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Let me give you some tips.

Tip one is that if you can’t pronounce my name I’m not going to be particularly polite to you.  For example, if you ask for me and I can’t tell if you’re trying to talk to me or order a Sicilian pastry then I don’t have time to deal with you and you will get a response such as “If you can’t pronounce my name then I don’t have time to talk to you.”  I know that this is rude, but if I just ran to the phone holding a bottle feeding baby only to have someone I don’t want to talk to on the other end of the line then you have to understand that you get what you get.

Tip two is that if I have to say “Hello” two times (or more) because you’re too lazy to hold the phone up to your ear instead of having me on speakerphone until I answer and therefore you do not hear me then you will not get the desired result.  I will hang up on you.  It’s that simple.

Tip three is that if someone is on the Do Not Call list then they probably don’t want to be contacted by telephone and won’t respond very politely if you try.  That’s why it’s called a DO NOT CALL list.  See how that works?

This isn’t rocket science, people.

No Love,

Shannon

It is currently 11:15 AM.  I have spent the last hour getting more and more nervous that my (possible) food poisoning from earlier in the week was really a virus since I’ve been more and more nauseated by the minute.  It just occurred to me that I forgot to eat breakfast.  Oops (and problem solved).

I’m in the process of washing all of Liam’s bedclothes because there’s pee all over them.  When I asked Matt about it he said “Oh, that’s all my fault.”  I assumed he couldn’t get in to Liam’s room early enough this morning to prevent it.  Matt then informed me that it was a little worse than that this time:  he forgot to put a Pull-up on the kid last night before bed.  And Matt was the “rested” one yesterday.

Something tells me (and yes,  Matt, I’m calling it Mother’s Intuition…) that the “Life As It Currently Stands” series will go on for a very, very long time.

You know your life has become a bit unmanageable when the parent who has it easier is the one who may or may not have food poisoning (meaning that the other parent must handle both children in case the ill parent is contagious).  Oy.  Vey.

I was trying to make several lists that may potentially help me to pack everyone up for the weekend and to acquire the groceries I need from the Trader Joe’s (where I intend to attempt go tomorrow for my second try this week — maybe this time we’ll make it out to the car before something (ahem…LIAM’STEMPERTANTRUM…ahem) or someone (ahem…PAIGENEEDSTOEATRIGHTNOW…ahem) keeps me from actually completing a task on my list).

After getting locked out of the computer for typing the wrong password (which has been the same since the computer was first password protected, approximately a year ago) multiple times (and then almost doing it again all in the span of 5 minutes), putting the computer down to hold Paige while Matt went upstairs to make her third bottle of the past 1.5 hours, trying to pretend that I’m paying attention to the episode of 30 Rock that Matt is so excited to be watching while feeding Paige, and using Liam’s rubber dinosaur tail to open an impossibly sealed bottle of infant Mylicon — I realized why it is virtually impossible for me to finish anything anymore:  I can’t even keep it together long enough to make the list that is absolutely necessary for my ability to complete a task without forgetting something very important.  (Did anyone else notice that that last sentence went on for an entire paragraph and spanned comma splices, a colon, and a couple of dashes thrown in for good measure…?)  That is when the following statement came out of my mouth, in all sincerity:

“See!  This is why I can’t get anything done.  I don’t have a train of thought anymore.  I have bumper cars of thought.  They just keep bouncing off of each other and they never connect!”

Bumper cars of thought, people.

This is where parenthood takes you.  You’ve been warned.

And now back to those lists…if I can find them…

Me Time (n.):  As a single person this may have meant shopping, throwing pottery, redecorating anything I could get my hands on, or perhaps going for a run.  As the parent of a 2.75 year old and a 3.5 week old, this means checking my e-mail while on the toilet because my pee breaks are the only time I have to check my e-mail without listening to someone scream as a result.

Dinner (n.):  Merely a month ago this meant sitting down to dinner with my son and husband to eat a (mostly) well-balanced meal.  Now this may mean stuffing cookies in my face while guzzling water in the hopes that skipping the dinner prep time will mean that I have time to shower today.  I’m pretty sure that this will be fantastic for postpartum weight loss.

A Good Day (n.):  Also a month ago, this meant having plenty of time for lounging in my (mostly) clean house during my son’s three hour naps after having spent the morning doing something like running an easy errand or going on an outing.  Now this means that my toddler hit me fewer than 5 times, had fewer than 3 time-outs (although this number is directly related to the number of times he hit me), engaged in fewer than 25 power struggles about insignificant and completely infuriating things and that my newborn spent merely 50% of the day grunting, kvetching, and straining against the pain that appears to be in her gut and the other 50% of the time sleeping, eating or pooping.  A good day no longer necessarily includes any “Me Time”  (see above).  Or sleep.  Or time to say 5 consecutive words to my husband.

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There are so many more entries for this dictionary, but they’ll have to wait for now because it turns out that typing on the toilet makes my leg fall asleep and my back hurt.  Also, I’m running out of time for basic personal hygiene.  Again.

Deciding that you’re going to go from taking a three hour nap to taking no nap at all and making sure that your timing coincides with us bringing home your baby sister is one thing.  Deciding to engage in a power struggle with your father is another thing.  Combining these two things on one of the last days that I would have been able to take a nap myself, therefore resulting in the fit to end all fits and your father taking away your paci and your woobie (which then resulted in the REAL fit to end all fits) is a very dangerous move.  If you wish to live to see your third birthday, please don’t ever do it again.

Love,

Mama