The invite said we should bring an appetizer or dessert to share.

I’m not particularly fond of baking so I settled upon bringing and appetizer. . .but what?  What’s simple for a crowd, is kinda’ original, and presents better than a bag of corn chips and a jar of salsa?

That’s when I remember my friend Chris’ crab dip!

She’s awesome.  The only thing possibly better is her super simple crab dip recipe.  Make it.  You’ll LOVE IT!

Here’s How:

1.  Soften some cream cheese in a medium-sized mixing bowl.  A standard size block or tub is fine.  (I’ve also used the whipped cream cheese to save some time on the softening process.)

2.  Very, very finely dice a small-medium sized white or yellow onion and add it to the cream cheese.

3.  Open a can of crab meat and drain very well.  Squeeze it with your (clean) hands if needed.  You don’t want it drippy!  Add it to the bowl. (Yes, I’m a bit of a crab-meat snob but for this, it’s really not worth the expense to add $25 of jumbo lump crab.  A can of white crab meat is fine.  Trust me.)

4.  Season with a pinch or two of salt and pepper.

5.  Stir everything up so it’s well mixed.

6.  Plop the dip onto a serving tray.  Go on, style it into an attractive lump of crabby goodness.  Then make a shallow indentation in the top.

7.  Pour cocktail sauce over the top, into the shallow indentation and allow some of it to slide over the sides.  Not too much now. . .we don’t want it looking the aftermath of a shark attack. . .

8.  Serve with crackers and vegetables.

NOTE:  If you’re in a big hurry, you can certainly purchase commercially prepared cocktail sauce.  But it’s very simple to make yourself.  You just need to place ketchup in a bowl then add prepared horseradish and lemon juice to taste.   That’s it.

Also note, this recipe tastes best after it’s warmed to room temperature.  Obviously, you can’t let it stand unrefrigerated in the summer heat all afternoon, but the flavors really are better if you remove it from the fridge a short while before serving.

Here’s a quick pic. I added the crackers just before serving just to make sure they aren’t soggy.

Anyway, between cleaning up sand and trying to sling dinner on the table as fast as possible by 8:30 each evening, I’m still preparing for the massive furniture shuffle and “stuff” upheaval that is scheduled to take place this weekend, in preparation for the new kid’s arrival later this fall.

It’s non-stop fun and adventure in these parts.

Well at least for me. . .

My Husband. . .he’s super practical. . .

He’s not one to get all distracted by some chocolate bacon-man candy and an awesome authentic Globe poster we scored at the Maryland Traditions and Folklife Festival for the boys’ new room. . .no way.

He’s Mr. Summer Safety.

Bug spray?  Bandaids?  Hydrocortisone?  Hand sanitizer?  Copious baby wipes?

PROPERLY INSTALLED KIDDIE CAR SEAT?

Right.  Mac’s two.  We have another one on the way. . .so we thought maybe it was about time to have an “expert” check out or child safety seat set up.

We figured we could probably turn the thing forward facing.  And since we were planning to mess with it, and we had to install another one soon enough, it might be a good idea to have an authority have a little look-see at our set up.

Chris learned the Johns Hopkins School of Public Health was offering free consults, installs and reviews one day last week. . .and off he went.  (If you live in our area and are curious, here’s a link to get you started.)

If you’re short of time, I’ll cut to the chase:  Oh Mah GAWD, we were doing EVERYTHING WRONG.  I have no idea how our child has survived for this long.  We are ignorant people and horrible parents!

Yes.  The seat was installed properly.

Was it in the “right” spot?  No.

Was it surrounded by things that could become dangerous projectiles in the event of a collision?  Yes.

Chris came home following his safety bender high as a kite.  He tossed a bunch of literature at me and yammered on and on about the whole experience.

Chris:  ”The seat has to be in the middle of the back seat!  I can’t believe we didn’t know this.  If you think about it, it’s the safest seat in the car – away from glass and the side impact airbags!”

Me:  ”So they moved the seat to the center of the back seat?  That’s marvelous.  Did you tell them we were having another one in a few months?  Then what are we supposed to do?  Flip a coin about which child gets the safer seat?  Just decide which one we like better that day?”

Chris:  ”Relax baby.  We’ll figure it out.  Can I have a trash bag?”

Me:  ”Trash bag?”

Chris:  ”Yeah.  We had a bunch of stuff in there that we shouldn’t have.  I need to get rid of it.”

Me:  ”Get rid of what?  There’s no junk in your car.”  (I KNOW there’s no junk in his car because I try to leave junk in his car ALL THE TIME and he’s always busting me.)

Chris:  ”There can’t be anything around the seat.  We have to get rid of that seat protector, the mirror, and those window shades we have.”

Me:  ”So these public health folks told us to get rid of sun shades and the little mirror we use to make sure Mac is ok back there?”

Chris:  ”Yes!  You know, if we have an accident, they’ll go flying around and could injure him.”

Me:  ”Right.  Well, what if you’re alone in the car?  How will you see if he’s ok?”

Chris:  ”He’s in a safety seat.  He’s fine.”

Me:  ”Well I suppose that stuff isn’t such a big deal now that the seat is forward facing.  We’ll be able to see him anyway.”

Chris:  ”Oh the seat isn’t forward facing.  They told me to leave it rear facing as long as possible.”

