Summer, that is. School officially ended yesterday and until TQ starts camp, I’ll have both kids home full time for the next 18 days.

I’m okay with this because I have a jam-packed calendar of fun planned. In my head. Whether or not these plans will actually materialize remains to be seen.

Today is a prime example of the whole “best laid plans” thing gone awry. See, I got my period last night and I’m practically comatose today. Why does it make me soooo tired???

In any case, I’m very glad that it came because we were really stupid and played a little Russian roulette a couple weeks ago. *kicks self hard*

Oh, and we’re out of coffee, which is the proverbial nail in our collective coffin. I MUST have one cup of coffee every morning or else everyone suffers right along with me. Period + no coffee = cranky mommy.

Now imagine this whole scenario with two children tugging at you and making these relentless demands for, like, food and stuff. Slavedrivers, they are…

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Today my little girl is going on an adventure. Without me. Not that we haven’t been apart before but I’ve never been the type to just drop her off at something (besides school and close friends & family’s houses) and leave her well-being to someone else.

It’s not that I’m overprotective... Okay, it is. Sort of. But still. I just don’t fully trust anyone to watch over her the way I would. I’m her mother.

Anyway, she’s actually getting picked up from school with a bunch of other kids in a Hummer stretch limo and being taken to a fancy restaurant to celebrate a friend’s birthday.

So what’s the big deal? What am I worried about?

Oh gosh, I don’t know. All sorts of unlikely scenarios have flashed through my mind…child molesters in the bathroom; accidental peanut ingestion (she’s deathly allergic); car accidents; her getting left behind. You name it.

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(I’m going to try to keep this from getting too lengthy but if you’re a regular here, you probably know that’s damn near impossible for me so I’ll just apologize in advance for any long-windedness.)

The topic at hand today is Bratz dolls. Well, no. It really isn’t Bratz dolls so much. It’s more about how our society has become so numb to the constant sexualization of girls that it’s hard for some to even recognize it anymore. And it’s about one small thing we can do to stem the proverbial tide.

So what am I carrying on about now? Well, for starters, I was recently vindicated by the American Psychological Association who ALSO sees a problem with society projecting sexuality onto younger and younger girls. While many insist that it’s all in good fun and that people like me are perverts for thinking otherwise, all I can say is “Ha! My instincts were spot on!” Padded bras for six year olds and toddler dolls in thongs and dolls dressed like hookers being marketed to little girls are NOT harmless.

See, the thing is, Bratz dolls are not going to make your daughters become prostitutes. But they are one very visible component of a culture of which the resultant cumulative effect is a loud and clear message that a girl’s worth lies with her sexuality. The dolls, simply put, are just a small part of something much larger; a general but very perceptible shift in how women are regarded in the world at large and it’s starting with our preschool age daughters.

So what do I want? I want something better. I want to change the world from place where a young girl’s worth is in her willingness to shed her clothes or trade basic human dignity for a few minutes of fleeting fame or infamy; a culture where girls don’t seem to mind trading themselves for things that are worthless.

I’m not talking about adults here. Adults can make as many stupid decisions on how to live their lives as they want. I’m talking about children and self-worth and I just can’t figure out where the disconnect is. I can’t find that corner we turned where respecting yourself stopped being as important as flashing for a free Girls Gone Wild hat, or giving a blowjob because it’s just oral sex and it makes you popular; or being “hot” completely displaced being accomplished or intelligent.

When did self-respect become so uncool? I’m not even sure I can effectively articulate what I mean to say here but if one single person considers leaving a comment lecturing me about how I can’t stop progress or the world is the way it is and I should just “educate” my child to be better or whatever, don’t bother. I refuse to accept that.

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It’s been a hell of a week around here and I haven’t had time to do much blogging or reading because I had both kids home on Monday and again on Friday.

Having two kids isn’t all that hard except when one of them can talk and tell you they’re bored as they scornfully eye your computer. That kind of guilt trip can keep even the most intrepid of bloggers away from their Google readers or Bloglines and posting screens.

