not that you asked...

Quick takes (why not?)

1. This was going to be all lighthearted and barely about my kids at ALL but then Lucy up and barfed all over my mom's car this morning on our way back from Target and so OBVIOUSLY I have to say something about that because DIDN'T WE JUST GET THROUGH THREE WHOLE STINKING WEEKS OF ILLNESS? We have NEVER, in the entire history of this family, had a stretch of sickness this long. And Dave hasn't gotten anything at all, which sounds pretty unfair and made me KIND of want to murder him until I remembered that A) he had a painful case of shingles five years ago at a ridiculously young age and B) before he was officially diagnosed, we convinced him that a spider had laid eggs in his neck. (Was actually shingles - not sure whether spider eggs would have been better or worse.) Also he had to go through the embarrassment of filling a Valtrex prescription at the CVS with a really hot pharmacist who probably hears “I swear I'm taking this for shingles and not genital herpes!” a thousand times a day and NEVER ACTUALLY BELIEVES IT.

Yeah, so my kid barfed and now we're all ticking time bombs too, LA DEE FRICKING DA.

2. I don't have a ton of puppy-related complaints this week (he has made huge strides lately) but I will tell you that the time it takes to tape off a 10-foot section of wall in order to paint some trim increases EXPONENTIALLY if there is a puppy awake in your general vicinity. If I could get the tape onto the wall I was golden; however, only one out of five pieces of tape that I tore off actually made it ON to the wall. The other four pieces were pounced upon and then chewed up by a dog, and what should have been a five-minute project took TWENTY. Twenty minutes to put up ten feet of tape. That was two days ago and I can't imagine how long it's going to take me to PAINT it. Before I got the tape up I cleared the area of a bookshelf and books and it took me FIVE DAYS to get everything put away. It seems like every time I start a project, no matter how small, I have so many interruptions that the small act of storing five boxes of books in the attic takes the better part of a morning, what with the letting a dog out for six false-alarm pees, and getting Lucy a snack and helping her tear a page out of her coloring book (my kids are SO ABOVE coloring pages while they're STILL INSIDE the book) and answering the door for the heat repair guy and HEY, look at that, it's NOON ALREADY soooo... I guess... let's break for lunch? We can put boxes in the attic this AFTERNOON or something.

3. I turned 35 a couple of weeks ago and since then I have found at least five gray hairs. I tell you this with complete honesty: it isn't so much the gray hairs that bother me so much as the fact that eventually I will probably want to COVER them if they continue to multiply and I STILL have PTSD from my horrific hair-dye experience last year. I cannot IMAGINE a time when I will willingly apply hair dye to my head again, whether by my own hand or someone else's, and yet, I know that time will come and I am DREADING IT. Dreading the thought of choosing a color myself (Lord help me, I've proven that I'm not able to do that) and dreading the thought of trusting someone else to choose and apply it for me. And I could be years away from gray hair actually BOTHERING me, I realize. I just... I JUST DON'T KNOW IF THAT'S ENOUGH TIME.

4. Books I have read since the beginning of 2013 and would recommend: The Sense of an Ending, by Julian Barnes. Wild, by Cheryl Strayed. Books I have read since the beginning of 2013 and thought the lead character was too annoying to make me want to recommend it to someone else: Brand New Human Being, by Emily Jeanne Miller. Books I have returned to the library because I just didn't care to finish them: Seating Arrangements, by Maggie Shipstead. Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, by Anna Quindlen. (May check it out again – just couldn't get into it this time around.) Books currently in the queue: Happier at Home, by Gretchen Rubin. Flight Behavior, by Barbara Kingsolver. (I'm going to try to keep up with my reading list here, since so many of you ask/email about it.)

