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.

The Kaiser actually made a comment in my previous post. I encourage everyone to see his profile. He’s just trying to show off.

I became a little excited this past weekend when I got a hit on my page from someone in Brunei. I immediately decided it was the Sultan. But then, I didn’t know if they actually had Sultans in Brunei or if I was just recalling a Goldie Hawn movie. But anyway, here is everything you’ve wanted to know about Brunei. Including the fact that it’s Brunei Darussalam-duh.

Sarah is still waiting for a hit from Japan. If anyone knows anyone in Japan who can check out her blog, that would be nice and I’ll mail you a sticker or something.

Yes, I’ve added Google ads to the site. And yes, they are about royalty and fart machines. Because if that’s not my family in a nutshell, I’m really not sure what is.

My mother always said if there was a draft during wartime, she’d strap my brother to her back and swim him to Canada. This was a semi-joke of hers when discussions turned to politics at cocktail parties or family holidays. But it always stuck in my head. So much so, that I began repeating it as an anecdote about my mother.

I never understood what she meant until now.

There is a “Mamma Bear” intensity about this job we call motherhood. I remember feeling it for the first time shortly after the Count was born and the Kaiser and I took him to one of those warehouse shopping places. There I was, in the throws of post pardum, CLUTCHING his car seat. My knuckles were white. My eyes darted from person to person to person. Was this the man that would try and grab him from me? No. This lady, this one here, she looks shifty…she might try and take him away. I sat in the food court area and clung to him. Convinced someone. Anyone, wanted to take him from me. Nevermind the incredible deal these people could get on 19 tons of generic macaroni and cheese and a 32 pack of razors, they were really there to kidnap my newborn son.

I’ve moved on from that feeling. Ok, I’ve sort of moved on from that feeling. Ok, Ok, I no longer have those feelings as often. But now it comes in the form of more sane anxiety. Like the neighbor stealing my kids and selling them into white slavery. Or an earthquake hitting our area and despite the Princess in bed with me and the Count in his bed IN OUR ROOM, I’m unable to get to either of them.

It also pops up in odd places…like the park. Today I left the Princess in the care of a trusted friend by the sandbox and trekked the 12 feet to the bathroom with the toddler in undies. While helping him get his pants down I suddenly remembered a friend’s comments the last time we all went to Chuck E Cheese’s….

“I can’t even let my older boys go to the bathroom in a public place like this…their Dad has to go…you know those molesters love public restrooms…”

So now I’m scoping out the park bathroom area. There’s a Dad (I think he’s a Dad…is he? He kinda looks Dad-ish…maybe) waiting outside the ladies room door. My mind starts spinning. Ok, if he makes a move, I’ll scoop up the Count and run for the Princess. No, wait…I’ll pull the Count and run into the building..the have a phone…but wait..the Princess. Etc. Etc. Etc. Freaking certifiable some days, I tell ya. Of course the nice DAD collected his daughter outside the ladies room and went over to the swings, but I couldn’t help but wonder what if for another 10 minutes or so.

I headed back over to where the kids were playing, collected the Princess, and watched the Count throw sand, yet again. My girlfriend, noticing my distraction, asked me what was wrong…I half embarrassed and half relieved told her my encounter with the fake kidnapper/rapist/murderer at the bathroom. She laughed. I looked at her puzzled. She laughed harder. Then she said…

“You’re a Mom. That’s what WE ALL DO. I was looking at him too. And thinking the same thing.”

So either this is universal, or I hang out with some really f’d up women.

Queen to Kaiser:

“Honey…the baby puked in my mouth! I actually swallowed some!”

“ahahahaahahaha That’s good stuff hahahahahaha”

He loves me. Really he does. And this comes only a day after I recalled the story of how the Kaiser held me down and then farted on me the first time he introduced me to his friends.

BUT (and this is a big BUT) today he cleaned the garage, cooked the Count breakfast, went grocery shopping, got my bling cleaned at the jewlers, cooked dinner, cleaned up dinner, put the Count to bed…and is currently occupying the Princess so I can F’ around on the computer. So I guess I’ll put up with the gas, huh? Oh, and him finding Peanut puke in my mouth not disgusting, but hysterical. I’m dribbling spit up, re-spit up by ME, and he’s cracking up. Must be love.

…ok, that may have been a bit premature. I’m just excited. I’m back in my size 10 jeans. I’m only halfway to my goal of losing all that Princess Peanut Pregnancy weight. But its coming off. Down 2.4lbs at weigh in today. Celebrated with In and Out burger. Oh come on. I gotta have a day here and there where its more than one cup of brown rice and veggies. I’ll be back on track tomorrow and kicking ass and taking names. I’m down 15.2 total. HALF WAY THERE BABY!!!!

The Count just said to the Kaiser after clipping a baby toy onto his arm…”Oh, its beautiful Daddy.”

Last night he killed us too. The Kaiser said “Count…lay down and let me put your PJ’s on you…” The Count laid down right away. The Kaiser said “Good job, thank you.” The Count said
“Yeah, I thought you would like that Daddy.”

Because learning to crawl last week just wasn’t enough…the over-achieving Princess pulled herself up on the stairs and stood today. She obviously doesn’t know her 6-month birthday isn’t until next week. Or that she really shouldn’t be walking and doing long division by Christmas. But whatever, don’t tell her that.

You’d think I’d be a proud Queen. But you see, her first pull-to-a-stand moment of pride came back to back with her first crack-her-head on hard object horror.

Yes, following in the proud Royal Family Tradition, she has a headwound. The Count was famous for headwounds. And not to be outdone, the Princess has chalked her first one up at the mere age of almost 6 months.

See those stairs behind her??? That’s where the stand/tumble took place as I froze instead of lunged to save her. Then came the usual. Panic. How bad is it? Do we need to call the pediatrician? Do we need to go to the ER? Is it popping out like an egg? Is it bruising inward and pooling blood by her brain??? Etc. Etc. Etc. Convinced, in part, by her willingness to crawl right back over and do it again(minus the tumble) I decided she was fine. I think. Good thing that 6 month check up is next week.

A big thank you for all the emails wishing me a happy and better day. Smooch. The pic is for the friend who couldn’t imagine me in glasses. Here I am!

The Count is in his undies. Looking so cute I wanna just eat him up. We were making great potty progress today until I found pee in a tupperware bowl.

Also cheering me up today…news that our friends currently rumpusing in Orlando are transforming one of the guys in the group with a complete makeover. From hair to tanning to glasses and clothing. We’re all dying to see pictures. And I’m sure they will all have stories to tell. The last time this crew got together it was one for the record books (click then scroll down to Lake, Big Lake).