Me:  Sigh.  Sigh.  Sigh.

The following day we all piled into the car.

The first thing I noticed was the front passenger seat.  It was moved way far forward.

Chris:  ”Don’t touch that seat!  It has to be that far forward because of Mac’s seat.”

Me:  Wedging massive purse, camera, snacks, a stack of magazines plus my knees under the dashboard.  ”Sigh, Sigh, Sigh!”

Chris crawls halfway across the car to get Mac into his seat.  Mac doesn’t seem to mind the new arrangement, although Chris did have to open the TRUNK to shield Mac’s eyes from the sun while we got him arranged.

Chris plops himself into the driver’s seat and I glance into the backseat.

It takes merely a split second to realize there’s almost no way I can readily access the backseat.  If a book or toy goes flying, I can’t reach it.  If there’s a mess and I need to get to the backpack or the baby wipes, we’ll have to pull over. . .and the only part of Mac I can see is the top of his hair – which let’s be honest, in this humidity, can likely be seen from space.

We embark on our adventure.

Chris:  ”What’s he doing back there?”

Me:  ”Why are you asking me?”

Chris:  ”Because it’s very quiet back there.  Is he ok?”

Me:  ”Well, how the hell would I know?  I can’t see him.  We trashed the mirror remember?”

Chris then attempts to turn every-so-slightly to see if he can see Mac.  The car drifts slightly to the right, hitting the rumble strips on the side of the highway.

Me:  ”Yeah.  This new set-up is super safe.”

A few minutes later, we hear an odd gurgling. . .

Chris:  ”What is that noise?  Is he choking back there?”

Me:  ”I. DO. NOT. KNOW.  I CANNOT SEE HIM.  I told you getting rid of that mirror was a stupid idea.  Those safety “experts” have to tell you everything that could happen in the worst case scenario.  You know that forchrissakes, you manage personal health and safety risk for a living!”

Chris:  ”Well, I just wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if the mirror hit him.”

I can see his point. . .but still. . .moderation people, moderation. . .

I unbuckle my own seat belt and turn completely around in my seat, climb to my knees, and peer over the car seat.  Mac’s slurping on his sippy cup which seems to be making some weird sucking and gurgling sound.

Me:  ”He’s fine.”  I heave myself back around and click myself back in.

No sooner had I caught my breath until the unrelenting pleas for Craisins start.

Me:  ”We’re going to be there soon, Sweetie.  Can you just wait a few more minutes?”

“Puh-wease, Craisin?  Ok?  Craisin?!”

I make 26 futile attempts to reach the backpack.  A sudden and severe hot pain flares in my neck, washing over my shoulders and back. “Cramp.  Ow.  Cramp!”

For the second time in 5 miles, I un-click my seat belt, turn completely around, rise to my knees, and heave half my body over the front seat, struggling to access the backpack.

I managed to grasp a fist-full of Craisins and plop back into my seat.

“This is exhausting.  Can’t we please move the seat back to where it was?  We’re going to have to move it again in a few months anyway.”

Chris:  ”Stop with the drama.  It’s not a big deal.”

Me:  ”Tell that to my neck.”

We drive for a few more miles in silence and I open a magazine, which I managed to rip attempting to extract it from under my seat.

From the backseat:  THUNK!

Chris:  ”What was that?”

I didn’t glance up from my magazine.  I don’t care what the hell it was.

Chris:  louder this time. . .”What was that?”

I reach for the volume on the radio, turning it up.

Chris:  ”Deni, what was that noise in the backseat?  The thunk?”

Me:  ”I’m sorry.  I’m ignoring you.”

Chris:  ”Deni!”

I sigh heavily and glance into the backseat.  There’s just enough space between the child safety seat and Chris’ seat for me to see Mac’s sippy cup resting sideways on the way back, far side of the backseat.

Me:  ”He chucked his milk.”

Chris:  ”Well, can you get it?”

Me:  ”Not while we’re driving.  There’s not a chance.  It’s way on the back behind you.”

Chris:  ”Can I reach it?”  He already has his left hand back there groping around desperately.

I fight the smart ass smirk I feel my face involuntarily making.

Chris:  In a small, sad voice “Is it leaking?”

Me:  ”Suffice to say, we could really use a seat protector right about now. . .”

Later, Mac met a turtle. And yes, that’s the offending sippy cup.

Contrary to what you might routinely read on this blog, he really does deserve it.  We LOVE HIM!!!

But after I procured the gift, I stumbled upon a recipe in the June 2013 Better Homes & Gardens magazine for some “man candy” that looked like something my Husband would be WILD about.  And?  It looked easy.  . .

And was very attractive to a delusional pregnant woman. . .

What can I say?  I’m a giver.

You can find the original recipe here.

Of course, I took the original recipe and tore it out of the magazine so I could take it to the grocer.  And then the recipe was never to be seen again.   Sigh.

Undeterred and too lazy to search for it online at 5:30 this morning, I decided to wing it.

