UPDATE.

4:30 p.m.

I managed to coerce Zoey in to half of the monkey suit, after 9 hours of cajoling, bribing, and whining.

Maybe tomorrow she'll put on the other half? Or just go trick-or-treating as half a monkey?

I have my doubts about Halloween.

So.

Today, Zoey and I broke out the monkey costume to "practice" for the festivities tomorrow night. She's having none of it. (FYI, she refers to most animals by the noises they make, therefore, a monkey is an "ah-ah".)

"No ah-ah, Mommy! NO! NO AH-AH!!"

Great.

"But Zoey, look! It's just like a coat! AAAANNNNDDDDD, you have a BANANA in your pocket! How cool is that?!?"

"NO!"

So we went to Target to pick out a special bucket to carry her treats. She picked out a lovely Abby Cadabby basket and carried it all throughout the store. When we got home, I told her that tomorrow night she would get to carry her Abby bucket and get treats while wearing her monkey costume.

"No Abby."

As if to say, if Abby goes along with the evil ah-ah suit, she isn't worth it.

We'll keep working on it. But there's a very real possiblity that Zoey could be going trick-or-treating as an obstinate toddler. As if that's a stretch.

The Power of Friends

Funny daycare story:

This morning I dropped Zoey off at Rebecca's house, as per our "new" usual, at 6:45 a.m. Rebecca keeps Zoey with her and takes her to preschool at 8:30 with her daughter, Adley, on Mondays and Wednesdays, and our friend Kendra (the third part of our Dynamic Trio) takes her on Friday mornings with her son, Ari. I am quite certain that the three of us drive all of the daycare workers crazy--we call incessantly to check on our children, we hover too long during drop-off, we ask a million questions, and we are forever picking up and/or dropping off each other's kids interchangably.

The phone rang at work today at 12:30. It was Rebecca.

"Amy? I have Zoey with me."

"Oh my God! Is everything okay??" (The plan had been for Zoey to remain at daycare after preschool, and I would pick her up after work.)

"Oh, it's fine. She just thought she was coming home with me when I got there to pick up Adley, so...."

"Was she having a hard day?"

"Not outwardly. But when I told her she was staying to eat lunch at school, she said 'okay' very sadly, and she looked SO disappointed! So I told Teacher Melina I'd just be taking her home with me."

This was just fine and dandy with me. I'd much rather have her with one of my friends than at daycare, so I was totally grateful to Rebecca for taking my sad child home with her. But the part that cracks me up? Is the fact that I didn't tell the daycare she was going home with Adley, and they didn't call to inform me she was leaving with her buddy. So clearly having Rebecca arrive to collect Zoey is every bit as valid as showing up myself to take her home.

I love that.

Seven Random/Little Known Things

I've noticed in some of the blogs I've been reading that many writers (who say they've been "tagged" by their friends) are putting up posts of "Seven Random or Little Known Things About Me". And while I have yet to be "tagged" to do this myself, I got tired of waiting and have decided to do it anyway. So here goes:

1. When I was about six years old, my butt got stuck in the hot tub drain at my godmother's house. They had to shut down the system and it took both my mom and my godmother to pull me loose. (Ever the wary child, I had been inching my way around the perimeter of the tub, staying far away from the deep part in the middle. Had I been a bit more adventurous, I might not have had to sit on a plastic donut for two weeks afterward.) They rushed me to the ER and were concerned my intestines may have been reorganized in a detrimental way--I'm not sure what tests they came up with to prove that this wasn't the case, and I have to say I'm glad I can't recall the details. I also remember, as a teenager, being mortified when my mom informed me she had taken photos of my horribly bruised tushy to send to the insurance company. As a 14 year old, you just don't want to know that pictures of your butt may be floating around anywhere, even when related to a long-ago insurance claim.

2. While I love and adore the Christmas holiday and all the festivities that go along with it, I have to say that Fall is my favorite season. I love the cold air, being wrapped up in big blankets on the couch, cooking homemade soups, and drinking red wine. (Beer in the summer, red wine in the fall and winter. Duh.)

