1. Do you think I wear glasses? contacts? neither?
2. What color do you think my hair is? How long do you think is it?
3. Do you think I have bangs?
4. What color do you think my eyes are?
5. How many times do you think my ears are pierced?
6. Do you think I have any non-ear piercings, or any tattoos?
7. How tall do you think I am?
8. Do you think I have siblings? Where do you think I am in the birth order?
9. How old do you think I am?

So I was like, “Whine whine whine,” and you were all, “Don’t blow this, bitch You can do it, sweetie!” First I thought, “You know, I could say I ran, and they would not even know.” Then I tried to reason that I’d rent a workout video from Netflix to do instead of the running, and then of course I wouldn’t be able to do it until it arrived so I could relax tonight, and tomorrow, and the next night, and perhaps the rest of the week. Then I thought, with the grim stillness that descends on me when I realize a toddler has barfed in the car and there’s no one to handle it but me me me, that all of you who said I’d better just go and do it were probably right.

And so I pulled in strength from my two inspirations: some guy Tessie and I would like to hit in the face, who said that no one ever came back from a workout saying, “Gee, I wish I hadn’t done that” (perhaps some of you with sports injuries would like a word with him?); and Matthew McConaughey, who says “Every day I try to be photographed showing off my oiled muscles break a sweat,” and I went and I ran.

I didn’t try to follow a day in the program but instead just walked and jogged at will. I switched to walking whenever I started wondering which god was the one I should pray to for a Mercifully Fatal Bolt From Heaven. When I caught my breath and started thinking, “Hmeh, I’m an agnostic anyway,” I switched back to jogging.

I’m glad I went. People talk about endorphins, and I assume what they mean is the wave upon wave of smugness and relief.

I accidentally returned an $8.00 Old Navy t-shirt in a $4.80 Old Navy t-shirt wrapper, so I lost $3.20. Will you please tell me this is not the end of the world? Because I am having the kind of morning (two diaper disasters before breakfast, I should really sift the cat box, my hair is stupid) where such an error can FELL me.

Let’s talk about running. I don’t really want to, but let’s talk about it anyway. I should have run yesterday, and I did not. The last three weeks, when I’ve not-run on a running day, the result has been a frantic feeling of MUST RUN NEXT DAY. This time, no. This time, more of a furtive feeling. Like maybe I can look away and pretend I didn’t notice I didn’t run yesterday, and maybe I can pretend I don’t notice when I don’t run today either. I am curious to know what will happen this afternoon at Running Time.

On the bag of Raisinets, it says “Good to Remember: The USDA Dietary Guidelines recommend eating 2 cups of fruit every day. The raisins in each serving of Raisinets come from 1/2 cup of grapes.” Way to work the USDA system, Raisinets! I like the way you think!

shined
packed on
feasted
rocked
snapped up
canoodled
ballooned
splurged
gorged
gushed

1) If you think you see an ant disappear under the toilet seat as you go into the bathroom in the middle of the night, why not trust your eyes and check things out? There is nothing to be gained in this situation from doubting your own sanity.

2) I don’t use top sheets or mattress pads for children’s beds. I use a waterproof mattress cover, a fitted sheet, and a couple of blankets that wash easily (the vellux ones are nice because they dry quickly). This can make the difference between losing my mind with martyred despair when the sheets need changing again—and just going in and changing the sheets. Especially if the child in question sleeps on the top bunk.

3) I have a “crunchies bin.” It’s a plastic lidded container, and we put all the smidges of crunchy leftovers into it: someone’s five remaining goldfish crackers, someone else’s half-bowl of uneaten dry Cheerios, a broken-up half graham cracker, etc. We end up with an ever-changing mix of Cheerios, Chex, Kix, Kashi, goldfish crackers, graham crackers, etc. We sprinkle a little of it on the highchair trays as appetizers if the twins are impatient for a not-yet-ready dinner. I also use it as breakfast for the twins when they wake up starving but I have to nurse the baby to stop the terrible, terrible screaming: pour crunchies into bowls, put bowls on coffee table–easy as feeding a couple of cats.

4) When a baby has a blow-out I can’t face rinsing out in the sink as I usually would, I immediately put the clothes all by themselves in the washing machine on “low” and “pre-wash.” After the cycle finishes, I spritz on stain treatment (if it’s even still necessary, which it often isn’t) and put them in the laundry basket for the next load. I file this under “Keeps Me From Losing My Mind” rather than under “Does My Part for the Planet.” What? She’s a mother, she’ll understand.