Here’s how:

1.  I cooked a pound of bacon in the oven on baking sheets as I recalled the recipe suggested.  I’ve never cooked bacon this way before and although I feared a horrible grease fire, it was ok.  I think some people put their bacon on sheet trays with elevated racks but I didn’t have any racks so I just put the bacon directly on the sheet pans.  I cooked at 350F because that’s my default temperature for cooking everything.  I needed two sheet trays for all the bacon and it cooked up in about 15-20 minutes.  The bacon was kinda stuck to the pans but I just used a spatula to scrap it off.  It needed to be crumbled anyway.

2.  Next, I put all the crumbles on a plate, covered it with foil and hid it in the kitchen cabinet so it was safe from the hoggish cats and dog.

3.  Then I focused on melting the chocolate.  I recalled the recipe said to melt the chocolate in the oven but that sounded very intimidating to me.  So I rigged up a double boiler using a large sauce pan full of water and a stainless steel mixing bowl.  I placed 1lb of semi-sweet chocolate chips and 1/2lb of dark chocolate chips into the stainless bowl, turned on the heat, and stirred until everything was melted and smooth.

4.  It was about this time, I remembered I was supposed to brush the bacon with caramel sauce prior to baking.  BLERGH.  As I stirred I contemplated attempting to add the caramel sauce to the chocolate, or layer it under the bacon, or mix it with the bacon.  ”ABORT!  ABORT!” screamed the often unheard and largely ignored rational voice in my mind.  But this time I listened.  I wasn’t about to ruin a pound of bacon and nearly two pounds of chocolate.  So the caramel sauce got entirely omitted.

5.  Once the chocolate was smooth, I spooned it onto a small sheet pan (the kind with raised edges) which I had lined with parchment paper.  I smoothed it over with a rubber spatula so it was pretty even and smooth.  Then I spread the bacon crumbles on top.  (When I say small sheet pan, it probably measures 12 by 8 or 14 by 10 inches.  I wanted the chocolate to be thick but not too thick.  If you want really thin bark, spread the chocolate onto a larger sheet pan.

6.  I stashed the entire pan in the fridge so it could set while I cleaned the main floor of the house, did a load of laundry, scooped the litter box, and drank two cups of luke warm, lousy coffee.

7.  A hot sweaty, cat litter covered mess, I threw open the refrigerator door and was pleasantly surprised to find this:

Hells Yeah!  That’s what I’m talkin’ about!  

So fast and so easy, I even have time to do some personal grooming for this weekend. . .

Not that I will. . .Who can compete with dark chocolate and bacon anyway?

Don’t answer that.  

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY WEEKEND!  XOXO

If I do my job and everything is going according to routine, I can consistently get him into the crib without protest sometime about 9:30 every evening.  And I don’t typically hear a peep until about 8:30 or 9 the following morning.

But lately, our bedtime routine is stretching. . .stretching. . .S T R E T C H I N G towards 10 o’clock. . .and sometimes beyond.

Yes, some nights it’s because we’ve done something in the evening that causes our routine to be delayed.

BUT most nights it’s Mac himself. . .

The clever little devil is obviously working on his bedtime delay tactics.

It started with a sip of water. . .Sure, of course I’ll give you water.  I don’t want you going to bed thirsty.

The following night it was 3 sips of water and a couple of crackers.  Well, ok.  I don’t want you going to bed thirsty OR hungry.

And the next night it was ten sips of water, plus two crackers AND a fresh diaper. . .Sure.  Are you sure you really need a fresh diaper?  Well, Mommy doesn’t want to chance it.  Fresh diaper it is!

The stacks of books he drags to my side for pre-bedtime reading are growing, growing, growing. . .I’m not going to discourage reading.  Of course I’ll read you 10 books before bed. . .but can you at least sip your water and eat your crackers WHILE we are reading?

Several nights later, he so cleverly began to to stop me half-way through the book, making me start over. . .Um, Mommy is really sick of the Jertain in the Curtain. . .You should take your Wocket err Wubbies, WHATEVER and go the hell to sleep already.  It’s 9:57.

In an effort to manage his pre-bedtime expectations, a few nights ago I started saying things like:  ”Mommy is going to read one more book and then we have to go to bed.  Please pick a book. . .If you stop me in the middle of the book, I’ll only start reading from the beginning one other time.  Do you understand?”

Last night following my heretofore ineffective warnings about ending story time, he glanced at me devilishly.

He understands.  He understands he has Mommy exactly where he wants her.  

I felt my eyelids growing heavy as he paced around sizing up his next opportunity for stalling.

“Mac!  We have to go to bed now.  It’s late!”  I say dragging myself off the sofa and making my way towards the light switch.

“Re!! Re!!! READ!!!!”  He shouts, bringing me a stack of books.

“Mommy is tired.  We’ve been reading for 40 minutes.  Please let’s go take a snooze!”  I say as I attempt to wrangle him into a corner of the sofa.

He squirms wildly, his eyes darting about.  He’s like a cornered badger, clawing, flailing. . .

He manages to dodge me, shooting off the sofa, running toward the book shelf.  He throws open the doors and grabs another book.

His races back to me, holding the book over his head squealing, “Pressionists!  Pressionists!  Puh-weeeeese?!  Pressionists?!”

So desperate is this child to avoid bed time, he wants to look at a book of Impressionist paintings?!

Talk about the fine art of delaying bedtime.  

It’s not the house’s fault.  A series of events including an unwanted guest (basement mold) a few years ago, and the addition of one toddler plus another on the way has made our previous living arrangements less than ideal these days.

