Mama Mama Quite Contrary

Soon after we decided to send Vivi to kindergarten at our neighborhood public school, we learned that the school was offering a four-week summer camp.  We figured this would be a great opportunity for her to make some new friends, get used to the building, and have some fun.  Plus, at $50 a week for full-day camp, we couldn't exactly scoff at the price.  In fact, I believe my exact words were, "You're going to take my kid for eight hours a day, five days a week, and charge me $50.  Are you shitting me?" Anyway, do you want to know what Vivi learned at camp yesterday? Sure you do. She learned about George Washington. She learned how to fly a kite.  (Literally-- not the figurative way I taught her.) She learned that cacti live in the desert in the Southwestern United States.  And... she learned the word pussy.  (I'm not talking about cats here.) I guess you get what you pay for. 

Sometimes I feel bad for Vivi.   I get what is means to be a daughter.  I also understand what it is like to be the first-born and a big sister.  Like most people in the world, however, I have no idea what it means to be a sibling to "the twins."  For Vivi, I think it must really suck sometimes. This morning Vivi was complaining of a stomach ache and said she didn't want to go to camp.  I knew she was probably feeling anxious and, after a long weekend of fun activities, it made sense to me that she would want to stay home.  She still managed to get dressed and fully-accessorized but as she was lying on the floor complaining about camp, Jude came over and dumped a cup of water all over her.  It drenched Vivi's "best favorite ever ruffly shirt" that she was wearing and she burst into tears. I jumped up from the table, grabbed the cup from Jude, and yelled, "Why would you do that?" Jude burst into tears.  Then in some kind-of strange twin symbiosi...

At the beginning of the year, I made a commitment to myself and to Dollimama  (my fellow blogger and mother of twins) to take a few minutes each week for myself.  I promised that I would blog about what I did every Friday and link up to her site.   As it turns out, I was great at taking the time for myself but not so good at blogging about it.  (I know you are heartbroken to have missed my weekly missives about the YMCA.) Do not despair, fair reader, I am here to redeem myself.  I am participating in the: Cue the wild cheering and applause! I am giving away a little "me time" care package. While I won't give the specifics (who doesn't love a surprise?), the package will include something you can do for yourself, something you can do with a friend, and something that will help you do something for someone else.   To enter, please leave a comment telling me the most interesting place you have ever traveled. For a bonus entry, become a follower of this bl...

I'm not really an optimist.  In fact, according to my husband and other reliable sources, I can be a real complainer sometimes.  I like to think it's part of my charm but I know he usually just finds me annoying. This was particularly evidenced by my behavior yesterday morning when my husband made smoothies for the girls.  Smoothies are always a hit in this house but when I got downstairs and saw that the pitcher and the girls' cups were mostly full, I knew something had gone horribly wrong.  Still, I decided that the smoothie was worth a try but I was so overwhelmed by the sweetness that I didn't make it past one sip. As the ray of sunshine that I am, I asked him what the hell happened to the smoothie.  He said it was fine and I went on to complain that the girls would have finished their cups if it was fine. Then I made the discovery that all the blueberries and deviled eggs were gone.  The blueberries went into the smoothie and the deviled eggs.... wen...

Hey, guess what my husband brought home from work today? When he asked me to take a look inside the bag he was carrying, I thought he had picked me up a treat at the bakery.  Umm... no.  What I found was a ziploc bag containing his  kidney stone and a plastic spoon which he apparently used to fish it out of the toilet.  Like a giddy kid who just made a cool discovery, he announced that he was going to send it off to the lab. I suppose the lab will tell him exactly what he wants to hear, "Congratulations Dr. B!  You just harvested your own kidney stone."

It's never a good sign when your husband wakes you up at 4:45 in the morning and asks you to go fill a prescription for Dilaudid .  It is even more disturbing when said husband has been up since 2 a.m. popping Percocet at double the rate of what is generally considered a standard dosage. Before I continue with the story of my husband and powerful opiates, let me tell you that he is a runner.  Actually, let's make that a RUNNER .  He has a very high pain threshold, eats ridiculously well, and is very well-versed in all sorts of ways to live a healthy lifestyle.  He is also a physician who has turned his traditional psychiatry practice into one where he relies on homeopathy and other energetic healing methods.  He is not a pill popper. So when he woke me up, I knew exactly what it was-- a kidney stone.  When I returned with the prescription an hour or so after he woke me, he was crawling on the floor, unable to speak, and was shaking uncontrollably.  H...

One day, you'll flip the "review photos" setting on your camera and find things like this: And perhaps, if your daughter is anything like my daughter, you will find photos of ALL  her body parts. Even the parts that aren't suitable for internet publication. DELETE! Linking up to Simply Modern Mom's Glimpse Into Motherhood .