That’s what it looks like in my house right now. That’s not sunset. That’s red/gray, crazy, smoke covered sky with some tiny bits of sunlight creeping in here and there. And its totally appropriate for the way the day has gone.

The Princess had a great check up. 17lbs. 75% on everything but her head-which has always been tiny. Oh, had I of had a vaginal delivery, it might have actually been ok. But anyway. I made an executive decision while at the pediatrician to get ALL of us flu shots. Its early in the season. No one is thinking about them yet, so they are in full supply. I won’t have to wait in line later, etc. etc. What I didn’t calculate was the holding of the baby while the toddler got stuck and the mother got stuck and the baby was mad from being poked at and undressed. What with the flailing of the arms and the screaming and the sticky, sticky suckers and the bandaids that MUST be spiderman and NOT daffy duck…and did I mention the screaming and the flailing and the lavin? Hhrrrrmph. Ok, poor planning. I didn’t bring in the carseat. Its so much easier to deal with the Count without lugging that thing around. I also didn’t bring any bribes for the Count, or prepare him for the fact he’d be getting a shot.

With my not-so-cat-like reflexes I commandeered the doctor’s lollipop/sticker bin and explained to the toddler that while he was told many times today’s visit was for his sister…as it turns out Mommy lied and he’ll be getting an owie too.

Oh the hilarity that ensued.

I got the shot first. See how easy it is? Mommy can do it. You can do it too big boy! Last year, I remember it not even remotely hurting. Must have been the pregnancy. Because this year, it hurt like a mutherfucker. That deep shot hurt. But I gotta keep a brave face. Because the Count is watching. Closely. Now while I’m getting stuck, the Princess has fallen asleep. Randomly. In my lap. So I nicely and in a near begging tone ask if someone, anyone, can hold HRH the Princess while I calmly hold her brother while he gets stuck. A very nice woman from the Peds office was more than happy to take the sleeping, gorgeous child out of my arms and PARADE her around that place (picking up every sick kids’ germ, no doubt) to show her off. I’ll take it as a compliment the woman who see kids ALL DAY LONG wants to show off my pretty little girl…but come on. IN THE SICK KID SECTION? Sorry, I’m digressing here.

I hold the Count and tell him its time for his owie. He watched me. I took it fine, he figures. So he sits all nice. Then the nurse says…umm…lets move him to the table and lay him down. I want to give it to him in his thigh instead. Oh sweet Jesus. You want to lay him down and restrain him??? Now we’re in full blown crisis mode. Count Waffles KNOWS whats up and has begun channeling Satan. I lie more and tell him it will tickle, hand him a sucker, and hold him like I’ve never held anyone before. He gets stuck. He whimpers for a long, long time. I’ve betrayed him.

Now its time to wake the Peanut and stick her. The joy. First we have to TRACK DOWN the lady who TOOK her, then we have to lay her on the table. She’s still asleep. Ok. So do we wake her with the stick of the needle or do we just wake her? But see, I can’t be in two places at once and the Count is screaming for me to hold him, but I really can’t leave the Princess as she gets stuck. So I lift the Count on one hip (jesus my arm hurts from that shot), hold down the Princess with my free arm, jostle her a little to wake her. And then she gets THREE shots. This pleases Count Waffles, who happily jumps off my hip to run around.

We return home with Happy Meals and lollipops. Then the fun really starts. A new wildfire breaks out about 10 miles from us. Not close enough to worry us, but close enough to send smoke and ashes our way. Then the Princess starts pooping. SOUR DIARRHEA SICK POOP. And the Count starts whining. He’s hot. Fever hot. My arm hurts like a sonofabitch and if they are feeling half of what I’m feeling we’re in for a long, long day. What the hell was I thinking?

Sarah has called me out. Apparently this is a blog thing. I’m learning. And since she also called out every blogger I know…readers feel free to just add theirs to the comments. Or not. Whatever

1. Legal First name? Erin.
2. Were you named after anyone? No.
3. Do you wish on stars? Yes. Habitually.
4. When did you last cry? Last night. In bed. See previous post.
5. What is your favorite lunch meat? Bologna.
6. What is your birth date? December 10th
7. Whats your most embarrassing CD? Are you kidding? The list goes on and on. Off the top of my head I’d say “Milla.”
8. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? Hmmm. Probably not. I have a hard time keeping girlfriends. I’d probably say something to piss myself off.
9. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh. No. Never.
10. What are your nicknames? Eno-beeno. Moose. Kotex.
11. Would you bungee jump? Yes. And I have.
12. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Nope
13. Do you think that you are strong? Yes. I could kick your ass.
14. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Better Batter at Maggie Moo’s.
15. Shoe Size? Pre-kids 6.5. After kids 7.
16. Red or pink? That just might be the hardest question on here. I love them both. More than any woman should love colors.
17. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? My inability to do math.
18. Who do you miss most? My Mom and Dad.
19. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Jeans. Barefoot.
20. What are you listening to right now? Modern Girl Sleater-Kinney
21. What did you eat for breakfast? Coffee and fat free vanilla creamer
22. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Barbie Pink.
23. What is the weather like right now? Hot and smokey.
24. Last person you talked to on the phone? The Kaiser
25.The first things you notice about the opposite sex? Cleanliness
26. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Sarah? Love her.
27. Favorite Drink? Lately I’m addicted to Arnold Palmers
28. Hair Color? Today its kinda red kinda brown.
29. Do you wear contacts? nope.
30. Favorite Food? Mexican.
31. Last Movie You Watched? Ray.
32. Favorite Day Of The Year? New Years Eve.
33. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Totally a Happy Ending chick movie chick.
34. Summer Or Winter? Winter, only because its so freaking hot right now.
35. Hugs OR Kisses? Hugs
36. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? creme brule
37. Living Arrangements? Kaiser, Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Houseboy, Murphy, Jub-Jub, Seri, in a house.
38. What Books Are You Reading? The Last Girls. Lee Smith.
39. What’s On Your Mouse Pad? The Count, driving a red fire engine.
40.What Did You Watch Last night on TV? The Daily Show
41. Favorite Smells? Jasmine on a summer night in So Cal, those big ass trees in Northern Cal.
42. Favorite junk food? Taco Bell
43. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Neither really
44. What’s the farthest you’ve been from home? Dublin, Ireland when on East Coast. Tahiti when on West Coast.