And, as if two days of bored children were not enough, I lost a filling and then subsequently cracked a tooth eating Fritos (I know…WTF?) and had to go get a $700 crown. No root canal. No surgery. Just a stupid crown for SEVEN. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. Grrrrr.

But the icing on the cake was when my freakin’ cat disappeared. The one I completely adore beyond all reason…

I know some people don’t like cats but this cat would be the one to make you cross over. He’s so lovable and puts up with my children and has never once tried to scratch or bite them though they bother him constantly.

He’s just the sweetest, mellowest, most tolerant feline I’ve ever known and when I didn’t see him for most of the day, I knew something was wrong.

My mind was just all over the place, imagining the worst, and I felt sick to my stomach thinking about what could have happened to him.

So we have these new neighbors across the street and they have a lady behind them that feeds a ton of semi-feral cats. It’s a noble gesture but the end result is a lot of cats and a constant influx of kittens.

Apparently, the new neighbors have three dogs with a bloodlust for kittens and they’ve already killed a few. The owners feared the trend would continue so they started trapping the cats and having Animal Control come get them.

Well, these are not tame cats that we’re talking about so we all know they won’t be adopted. It’s very sad but I also don’t like to think of kittens/cats being killed by those dogs or eaten by the hawks so in a way, being put to sleep seems somewhat more humane.

The day I couldn’t find Bootsy, I had looked everywhere around the outside my house because he generally stays in my yard. My husband suggested I check the neighbor’s cat trap so I went across the street and looked in their backyard and sure as shit, there was my big, fluffy cat sitting in the fricken trap. I let myself in the gate and released him.

I estimated that he was in there for about seven to nine hours and though he looked fine, he reeked of fish. Apparently, they were using some kind of stinky, oily fish like sardines as cat bait, which explains why he went all the way across the street and into their backyard.

I was SO relieved to have found him. That same day, I made an appointment to have both my cats microchipped so if Animal Control ever picked them up, they’d know they belong to someone. Collars with tags are useless. We’ve been through three in the past year alone.

Another neighbor’s pet cat got caught in their trap and because I had had warned her about it, she found her cat right before Animal Control came to take him away.

Naturally she was pissed and wrote a nasty note to them about their half pitbull dog, which I’ve seen running loose at least once and I feared the fallout that would surely result from the note. It just really sucks to be on bad terms with your neighbors.

Just as I knew would happen, the cat trapping neighbor came over asking about the note. I very diplomatically explained that the writer of the note, as well as myself, were a bit upset that our normally non-wandering cats had been lured into their trap by that gnarly fish.

He apologized and said that they would take more care in identifying a cat as tame or feral because a tame one is most likely someone’s pet.

Phew! That made me feel a lot better. I was constantly worried about the damn cat trap and it broke my heart to see those cats in their carport waiting to be taken away.

I have to confess that one day I couldn’t stand it anymore and I considered going over there and letting this cat out of the trap but by the time I got P dressed and in his stroller, Animal Control had already come and taken it away!

Ai! Such drama… It’s a regular animal planet around here. The other day, in the middle of the afternoon, I saw a possum come from my neighbors yard, cross the street and disappear up a tree. The day before that, a small black racer snake was by my front door.

I also tried to snap a picture of these lizards about to uh…make baby lizards, but apparently they’re camera shy and I totally ruined the moment for them with my gawking.

You can see pictures and read more about our wild ‘hood in the city here.

I don’t know what it is but a trip to the public library never fails to produce some story or anecdote and our most recent visit was no exception.

I had taken P, now 21 months old, to story time at our local branch library. At first he wasn’t really into it, much preferring to wander around and turn doorknobs, climb chairs and generally check out the room.

But finally, after several false starts, he made his way up to the group of other children and sat down — until he spotted the fabric draped over the Story Lady’s table. See, she brings a colorful fabric that she drapes over the table next to her like a floor-length table cloth and she displays a bunch of books on top it.