3. I love doing laundry. So much so that I must pace myself throughout the week, only allowing myself to run loads on Thursdays and Sundays. Otherwise, I would needlessly run the machines every day of the week just for the satisfaction of seeing neatly folded piles of laundry at the end of my bed. And it drives me nuts when Zoey destroys these neat piles, although I try not to show it.

4. I am fascinated with the TV shows Wife Swap, Jon and Kate Plus Eight, and 17 Kids and Counting. I always wonder what kind of family I would be traded to if I were entered on Wife Swap--a conservative home-schooling family who believe in helicopter-parenting?--and I snicker to think about what kind of wife Bryan would end up with in the trade. (A conservative home-schooling wife who believes in helicopter-parenting? Ha!) Also, any family with more than one child is amazing to me at this point in life...my hands are so full with Zoey, I can not imagine adding more to our brood at the moment. (Perhaps Michelle Duggar and I could trade families for two weeks???)

5. My favorite snack is the trail mix my mom always used to make when we were little: peanuts, rasins, and M&Ms. Simple, but oh-so-satisfying.

6. While I love to cook and bake, I simply can not make banana bread. No matter what recipe I use, it NEVER turns out. The results are generally the same: dry on the outside with a crater of uncooked dough in the center. Terrible. This morning I attempted banana-bread-muffins and while they were slightly better, they still turned out gooey. For a long time I used my great-grandma-Ruth's banana bread recipe, trying it over and over, with the same results, imagining her somewhere in heaven somehow smiting my banana bread attempts. But then I tried other recipes and the same thing happened. So apparently it's not Grandma Ruth, it's me.

7. I love cooking for our friends Kendra and Matt because they are such a gloriously appreciative audience. Not that Bryan doesn't understand what a good thing he has going for himself around here, it's just that he's pretty used to my cooking and he's an awesome cook himself. So while he appreciates my efforts, there is NEVER the amount of raving in my house that occurs when I cook at Kendra and Matt's.

So there you have it. Now, consider yourself "tagged": I'd like to hear about your own random bits of information, including those of you who may or may not have had your butt stuck in a hot tub at some point in your life.

FYI...

Clorox wipes will remove dry-erase marker from the walls, and wood furniture.

I would delve in to how I acquired this knowledge, but I'm sure that you can figure it out on your own.

(Close your eyes and imagine a Mommy trying to sweep her kitchen while she thinks her daughter is quietly sitting in the living room watching Elmo. Then imagine what said toddler finds to occupy herself instead.)

Back on the sauce.

You may have noticed that the title of my blog has changed.

I've been reading the blogs of my friends and acquaintance's, and perusing the blogs that THEY are reading, and it seems that any Mommy who's ANY Mommy has a cute, snappy title for her blog. (Sex and the Knitty? The Lil Mommy Who Could? Life in the Carpool Lane? Surely I could come up with something better than "News from Amy, Bryan & Zoey.) I've been thinking of this for days...and today, as I bundled my feverish child into the car to drive to McDonalds for a Diet Coke, you could say the title just came to me.

In my defense, it was looking like I was going to be housebound all weekend, and waking frequently to start the day at 4 a.m. Bryan was golfing all day today...since it is his birthday weekend, and we were supposed to go out for a romantic dinner tonight (which obviously isn't going to happen), I was happy that at least he was getting to do something fun. But the prospect of being trapped inside all day with a sick baby and no Diet Coke was giving me a mild anxiety attack.

Months ago, when a physical therapist suggested I might have an easier time controlling my bladder function if I were to cut back on the caffeine, I thought I might give that some consideration...someday. Like, maybe next year, when New Years Resolutions roll around. Maybe. Then I had a bone density scan after it was discovered that my (younger) sister has osteoporosis. Turns out I have the bones of a woman 20 years my senior. Again, caffeine came up in conversation with my doctor--not so good on the bones. So I bumped the resolution up a few months and took stock of my caffeine intake.

First thing in the morning: coffee
Lunch: Diet Coke
Frequently, as in most days of the week: iced tea, or a latte, or some other version of a caffeinated treat.

Something was going to have to go. And since even I am not hard-core enough to consider jumping out of bed and pouring myself a DC, I figured that was the likely thing to cut out.