Sap Alert. Sap Alert. The Queen is in Mushy mode. Kaiser beware when you get home. Count and Princess run for the hills, because the kisses and hugs will be never ending today>>>>

With that disclaimer out of the way…Today is Princess Peanut’s 6-month birthday and check-up. Yes, I am that anal. I schedule their check ups EXACTLY on the day they should go. But instead of agonizing about shots, I’m finding myself getting all sentimental and I think I know why. I really, really, really don’t want all of this to go by too quickly. And I know. I just KNOW it will.

I can remember clearly the Count’s check ups. Getting excited (what was wrong with me?) for every one of them because he would be weighed and measured and growing. How much did he grow? When can he start solids? When will he crawl (as it turned out, never)? When will he walk? Talk? I couldn’t wait for these things to happen. I know better with the Princess. I know I want her to slow down.

But its not that simple. You see, I also would like time to just stop. Last night, I wanted it to stop so badly I nearly cried watching the clock change. You see, the Count and I now have a thing. Its one of those truly unique parent/kid things that develops slowly and suddenly becomes “your thing.” Ours started when Count Waffles became (and still is) obsessed with being outdoors all the time. Trying to get him to stay inside for 5 more minutes one day, I hugged him and said “I love you” and then tagged on “inside” to try and get him to stay put (as boys tend to really NOT want to do) for just a few more minutes. So it became “I love you inside.” The Count responded with “I love you…outside” and he had the most devilish look on his face. So I said “I love you everywhere.” That’s how it started. Then it took on a life of its own. Nightly, daily, whenever, the Count and I always said our “I love yous” with our little routine. I love you outside. I love you inside. I love you everywhere.

Last night the Count had a nightmare. When the comforting in his bed (at the foot of our bed) didn’t work. He crawled in with us. Just as he was passing out, he tucked his little head in the crook of my neck and squeezed. “Mommy” he said. “I wuv you outside. And inside. And everywhere.” And then he was asleep.

I lay there with my son, curled up on my left. And my daughter curled up on my right. My husband snoring softly. And if I had the power, I would have stopped time forever.

So forgive me if I’m not looking forward to today’s 6-month Princess check up. Because its here way too soon.

Because today after school. After his nap. After a popsicle. The Count and I had this conversation:
“What in my butt-butt Mommy?”
“ummm…poops?”
“No…day on da floor Mommy.”
Uh-oh.
“You went poops on the floor????”
“Yes”
“In the playroom?”
“Yes”
“You went poopies on the floor in the playroom?” Compose yourself. Compose yourself, How bad can toddler shits stain, right????
“Yes Mommy. Day right o-her here.” (pointing)
I could discuss what the Count had for lunch yesterday and dinner last night, but I think all I will say is corn was on the menu.
“Honey, we don’t go poopies on the floor. Where do we go poopies?”
“In da potty, Mommy. I no like da potty. I like da floor.”
So did I my little love. So did I.
To recap: in underwear 7 days. Items lost forever: 1 tupperware bowl, 1 harmonica, 1 living room carpet.

I had forgotten the horrors of teething. Maybe it was that Mom amnesia thing. Maybe the martinis. Whatever the reason, my mind seems to have just blocked out the whimpering and chewing and droooooooooooooooooooling of Count Waffles back in the day. The boy could soak three bibs and his outfit in seconds. He had a rash on his chin and chest for christ’s sake and he only came off the boob to get a diaper change. How is that forgettable?

Well, I did forget. And as we enter week 10 of teething with Princess Peanut (see the drool??) and still no teeth, I’m longing for the day she cuts those molars and we have a big friggin party to celebrate. In fact, I think there are milestone parties all parents must have. Feel free to add the ones I forgot.

