I have had three—THREE!—emails this week from readers, asking me what I think of sites such as Techsquirrelrati and Skirtaroo and TripOver and Del.i.cacy and Dugg.

Here is what I think: I think I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are they…for promotion of your blog? That’s what it looks like, when I go to them and try to figure out what they’re for. They seem to exist solely for promotion and tit-for-tat trading of promotion.

And so here is what I think: I think it depends why you’re blogging. Are you blogging as a hobby, or are you blogging as your latest get-rich-quick scheme? Are you a writer, or are you “promoting your brand”? Are you a blogger or a networker? Are you enjoying the act of writing, or are you trading virtual business cards and doing virtual lunch sometime? I’m not saying you can’t be/do both, but if you’re spending most of your time scrabbling for FAME! and RECOGNITION! and you’re trading in comments as if they’re currency*, and promoting things that don’t deserve to be promoted in the hopes that someone will do the same for you—-then it looks like those sites are exactly what you need to do that.

[*Clarification: I don’t mean regular commenting, which is when you read a post by a blogger you like, and you feel like leaving a comment so you do. I mean like when bloggers act as if people OWE THEM comments, or MUST comment, or are in any way obligated to comment. Or when people act as if comments are currency: I commented on your blog, so now you have to comment on my blog, and if you DON’T, I’ll stop commenting on YOURS. This ends up with people reading blogs they DON’T EVEN ENJOY, just so that they’ll get comments in return from people who don’t enjoy THEIR blogs. Dumb!]

Um, not that I have an opinion on this. Or that I think there’s a right and wrong here, or that you should do what I do just because I say so. Um, clearly. Especially considering I spent all of five minutes on researching what these sites are about. For all I know, they’re actually about using blogging to save starving children.

This has been the kind of day where I am just one tiny step away from squeezing upper arms. It seemed like every time I turned my back to help one child, the other two children got into mischief.

Edward cried loudly, like he’d been stabbed, and so I went rushing to help him—only to find that he had dropped his crayon (as well as, it seems, knocking over a large pile of books and paperwork) and couldn’t reach it. While I got Edward’s crayon, Henry tipped over the cat water. He was lying in the middle of this puddle. Cat water grosses me out, so I gave Henry a bath. He splashed me a lot, and he cried when I took him out because he wanted to stay in.

While I was giving Henry a bath, Elizabeth stomped in the cat water puddle. Edward stepped on my notebook and did the twist, so that it got all mangled. I cleaned up the cat water puddle, and Henry continued to cry angrily in his restraints high chair. Then he started sucking on his fingers, and he gagged himself and cried some more. Meanwhile, Edward colored on a permission slip I needed to fill out and get back to the school. And Elizabeth kept talking! talking! talking! talking! to me, until I asked her to please go play, and she stood there with her lip out, sulking. Like this, but a month later and in the kitchen (the photo is from April and the hallway):

When she felt better, she started telling herself the story, “Mommy say, ‘Be why-it!’ Because we being too yowd. And den I tomp in the cat water. And make big mess!”

I started making sandwiches. The twins started clamoring for taste! taste! taste! and jostling each other on the stepstool. Henry was still fussing. I thought he’d stop when I gave him his sandwich, but he didn’t. He ate, but he kept up with the fussing as well. He is a multi-tasker; this challenge is no problem for him. Steam…pressure…rising!

But now, finally, it is naptime—although I hear Henry talking to himself and that’s a bad sign, and Elizabeth WILL NOT STOP TALKING TO ME. Oh, I’m sure (*makes sarcastic flappy-mouth gesture with hand*): later when I’m begging her to talk to her old mother I’ll be wishing I’d spent more time listening to her precious voice. But right now, OMG! Mommy’s ears are FULL! Mommy would like to have THIRTY SECONDS in which she is not tending to some sort of situation that is messy and/or loud! Mommy would like to stop referring to herself as “Mommy” because that is weird and annoying!

Anyway. Here we go into the long weekend. And am I looking forward to it, as if it will be a time of rest and relaxation and fun, rather than a time that will make me long for my usual weekday routine? You betcha!

You guys, I hope I am not going to be too much of a DOWNER around here over the next few weeks. I’m starting to wean Henry, and I have learned from experience that this is a hormone shift to be faced with teeth clenched and elbows out. I KNOW that it is temporary, and I KNOW that it has happened before and I have come out on the other side, but BEEZUS the mood swings! Even taking the process slowly just means the mood swings last longer.