5. I am in love with a particular candle sold at Target. Its this Lemon Verbena soy candle and it costs $7.69 and I have been putting off buying one for something like eight months. EIGHT MONTHS. Why, I ask you, is it fine for me to randomly spend $20 on clearance t-shirts for boys or to throw a $6 nail polish in my cart, but SO DIFFICULT to commit to buying a $7 candle? I walk by this stupid candle nine times a month, pick it up, smell it, AND PUT IT BACK. Why? WHY? It makes no sense. In my last two trips to Target I've bought two $6 clearance belts and three $3 coin purses, a grand total of TWENTY-ONE DOLLARS, also known as THREE CANDLES. Why can't I just DO IT? I love burning candles and the only ones I've let myself buy in the last six months have been cheapy Glade ones in holiday scents. They were fine, did the job or whatever, but never made me TRULY HAPPY. Today I finally pulled the trigger and bought the stupid $7 Lemon Verbena, and you guys. It felt SO GOOD and it's been burning in the kitchen since I got home and my house smells like old school wood-polishing Pledge and reminds me of my childhood (I think) and I am SO HAPPY ABOUT IT. Also feel a little smug because I almost bought the big three-wick tin candle ($3 more) but went with the $7.69 jar candle instead, and then on a whim, checked the bottoms to see that the three-wick candle only burns for 20 hours while they jar candle burns for FIFTY. (Smug!)

(Tapping out at five quick takes today. Must return to Barfy Preschooler watching her 85^th consecutive episode of Wonder Pets. She had Sprite for the first time this afternoon and wept when I said I only had one can. OH THE MISERY OF BEING FOUR.)

The PMS explains a lot of this

I have said a LOT of swear words in the last week. First I got sick, then Lucy got sick, then Lucy missed a week of school and woke up three times every night screaming that we hadn't said goodnight to her (us, baffled: LIES) while running a wicked fever (us, touching her forehead: OHHHHHH). Then there were school delays and early dismissals and then Asher had two ENTIRE DAYS off of school which coincided beautifully with a 9AM dentist appointment during an ICE STORM. I did not feel I could cancel the dentist appointment at the last minute, seeing as how I had confirmed that we would be in attendance at the dentist appointment no fewer than FIVE TIMES. By email (twice), by text (twice), by phone call. WE ARE COMING TO THE DAMNED APPOINTMENT. (See? The swearing? I'm so sorry.)

Amidst this child-centered chaos there remains a puppy, who has not grown up all that much since the last time I complained about him, although he HAS generally stopped stealing food off the table while we're eating. Small win. Unfortunately due to recent precipitation, our backyard has turned into a mud pit which the dog goes out to DIG IN, to find some nice rocks to chew. I wish that last sentence was made up solely for your enjoyment, but it was not. My floors... ah, actually, no. No, I can't even talk about my floors. It HURTS, what this dog does to the floors. I am going to need some blood pressure medication. I wish I had some left over from my post-preeclampsia days. That and also a Roomba that's also a mop. Do they MAKE a Roomba that's also a mop?!

Last weekend I actually broke down in big sobby theatrical tears and wailed and wept angrily at Dave for close to an hour about The State of My Life. It sounds stupid, I know, to let a puppy be the catalyst for a meltdown of postpartum proportions, but it was. It was so cold outside and I was having to stand outside and watch this idiot dog wander around the yard 45 times an hour (we do not have a fence) while the kids yelled at each other or for me inside the house, and if I left the dog to go back inside, he would NOT pee or poop, but wander to other people's decks and porches and... eat stuff. Like maybe their shoes or their trash, and then if he saw them inside their homes? He'd just scratch on their doors and yelp, like he'd been wandering aimlessly for years and was finally seeing his first glimpse of humanity. So it was stressful, standing outside in 12-degree weather and trying to control my dog's bowels with my mind. Also: impossible. All this while kids were sick and I was sick and we weren't getting out of the house at ALL and this eventually devolved to me screeching, I HAVE NO FRIEEEEEENDS! which isn't even TRUE, you guys, but it FELT true, because I felt so ALONE AND SHIVERY OUT THERE IN THE BACKYARD FOR HOURS AT A TIME.

