Spring Fever Is Darn Near Killing Me.

It'd be great if you'd point that
camera somewhere else, yeah?

I may be the first person to actually be driven insane by spring fever.

My normal state of being is fairly tightly wound. I'm cheerful and playful, but I'm also borderline OCD. (Undiagnosed, actually, so there's a rather good chance they'd be all like- borderline? You are textbook. A neatly bound textbook, placed alphabetically and color-coordinatedly in a descending size row.)

These orderly tendencies keep me firmly planted in the day to day business of running a household, raising smallish people, and staying on task with completely unpredictable writing assignments. I make lists. Loads of them. (Those descend in size and color and stuff, too.) When I clean, for instance. Or when I section off [small amounts of] time to write (even if the writing is just "the the the pfbbbbbt"). Even stuff I do with the girls during yicky weather; I put museum free days in my calendar, make dates with pals so we can climb on their furniture as opposed to our own, and determine which days will be spent at the library (so we can also pay the unfair fines levied by power-hungry librarians. For example).

But this weather is destroying me.

It has been so unseasonably fantastic in the normally frigid city of Chicago (seriously- negative 20 wind chills is nothing new for March), that I'm not truly sure which end is up anymore.

It was eighty degrees yesterday. And sunny. At the same time. Out of doors.

During the past few months, Wednesday morning would mean some quiet activities with Nora, some writing while Susannah napped, and toilets. All things bathroom would be cleaned on Wednesday.

BABIES NEED HATS!!

Yesterday, however, it was a solid seventy degrees by 9am. Obviously, we had to go outside and marvel and try not to stare directly at the sun with our mouths agape. Actually, we went to the Nature Preserve in  Peterson Park. We were joined by our friends Angie and Emily and we had the best time ever. (Even when Suzy decided that she was DONE- ten minutes in- and Nora fell backwards off of a log...best time ever.) We came home, the girls were zonked, and I was so flummoxed by the morning's fresh air that I promptly did nothing of note until they woke up. And then I got all stressed like- darned kids aren't giving me any free time. I had time. I just apparently didn't have brain.

And it's been like this all week. We're so confused by the nice weather that we keep going outside and having a fabulous time.

And not one toilet has been cleaned.

I'm behind on my writing and my cleaning and my projects and I do not believe anyone has fed the cats. (And today's their 8th birthday! Happy birthday, Ender and Bean! I'll feed you so soon!)

You think you've got problems.
I've got no arms.

But it's pretty hard to stay grumpy about a boggling amount of unfolded laundry (and/or a potentially dangerous shower mold) when one's cheeks are pleasantly flushed and freckled, and when one's blonde children have faces that smell like apple juice and sunshine. (Yes, both of them. Even the infant. It's a long story.)

It feels like a test. Will she snap before the summer if: The dishes harden in the sink? The towel smells suspiciously like someone has peed on it? The cat hair actually stands and slinks away?


I've never been very good at tests.

But summer- that I've been good at. So I'll work on it.

(After I close these taunting, ajar, cabinet doors.)

But What If I Forget The LIST?

Photo courtesy of Emi Clark.
Doc's color courtesy of Tide.

Packing for the girls is always a big deal.

I wish it weren't.

But the one time I pushed my borderline OCD tendencies aside and just, you know, threw stuff into a bag...No one had socks. Susannah didn't have nearly enough diapers. And I actually packed one half of a baby monitor. (The part that lets you know what the kid is doing. Helpful, so long as you also have the part that goes near the kid's head.)

Back in the old days (three years ago), back when I was way thinner and cooler than I could be convinced of by any mirror image, I packed precisely and neatly.

For our epic trip to Rome, I actually drew out each day's proposed outfits in my travel journal. Because- and this cannot be stated enough- I had too much time on my hands. (But I looked awesome. This cannot be stated enough, either.)

I seemed to have lost a goodly amount of brain cells between then and now, however, since I'd probably forget the girls' carseats if they weren't attached to the car.