1) Weaning. Moms only party. Lots and lots and lots of booze. Some “can’t use while nursing” drugs. And all foods gassy. To be followed by the …
2) Boobs once again for play party. The milk is gone and the husband feels free to fondle without fear!
3) Sleeping through the night party. Send the little darlings off to night-night land and then…well…you could party…but you may just want to sleep.
for family bed broods like us there is the…
4) Kids are actually in another room and in their own bed party. Use your imagination. (I’m sensing a pattern in my parties here…)
5)All teeth are IN party. Outdoors. I’m thinking more drinking combined with a bonfire to burn all teething objects and drool catchers.
6) Potty Party. Togas. Definitely togas.
7) Off to school party. This might be my favorite because it involves an old pact with Sarah…Moms gather as the school bus pulls away and drink Bloody Marys until the bus returns, or the husbands get home, whichever happens first.

Queen: harmonica in the toilet
Kaiser: I’m done playing that.
Queen: well, nothing but water. and i had just cleaned it. so it didn’t totally get pee-ified
Kaiser: it’s been in the toilet. Are you putting it in your mouth?
Queen: it was a clean toilet. and then i washed the harmonica. thats still bad?
Kaiser: I repeat: It’s been in the toilet. Are you willing to put into your mouth something that spent time in the same place I take shits.
Queen: ummmm
Queen: I could crack a really nasty joke here
Kaiser: sure.

I’m officially one of the club. I attended my very first “back to school night” for parents. Don’t ask me what they said, other than the Count will learn to share, because I sat there the ENTIRE TIME thinking “I’m the MOM and my kid goes to SCHOOL.” I was addressed as “Mrs. Vest”—which, 5 years and 2 kids after my wedding still freaks me out. Yes, I realize I’m 30-years old. Yes, I realize I’m no spring chicken anymore…but what the hell?? I sat in that classroom the ENTIRE time listening to Miss Debbie discuss paint smocks thinking to myself how did I get here???

Here is a great place. Here makes my heart want to jump out of my chest daily. But since when am I the parent in the classroom????

Somewhere in the middle of “we will teach them colors through puzzles and games” and “they are not allowed to throw sand or run on the sidewalk”–I snapped out of it. My hand shot up.

“Umm…yes, can you tell me how the school and this classroom are prepared for an earthquake?”

I was back.

“And is everyone here trained in first aid and CPR?”

“What about background checks, can I see those on everyone who has contact with the kids?”

Poor, poor Miss Debbie. Now I’m in ex-news reporter Mom mode.

Gotta hand it to the lady, though. A little taken off guard but had all the answers I wanted.

There is a Mom next to me…her husband came…the only husband there…and she’s acting all “la-dee-da, my husband is here and yours isn’t” and asking really dumb questions like “and if you warn them four times about throwing sand, then what happens….what about five times” anyway she starts eyeing me. Sand obsessed Mom comes up to me after the meet the teacher nonsense and says “You must be Jackson’s mom…he was new today…Debbie said they weren’t putting pictures of our kids on the door because they didn’t have a picture of the new kid yet and didn’t want to leave anyone out.”

“How nice. Totally not necessary, but nice.”

“I heard James took a great picture. You know, he has an audition Thursday and I can’t decide if I should pull him out early from class or just be late.”

Oh fuck you lady…That figures

“Uh…umm…yeah, well nice to meet you…see you Thursday.”

Should be an interesting year.

I think that may be the theme of the day. We rushed to get ready this morning. We rushed to get to school (after I went the wrong way…Mommybrain moment) and then once we got to school we rushed to say goodbye and get the Count acclimated. I rushed to fill out paperwork and write the check…and all I really wanted to do was make sure the Count was safe and comfy and happy and DRY. Did I mention we’re also rushing to potty train?

It was all just so surreal. We walked onto the playground and all these tiny people were everywhere. Running, crying, running more. Darting past you as you search for your son’s new classroom…wanting to get in early to make sure you told the teacher he has a change of undies and pants in his new tiny backpack. You don’t want to come off as neurotic mother #42 of the day, so you play it cool. Casually glancing for the Director of the place while trying to keep your toddler from exploding with excitement over all the toys on the playground. Finally, a familiar face…yes….this is the Count’s classroom. #3. #3 is a good number, right?

We stand outside the door for a moment. THAT one moment in the morning that made me want to scoop up the Count and take him back home where I knew he was safe and warm and dry. Despite all the kids, all the toys…for one split second our little man had second thoughts about this school thing. He jumped into his Daddy’s arms (because his mother’s were filled with cameras and checkbooks) and laid his head on his Daddy’s shoulder. UG. Run. Runway with him Daddy. Out the door. Out the gates. Back into the car….go, go home!

Daddy did the right thing. He carried him into classroom #3. Where The Count immediately spied some cars and jumped out of his Dad’s arms and played. He never looked back. I wanted him to look back. Oh how I wanted him to look back. But not our little man.

On my way out I peaked into #3…he was listening to Miss Debbie, his new teacher and potty helper. Actually sitting there listening. Actually sitting there…Actually listening. I rushed to get out of sight, for fear he’d see me and again change his mind. I rushed to the car. Rushed to put Princess in her car seat. I rushed to sit behind the wheel. Then, finally then…I slowed down. Took a deep breath. And cried. Just a little.