At some point in our “discussion” (which was mostly me making demands through my tears) I made Dave promise to buy me a leash to tie the dog outside on, so that he could at least pee and poop without me standing over him and making sure he wasn't trying to break in to the neighbors' houses or ask their dogs out to play. Which he did, eventually, and I appreciate it, I really do, but you guys. He bought a leash that is too short to REACH TO THE BACK DOOR. Does this completely defeat the purpose?! YES IT DOES. So I am actually STILL GOING OUTSIDE to tie him up to the leash. I am having to walk TEN FEET outside, and it is STILL COLD, and I have to wear a BRA to do this because if I don't, you KNOW that's the moment the neighbors walk by with their trash can. Dave insists that if we had a longer leash that the dog would just wind himself around stuff and you know what, he's probably right, but you know what ELSE, which is that I DON'T REALLY CARE. He really likes chewing on rocks! If his leash is wound around a tree, SO WHAT, there are probably rocks RIGHT THERE UNDER HIS NOSE. Enjoy! BON APPETIT! So I'm buying another leash ASAP. 

I'm feeling a LITTLE more stable this week, but some regular-strength PMS is complicating the situation. I've been frustrated by trying to fit workouts in... if I get up early to run the dog barks in his crate when I leave (while the kids are still sleeping) and if I try to do a workout video (especially when it's cold), I have to wait for the dog to take a NAP like a freaking NEWBORN or else he plants himself directly in front of me and gets stepped on during calisthenics or attacks me when I do crunches. IT IS SO NOT AMUSING. He also attempts to get in the shower with me AFTER the workout, which is unsettling at best, and also gross, as no matter how dry I get myself before I step out, he cannot stop himself from trying to lick the water or lotion off my legs, which ICK. Dog tongue bath: DO NOT RECOMMEND.

On the other hand, he is doing great with the kids and I appreciate his temperament and his patience SO SO much (despite my scolding, Lucy sits on him A LOT) and the kids are so in love with him that I don't think I could send him back to the farm like I've threatened approximately 7,497 times since Sunday. Looks like he's going to stick.

Puppy Update: Week 3 Progress Report

This isn't a progress report on how the PUPPY is doing so much as I suppose, what you might expect if you are to GET one of these puppy things and attempt to continue to live your life and whatnot. The PUPPY is doing fine – he's 14 weeks old and healthy and he eats a lot and he does 95 percent of his business outside and 5 percent when we are doing things like cooking dinner or giving children baths and have turned our backs. Then he does that 5 percent in the hallway or on the rug downstairs (WHY THE RUG WHEN THERE ARE MILES OF HARDWOOD FLOORS) and frankly the rug is pretty much a loss at this point, though I am strangely comforted by the fact that it was $99 at Lowe's and that even back then, I'd planned to eventually replace it. I am so glad I never bought a rug I loved. SO GLAD.

People will tell you that having a puppy is like having a newborn again, but this is wrong. You can bring your screamy newborn to Target or to Walmart or to the dentist ALL YOU LIKE. This is generally frowned upon if you have a dog, unless you are one of those people who thinks small dogs don't actually count as dogs even though THEY ARE TOTALLY STILL DOGS, so quit bringing them into Target. Also, on PRO FOR PUPPIES side, you cannot lock your infant in a crate for hours at a time. Actually, I take that back – you most certainly CAN do that, and it probably wouldn't even be all that terrible if you're as committed as I am to getting my puppy out of the crate after only two hours. Also if you stay home with them. I do not plan to lock the dog in his crate and stick around. I'm LEAVING if he's in that thing. 

So while it's nice to be able to go to Target alone (something you cannot do with an infant), the prep work involved in getting the stupid dog into the crate is a real serious pain. For starters, the dog eats THREE TIMES A DAY. Like people do, except that he also needs to evacuate his bowels about 45 minutes after he eats. THIS REQUIRES TIMING. I can't feed him and then shove him into his crate for two hours; likewise, I feel bad making him miss a meal, too. So I've got to feed him and leave enough time for him to get a little exercise and poo before I can throw him in there and set out to run an errand or two. I also have to lure him inside with treats and then try to run out of the house before he finishes chewing or he tends to alert the neighbors that he can bark loudly and for greatly prolonged periods of time. IS STRESSFUL. I always forget to put my coat on BEFORE I put him in the crate and then he sees me and starts barking and whining and OMG MAYBE I SHOULD JUST STAY HOME. (I never do.) (Sorry I'm not sorry.)