5) I only like coffee when it’s nice and hot, and it always gets icky and cold before I’ve had more than 1/4th mug of it. So now what I do is pour 1/4th mug and drink it down. A little later, I get another 1/4th mug. It feels a little lame to do it this way, but it also feels NICE AND HOT.

6) When someone gives me clothes as a baby gift, I like to take a picture of the baby wearing the outfit and send it to the person who gave us the outfit. If you want to do the same, it’s a good idea to take the photo as soon as the child is dressed, rather than waiting for a better time, better light, or a better mood. For lo, the child is about to cover the outfit in barf and poop, and then you will have to start all over with remembering to dress the child in the outfit and take a picture.

7) People don’t notice how cluttered your house is if it smells like cookies baking. And they don’t say anything about how cluttered your house is if their mouths are stuffed full of cookie.

Elizabeth is having one of her “Bad Sleep” stages. She goes through one of these periodically. And no matter how fine and handleable they seem to be when we’re looking back on them from one of her Good Sleep stages, and no matter how reasonable we feel about them during the day, they always seem crazy and unmanageable at night.

Here is our daytime philosophy: These things pass regardless of how we handle them, so let’s aim for what keeps us calmest/happiest and gets us the most sleep.

Here is how we feel at night: NOTHING IS WORKING! EVERYTHING WE DO IS WRONG AND WILL HAVE SERIOUS LONG-TERM CONSEQUENCES! WHY CAN’T WE AT LEAST CHOOSE ONE METHOD AND BE CONSISTENT, RATHER THAN DOING WHATEVER OUR NIGHT-ADDLED BRAINS RANDOMLY SELECT FROM OPTIONS WE HAVE NOT DISCUSSED OR APPROVED??

In one of Elizabeth’s previous Bad Sleep stages, I ended up rocking her to sleep in the recliner for about an hour each late-evening (she would go to bed at 7:00 as usual, but wake crying at 10:00 or 11:00). I worried I’d form bad habits, rocking her like that, but it worked to put her to sleep so I did it, and a couple of weeks later she stopped waking up in the night and I thought, “What was the big deal about rocking her to sleep for a few nights, if that’s what she wanted and needed?” Did I feel that way while I was rocking her? No.

This time the problem is that she’s waking repeatedly in the night and crying. Sometimes, as Paul and I lie in bed pretending to be asleep so the other one will have to deal with her, she will go back to sleep after a minute or two. Sometimes she will not, and will escalate into frantic screams. Sometimes if I go in and snuggle her and reassure her and put her back in her crib, she will cry for only a minute or two and then go back to sleep; sometimes she will go into the frantic screams. Sometimes we bring her to our bed, where she lies quietly but doesn’t go to sleep but can’t be put back in her crib either (see: frantic screams). Sometimes she goes to sleep in our bed beautifully, but then gets up at 5:30 a.m. when Paul does. Sometimes SHE sleeps great in our bed, but I can’t, because I’m lying awake wondering if we’re handling her sleep problems ALL WRONG.

I do what makes me feel least like screaming and sobbing. Sleep with child in recliner? Sure! Rock child to sleep while watching trashy television? Sure! Allow child to sleep in our bed despite our usual preference for non-co-sleeping? Sure! Put child in crib and close door, then sit in living room writing resentful entries in my journal while she cries? Sure! When one method starts making me feel fed-up, I try something else. I wouldn’t say that any method “works,” exactly–it’s more like what passes the time until the situation resolves itself.

This time, though–NOTHING IS WORKING! EVERYTHING WE DO IS WRONG AND WILL HAVE SERIOUS LONG-TERM CONSEQUENCES! WHY CAN’T WE AT LEAST CHOOSE ONE METHOD AND BE CONSISTENT, RATHER THAN DOING WHATEVER OUR NIGHT-ADDLED BRAINS RANDOMLY SELECT FROM OPTIONS WE HAVE NOT DISCUSSED OR APPROVED??

