Guilty pleasures

Oh, wait, is that the bandwagon?

Nah. Screw it. I'd rather jump on the back of the ice cream truck, myself.

So, in casa de Jane, we've been all about the World Cup lately. We've been following pretty closely, and I'm sure our TV hasn't seen this much ESPN since we got it. It's so bad, we've actually considered TiVo. Oh, the horrors!

Never before in my life have I been remotely interested in organized sports. Mostly, I assume, because I am supremely unathletic, and also kind of nerdy. I was always one of those smugly superior academics who thought that athletics were just for the big hulking meatheads who couldn't tell their ass from their elbow off the field. Like, if you were too stupid to do *anything* in life, you could always play games instead.

(I'll just pause here to say that Husband played soccer in college. Division I. On scholarship. He's pretty good, if I do say so myself. But not a meathead. Also fairly intelligent. Go figure.)

And then, the other day, while enjoying half an hour of overlapping naptime (the Bear regularly sleeps for two hours in the afternoon, but Mouse can only be counted on for about half an hour on average. Then, the other day, she napped for like three hours. It was ridiculous. I haven't been able to replicate that experiment, though, much to my dismay.) I was channel surfing and I came across a World Cup match. (Sweden and Trinidad and Tobago, if you must know) and I was hooked. This is one game I can appreciate. I can figure out what they're trying to accomplish. (Unlike football, where you never know what the hell they're up to.) I can appreciate the athleticism and good sports-person-ship. I love analyzing the geopolitical ramifications of the matches. Husband came home from work and caught me watching, and he was thrilled. This is his game, after all. He's been explaining rules to me as we go, and we've been taking this time while he's recovering from his manhood-ectomy to watch the matches together. I've really been enjoying it. It's something we can share an enthusiasm for, and it's a whole new area of interest for me, one I've never taken the time to explore. It's pretty great, relationship- and entertainment-wise.

However, my girls are turning into soccer orphans. We haven't watched TV this consistently in their whole lives, I don't think. We get so focused on the match that we don't play as much as the Bear would like, and so she acts out when she gets frustrated. I try to keep both of them from watching TV, but it's always on in the background. Bear walks around saying things like, "I'm staring at the TV!" and "Boys on TV kick the soccer ball. I love you, boys on TV!" Gah. And Mouse, no matter where you hold her or lay her, will always crane her head to try and see the big glowing box. She loves it already. And here I sit, stewing in Mother Guilt, because everybody knows that too much TV is bad for your kids. And yet, deep down inside, part of me just wants them to amuse themselves for 90 minutes so I can watch the match.

On top of that, our eating habits have gone to crap. Literally, all we have been eating is fast food and junk food. I am tired, sluggish, headachey, and generally lacking in energy, and I attribute lots of that to eating crap. I just feel better when I eat better. Not to mention, Mouse is probably getting more salt, fat, and preservatives than any ten babies should have. And Husband! He let the Bear eat french fries! I'd rather feed her sand, or grass, or something equally devoid of any redeeming nutritional value. But fries? Surely this can only be the first step down a road of nutritional degeneration. She will be unhealthy, overweight, and undereducated all because she ate a few fries, right? Just heap on the guilt. Maybe just one more scoop. Okay, that should be enough for today.

Ugh. My family is going to hell in a handbasket, and I blame it all on the football (not *that* kind of football, silly)!

In other, non-related news, I trimmed the Bear's bangs for the first time yesterday. They were getting so scraggly and all in her eyes. She looks like such a big girl now. It makes me kind of sad.

Oh frabjous day!

Callooh! Callay!

This morning, I put the Mouse on her tummy in my bed, because that's how she sleeps. (Don't say it. I see you thinking it.) She gave a little kick, and rolled right over on her back! I thought it might have been an accident, so I rolled her back over on her tummy again, and she rolled right back over onto her back!

Then, downstairs, I put her on her back in her little baby gym thing. She twisted and turned and rolled almost completely over on her tummy. Her arm gets stuck, which is a fairly common hangup at first, but she rolled! Both ways!