In the mornings, sometimes the chaos of two small kids getting ready for school PLUS a wild puppy who has been in a crate all night sleeping and is acting feral pushes me over the edge. I yell A LOT in the mornings, and it isn't really AT anyone so much as IN FRUSTRATION. Ideally the kids would put their clothes on while on the top bunk, because the puppy pulls EVERYTHING they put on right back off. He LOVES underwear. And it's funny to the kids but it makes me want to pull my hair out. He is VERY mouthy in the mornings because he's excited and energetic and he bites too hard too often. At breakfast the kids sit at the table and I circle and patrol, pulling the dog down when he jumps up and tries to grab their food, while I should be packing lunches and eating my OWN breakfast. Then we all get our coats on and walk to the bus stop, and while this aspect is improving with Rocket, it still requires me to pull him for a good portion of the time. For Rocket to be comfortable with our pace, it would take 20+ minutes to walk and sniff our way there. Unfortunately, we need to do it in four.

I think the solution to our problem lies in getting up and taking him for a walk before everyone is up and getting ready for school, but it still takes 45 minutes to take him on the short loop (it's like a half a mile and the majority of the time I spend coaxing him out of the neighborhood) and it's dark in the morning and this dog (LIKE MANY TODDLERS) is scared of the dark. He ain't leaving the front yard if he can't see what's out there. The earliest I could walk him is 7:30ish, and HEY, HA HA HA, that's exactly the time I need to start shoving children up on to the top bunk to change their underwear.

So it is challenging. On one hand YAY ME for not spending hardly ANY money in the month of January; on the other hand I HAVE BEEN TRAPPED IN THE HOUSE FOR ALL OF IT. And I am not getting the quality time I thought I'd be able to get – I'm spending an hour of that time teaching a dog how to walk on a leash without wigging out and then I'm usually exercising because I can't do it before the kids get up (too cold, too dark, dog barks) and I don't want to do it when everyone's home and WATCHING ME (they still make fun of me occasionally) and then add in a shower and lunch and HEY! It's PICKUP TIME and now I have to spend my last 20 minutes making the dog poop so I can lure him into the crate and leave.

There. That was a nice vent. I know the work will pay off, and it IS starting to feel more normal and I AM figuring out ways to cope but HOLY YOU KNOW WHAT, a puppy is no fricking joke. Let's end on a good note – he does sleep all night in his crate without whining or crying and he is very relaxed in the early afternoons and late evenings, which means Lucy and I can play on the floor without him eating toys for a good portion of the afternoon, and Dave and I can watch television in peace after dinner. BUT THAT'S IT.

Bedroom revamp

Back before we had a time-sucking, rug-peeing, table-chewing puppy, I got stuff DONE when Lucy was at preschool. In the weeks leading up to the start of school I was making LIST after LIST of crap I was going to DO around the house in the 3.5 hours I was allotted each day. Mostly messy stuff, like paint touch-ups, or things I really needed to concentrate on, like arranging and hanging pictures or making curtains. Or things I wanted to do without interruption, like ORGANIZING THE ATTIC. (I did that in ONE PRESCHOOL SESSION, you guys. I still have a list of things I need to do up there, like remove and donate half of the 500 pounds of books we are keeping for some unforseen reason. But I was pretty proud of myself, even if I did show up to pick-up covered in sweat and cobwebs.)

Anyway, one of the things I also completed before the siren song of TJMaxx called me away for the remainder of 2012 was redecorate my bedroom. We have now lived in this house for nine years (it will be 10 in July) and I have painted this room three times. What can I say – I just get the itch. I don't think ANY room in this house is even CLOSE to what it was nine years ago. I am thankful for that as I remember our old kitchen and how I had to dust our plates when I took them out as those cabinets were literally DISINTIGRATING.

Do you remember the other versions? 