So. . .improving we are a-doing. . .

And one of my biggest aesthetic challenges involves our walls.  Not the paint color so much as their adornment.  I happen to like a mish-mash of interesting art and photos, etc on walls.  Hung salon style, floor to ceiling. . .the more eclectic the better.  I’ve tried to clean up my act.  Tone it down.  Simplify.  I really have.  But I ALWAYS go back to hanging more shit on a wall than TGI Fridays.

It makes me happy.

What wasn’t making me happy was the destruction the toddler was exacting on all those easily accessible frames and wall hangings.

He was yanking stuff off the walls left and right.

I had to capitulate.  For his own safety.

So I ripped EVERYTHING off nearly every wall.

And we’ve been living with bare walls which resemble swiss cheese for a couple of months now.

But it’s bringing me down.

So now that I have a plan for where the new kid on the block will be bunking.  And a basement that is nearly completely reassembled (FINALLY after 2 years!!), I’m thinking about kid friendly wall art.  Kid friendly meaning it’s cheap, not precious, practically indestructible and won’t harm them if they yank it off the wall. . .

Mac currently has zero access to the basement.  And it’s an area that when completed, he will visit only under strict supervision.  So I decided we could probably get away with putting some of our larger Baltimore/Maryland prints and stuff in a salon-style display on one wall.

After hanging what we had, I was left with one large empty spot.  And I couldn’t see filling that spot with small snap shots. . .and I also didn’t want to blow any of our re-make budget on purchasing a print and frame.

While I was organizing some other stuff, I found an older Maryland road map.  (The kind they give away free at visitor’s centers and the like.)

I also had some canvases a friend gave me after she decided painting wasn’t the hobby for her.  She decided her thing was baking.  And she definitely found her passion.  I pimp her awesome cupcakes ALL. THE. TIME. on Twitter because YUM.  Check her out here:  AimeeCayks.

One of her canvases was already painted black.  Black all over.  And that’s a pretty difficult thing to paint over, so it had been languishing in a dusty stack of “I’m not sure what to do with this” stuff.

Road Map, meet canvas.  Canvas, meet empty spot on the wall.  

This is quick and easy.  You need minimal materials and absolutely zero artistic talent. . .

1.  Cover the canvas in a coat of Modge Podge (or some watered-down regular old white school glue).

2.  Adhere the road map to the canvas.  Make sure you have the most interesting parts of the map properly aligned before smoothing everything out.  You probably won’t get out all the creases if you are using a pre-folded map but I kinda’ like the weathered look of it.

3.  Allow the adhesive to dry thoroughly.  Trim the map carefully so its edges are flush with the canvas edges.  (I used an Exacto Knife but sharp scissors and a careful hand will also work).

4.  Take a charcoal pencil and lightly trace out your phrase or post card “slogan” onto the map.  (You could use a No. 2 pencil; however, I find a charcoal pencil disappears better under the paint and doesn’t “scratch” the surface of the paper/canvas like a  regular pencil might.)

5.  Once you are pleased with your slogan placement, use a couple of fine tipped brushes to paint the slogan.  (I used a heavy-bodied acrylic paint straight out of the tube because I find I have better control with a heavy body paint and I like the texture.  You could use any acrylic paint you are comfortable with. . .Or probably even a medium-tipped good quality marker.)

6.  Allow the paint to dry, touching up as needed.

Before the glossy top-coats. . .

7.  When everything was dry, I gave the entire canvas two coats of glossy modge-podge so it had the shiny appearance of a post card.

8.  Let it dry.  Hang it on the wall.  Wait for toddler to find it.

A couple of ideas and notes:

1.  This might make a fun Father’s Day project to do with older children.  They can definitely help with the glue and top-coats.  And it would probably look darling to have them write out the words in their own hand-writing.  As a bonus, you could add small photos from trips you took and places you visited to make the item more personal.

2.  I used a fairly large canvas but any smaller scale canvas would work too.  You might consider putting the entire map across several canvases so they can hand on the wall as a grouping.

3.  The saying I used was “Everything here is Simply Wonderful.”  (Which I thought was kinda’ cheeky, given the fact that our house is a circus most of the time).  I read that somewhere.  I know I saw it on some wall art in an online photo.  Unfortunately, I cannot for the life of me find the image.  I do NOT believe that particular image/art included the saying scribbled on top of a map.  However, if you know the image I’m referring to, please let me know and I’ll give proper credit.

4.  If you aren’t sure what to write on your image, you could seek out old post cards for some cute ideas.

5.  Don’t worry about your hand-writing.  It’s not supposed to be perfect.  If you really feel paralyzed by scribbling on top of the map, you could use a stencil or some sort and ruler to get the letters exactly how you want them.

6.  I used a thicker brush for the “bigger” words and a very small liner brush for the “smaller” words.

Brushes.

7.  This could also be a cute way to preserve summer memories for your family.  You can collect ticket stubs and photos and other ephemera from your summer adventures and arrange them on canvases.  How fun would these look all collected on a wall in a family room?  If you used flat canvas panels, they would also take up less storage space than boxes of memorabilia.  Again, this could be an excellent, easy and inexpensive end-of-summer project for children.  (Seek out sales on canvases at Jo-Anns or Michaels. . . or use one of their ubiquitous coupons for extra savings).