Yesterday evening I was sitting with Elizabeth while she fell asleep (sleep issues with her AGAIN), and I started thinking about how I was in the prime of life, and about how it won’t be long before my little mirror-time frettings about whether my skin is or is not getting saggier, and whether that wrinkle is or is not deeper than before, are going to be totally MOOT as the skin basically starts melting off my face in folds.

And then I was thinking about how one day my CHILDREN would be showing signs of aging, and this is when I started thinking, “Hey. Self. Remember how this happens when you’re weaning? Maybe you should STFU and go self-medicate with some bakedy stuff or something.” But I was stuck there in a darkening room, quiet and cool and not a baking pan in sight.

So my mind continued. My mind informed me that one day Paul and I would be dead. I was a little sad, of course, but it’s not like I hadn’t realized that. It’s one of the reasons I like having a big family: my kids will have each other. So my mind told me something I hadn’t realized, which is that one day my children would start to lose their siblings. And the immediate mental image I got of this future situation is what told me I’d better stock up on baking cocoa and mint chocolate chips.

This is totally par for the course for me: when I’m weaning, I tune into the “Your Children Will One Day Get Old and Die” channel. This is not a subject there is any point thinking about. There is no sense at all in sitting around thinking heavy thoughts such as “In 100 years ALL of us will be dead,” is there? IS THERE?

No. Because that is the way things go. It is only because I’m in a “good for the preservation of the species but bad for my psyche” mothering mode as well as under the influence of the weaning hormone cocktail, that I am plagued with such thoughts now. I am not mourning, am I, that my great-grandfather grew old and died? No, I am not. Am I mourning it for the species in general? No. Only for my dear babies, and OF COURSE I would not want to think of it in their case. The word “duh” comes to mind.

I have already been to the kitchen while writing this, to mix up some peanut butter and powdered sugar and oats in a bowl and eat them. It is a fortifying mixture: the fast boost of sugar and fat; the lingering comfort of protein and fiber.

There were 138 comments on the Pay it Forward Contest. I used a random number generator, and the random number generator chose ME! No kidding. It chose my answer to someone’s question about whether they could still enter if they didn’t have a blog (answer: yes).

So I spoke sternly to the random number generator and asked it politely to see if it could perhaps choose a VALID ENTRY this time, and it chose Melessa! Congrats, Melessa! Email me (swistle at gmail dot com) with your address and I’ll get a package on its way to you!

It seems almost too SOON for a contest, doesn’t it? We JUST HAD contests. We are still a little WRUNG OUT from contests. Nevertheless, we are having another contest! Because I won Jess Loolu’s pay-it-forward contest, and now it is my turn to send a package!

First, let’s take a look at the awesome package Jess Loolu sent me:

That is a polka-dotted terry sundress for Elizabeth and a set of extremely cool gift-tags (I’ll use one on the package!). Both items from, as Jess puts it in the pretty card, “your boyfriend Target.”

It will not be easy to measure up to the glory that was that package; I love BOTH items SO MUCH. But I will try! And as I mentioned in the post about my date with Paul, I have one item, an item PAUL-APPROVED for cuteness. It is this tube-shaped pencil tin:

I think you can see it larger if you click on it. Inside the tin are a dozen colored pencils with those same little pictures on the sides—and the pencils are rounded-triangular, so they don’t roll away. ALSO, the cap has a lion’s face on it! Oh, it is so cute! Do you see in the photo how my hand is sort of CLUTCHING the tube, like I am unwilling to let it go? THAT IS NO ILLUSION.

And that is just the START of the package I am assembling! Who knows what else I will put in there? WHO KNOWS?

So now let’s talk about the rules, and how this thing goes. If you want to win the contest, you will leave a comment in this post’s comment section before Tuesday, May 20th, noon, United States Pacific Time. You don’t have to say anything in particular. You can say “hi!” You can say, “I like squirrels.” You can say, “Roses are red / Violets are blue / I want to win this contest / So let me.” It does not matter what you say—and there is no sense either kissing up or working the pity angle, because I’ll use a random number generator to pick someone, and the random number generator’s mathematical heart is unswayed by kissing-up and pity. UNSWAYED!