THE RED BEDROOM, WHICH ALSO HAD A CAT (now deceased)

I mean, I thought this place was IT when we moved in. The bedding was actually very awesome, and from Crate&Barrel and is living in the attic sealed away next to the 500 pounds of books because I cannot bear to get rid of it, even if we're not using it. But the red... dude, if you are going to paint your bedroom BLOOD RED, maybe you should have more than one window. The bedroom was SO dark. Nice when you're sleeping; HORRIBLE when you're trying to do anything else, like get dressed and see what you look like in a mirror. Also please note that Dave painted this room all by himself and it took ONE COAT. I have mentioned that before, I know. But it still amazes me, you know, that it ever even DRIED. (HOW THICK WAS THAT ONE COAT OF PAINT?)

Look! Baby Asher! Also Hambone, now deceased. (Was world's awesomest dog, except for the not liking children thing.)

So then the red started to get to me and I wanted to lighten things up so we did YELLOW next. It was hard to get Dave on board for yellow, because yellow meant PRIMER FIRST. (Honestly, ANY color over that red required primer first.) And then, even before Pinterest existed, like, three YEARS before Pinterest existed, I decided we would do yellow and GRAY. I was a PIONEER, you guys. A COLOR PIONEER. And it was cute!

(You cannot make me regret this photo.)

Until, you know, I accidentally bleached the duvet and Dave said he hated the curtains because they were right over the air vents and then we renovated the bathroom and I felt like the bathroom looked like a totally separate place rather than coordinating with the bedroom like I imagined an ensuite should. SO. You know. I did it all over AGAIN. 

Amazingly enough, I stole a can of paint from my parents' house and paid $40 for the new duvet cover and shams. The only other thing I bought was the seagrass mirror, which was a splurge at $50 from HomeGoods. We'd installed blinds throughout the bedrooms upstairs, and I found the curtains in the linen closet, where they'd been since they'd failed to look even remotely nice in our living room. I love the duvet cover and so did Dave until I mentioned that if he looked closely he could see that it was covered in a peacock pattern. This turned him off COMPLETELY, but I don't care. I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT. I love the colors and how soft it seems and I love that it makes the bathroom look like it coordinates. Important, I think, for when we sell this place.

AHHHHHHHHHHH. (I'm sure I'll hate it in two more years.)

About that puppy thing.

So isn't it nice that Rocket is such a cute and lovable puppy? Not that there are a lot of UNcute puppies in the world, or anything, but it's especially nice that Rocket turned out to be cute and lovable and charming because HA HA HA, I WAS NOT PART OF THIS DECISION PROCESS AT ALL.

Rocket was a True Christmas Surprise. He was chosen and purchased without my knowledge or consent, and showed up Christmas morning in a big box wearing a big red bow. That means Dave is a lucky, lucky, LUCKY FREAKING GUY, because – well, really, do I have to spell it out here? If I was regretful of or angry about Rocket's arrival it could be understood. Suddenly I am the primary caretaker for a BABY ANIMAL, as well as two small children, and without giving my consent or being given ANY time to prepare for such a change. I mean, this is STRESSFUL STUFF, adding a time-consuming PUPPY to a family, especially when the burden of care falls to the one person WHO DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT IT BEFOREHAND. And when that person has never cared for a puppy before in her WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE.

But I am SO GLAD we have a dog. I am so glad the kids are being raised with a puppy who will grow with them and accept them (as Hambone never did); I am so happy that in a few more months I'll have a running partner and a reason to get out of the house on summer evenings for one more walk around the block. I remember how much happiness Hambone brought me, even though he was weird and quirky and sensitive and neurotic.

And then again, sometimes I am SO ANNOYED that we have a dog. I want to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I REALLY DO, but before we can get to the Companionship part of this relationship, you know, with the lying at the feet of the master and the bringing of the slippers and gentle handling of the newspaper, we have to go through this puppy hell, where everything we own has tooth marks in it and the floors are cleaner than they've ever been because we've mopped pee off of every inch of them and we're getting up in the middle of the night for potty breaks and praying whenever we leave the house that he doesn't cry and bark the entire time we're gone and make the neighbors want to kill us. It's kiiiiiiiind of stressful.

