Check out my Happy Extra Blog please.

I am really happy that I got a chance to E-Interview (email interview) Mr. Josh Selig, founder of Little Airplane, Inc. that makes The Wonder Pets, Oobi and Go, Baby.

Please, check it out and let me know what you think!

M

S plans for T's future

We were watching a preview of a documentary on the future and past of NASA.  We were watching a space shuttle taking off and S got really excited.

S: Mom, can we go there?
M: Sure, sometime we can go there and watch them take off. I've always wanted to do that.
S: But, can we go up in it?
M: You want to become and astronaut and go up into space when you are older?
S pauses and thinks for a few moments.
S:I don't want to be an astronaut. I just want to go up. T do you want to be an astronaut?
T: [no answer]
S: Mom, T want s to be an astronaut. Can you start training T to be an astronaut when he turns five?
[slightly awkward pause]
M: Sure, honey.

This is a picture of R in our Manhattan apartment.  I imagine training T to be an astronaut would look a little like this.

The Story of the Heating Pad and the Stomach Egg

Once upon a time there was a three year old named T.  He just scootered about a mile with his mommy, brother and sister.  When he got home he decided he had a stomach egg (ache). 

"Mommy, I have a stomach egg. I need this," he said as he dragged out the old bedraggled heating pad.

"I'm sorry you have a stomach ache. If you use the heating pad do you think you'll get better?" his mother asked.

"Yes, maybe," T replied.

The mommy nodded understandingly, trying in vain to hide her smile. "If you want to use it you'll have to lie down on your bed, like you were going to sleep so your stomach will feel better."

"Okay," T said.

They walked hand in hand to T's bedroom where laid on the bed while mommy plugged in the heating pad. 

Mommy waited a few moments after she put the heating pad on T's tummy.  Then she asked,"Is your stomach feeling better?"

T peeked under the heating pad, looked concerned and said, "No, my stomach egg is not better yet."

Mommy smiled and nodded and patted T's hand. They sat for a few more moments.

Then T peeked under the heating pad again and said, "It's all better now, here." He handed mommy the heating pad and got up to go play.

 True story.  The end.

What is it like to live in NYC? Do you really want to know?

You know how some people write and rant and you think yeah, yeah--get on with your life already. Well, you have my permission to say that in your head about this post.

Today was a long, challenging day.

When I was first a new mom I asked W to help me all time. He is my hero for all he did for me--seriously. There were many nights that the icecream from the store several blocks away called my name and he would run out and get some for me without a second thought. He changed diapers, played with the kids a lot, and just about everything else. I know, blessed right?!

This is W fixing something under the sink with R "helping."

Now that W is working heck-ish hours the tables have turned. My head has been spinning and I have my nose pressed to the grindstone--make that my whole face--like when you copy your face on a copy machine. . . not that I have ever done that (cha--yah, I have--but not recently). But hopefully you'll see what I mean about the turned tables.

My house looks like death warmed over--whatever that looks like. If you ever need to feel like your house doesn't look so bad, just stop by and look at mine and you will breathe an enormous sigh of relief about yours. Seriously, if you decide to stop by please call so I can have a sporting chance at getting the house somewhat prepared--but you'll probably still feel grateful.

In an attempt to allieviate my messy house cares I decided that I could procrastinate no longer on my laundry. W worked 30 hours sans-sleep yesterday (which he does a lot) and he came home to sleep so I let T fall asleep by him and I snuck out to do the laundry. Plus, W sprained his ankle in our apartment (on a protruding wall--just so you know) so he really needed to put his feet up and rest.

I hauled four and half yard garbage bag-sized laundry bags out to the car which I have double parked in the street with my hazard lights on, praying that the meter maids (what they call the patroling, ticketing police for people that break the law in parking) do not give me a ticket, and then I zip off to the 24-hour laundromat 1.5 miles away because it is the only place I can think of that has enough space to fit all my laundry. I have a laudromat closer but trying to do that amount of laundry there is nearly impossible and I get a lot of grumpy looks when I try to use more than three dryers.

By then my stomach is complaining of neglect, so I set out to return books to the library, put some clothes in the good-will bin and find a cheap source of nutritional nurishment.

I got back to the laundromat 20 minutes later to eat and get the clothes changed over to the dryers. Then I hopped into the car and zipped over to the school to get the kids. Just then W called and asked if I could come and get T, because T is going through a I-CANNOT-be-parted-from-mom stage where he randomly wails if I am out of his sight, which was doubly hard because W cannot walk well and T refused to be held.

So I dropped R and S off at their play date's house and zipped over to pick up T. Then we zoomed over to the laundromat to haul out the bags--somehow there seemed to be more on the way home. We dropped the bags off at the foot of our stairwell (again double parking), then parked the car, came back and loaded all the laundry back up the stairs--T played with our 6-year-old neighbor in the hallway.

Then T and I went to get R and S from their play date, which they decided they did not want to leave, even thought the play date's family was going out for dinner a few minutes after I got there to pick the children up. So I had to peel them away, especially T--he was scratching and clawing to get back into their house. It was a really fun house--with a yard. To make it even harder to leave they had Girl Scout cookies.

Since I had the car and it was actually light outside I decided we'd better run and do some grocery shopping, much to the kidlets' chagrin (there was much howling and lamentation heard in the land, if you get my drift). We got a lot of food and headed home.

The kids are finally in bed--though I can hear giggling and poetry through the wall and I am utterly exhausted. I still have to do the dishes, get the garbage out (including 2 broken strollers), break down the Mount Everest of recycling in my kitchen (mostly boxes piled in a corner--eek) and haul it out. There are about twenty other things I could add to that list--but this is all I can comprehend doing tonight. . . maybe the dishes will hold--but the garbage and recycling will not.

It is one of those times when I wish I could climb on my mom's lap; grown-up and all; and have her tell me that every thing is going to be okay, even when times feel tough. I miss my mom.

Maybe it is time to seriously consider getting a maid . . . I wish.