So I make lists.

And even though it can be painful to know you have to write down things like "shoes" and "cups," it's more painful to arrive somewhere without the darned "shoes" and "cups."

It'll be good to get out of Dodge for a few days- even for a short road trip- with everything neatly packed into three duffels. One can almost pretend that all of one's worldly possessions are listed on one tiny little piece of lined paper. (And not jamming multiple rooms in one's dilapidated Money Pit, most of which are decorated on all sides by foam stickers.)

In other This Gal Needs Some Real News news- Doc Bullfrog has lost his rattle. That's right, Doctor Bullfroggy- the lovie who has had the green loved right off of him- has lost the soothing shakey sound located somewhere within his bulbous head.

This may be bigger news to her parents, who have long detected their eldest daughter's a.m. stirrings by the familiar tinkling rattle. Now Doc is a ninja. And now Doc is showing signs of aging.

My sister told me that there are few things sadder than having your kid say he doesn't need to bring the lovie somewhere...and the feeling of desperation where you kinda want to remind him to, anyhow. Because that object of affection is the last tie-in to actual babyhood- something Nora's been leaving behind in leaps and bounds.

And on days where she's a sticky-headed monster, a shrieky bundle of fuzz, and crabby pile of tired...seeing her clutch Doc to her nose and suck her left thumb ("Is it okay to suck my thumb, Mom?" "Sure, babe.") is a poignant reminder that my soft, sweet baby is still in there. Under all that peanut butter.

I'm gonna put Doc on my pack list. And I'll underline it twice. Because that threadbare greenish frog head is an important member of the family and a comforting, familiar face (for all of us).

At least 'til he loses his face.

Just Like Mama Said.

I'm sure that roughly 94 percent of you have seen the- ahem- "Things" That "People" Say memes ad nauseum (a la White People, Girls, New Yorkers, Farm Animals, etc.. etc., etc.). For the uninitiated, it's basically a collection of generally amusing and stereotypical catchphrases perpetuated by a really, really specific group of people- all for the purpose of having that select group chuckle at their own foibles ("Oh, ho- that's me, all right!)

So far, I've identified with two.

And, while I'm sure it's been done- perhaps even better- I've decided to try my hand at my own list. Feel free to comment with your own additions. For there are thousands upon thousands of items to be added. So, without further ado...ahem...

Shiz Moms Say To Other Moms

-Oh, we're entirely BPA-free.
-We also only own wooden toys.
-He doesn't sleep through the night yet?
-She still uses a pacifier?
-A bottle?
-A diaper?
-A booster seat?
-You think you're tired now? Try having two.
-Three.
-Four.
-Multiples.
-School-aged kids.
-Oh, is that organic?
-I'm surprised you let her drink juice.
-Cow's milk.
-Tap water.
-You let them eat meat?
-Sugar?
-Carbs?
-My son eats everything.
-She has never even seen a chicken nugget.
-Enjoy it now. This is the easy age.
-She's strictly breastfed.
-You couldn't pay me to breastfeed.
-Where does she go to school?
-Did she start at two?
-Is it Waldorf?
-How much a semester?
-You are so lucky to stay home all day.
(-You are so lucky to get to leave the house all day.)
-You're pretty lax on the TV thing, aren't you?
-We only listen to NPR.
-This isn't our usual park.
-We're late for Music Together.
-Gymboree.
-Fairytale Ballet.
-Oh, he can count to twenty in German.
-She walked at seven months.
-He's actually pretty advanced for three.
-Our nanny is teaching the kids Mandarin.
-Our nanny is getting her PhD in Early Childhood Education.
-Our nanny is sick again.
-He was named after my favorite French opera.
-A Viennese art critic.
-A bus stop in Madrid.
-What percentile is she?
-Are you concerned about her weight?
-Height?
-Thumb-sucking?
-Well, if your doctor isn't worried, then I wouldn't be either.
(-You'll see.)

Who would SAY that to you?!