Ok, so it's REALLY REALLY stressful. The mornings are hardest right now, trying to make sure the kids get fed and dressed while also making sure the puppy doesn't take a dump on the carpet, and trying to get my feet through my pant legs without a puppy trying to pull my pants RIGHT BACK OFF. I can't use the bathroom without a puppy breaking in and eating a roll of toilet paper. Breakfast used to be eaten on the coffee table in front of a show, but the puppy can grab things off the coffee table so the kids have to eat in the kitchen now.

And then even once the kids are at school, everything I try to do at home looks like a Big! Fun! Puppy! Game!, like folding laundry (LOOK AT TOWEL SWINGING AROUND LIKE BIG TERRYCLOTH TUG OF WAR) or loading the dishwasher (YOU REALLY NOT GOING TO EAT THOSE FOOD PARTICLES?) or dusting the coffee table (SWIFFER LOOKS LIKE DELICIOUS SQUIRREL TAIL). Also, the dog will not go on walks. I know you think I am making this up because what kind of dog doesn't want to go on a walk?! But mine does not, he walks outside with enthusiasm and then just... sits. I have to CARRY him out of the neighborhood, and then sometimes he will go along with me TIMIDLY, but most of the time it takes us about an hour (AN HOUR) to go .6 miles. POINT SIX MILES, you guys. It is mentally draining.

But you know? I am trying to make this work. I am killing myself with optimism. Yes, it's stressful and there's more yelling and frustration and we can't leave toys out anywhere but the kitchen table. BUT! We have SUPER clean floors! We are sitting together for breakfast now and the kids want to turn that time into a morning devotional time, something I've never considered before now (and something I've decided I love). And if there was ever a time of the year to get a puppy, January is IDEAL for me – there's nothing really going on; I've got time to commit to this endeavor. And hopefully by summer things will be falling into place. So while I cannot recommend a puppy at this point in time, I am hoping that – MUCH LIKE NEWBORNS – they eventually turn into the kinds of decisions we are happy we made. I will let you know.

Now: More pictures that will make you forget everything I just wrote. YOU PEOPLE ARE SO WEAK.

Void

I'm not sure how I'm going to go about doing this, but it turns out that I NEED to continue this website. I NEED to write here, more even than I LIKE to write here, if that even makes sense. What I have to figure out is HOW to write here. When. Where. About WHOM. I just don't have as much to SAY about my kids these days; not, at least, in long-hand form. Kid updates are better suited to Twitter or Facebook, I think, now that they're older and simply saying adorable things and asking hilarious questions that can be summed up in a few sentences. I don't seem to be overthinking the kids lately, and it's nice. I mean, yes, overthinking also used to lead to a lot of overthought CONTENT, but I just don't second-guess myself like I used to; I just don't need as much hand holding and reassurance or even venting space like I used to.

(I may have to start an anonymous blog about my husband, but I'll be sure to let you know where to go if it comes to that.)

The thing about blogging is that after a few years, you make blogging friends. And as great as email and Twitter and Facebook and group texting and Instagram are, the fact remains that the friendships I made (and desperately long to hold on to) began because blogging was our primary form of communication. I want this blog to remain that, for those I've met and written to for years. It's not even that it's EASIER; it's just... I don't know how to say it... maybe organic is the (awful, overused) word? Back to the root of the friendship or something? I just think about what it would be like if Maggie or Elizabeth or Jennie stopped blogging – I would feel like my connection to them withered as well. And yet – isn't that exactly what I've done by overlooking my little spot here?