Let me know if you this project.  I’d love to see your work!  The project is super fast. . .the longest part is waiting for the paint and adhesive to dry.

PS Sorry for the poor pics.  I swore I’d use the good camera.  But my cell phone was handy.  Wahmp, wahmp, wah.

Sure, there were swim lessons.  ALWAYS.  We went to Bible School at various churches.  Sometimes there were some summer dance classes. . .and when we were older, of course, August meant twice daily sports practices in sweltering heat and humidity, summer jobs, and the always Bigger and Better County Fair.

But as far as I can recall, most summers were long and lazy. . .boring even. . .

Ahh. . .those were the days. . .

WERE the days.

Now that I’m all grown up with my own child, I’m beginning to realize summer isn’t what it once was.

Mac’s two.  And he’s busy.  And while I’m a staunch supporter of plenty of down-time and opportunity for independent play, I’m finding it’s difficult to keep him occupied and happy in our house.  He’s just not feelin’ it lately.

Outside is great.  We spend a LOT of time outdoors.  But this summer has me a little nervous as I’ll be beginning my third trimester in the hot, humid hell that is Baltimore in August.

So last week, I began my search for indoor summer activities for a two-year old and an exhausted and lazy mother.

We are teeing up some Red Cross swim lessons and a creative movement class.  There’s story time at the library (which he barely tolerates but they have some mighty fine climate control so I’m milking that one for as long as possible). I’m hunting down all the free (and some paid) programs I can find at Museums, Nature Centers and the like.

But here’s the thing:  A LOT of these programs – maybe as many as 85% of them are ALREADY FULL.

As I creep the Internet at 4:30 AM desperately searching for programs that don’t involve a wait list, cursing my stupidity and lack of foresight, I wonder, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO SUMMER AS I KNEW IT?

What gives?

Clearly, nearly every parent in the Greater Baltimore Metropolitan Area has booked their toddler solid through September.  And they must have done so as early as April!

I assumed finding programs and activities for children would be easier in the summer since people would have all sorts of family or vacation plans.  I figured since I stay home with Mac, we would have the flexibility to attend week-day activities while other parents are working.  I thought that perhaps people would be reluctant to commit to a 4 or 6 week summer program because they’d want flexibility in their summer schedules.

I was WRONG!

These parents are smarter and faster.

They apparently knew what I didn’t:  Summer isn’t about swimming, ice cream trucks, and being lazy at the library any longer.

But I know now.

So I have reminders on my phone to stalk museum websites and wait lists.  I have a calendar full of potential indoor adventures for when the weather becomes unbearable.  I’ve shelled out several hundred dollars for my kid to learn how to effectively blow bubbles in a public pool and learn “hand-eye coordination through creative movement and circus skills.”  (WTF?  I’m desperate, ok?) I plan to pretend to happily crawl on the floor of the public library, enormously pregnant while Mac stares down another toddler who is also eyeing up a germ-infested tambourine at story hour.  I plan to get up even earlier to make sure our snacks are packed, our house is in order, and I look presentable before we head out to some other “fun and stimulating” activity. . .

I’m sure Mac will have a lot of fun and maybe learn something along the way. . .but deep down, I’m a little sad, because if this is the crazy schedule of a toddler, what must a schedule for a tween or teenager look like?

It definitely doesn’t resemble his Mama’s summer vacation, that’s for certain.

Pool Party, you say? Have Momster clear my calendar!

This is not why I’m weeping. . .exactly. . .WE ARE THRILLED!  

Now we won’t have to contend with a massive amount of girl-gear on top of all of Mac’s goodies.  That’s got to be a space saver.  At least initially, until we’re stuck buying two of every stupid thing because they will both want to do the same thing at the same time. . .

Also on the upside, at least for a little while, we can encourage force them to participate in the same extracurricular activities.  So maybe our weekends will only be consumed with one or two painfully boring sporting events or band concerts without also heaping on brutal ballet recitals and similar more girly things. . .Maybe?. . .I can hope, can’t I?

Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure I experienced the worst weekend EVER.

I CANNOT STOP CRYING.  (And trust me, I’m NOT a crier.)

It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.  I cried because my head hurt for two days straight. . .which I’m sure made my head hurt even worse.  I cried because Mac brought me a buttercup from his walk with his Dad.  I cried because Chris told me it was stupid to spend $1.99 on a little air plant at the hardware store.  I cried because there was mud all though the house and I had to vacuum again.

I cried at least three times because I WAS crying.

This can’t continue.  It does nothing for my already haggard appearance.  Plus, I’m already miserably congested, thanks to the pregnancy and crying is NOT making it any better.

I don’t think I’ve ever been depressed in a clinically diagnosable way, but a couple of times this past weekend I wondered if perhaps I was heading down that road?  Which, of course made me cry even more!

It’s just the stupid pregnancy right?    

It is truly cruel that you cannot drink while knocked up.  I’ll just bet a few decent swigs of a nice crisp white sangria would dramatically improve my attitude. . .and my congestion. . .and my aching back. . .

Anyway, I finally do feel better and I’m hoping to get some things done around here before I turn into an emotional basket case again, so I’ll be back soon with something mildly amusing.