If around 7:30 yesterday evening you thought you heard a train going past, CHUG-a-chugga-CHUG-a-chugga, and then thought, “Wait, we’re not near train tracks,” then perhaps you were hearing ME, heaving and panting as I jogged THREE ENTIRE MINUTES WITHOUT STOPPING. Week Three is jogging 1.5 minutes, walking 1.5 minutes, jogging 3 minutes, walking 3 minutes, repeating all four things. I will tell you, I did not think it was possible to do it. The only reason I even TRIED is that I remember I thought one single minute was my absolute upper limit and then was pleased (you realize I am using that word in a loose, careless way, as you might say you were pleased when the inquisitor moved from “sharps” to “blunts”) to find that I could do 1.5 minutes if I gave up any foolish sentimental attachment I had to my lungs. Going to 3 minutes involved additional sacrifice, including watching a carload of teenagers drive by FOUR TIMES, knowing they were almost for sure making cruel remarks from the fleeting shelter of their perfect bodies. I started a motivating refrain of “BITE me…BITE me…BITE me” with each left-right.

This morning I was looking up maternity tees for Linda, who posted about needing something for the in between stage where you’re not ready for a canopy-for-two but you need something more spacious than your usual shirts. I recommend the Duo t-shirts on JCPenney.com: I purchased them in the smaller of the two sizes I fall between, and they were perfect for early/mid pregnancy–and frankly, I’m still wearing them now, more than 2 months post-partum. Anyway, I found the ones I bought (I liked the scoopneck, but they also have crewneck and v-neck), and I saw they were on clearance for $3.99, and that they had the new colors on sale for $9.99. And suddenly I was seized with the impulse to buy some “for next time.” I squelched that urge as quickly as I could–which is to say, it is not yet squelched.

I don’t understand this drive I have to have more More MORE children. I don’t even particularly enjoy the ones I have, based on how much time I spend hiding from them. And there is so little chance of having another: Paul states emphatically, “We are NOT having ANY MORE babies.” And yet–

I went to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago to get more pints of Dove, and I saw a baby about Henry’s age, all smooshy-cuddly sleeping on its daddy’s chest, little mouth open, little legs folded up and little bottom sticking out. I got a sharp, nauseating pang of wanting a baby, a kicked-in-the-ovaries feeling. And I have a baby already, right now. This is the kind of thing that makes me fear for my future happiness–and for Paul’s, since he has so many years ahead of hearing about it. Fertility has been more than generous with me, and yet I can’t seem to get my fill of this:

This morning Elizabeth woke up saying “Boo? Boo? Boo?” She was exceedingly pissed when I told her she had to take a bath before she could wear her boots. Her theory was that she could wear them into the tub and that would save time later. She did not stop bitching about it until she was dressed and wearing the boots. Then she flounced around in them saying “Boo! Boo! BOO!!!” and forcing her brothers to admire them.

When I bought those boots I also bought a bottle of I Am A Sucker For Good Advertising. I’d seen ads for All Small & Mighty 3X concentrated laundry detergent (note to agency: now try concentrating name of product), but I was always like, “Big deal, so it’s ‘concentrated,’ who cares? I’m not exactly spraining my arm pouring in the non-concentrated stuff.” Then they totally got me with a new ad, one that showed how much plastic they save when they can make the bottles smaller, and how much fuel they save when they can fit more bottles on a truck. OHHHHHHHHHH. NOW I get it. It’s an environmental thing, not a “Look, we can make it cuter!” thing. Immediately I started thinking Their Way: it is stupid to package and ship water just so the bottle looks like a better value; it is smart to give my money to All. I don’t know if the plastic bottle is better for the environment than the cardboard box I was buying before, but I HAD TO HAVE the cute All.

Another ad that electrified me like that was one for a line of Biore skin care products. This was a little over eight years ago, when Rob was a newborn, and I saw an ad that started by explaining how to use the easy, few-step system, and then said (as best as I can remember–this is eight years and five children ago), “There. You look beautiful. Tired, but beautiful. Kiss the baby for us.” I STILL choke up thinking about it! It was so sweet! Biore is so TENDER! Biore thinks I’m beautiful even when I’m all post-partum and crazy-haired! Biore LOVES MY BABY! And then, the model DID look “tired, but beautiful”: she had an ethereal look, pale and with lovely violet undereye circles, and her smile was small and Mona Lisa-ish and TIRED but HAPPY. AND–get this–the products were called “Face The Day.” Is that just about the best name you’ve ever heard? Our local stores didn’t have the Face The Day moisturizer, so I ordered it online, PAYING SHIPPING (I hate to pay shipping and almost never do). Man, that was a good ad.