But I've tried in the last few months to restart myself; to remotivate myself to make this a priority. And it is HARD. You know why I started a blog? BECAUSE I WAS BORED. I mean, when was the last time you were BORED, MOTHERS OF SMALL CHILDREN? I'm VERY RARELY truly bored anymore. There's always SOMETHING I could be/am doing: more laundry. More meal planning. More vacuuming and more toilet scrubbing. Picking up more dog poop. I was so high on the 10 hours of freedom I was getting when Lucy started preschool this past fall that I spent most of it doing things like going to Target alone or trying on every pair of shoes in my size at TJMaxx JUST BECAUSE I COULD. But I think I am realizing that I was foolish with those 10 hours. I should have spent them here, at my house that I love, writing and being creative and making connections instead of buying another ¾ length t-shirt at Marshalls for $6.99. (Do you know how small the window for ¾ sleeve shirts actually IS? Like, four days in spring and six in the fall. THAT'S IT. Save your $7.)

Now, four-ish months later, I actually feel disconnected from the online world. The term “online world” sounds ridiculous until I clarify that the “online world” I'm referring to are simply the friendships I've cultivated over the last six, seven, eight years. And it would be one thing if I was busy with something else that was even MARGINALLY important, but I'm not. There's no freelance work. I'm not having lunch dates. I'm not even SEEING ANY REAL PEOPLE for the most part (unless I'm related to them). As a result, I'm feeling isolated and sad and like I'm just floating out here without any real connection to anything that makes me happy. I have a million and one acquaintances from church and my neighborhood that I love, but so little time to cultivate close in-person friendships. (Is this a challenge for anyone else?)

I think part of that issue is that I still think of “close friendships” (and I am not speaking of my online friends here) as the same kind I had in high school and college, and I realize that as people age, the KINDS of friendships they have change, too. But that is still really hard for me to wrap my mind around – hard for me to reconcile. I think about Dave and how his closest friends are two guys he went to high school and college with, who still live within five miles of us, and the guys he knows at work. That seems pretty typical to me. And yet: my high school/college friends don't live anywhere near me at this point, and I don't have an office to go to every (OR ANY) day. AND MAKING NEW FRIENDS IS HARD.

You know what though? Dave got me and the kids a puppy for Christmas. There have been moments I have been extremely resentful of this puppy. He is a PUPPY. There is pee everywhere and I have to let him outside 85,000 times a day and I have to teach him to walk on a leash. It's going to be months before I can go running with him by my side or trust him enough to turn my back on him and the kids for five minutes while I start dinner. It is STRESSFUL, this having a puppy thing. 

On the other hand, this puppy ties me to my home. I can't leave him for hours at a time yet; I can't while away the hours at Target or try on every pair of shoes at TJMaxx – this puppy is forcing me to be very DELIBERATE about my choices and about how I spend my time. I've struggled in the last week to say goodbye to the lifestyle of spontaneity I've been enjoying for the last few months, and it's been kind of hard. But you know what I also realized? The ability to go to whatever store I wanted to for ten hours a week never actually fulfilled me. The pursuit of material possessions never REALLY made me happy. Now that we have a puppy (A PUPPY), I almost feel RELIEVED. Oh sure, cleaning up pee accidents blows. But I feel like staying at home more – pursuing something more creative or relational – is just the thing I need. And walking the dog in the last couple of days has led to 15 conversations with kind strangers. I know they're strangers, but I NEEDED those interactions.

(Is it so terribly obvious that I'm a PAINFUL optimist?)

Seriously, though, I think my resolution for 2013 is to stop using my free time frivolously. I want to use my time for things that will benefit me in the LONG run rather than please me for a moment (or, say, ten hours a week). This means more blogging. This means more reading my Bible and spending time in prayer. This means training for a long race or two. And this ESPECIALLY means being way more present in my current relationships and open to starting new ones.

So, you know. Bite me, 2012.

(Not you, Rocket. You may not bite anyone.)

Someone's about to turn four. It's not pretty.

You know, aside from the whole “another pregnancy might ACTUALLY and LITERALLY kill me” thing, the other reason we dreaded the idea of bringing another newborn into this house was that it could potentially be exactly like (or worse than) Lucy was. I mean, the genes are there, right? Whatever awful mix of DNA that Dave and I both contributed to make the World's Most Terrible Sleeper could certainly be repeated, in varying shades and degrees of terrifying awfulness. EIGHTEEN MONTHS before she slept through the night, and when I say that she didn't sleep through the night, I don't mean she woke us up once or twice between the hours of 8pm and 7am. I know you've all heard this before but this period of eighteen months was a DEFINING PART OF MY LIFE. I know now that I cannot get up seven or eight times a night with a baby for eighteen months straight AND remain functional, not to mention, married. I do not possess the desire to RISK IT. It really was – truly and honestly – a horrible time.