I started slow. I decided that, once the 12 pack of DC in the fridge was gone, I wouldn't buy any more.

I cut back to a 10-oz DC at lunch from the Blessed Diet Coke Machine at work, as opposed to a 20-oz cup. (Does it count that I use lots of ice? No?) I had every intention of cutting it out completely while at work, and replacing it with iced tea.

But you know what? It's HARD. I don't think I can do it. Perhaps I could revisit this resolution in five years, when my child becomes a bigger fan of sleeping through the night? When my job doesn't frazzle every last nerve I have, to the point where I can practically see a beacon of shining light and a choir of angels singing above the Diet Coke machine at work?

Bottom line is, pants-wetting and bone density be damned, I need my caffeine.

Looking like it's going to be a looooong weekend...

Second day in a row I have been up at 4:00 a.m. As in, up for the day.

Anyone who tells me I need to cut back on my caffeine intake can go jump off a bridge.

Yesterday when I got home (Zoey was thankfully home all day with a babysitter instead of going to daycare), I could tell the minute I walked in the door that something was not quite right with her. She immediately layed her head on my shoulder and turned to the sitter and said "bye bye". Poor baby felt like she was on fire. I took her temperature--102.7. No good. After a dose of Motrin it came down to 101, then after some Tylenol it came down to 99.6. She rallied enough to eat some dinner and play a bit before passing out at 9 p.m.

And, at 4:30, we were up again, on fire again, feeling crappy again.

Motrin. Cool bath. Juice. Curious George book, read repeatedly.

And now, at just past 7:30 a.m., I am hoping she will just drop from sheer exhaustion, so that I can drop from sheer exhaustion. But it's not looking promising.

Happy Birthday to My Hubby!

HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY, BRYAN!

A few words about my fantastic husband, on this, the day that marks his entry in to middle age. (Or is that 40? I'm not sure. What with 40 being the new 30, I may be off the mark on this.)

1. Bryan and his jungle garden keep me well-stocked in tomatoes, fueling my very favorite fall activity, which is making homemade tomato soup. (Or, "nummy shoop", if you were to ask Zoey.)

2. Bryan has an unnerving calm about him, and tempers my somewhat-neurotic behavior so beautifully that it is clear we were meant to be together forever. He humors my compulsive habits, such as chronically sweeping and vacuuming, and cooperates with my hard and fast rules regarding the laundry. He has either become immune to my rigid sense of order, or it is the rigid sense of order that forces him to remain even more calm.

3. Some may not know this, but Bryan may very well have missed his calling--yes, that's right, if chiropractic ever doesn't work out for him, he would make a very fine fire fighter. You know how fire fighters leave their pants and boots and a majority of their clothing puddled together on the floor so they can jump quickly in to their gear when going out on a call? (Or is this just in the movies?) Every morning when I (lovingly, very lovingly) peel his socks and underwear out of his pants, and his shirt from the inside of his sweatshirt, I am reminded that he at least has another career choice available to him, should the need arise.

4. Bryan can fix anything. ANYTHING. And for this, I love him. We needed new steps built for the stairway from our kitchen to the mudroom. Bryan whipped them out (paint and all) in a day. He miraculously figured out a way to remove the marker stains from our hardwood floors (thank you, Zoey), and he can even sew buttons back on shirts. I am in continual awe of his Mr. Fix-It personality.

5. The most endearing trait of Bryan's is his ability to positively melt when in the presence of our daughter. He thinks everything she does is fantastic, and takes her with him most everywhere. On any given evening, you are likely to find the two of them outside tending to the jungle garden, or mowing the lawn--mowing is a favorite past-time of Zoey's, and sometimes I think Bryan mows the back yard even when it doesn't necessarily need to be done, only because Zoey will turn to him with her big brown eyes and ask "Daddy, mow?"

I love you Bryan! Have a wonderful day!

I hate it when Oprah pisses me off.

I saw something on Oprah yesterday that really bothered me.

(And it pains me to admit that, for I love Oprah so.)