P immediately approached and then crawled under the cloth. And then poked his head out out. And then went back under and then came out again, grinning like he was the star of a show doing an encore instead of an incredibly cute toddler disrupting story time.

I bounded out of my seat and tried as discreetly as possible to go under the table from behind and coax P out but he was wily and hard to catch. On my hands and knees, I stuck my head out the front to see about 20 pairs of eye staring back at me.

After much under-the-table wrangling to grab a giggly and very wiggly P, I finally managed to get a hold of him and as I tried to hold onto him and stand up at the same time, my postpartum stress-incontinence reared it’s ugly little head and I peed my fricken pants a teeny bit. Crap.

As I stood up with P in my arms and smiled sheepishly at the crowd, I decided that my bucking and squealing toddler and I should go to the bathroom and survey the state of my jeans and let the Story Lady finish up. Fortunately, as it were, my jeans were spared. Booyah, betches!

We went back in the room as story time was wrapping up so I could collect our stuff and the nice Story Lady told me that in all the years she had been doing this, no child has ever crawled under the fabric before (which I find incredibly hard to believe.) I apologized to the Story Lady, who actually is very sweet & understanding, particularly of toddlers, and we left.

Rest assured that I was sufficiently embarrassed by my son’s shenanigans. Not, however, because I felt like he was misbehaving but rather because of people looking at me the way they did. Not a single smile of understanding in the bunch except from one lone daddy. Thank you, kind sir.

You want to know what I have to say to that?

Lighten UP, people! He’s not even two years old and it’s toddler story time at the library; not dinner with the Queen of England.

I peed my pants for you people. Isn’t that punishment enough? Geez!

I did something so dumb. But first? A little background…

Does anyone remember Wacky Packages? They were stickers that made fun of everyday products and they were sold like trading cards, along with a stick of gum? I used to LOVE those things. I think I was into them in about the mid-seventies and it was a full-blown fixation. I couldn’t wait for the next time we were within a quarter mile of a 7-11 or Little General so I could beg my mom to stop and let me buy a pack or two. It was just so exciting to rip open the wrapper, which as I recall was kind of a waxy paper, and see what stickers were awaiting me inside.

My favorite was Fruit of the Tomb which was a spoof of Fruit of the Loom t-shirts. I don’t know why but I really got a kick out of that one. The funny thing is that as I have been perusing some of the old Wacky Packs collections online, I realize how much of the humor went right over my head. There were some stickers that always made me groan when I got them because they didn’t seem very funny but now that I’m older, I totally appreciate them.

So the other day I went to Target with the kids. TQ wanted something green to wear to school for St. Patrick’s day since they relax the uniform policy that day and considering that she’s even more Irish than I am, I couldn’t refuse her. While we were there, I saw that they had Wacky Packages. I had no idea they were making them again so I picked up a couple packs and just like when I was a kid, I was so excited!

That evening, after dinner, I remembered about the Wacky Packs and brought them to the table, waving them around like a little kid. I opened them up and start perusing my sticker booty and then I realized that these might require a little explaining because my 6 year old daughter might not understand the sort of satirical, and often gross and/or morbid humor of Wacky Packs.

She thought the Kids Cursin’ (Kid Cuisine) was funny even though I had to explain what cursing is (using grown-up words) and she found the Fancy Feet (Fancy Feast) one to be gross but amusing so I thought “Hey! She totally gets it! It’s cool” but when I showed her the Pillsburied Deadsticks (Pillsbury Breadsticks) she studied it for a moment and then tears began to well up in her big hazel eyes.

Me: What? What, honey? Why are you crying?

TQ: This makes me saaaaaaad. *tears pouring down face*

Me: Oh, baby it’s just a joke. They’re making fun of advertising and products and stuff. The doughboy and breadsticks aren’t really hurt.