But then magically, once Lucy turned 18 months and started sleeping, she was The Perfect Child. She was adorable and easygoing. She ate anything you gave her and she could be talked out of tantrums and she put herself down for naps. I never forced that child to take a nap – she almost always did so willingly. Sometimes I had to make the suggestion, and sometimes she didn't fall asleep, but she never got out of bed and never made a fuss once I tucked her in. Potty training took two days and there was zero issue with Number Two, something I was not expecting after the insanity that was training her older brother.

Unfortunately, we are now two weeks away from her fourth birthday and I think this is where the luck ends. I think she is growing out of this compliant phase – she is going to school and she is figuring out independence and control, and while I UNDERSTAND this and I am GLAD she is not a doormat, I really don't want to buy another vat of Advil. The Advil I am taking for the FULL BODY ACHES that getting through the day is leaving me with lately.

She doesn't listen to a word I say. I tell her not to do something and she says, wellllllll... and then gives me a pretty well-thought out reason why it's a good idea to continue it, and then she does. She pouts a lot and she whines more than ever before and she begs for everything she sees at Target and she pretty much kicks Dave in the face if he tries to get within three feet of her, and frankly, being her favorite is getting PRETTY OLD. THERE ARE NO REWARDS TO BEING THE FAVORITE. Just more demands! I'd love to be her favorite if she was 40 and rich and freely buying gifts and/or my affection! Unfortunately, being a kid's favorite person just means you have to be the one to load up a toothbrush with toothpaste or sing a third rendition of You Are My Sunshine or open a tube of yogurt or buckle a seat belt because NO ONE ELSE CAN DO IT LIKE YOU DO. (Not as flattering as it sounds, people who do not have children. NOT AS FLATTERING AS IT SOUNDS.)

It's not that she's doing things that aren't NORMAL for kids her age. I've seen enough America's Home Videos to know, and also I read blogs. I know that kids regularly paint with their own poop. But it's that she's had us, I don't know, FOOLED or something, for so long. It's like she's been lying in wait, acting sweet and charming and pleasant and biding her time, and then BAM, one day she decided enough is enough, and starts wiping boogers on every available surface. (You guys, you cannot even SEE out her car window, such is the booger/smear coverage.) She's sneaks candy and eats it in secret. She climbs out of bed repeatedly and ignores our angry reprimands. She refuses – REFUSES – to hold my hand in a parking lot for more than 3 seconds (I have to grab her upper arm so she won't careen into oncoming traffic). (She doesn't like it AT ALL.)

And then just last week we had Lauren and Nate over for a playdate and I actually said these words to Lauren: “My kids will not go anywhere in this house without me, so while that sucks, at least they aren't sneaking off and playing in my makeup or destroying anything in secret.”

HA HA HA HA HA FAMOUS LAST WORDS.

“Mom, I put on ALLLLLLLLL your makeup. All of it. ALL OF IT!” 

(Let's pause for just a second to be kind of impressed that she got actual mascara on her actual eyelashes without poking herself in the eye, something even I can't do on a regular basis, and I've used mascara for, what, 20 YEARS? Although she also used the wand to color the entire backs of her hands black, so. You know. Not THAT impressed.)

So. You know. Life as we know it? OVER. I just... I didn't know FOUR was going to be the turning point of evil! Terrible Twos - DISPROVEN. Terrible THREES is what I expected and then when it didn't happen, I figured we were in the clear and I confess, I got snooty about it. Turns out it's FOUR that I should have been dreading all along and that is currently kicking me in the pants, even though we're 12 days out from her Official Birthday. Four! WHO KNEW? And if you DID know, WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME.