"That's Not Food!"

And so we have reached that magical, mystical time in my life as a parent in which I am actively, constantly lying about the ages of my children.  Perhaps you've heard this story before, but I cannot remember a time in my life in which I was more horrified than when my parents lied about my age to get in somewhere and said I was ELEVEN when I was actually FOURTEEN.  Obviously, there were plenty of more horrifying moments in my life, but that one really stuck with me.  Why don't you all just rub it in that I don't have any boobies? That I am not some super hot teenage girl and instead look like I should be playing with dolls?  Why don't we just knock down my self esteem another half dozen or so notches just to save two dollars on general admission?  I'm in high school and I look ELEVEN?  Really?  Why must you people ALWAYS DO THIS TO ME? Of course, now here I am (almost thirty-four and ironically praying that I don't look a day over twenty-seven), and...

Alex has been threatening to climb out of his crib for a while now.  Not so much in sentence format, but the threat has existed.  It was there when I watched him expertly climb up the rock wall on the big kids section of the park.  It was there when he started insisting on scrambling into his car seat on his own.  It hovered in the air as he started climbing up on the stools at our breakfast bar.   This kid can climb , I heard someone (God or perhaps a commercial) whisper into my ear.  You're on borrowed time with the crib. It finally happened on Monday.  The boys went to bed, and then Chris heard Andy calling for him just a few minutes later.  "Daddy, something's happening in here!"  Andy yelled.  From my spot on the couch downstairs (as it was past seven and officially Wine & Vampire-Related-Movie-or-TV-Show time), I then heard Chris calling for me.  "Jackie, you're going to want to see this." And I did want to see it,...

Four years ago today, I was thinking, "Tomorrow is my due date, I am so unbelievably ready for this kid to come out."  Four years ago tomorrow, I had my last day of work before maternity leave and went home with slight contractions, thinking, "Okay, this is it.  He'll be here by tonight!"  I called the doctor, went in for a stress test, and it was nothing.  Chris and I went home, watched "Avatar," and I went to bed hoping that I'd wake up in the ever so gentle throes of labor.  Four years ago two days from now, we went to the library and out for breakfast as if it were any normal day.  I blinked back tears when the librarian said something about my books being "due," as I was starting to feel a little sensitive about that word.  Four years and three days from now, I took a long walk around the neighborhood feeling like maybe I could exercise the baby out.  Four years and four days from now, I finally went in for my induction and had my b...

As Alex is now the ripe old age of two, he has suddenly become extremely independent.  There are exceptions to this independence, of course, in which I'm mainly thinking of when I'm trying to prepare a meal, use the bathroom, or present myself with any type of dignity to the cashier at Home Depot whilst my Al Pal proceeds to roll six things of painters tape down the aisle as if they were little, four dollar bowling balls. And yet, Alex is very independent, refusing my help to get in and out of the car and protesting "No!" when I try to assist him with basic tasks.  He bats away my hand when I help him to the next level of "Car Puzzles For Toddlers Lite!" on the iPad and does not want an ounce of assistance getting into his chair for dinner. He doesn't want to be held as we cross a parking lot; he cries out "Walk! Walk!" as if he is a prisoner who wants just the tiniest taste of freedom.  He refuses to sit in the stroller anymore, bucking his ...