Yesterday Oprah's guest was a physician who had, at some point, suffered a debilitating stroke and had been in the hospital for, I'm guessing, several months. (I'm guessing a lot, as I only really caught the last 25 minutes of the show and could only get snippets of the conversation as I was chasing after Zoey. So perhaps I'm taking some liberties here, but so be it.)

Anyway, the guest was saying how important it was for all her nurses to come in and "make a connection" with her, even if they were only in the room for a brief moment. It could be as simple as touching her foot, looking her in the eye, whatever. She said she felt frightened of the nurses who would enter her room solely to perform a task, without taking the time to "make that connection" with her. Oprah immediately jumped on the bandwagon, talking about how it really is a nurse's job to make a patient feel important and cared for.

While I agree with this in theory, as a nurse, I have some issues with the practicality of making a connection with every single person I meet at every single moment of every single day.

Perhaps the real issue here is that nursing, sadly, has been flung far, far away from the actual art of caring for people, and has been tossed instead into the pool of government bureaucracy--that horrid tangle of redundant regulations that puts the emphasis ON paperwork and OFF human contact. We, as nurses, have many, MANY hoops to jump through in order to make sure our paperwork is in order and all the proverbial i's have been dotted and t's have been crossed. Government agencies, chock full of people who rarely if ever actually PROVIDE patient care, dictate what we will do and how we will do it and how much time we will have allotted to do it. And if you fail to meet all the paperwork criteria and are audited by any of these awful agencies, penalties are issued. Maybe they give fines. Maybe they pull some insurance funding. Whatever it is, it isn't good, and it usually leads to MORE charting and MORE paperwork to be done to ensure the mistakes don't happen again. Believe me--if you have five minutes to run in to a patient's room and you have to choose between emptying their catheter and stopping to chat and "make that connection", you're going to choose hurrying through emptying their catheter, because God forbid you should forget to accurately chart your patient's intake and output before the end of your shift.

I'm not trying to condone the actions of nurses who are negligent on the job and I am certainly not making excuses for those who simply don't know how to make a connection with their patients. What I am saying is that our system is broken, and that until we start valuing the art of putting our patients at ease, we will continue down this slippery slope of task-oriented instead of human-oriented care.

Perhaps another problem here is that people in general fail to see their healthcare providers as fallible human beings who are often just doing the best they can with the little resources available to them. Atul Gawande wrote a fabulous book titled "Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science". In it, he writes:

"You have a cough that won't go away--and then? It's not science you call upon but a doctor. A doctor with good days and bad days. A doctor with a weird laugh and a bad haircut. A doctor with three other patients to see and, inevitably, gaps in what he knows and skills he's still trying to learn."

His point, throughout the book, is that we look to doctors and nurses to be perfect, and quite simply, they are not. We have good reason to want perfection, sure--our lives are often in their hands and we can not bear the thought that they will make a wrong decision or treat us in a way that is purely clinical, with no trace of human kindness.

But consider this. That nurse who just hurried in to her patient's room to adjust a monitor, then quickly left, may be worrying about her child who wasn't feeling well this morning, but who she had to send to daycare anyway, because she can't afford to take a sick day and stay home. She may have been called in to work in the middle of the night to perform some non-emergent procedure with an egotistical doctor, a procedure that could have waited until morning; only to have to get up two hours later and come back to work for her regularly scheduled shift. She may have unexpectedly had to spend extra time "making a connection" with any of her other six patients and now must hustle to finish her rounds and her charting, in order to be out the door on time for her son's football game.

She's probably doing the best she can.

Maybe you're surprised to be reading this post from me, since I spend so much time blogging about how much I hate my job. The truth is that I hate the people and place where I work NOW. However, I love what I DO. And, as previously posted, my work situation will take a dramatic change for the better come February 27, 2009.

I don't want to take away from the experience the woman was describing on Oprah. I feel for her--truly, I do. But my first reaction is not to demand more of the nurse--we as nurses have so little left to give, as it is. Until we, as a country, start valuing the art of "making a connection" with our patients, nothing will change. I believe the nursing shortage we are experiencing now is a direct result of nurses going in to the profession intending to care for their patients, finding they must quickly lose the "care" aspect and become focused on red tape, then burning out and leaving the profession in frustration.

No wonder so many of us go crazy.