Here’s to hoping this is a GREAT week, for ALL of us!

What gives? I’m the only one around here supposed to be acting like a two-year-old. Momster better get her act together. Ain’t nobody got time for her mood swings!

Curiously enough?  I don’t care.  In fact, several times in the past couple week, I’ve even forgotten about the appointment entirely.

I thought I might care.  Maybe I’d be hoping for a girl since I already have a boy?  And we do have a girl name we love since we picked a male and female name for the baby last time.  But honestly?  I don’t care.

Before Mac, I think I had a slight bias towards girls since I have a lot of sisters, was primarily raised by my Mother, and am a girl myself (duh).  But now that I have Mac, I’d be pleased as punch to have another baby boy.  Mac is awesome!

Of course, this doesn’t stop folks from asking about my preference.  Or my “feelings” about what it might be.  Or commenting on the baby’s position in my belly. . .which certainly must be a difficult observation given the lumpy state of my midsection prior to conception.

Even one of my nurses asked me “you don’t have a feeling yet about whether it’s a boy or a girl?”

Ahhh No!  The only feelings I’m currently experiencing are an aching back and feet and a constantly full bladder sensation all combined with fleeting feelings of terror over being stupid enough to get pregnant again.   I also have a busy two-year old.  So even if I did have “feelings” I certainly wouldn’t have time to analyze them.

Although she would never tell me, I think my Mother would be keen on a granddaughter.  She has five grandsons and only one other granddaughter.  My Mother-In-Law was recently raving about all the cute girl’s clothing they make.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the chances of me taking the time to put a baby in an adorable outfit on a regular basis are about as good as winning the lottery.  (Anyone expecting a baby?  WHITE ONESIES & SIDE-SNAP T-SHIRTS ARE YOUR FRIEND!!  They are comfortable, easy to manage during midnight diaper changes, and so cheap they are practically disposable.)

When I mention I don’t care whether we are having a boy or girl, most folks nod politely and smile in a way that conveys they think I’m perhaps not being completely candid.  And typically, they will just move on agreeing with my comment that our number one priority is a healthy, happy child, regardless of sex.

BUT I have one Sister who is unabashedly pro-girl.  (She has a boy and girl herself). She’s been wishing for a niece since I told her I was expecting Mac.  And since then, she’s welcomed TWO nephews.

So of course when I told her I was expecting again, she was sure to reiterate her desires for a baby niece.

This Sister is not only pro-girl.  She’s also impatient as hell, and well, a tad nuts (in mostly wonderful ways. . .MOSTLY).

Unable to wait for a confirming ultrasound, she decided to take the gender prediction of my second child into her own hands. She sent me a text informing me she had big plans for our next get-together.

I arrived at the family’s annual Memorial Day picnic anxious to learn about Sister’s gender prediction test.  This should be fun!

Maybe she’d do that one where they hold the string over the tummy to see which way it spins?  We could make a family wager on her prediction maybe?  Something for a little excitement, you know?

I eagerly approached her after unloading Mac and his 51 tons of ancillary gear from our Volkswagon.

“What’s the plan?” I asked her.  ”Did you Google this stuff?  Are you doing that one with the string?  That’s the only one I know about.”

“Um no Buddy,” she laughed, taking a long pull off her Miller Lite, “You’re going to piss on Drano.”

“Ha,” I laughed, “It’s so loud in here, it sounded for a minute like you said I was going to pee on Drano.”

She nearly snarfed her beer in response.  ”That’s exactly what I said.  You have to piss on Drano.”

“No.  No.  No.  Absolutely not,” I stammered.  ”I’m not peeing on Drano.  Where do you come up with this shit?  That can’t even be safe.”

“Yeah Buddy, you have to be careful.  That shit gets hot once you piss on it.  Don’t worry, I’ll give you an over mitt so you can hold the jar.”

Fortunately for me, I had to turn my attention to Mac who was lurking dangerously close to a tray of seven-layer dip.  I raced away from her praying that she’d drink too much and forget all about her hair-brained scheme.

For the rest of the afternoon, I busied myself with Mac and tried to drink a minimal amount of fluid.  Once I attempted to Google “peeing on Drano” but my Internet connection timed out.  My plan was to avoid her at all costs.  I would sneak into the bathroom only when I was sure she was completely distracted.

Things were looking promising.  Every time I ran into her, she had a beer in her hand.  Keep boozin’ it up, Sista.

The sun was setting in the sky. . .We had to get Mac to my Mom’s house for bed.  I raced around the place gathering up his 51 tons of gear, using a great deal of stealth, attempting to conceal the fact that we were preparing to make a very hasty exit.

Except on one of my trips to the car, I was spotted.  Or someone ratted me out.

I turned around from the trunk to find myself nose to nose with Sister.

“You’re not leaving yet are you?” She cackled, waving a mason jar full of what appeared to be cat litter in my face.

“Mac is exhausted.  I HAVE to get to Mom’s house.  HAVE to.  What is that anyway?”

“It’s Drano buddy.  The crystal kind.  And you’re going to piss on it right now.”  She laughed swaying slightly from the Miller Lite.

“I do NOT have time for this.  Plus it looks dangerous as hell.  I don’t think the insurance will pay for reconstructive surgery of my lady parts if I explode them while urinating on Drano.  I’m NOT doing it.”