And! If you win! You must pay it forward! In this context, that means you must assemble a package and mail it to someone else.

Now go comment if you want to be entered. If you need help deciding what to say, why don’t you tell me if your face is dry, oily, or combination?

Elizabeth and Edward asked Paul to read them a book, so Paul read Henry to them: he folded Henry in half, then opened him up flat. “Once upon a time, a baby’s head. Then, the baby’s tum. Finally, the baby’s feet. The end!” (*closes Henry*)

Henry was some kind of MESS last night. He kept waking up during the evening, which was perplexing because he doesn’t normally DO that. He’s got a molar coming in, so I gave him a dose of tylenol and put him back to bed. But he kept waking, like every hour. And his nose was running and he was rubbing his eyes itchily, so I thought, “Allergies?” So I gave him some benadryl. But he kept waking up!

So at our bedtime, I took Henry and a big blanket to the recliner, and I rocked him and rocked him, and soothed him and sang to him, and put him in different positions that seemed cuddly and/or comfy and/or good for stuffy noses. He would settle in and start dozing, so I’d start dozing, and then he’d wake up and cry some more. For two and a half hours. I kept trying to move him to his crib when he was dozy, and he would cry the most pitiful cry you have ever heard, and we would go back to the recliner.

I mean, what the heck, Henry? I nearly called the 24-hour nurse line, because this was so out of character for him I wondered if something might be Seriously Wrong. But at around 1:30 I thought, “He seems MORE dozy than the previous dozes,” and that time when I put him down in his crib he stayed down.

And then Edward was up at 6:00, so let’s just say I am a few diapers short of a jumbo pack this morning. In lieu of content, I will leave you with THIS, which Paul has started USING in our CONVERSATIONS (our computer desks are next to each other).

Option one: Start watching The Hills and American Idol.
Option two: Cancel my subscription to US Weekly.

Last night Paul and I went on a date, the main goal of which was to research a piece of computer equipment. So we got the boring task out of the way first, and then it was WOOOOOOOO PARTYYYYYYY!!!!! by which I mean we went to Chili’s and then browsed for awhile at Border’s. That’s our favorite date.

At Chili’s we ordered the Fried Cheese appetizer, and why oh why do they make us SAY that? “Would you like anything to start?” “Yes, we’d like the FRIED CHEESE.” The FRIED CHEESE never comes with enough dipping sauce, which is a constant heartache to us. We ask for a double serving of dipping sauce—but really, even a double serving of dipping sauce is not enough dipping sauce. We need more like a VAT. We always end up morosely dipping the FRIED CHEESE in salsa.

I tried something new: Firecracker Tilapia. I love fish and never cook it, and Paul hates fish, so it’s an excellent thing for me to have at a restaurant. The Firecracker is a CRAZY FLAVOR. It’s spicy-hot (“actual discomfort to mouth” level), but also tastes like…..cinnamon roll? It’s sweet and also hot and also a very peculiar flavor. I really, really liked it, and I really liked TRYING it. I tend to stick to the two chicken dishes I know I love (the Monterey chicken and the Cajun chicken on penne), but trying something new was surprisingly…..fun.

We talked for awhile about something Paul is trying to figure out at work, by which I mean HE talked and I tried to look bright and affectionate so no one would be using US as an example of the sad married couple with nothing to say to each other anymore. He was explaining a computer concept that sometimes eludes the people asking for a task to be done: he says it’s like, one woman can make a baby in nine months, but that doesn’t mean nine women can make a baby in one month.

And I don’t know what else he said, because I was busy inside my mind thinking OMG WOULDN’T THAT BE GREAT??? The worst things about pregnancy are that (1) it takes so long and (2) it TAKES so LONG. If nine of us got together (and in my mind I was already assembling a team) and each of us were pregnant for one month for the first person’s baby, and then had a little break, and then another month to give the second person a baby, and then a little break, and so on—well, I’m just saying. I think he should be working on making THAT happen, instead of working on whatever little “project” they seem to think is so important.

I kept bringing up how agonizing certain things would be if we were on a first date (the way the FRIED CHEESE strung wayyyyyyyy out long after a bite; I dropped my fork and it spattered sauce; the silence that fell at the end of one topic; the time we couldn’t understand what the waiter said), and Paul kept saying, “I don’t even want to think about the horror that is dating.” So I cheerfully picked a shred of broccoli out of my teeth, even going in with the floss when we got to the car, and he went right ahead and burped in the open air, and we held hands which felt weird because usually we’re holding kid hands.

