You speak in three-word sentences, and sometimes more. You know the words (and hand actions) to lots of songs, especially Wiggles songs. You watch and study things until you can figure out how to do them yourself. After a year of fairly intensive sign-language you still have yet to do a single sign. Because you just said the word, and then looked at me like I was a moron. (You are correct.)

You really love your sister. You miss her while she's at school, and ask for her the entire time. You like to say that you are three and that your favorite color is pink, because that's what she would say. You're her partner in crime.

You give the best hugs. And the best kisses. And I love you. So much.

Happy half, plus one, Bug. You kick ass.

Conversations

Me and E:
Me: Those are some crazy tights you have on.
E: They aren't crazy. They're FANCY.
Me: Oh. Naturally.

Husband and Cop Who Pulled Him Over:
Cop: Do you know why I pulled you over?
Husband: Um. No, not really.
Cop: It's because you're going 28 in a 20.
Husband: Well. Isn't it 25 here? Not that that's an excuse, I'm just wondering. (Me: Totally an excuse, dude.)
Cop: No. [Street A] is 20 on the south side of town.
Husband: I agree. This, however, is [Street B].
Cop: Ahem, harumph, aaaa ha ha.
(Proceeds to make Husband join him in his car.)
Cop: So, have you been drinking tonight?
Husband: Just coffee.
Cop: Are you on any prescription medication?
Husband: Nope.
Cop: Really?
Husband: You're kind of reaching on this one, aren't ya?
Cop: (Silence.) Yeah kindof. I have to give you a warning though.
Husband: Okay.

Um.

Conversation during carpool.

Me: Mommy went to the library and picked up a new Froggy book for you, E!
E: Yay! [Classmate], do you know about Froggy? He is funny. His Mom says, "Froooogy!" and then he says, "Whaaaaat?" It's good.
[Classmate]: I went hunting. I shot a gun.

Um. Oh. Yikes.