“Come ON, please, Deni.  Please?  It will only take a second,”  She pleaded.  ”You can’t go until you pee.  You know you have to go anyway.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the mason jar from her.

As I made a beeline for the powder room, she was belting out instructions.  ”You have to pee enough to cover the crystals.  Hold the jar with the oven mitt so you don’t burn your hands!  As soon as you are done, open the bathroom door and hand the jar to me!  Don’t even pause to wipe, or flush, or wash your hands, the stuff could explode.  I have to get it outside as fast as possible!  Do you understand?!”

What I understood was there is no reasoning with her.  Ever.  Even sober.

I slammed the bathroom door in her face.  ”Don’t wander off, you drunk!” I shouted.

Then I said a prayer to the effect of “Dear Lord, I know I’ve made a lot of frivolous requests over the years, but I swear, if you could just make sure my labia stay intact while I pee on this caustic drain cleaner, I’ll stop.  I’ll never ask for stupid stuff again. . . Swear to. . Well, yeah, swear to YOU I won’t.”

Then I proceeded to urinate. . .INTO A MASON JAR FULL OF DRANO CRYSTALS.

Scared to death, of what might happen next, I took three steps towards the bathroom door with my underwear around my ankles, threw open the door, and transferred the rapidly frothing liquid to her oven mitt protected hand.

She went running towards the back deck.  I gathered myself and went running towards the car.  We HAD to get Mac to bed.

“Aren’t you even going to wait for the results?”  Shouted my other Sister’s Mother-In-Law.

“Tell her to text me!” I shouted.

But then I realized I had forgotten Mac’s milk. . .

I went racing back into the kitchen to grab it from the fridge. . .and was met by Sister who was rooting around in said fridge likely for another Miller Lite.

“You want to know, Buddy?” She asked.

“Sure.  Make it fast.  We’re in a hurry.”

“Oh my effing GAWD, you are totally having a BOY.  That shit turned BLACK.  I have never see it turn so dark.”

Wait.  She’s done this before?  Who has she made do this before?!  We should start a support group.

She grabs my jacket lapel and pulls me in close.  ”Do you already know what it is?  Did they tell you already?  If so, you can tell me.  I want to know if I’m right.”

“I won’t know for a few more weeks.  Trust me.  I have NO idea.”

“It’s a boy, buddy.”

“Thanks for not exploding my vagina!” I shouted as I sprinted back to the car.

DO YOU THINK SHE’S CORRECT?!

My ultrasound is at 9AM Friday.  If I find out the sex, I’ll TWEET about it Friday morning.  Follow me @homeeckwreck.

I WILL break you, Devil Woman. You might have won this battle. . .but it’s a LONG war.

Yesterday, was a little rough.

Mac typically does really awesome on his walks and during time away from the house, but I’m finding his behavior at home is increasingly obnoxious.

All I can figure is he’s bored at home.  We got him new and improved toys for his birthday.   And I try to think up fun little things to do while we’re at home but he’s more interested in either bitching and moaning for the “phone” or hell-bent on destroying something. . .Or playing in the sink.  He is obsessed with the sink.  He has to have the cleanest hands in all of Baltimore.  He washes his hands at least 45 times a day.

This is a disappointing development since I was hoping as he got a little older, I could trust him to play independently for very short stretches of time, especially with another on the way.  But right now, I spend most of my time at home watching him like a hawk for fear he’s going to somehow blow up the entire place.

I’m on the hunt for new, fun things we can do together this summer outside of the house BUT I also need him to be able to amuse himself at home for short stretches.  I just do.  And while I realize he’ll get there eventually, I’m KNOCKED UP and I don’t necessarily have the luxury of waiting for him to figure it out.  I’m already getting awake at literally the crack of dawn just to keep up with my own chores.

He definitely needs some um encouragement in the independent play department, dare I say?

Yesterday, after I got awake at 5:30 sanded drywall, painted the trim in the bathroom, did two loads of laundry, prepped dinner, wrote a blog post, framed a couple of prints, unloaded the dishwasher, and managed to wash my own face for the first time since Saturday, Mac and I walked to the grocery, the hardware store, and then headed to the Park for a walk and some time at the Playground.

Everything was going great.

Until we got home.  

The second we walked in the door, Mac’s attitude changed.  He was tired and hungry.

I happily suggested we pull off his shoes and socks since they were wet from playing in puddles at the park.

He had other ideas.

I got the shoes and socks off but not without triggering a fit.

I was hoping to keep him calm enough to get some lunch in him so I decided I would try to redirect him.  Except I was trying to redirect him AND get his lunch on the table.  Which means he ended up getting redirected to the refrigerator where he set his sights on Daddy’s gin.  (Trust me kid, if that gin were an option for Mommy right now, MOMMY WOULD BLIND YOU WITH SPEED!)

I was tempted to give him the bottle just so he’d shut it but figured if he cut himself  I’d have a LOT of explaining to do to the attending ER physician.  And I told him that. . .As I slammed shut the refrigerator door.

Of course he promptly collapsed to the floor into a full-on fit.

This time, I chose to ignore him.

Except the little bastard must be working on his endurance, because he didn’t stop after a few seconds or even a few minutes.  He.  Kept.  Going.

