Targeting Constipation

Could Target be the magic bullet cure for constipation? My bowels tell me this is so.

Fo' real. I don't know what it is about that place. Every time I step into SuperTarget to do my weekly grocery shopping, the urge strikes.

I chalked it up to mere coincidence the first few times. But at this point, it can be no coincidence. It is virtually guaranteed that I will have to abandon cart within ten minutes of arrival.

I always wonder if the security guys are watching me from above. "That lady again. Can't she do that before she gets here?"

If you don't believe me, try it out. And then let me know.

Maybe it's just me.

Freedom: It Doesn't Suck

The day finally came. I put the elder on the bus to go to kindergarten. I dropped off the little one off at her first day of preschool.

I went and got myself a big, greasy, gut-bomb of a lunch that I then ate while sitting in front of my television watching an episode of The Hills that I DVRed. Hey, I figured, if I'm stuffing my gut with junk, I might as well stuff my brain with junk simultaneously. It made perfect sense at the time.

Then, I sat back and listened.

Nothing. The only sound came from the two goldfish in the kitchen who have the oddly endearing habit of slurping water at the surface of their bowl.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the silence was pure, unadulterated bliss. I actually felt a little guilty for having been granted this gift of free time.

For a long time, I thought about all of the things that I would do when this day came. I would clean the house, I would catch up on laundry, I would reorganize the kitchen cabinets.

I didn't feel like doing a damn thing, though. I guess that's where the guilt came from. I'm sure I'll get around to doing some of those things.

But not today.

Or tomorrow either.

Kindergarten

Pretty much from the time I brought my elder home from the hospital, I was preparing myself for the first day of kindergarten. I knew that I would feel a giant lead weight in my stomach as I watched her walk into school and out of my clutches for good. Well, for two and a half hours at least. I pictured myself at home with my little one, making cookies as I awaited the elder's arrival home from school.

She would run toward my car as I waited for her in the pickup line. She would throw her arms around me hug me as if she never was going to let go. She would then hop in her car seat and begin chattering excitedly about all the new and wonderful things she learned on her first day in kindergarten. She would hungrily gobble up the oatmeal raisin cookies (her personal favorite) I made for her while she was at school. She would thank me endlessly for making her favorite cookies.

How's that for a fantasy?

Here's the reality.

I had a (private) countdown to the first day of kindergarten. I watched with pride, a smidgen of sadness and a great deal of happiness as she walked into school. Yes, I took pictures and video. Yes, I waved enthusiastically until she disappeared into the classroom.

But, silently, I was shrieking, "Hallelujah! Peace and quiet!"

Noticeably absent was the aforementioned lead weight in my stomach. In fact, I felt the lead weight leave my stomach and float lazily and happily up into the sky.

Is it wrong?

Remember me?

Well, lucky readers (all one of you), I think I may be back. I was on sabbatical for awhile there. What have I been up to, you ask? Along with attempting to maintain some thinly-veiled semblance of sanity, I started school again. A master's program in counseling. Funny, huh? The person who probably is in the most need of counseling is soon going to be counseling others?

Takes one to know one, right?

Hey, if nothing else, it is one free night a week without kids. And I'm learning. And stuff.

Here's the thing. I'm doing the stay-at-home thing for now. But I don't want to do it forever. Not that there's anything wrong with doing it forever. It's just- I've tried it on. I can squeeze myself into it for awhile. But long term, I gotta shed the weight and put my old clothes back on.

You feel me?

Females

I don't have any boys, so I really can't compare boys to girls, temperamentally-speaking. But holy hell, I gotta believe that raising boys is easier than raising girls.

I am so worn out and mentally frayed from dealing with my almost-five-year-old. She is so freakin' emotional, and...angry? Where does that much anger come from in a 42", 38-pound four-year-old? I mean, seriously, what hard times has she weathered that she feels she's got the right?

Yes, I know how ridiculous that just sounded. She's four, she doesn't know any better, she's still learning, I should be modeling behavior, blah, blah de freakity blah. I refuse to walk on eggshells around a PRESCHOOLER.

Here's what I don't get. I would never have DREAMED of saying, "I hate you, you stupid mom" or "I hate you, you idiot" to my mother. And certainly not to my father. I was too scared. There was fear there. Real fear. The scary kind.

No fear with this kid. And she really doesn't have any "favorite" things that I can confiscate when she spews forth foulness.

Oh yeah, I'm ready for Vegas.

By the way, this post is NOT an invitation for all you well-meaning folks out there to send me comments in which you will gently detail all of the wrong approaches I am taking with my child and offer alternative, feel-good suggestions. Not that you will. I just wanted to save you some keystrokes if you were considering it.

I'm venting here, people.

Crappy Luck and I'm Not Even in Vegas Yet

So I leave for Vegas on Friday, and lately, I can think of nothing else. I daydream about sitting poolside, sipping a 100 oz. pina colada. Complete with the slice of pineapple and the requisite umbrella. I am pulling on that one-armed bandit in my sleep.

And then I woke up this morning sneezing my brains out. And now my nose has turned into a neverending faucet of snot.

Yes, I'm getting sick.

Seriously, WTF? We just got done with the plague a mere month ago. And surely, the gals will come down with it again the night before I am to leave. Which will cause waves of mother-guilt, because how can I possibly leave them when they are sick and want their mommy?

The thing is, Elvis wants me, too. He's calling for me, and we only get to see each other twice a year.

The girls will understand, right?

Wave Your Mouse Ears In the Air Like You Just Don't Care

I'm a fan of the Mouse. Mickey Mouse, that is.

Yes, we just returned from our first family trip to Walt Disney World. That's in Florida, for those not in the know.

I figured that a trip to Disney with two kids under five would be loads of fun for them, and not so much for me. I was partly right. The girls had a hootin', hollerin' good time. But surprisingly, I did, too. I think I had as much fun as they did, if not more.

I didn't go so far as to get a lined, embroidered Mickey Mouse jacket (you know what I'm talking about), but I did thoroughly enjoy having money ripped from my clutches at an alarming rate. We had so much darn fun, I can't even hold it against those Disney masterminds who have thought of every scheme under the sun to separate wide-eyed folks from their hard-earned cash.

I have to say, though, navigating the retail landmines that pop up every three feet in the Magic Kingdom proved a bit difficult. My girls usually are not ones to ask me to buy trinkets and such everywhere we go, but I heard a lot of, "Mom, can I puh-leeze have this?"

We came home with a plastic pirate sword and a light saber and not much else.

I declare, that is no small victory.

I also decided that Disney's current advertising phrase, "Year of a Million Dreams" should be changed to, "Year of a Million Meltdowns". I saw many of those, and experienced more than a few myself, from my little one.

All in all, though, we made many good memories.