Just now, I fed her, and she was fussing afterwards because it's her naptime. So I took her and laid her down in her crib and covered her up and walked away. She cooed and kicked for a few minutes, and then... nothing. I laid her down AWAKE and she went to sleep on her own. At three months! Now *that* is a milestone I can get behind.

Both kids sleeping. At the same time. I'm going to go swiffer my floors! (Or "swifter" them, as my MIL says).

Also, I called an acquaintance of ours (she's seven months pregnant and bored as hell) and invited her out with me and the girls on Friday. Adult interaction!

And tonight? For dinner? I'm making fajitas! And rice! And beans! Because I am really ambitious! And I love my husband! Or, because I feel guilty for making him go get his manly bits sliced up tomorrow!

Yay! We will no longer be a threat to overpopulation!

I am burbling in my joy.

I hope that's not just the drugs talking...

Revived

So, things here are much better. Or, at least, they are getting much better. I have been talking to Husband more and working out some of our issues, Mouse has been sleeping longer chunks at night - 7 hours on one memorable occasion - and the Bear is growing up every day. She's gotten to be lots of fun lately. You can carry on a conversation with her, and she loves doing stuff - anything, really, so long as it's fun for her.

The potty training has hit a snag. We had several days of success early on, and then one day she woke up and decided that she didn't want to potty. She refused to go when we sat her on there, and never suggested going herself, and was treating her training pants like another diaper. So, this morning, we started Project Pantsless. She's been running around in only an undershirt all day, and it's working. She hates getting messy, and so every time she starts to feel herself pee on her leg, she freaks out and wants to go sit on the potty. Once she's there, she still doesn't really want to go, but I've talked her down from the ledge and she's been very proud the three times she's gone so far today. Once she stops crying, that is. I can't quite figure out what happened, but I think it might have something to do with my mom. She was here for a while, and her methods are slightly different than mine. So, I've had to break out the disinfectant several times this morning, but it's all for a worthy cause, so I don't really care. I'm waiting to see what happens when she needs to poop...

I'm home all day now with just the girls, and it seems to be going ok. I still think I would probably lose my mind if I was a SAHM, but it is kind of nice to spend some quality time with the girls. Hectic, but nice.

Naptime's over - more later.

Umm...

Just not coming up with a title for this one. Sorry 'bout that.

So, hey. I've been gone for a few weeks. Did you notice? (Yes, you in Denver!) Anyway, things have been rough around here. Without going into excruciating detail, let me just say that in the past month I have become intimately familiar with the ins and outs of postpartum depression, and have been doing lots of crying/sleeping/eating/yelling, etc. Two weeks ago today I had a massive breakdown IN CHURCH which I will not get into except to say that it was not in any way a religious experience. I just happened to be in a church when the thread finally snapped. So, anyway, long talks, awkward silences, visits to the doctor, referrals to nice friendly strangers to talk to, and a prescription which may or may not help things clear up. I was pleased that my doctor recommended that I look into some fish oil, as she has read studies which suggest that the omega-3 fatty acids are helpful in combating PPD. Also that she gave me the names of both religious and mainstream counselors. And that she tested my thyroid (family history of hypothyroidism, a contributing factor for PPD). So, that being said, hopefully things will be looking up around here. Because, and not like I get into large amounts of detail here, I was seriously losing my shit. And not in a good way.

In other news, I have set some summer goals. Here they are! I feel like if I post them on here, I may or may not be more likely to follow through on them. In no particular order, we have:

1. lose 12 pounds (to get back to pre-Mouse weight and size 6 pants hanging unused in closet) via no more fast food and daily walks, etc.
2. potty train the Bear
3. teach alphabet to Bear
4. make curtains for master bedroom and guest bedroom (already in possession of a lovely cream-colored tone-on-tone striped material)
5. start a Saturday-morning moms-drinking-coffee-playgroup-thing with some friends (note to self: get more friends)

So, that's what's on my docket. Along with staying sane and alive, of course. On a more solemn note, the husband of a friend passed away today from cancer. I appreciate anew how blessed I am to have a healthy husband and children. Please hug your families and tell them how much you love them. Even when you think your life is crap, there are blessings to appreciate if you look hard enough.