What the hell?  Is there something really wrong with this kid?  This isn’t typical.

I had his lunch ready so I decided it was time to intervene.

I sat down on the floor beside him and rubbed his back for a few seconds asking him if he could tell me why he was so upset.  But the wailing and flailing continued.

So I picked him up and put him on my lap.

He looked me straight in the eye and TOOK A SWING AT MY FACE.

I managed to dodge his little fists of fury and firmly but calmly told him hitting people is NOT nice and will NOT be tolerated.

He continued to cry. . .and a few seconds later, HE PUNCHED ME IN THE THROAT.

Now, years in the fast food and financial services industry have given me a pretty high tolerance for bullshit but I knew I couldn’t let this little indiscretion go unacknowledged.

So as soon as I could speak again, I scooped him up and told him we needed to take a time out to think about his decision to hit me.

I’ve never put a kid in time out.  Although I’ve been ahem dreaming about this day and I had played over the steps in my head.  I knew from reading a few articles and from what our Pediatrician told us, that I’d likely have to sit in time out with him.  And that it was key that I not show any emotion.  And that I basically needed to ignore him while we were “timed out.”  I also knew he should be in time out for one minute for every year old he was. . .two minutes.

Do you know how long two minutes is when you’re trying to hold an irate two-year old in a bear hug on your lap and not show any emotion?

It might as well be fucking eternity. . .in HELL.  A very hot, squirmy, painful, Hell.

We wrestled on the sofa.  I tried to maintain my composure.  It was like trying to subdue an alligator.  He thrashed violently.

Don’t squeeze him too hard.  Oh crap, he weaseled away again.  Get him!  Arms down.  That’s it, sit still. . .Oh shit.  Stop squirming.  I’m going to laugh.  Don’t laugh.  You cannot laugh.  This is complete bullshit.  There’s no way this is effective.  He’s getting nothing out of this.  Someone is going to get hurt.  It’s going to be me.  I know it.  He’s going to elbow me in the teeth.  I have no watch.  I have no idea how long I’ve been trying to wrangle this kid. . .FUCK THIS.  If you want to grow up being a disrespectful, miserable little bastard, FINE!  I’ve tried.  I KNEW I wasn’t cut out for parenting.  

I relented.  By my best estimates we had been wrestling on the sofa for approximately 45 seconds.

Mac took off from the sofa like a shot still wailing and I slumped backwards to catch my breath.

Complete fail. 

Except, as I was collecting myself for Round 3, something happened:

Mac stopped crying AND he went to his seat at the table and asked for help to get in it.

I put him in the seat and very hesitantly offered him his lunch tray figuring he was going to throw the thing to the floor immediately.

But he didn’t.

He sniffled. . .and picked up a grape.

What just happened here?

Did that wrestling thing on the sofa actually work?

 It was dumb luck wasn’t it?

I’m going to stick with my delusional belief that it was my superior parenting.  

PS Once he was settled and eating, I was sure to quickly explain why we had to take some time out and remind him that I loved him. . .He shrugged his shoulders, jammed some carrot in his face and asked me to “Put Big on.”  (The movie The Big Year.  The ONLY thing he’ll watch on TV.)

Because of my own notoriously difficult behavior as a baby. . .and kid. . .and adult, I assumed I would be creating another ridiculously head-strong, stubborn, sleepless little person.

But instead, what I got was a generally happy, good-sleeping, mostly compliant little guy.

The next one is going to kill us isn’t it?

Then he turned two.  

And it’s ridiculous.  

This kid has developed a hair-trigger.

My sweet little baby boy is suddenly a 2 foot 10 inch walking, talking, ticking bleeping time bomb.

He goes from my adorable happy Huggy Bear to ugly red-faced freak-out monster in a fraction of a second.

Happy Huggy Bear. . .Patience is NOT his super power.

There’s no telling what will set him off.

It’s the TERRIBLE TWOS.  .  .And the entire world can go to hell!

Which, anyone with a toddler knows, is actually a very short trip as you’re practically on its doorstep most of the time anyway.

Fortunately for us, Mac is at least relatively manageable during the 27 minor-meltdowns he experiences during his waking hours.  He doesn’t hold his breath until he’s blue, he doesn’t make himself sick, and often he moves past his frustrations quickly.  We also work pretty hard to make sure he has a very consistent daily routine in terms of meals and sleeping – which helps a lot.

But the kid is two. . .and he’s still a hot mess. . .

Because I suggested he dip his apple slices in peanut butter.

Because we gave him cake and sang Happy Birthday.

Because his Grandparents gave him a tricycle.

Because he asked to get out of the stroller and I said YES.

Because he asked for Raisins and Craisins and I gave them to him.

I spend a decent amount of my time trying to rationalize with a two-year old.  I explain.  I try to provide alternatives or compromises.  I apologize for being sooooo clueless.  I try to demonstrate resiliency and even tempermant myself.  Of course, there are times when I have to explain something is not negotiable and brace myself for the ensuing fit.

Parenting isn’t as fun these days as it used to be. . .but if he’s going to make it to three without a experiencing complete existential crisis, I have got to keep my shit together. . .

And possibly get a line of credit at the liquor store. . .

There are liquor stores in Hell right?   

How do you manage your toddler’s frustrations?