At Border’s I bought another copy of this journal, which I think is so cool/fun and which they only had one copy of left. I figured I’ll give it as a baby gift or a wedding gift or a birthday gift or something.

We also bought a dinosaur ABC book for Elizabeth’s birthday (it has a pronunciation guide in the back, which is crucial), and I bought something for the pay-it-forward package—more on that later, probably Monday, but I will say this: it is SUPER CUTE, and I want to keep it for myself, and I might! Even PAUL agreed it was super cute, though he declined to use that specific adjective.

Then we drove home arguing vigorously on the same side of an issue: we think those electronic book-reading things should be usable at LIBRARIES. That is, you should be able to check out an electronic book that then disappears after 2 weeks. This way, we could all read Harry Potter at the same time, and maybe without having to actually drive to the library. Libraries struggle endlessly with an approaching-infinite number of books and a not-even-in-the-universe-of-infinite amount of space, and this way they could have ALL the books without taking up space. We think this is GENIUS, and now we are going to sit back and wait for it to happen. We don’t want to hear about profits: libraries give out books NOW without charging, so we see no difference if it’s electronic, except that it’s easier and costs less to taxpayers and works better.

We got a little heated on the topic. There were lots of “I KNOW, RIGHT?”-type statements. Then we thought, actually this could already be a fully-realized dream, and we just don’t know because we’re a little behind the times. (For scale: we have not yet seen Juno. Or Titanic.)

Swistle, age 2. Baby powder.

Edward and Elizabeth, age 2. Powdered sugar.

Oh. I guess I should have posted about Mother’s Day today, and done the psych clinic tomorrow when we were all about to take our Mother’s Day feelings and turn them into inappropriate actions.

Well, how about Mother’s Day post ALSO, since one of my presents for Mother’s Day is more computer time while Paul watches the children?

Paul always asks me what I want for Mother’s Day, which is very wise. I wanted more time by myself; I wanted to make mint brownies (Paul said he’d make them, but I like baking and it’s something I miss when I don’t do it); and I wanted drawings/cards from the kids (Henry was excused this year on account of smallness).

You might think I’m all sacrificial about not wanting a big gift, but I don’t want to have to think of a gift on Father’s Day. I want instead to train our children to buy me things later, when they’re grown and rich. I read aloud to them from People magazine articles in which rich young singers buy houses and cars and nice cosmetic surgeries for their mamas.

Paul also asked if I wanted him to make tacos for dinner (yes) and if I wanted him to download another episode of that show you guys recommended, Big Bang Theory, which I think he was hoping would have cuter, buffer, cooler guys in it—I mean because there was the strong implication that he resembled those guys.

Rob’s card says: “Dear Mom, I hope that you have an awesome Mother’s Day and that you know how much it means to me when you do the following things. (A) Buying and cooking food for me (B) Keeping our house cleen (C) Taking care of me when I’m sick and (D) Helping me get ready for school every Day. Happy Mother’s Day! Love, Rob”.

Ha ha! First of all, “the following things,” with a list. Second, the touching obliviousness of a child: Paul does the grocery shopping and almost all the cooking, and since when is our house clean? Oh, wait, he says “cleen.”

William’s card says: “My mom is special becaus she plays with me. She bakes with me. She goes to store with me.”

That does pretty much sum up my life. It’s nice of him to refer to that as “special.”

Edward brought me three pages of scribbles, and Elizabeth said hers wasn’t ready yet so she wouldn’t give it to me, but I’m told it says “Uncle Erik” on it (her own idea).

Mint brownies are in the oven.

Here is what I like about Mother’s Day: it comes before Father’s Day. I think of it, in fact, as a TEMPLATE for Father’s Day. Is the father in your household being kind and solicitous today, and taking your various wants into account? Is he making the children behave the same way—ideally far away from you? Did he keep them quiet so you could sleep in? Is he looking at you with affectionate eyes and not letting you do the dishes? Then keep that in mind when it is his turn for a day of appreciation. Is he instead clearly trying to fill the Mother’s Day Obligation slot with the minimum required item so he can move on to his usual Sunday schedule of napping and messing around on the computer? Then keep THAT in mind for June.