TQ: *sobbing* But I like happy things. This is saaaad… *more sobbing*

Me: *thinking* I am a total idiot. My excitement over these stupid stickers made me completely forget that my daughter has a big, soft, squishy, empathetic heart. I feel awful. *dons parental dunce cap & tries to make teary-eyed daughter forget about traumatizing Deadsticks by giving her the stick of gum*

Nice going, Mom. Way to make your kid cry & scar her for life!

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Okay, now humor me for one more minute while I engage in some motherly gushing and bragging…

Here are a couple pictures of my adorable baby girl on Friday wearing her green striped shirt and green pom-pom socks for St. Patrick’s Day (a day early). And check those leprechaun ears!!!

She was student-of-the-month (Woohoo! Yay TQ!) so we had a celebratory lunch with her at school!

(Note to self: Next time skip the lunch and just buy a two chocolate milks like you did back in high school because school lunches? They still suck)

Click pix to enlarge

We recently had to remove the stopper from our bathroom sink because it wouldn’t stay open. Now there is just a hole in the sink. Husband intends to fix it. And I believe he will.

Next year. Or the year after.

So…one of P’s favorite things to do is stand on the toilet seat and lean over to the sink, turn on the water and play in it, turn TQ’s Hello Kitty spinbrush off and on, throw stuff on the floor and other impish things.

Like throwing our toothbrushes down the nasty black hole in the sink.

I know. It’s funny, right?

Have you ever seen what collects in a sink drain? It’s a disgusting blackish gunky goop. And our toothbrushes were down there. In it.

And silly me, I thought I could reach the topmost one with my tweezers. And then those disappeared down the hole, too.

Oops

So we’re now down two toothbrushes and a pair of tweezers.

I got my scissors that were too big to go down the hole (heh…clever, no?) and managed to rescue my toothbrush. And promptly threw it straight in the trash.

Husband had to take the pipes apart to get the other stuff out. And he touched the gunky goop. With his hands. Ewwww! *toes curling*

He scrubbed his hands and scrubbed the tweezers but alas…we were left toothbrushless.

So we’ve been sharing TQ’s barely used Piglet toothbrush that she abandoned for the Hello Kitty spinbrush.

We’re going on day three.

We gross.

***Your generosity is overwhelming me! So many offers of free toothbrushes! But I can afford to buy them myself. What I really need? Is someone to GO GET THEM and bring them to me. Any takers?

I haven’t said much about this because babies not sleeping? So normal, so common, right? What about toddlers who abandon their formerly stable and predictable sleeping routines? Still not abnormal and certainly attributable to any number of things. And God knows I’m not alone here, right? Hello Catherine!

Unfortunately, we’re not dealing with a little bit of sleeplessness or the occasional night waking. No. P has decided recently that sleeping and napping? It’s for suckas. And I honestly believe that in my quest to be a good mom, I may have created a proverbial monster.

How on earth did I do that? By always answering every cry or whimper. By never letting him cry for longer than it takes to appear cribside with a ready hug or cuddle or…the wrecker of all sleep habits…the “let’s snuggle for a minute on the big bed while you settle back down”. I know that last one is the culprit because now whenever I go to see what’s wrong, P leans his entire body, safety be damned, towards our bed, pointing and speaking in that mysterious language he prefers over English.

I just want to clarify that the waking isn’t just waking. It’s also the flat refusal to sleep in some cases. Either way, he goes from being perfectly fine to basically standing up in crib screaming like he’s being with poked with an electric cattle prod.

The first thirty or so times, the huz or I would go running in, convinced that he was, in fact, dying. But after innumerable diaper checks, itchy checks (he has a touch of eczema on his arm and sometimes it flares up and itches), considering the possibility of teething (and thus administering some pain relief) and countless bottles of milk (Yes, I said bottles. Shut up), we have concluded that there is actually nothing wrong with him other than his newly developed sense of autonomy, which we’ve decided we pretty much hate (and so does his sister because she can hear him through the walls.)

This means we have to do it. The evil three letter acronym…

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