The Crazy-Ship is sinking and I, personally, will not be going down with it.

February 27th, 2009.

That's my day.

The last day I will have to survive the insanity of my workplace.

Mind you, I've not discussed this date with my husband, or my manager, but in perusing the 2009 calendar today, it seemed as though this date reached out and grabbed me, called my name, and said "hey! I'm your man!" (You're probably thinking I must fit right in amongst the crazies, if dates on the calendar appear to be talking to me. You may be right. My resolve to be one of the only people in my department NOT taking psych meds is slowing fading.)

We need to crunch our budget, naturally, and make sure we can manage if I am not working the month of March. But I am truly at a point now where I just can't take this place anymore, and I'd almost rather be poor than working where I'm at. It is difficult to justify leaving your child in daycare to go to a job you just can't stand. And I'd like to get out of this situation before I become completely burned out on nursing, and turn in to one of those nasty, old, jaded nurses who hates everyone she comes in contact with...like...most of...my...co-workers.

Well, MOST of the day was great, anyway.

I had three days off work. Or so I thought.

And trust me--I NEEDED those three days. The people I work with are out-of-this-world, batshit crazy. Prescriptions for Xanax and Zoloft should be required elements of employment there. The stress of being there in general, combined with Zoey's tough transition to daycare has pushed me just THIS close to the edge in the past three weeks.

I normally have Tuesday and Thursday off, and since only two cases were scheduled for Wednesday, I volunteered to take the day off to spend some much-needed time with my daughter and to rest, relax, and hopefully de-stress a bit. Everyone needs to take a Mental Health Day here and there, right? (Some people need a few weeks after having a mental breakdown at work, but trust me, that's a different story.)

Today started off on the perfect foot--Zoey came to bed with me early in the morning and managed to sleep in until 8:00. I woke up, for once, feeling reasonably rested and ready for the day. (Part of the problem lately is Zoey's new-onset inability to sleep through the night. She generally wakes up at 1:00 a.m. and sometime around 4:00 a.m., crying and sadly calling "Mommy! Mommy!". The bringing-her-to-bed-with-me part will probably come back to bite me in the ass later on, but when you're going on a couple weeks of continual interrupted sleep, your common sense errodes and you do whatever will earn you the most rest.) We got up together and snuggled on the couch, me with my coffee and Zoey with her milk. We watched the Today show. My friend Kim and her two boys came over to play. (Things were going well until Zoey pegged Colby, who is a newborn, in the head with her shoe. The playdate wound down quickly after that.) We ate lunch, then went for a walk to the coffee shop down the street, where I answered the posted trivia question correctly and won a free iced tea. Back at home, Zoey flat refused to go to sleep, and for once I didn't feel as though this were the end of my day--I got her up and we went on an "adventure" (read: Mommy got lost) to the recycling center. She passed out on the way home. All was well, until my cell phone rang.

I won't share the details of the conversation, but the gist of it all is that I have to go to work tomorrow morning, for three hours. Seems that many cases have been added to our schedule and they "just can't justify letting me have the whole day off".

Guess it's a good thing I didn't decide to spend my three Mental Health Days out of town, eh?

The most annoying part of the conversation came at the end, when my co-worker asked "so, you'll be here from 7:30-10:00, is that all okay?". Yeah, sure. It's GREAT. Because the plans I had made for tomorrow were a lot less fun than coming to work, which is the one place I feel like I need to be far, far away from right now! No worries! I'm sure YOU'D think it was great if you were given the day off, only to have it taken away at the last minute!

So. Tomorrow I had planned to take Zoey to preschool from 8:30 to noon, so I could have a couple hours to myself to shop for my husband's birthday gifts and maybe even go to the gym. (My time-to-myself tank has been running a little low lately, what with Zoey feeling as though she needs to be attached to my hip at every moment. I SO needed those three hours to myself!) Damn, damn, damn....

I guess the only thing I can tell myself is that I only have four more months to endure at this crazy, crazy job with it's crazy, crazy workers. Then I will move home to Puyallup and get my old job back, which requires NO call schedule AND has the added benefit of mentally stable co-workers. I've already called my husband and told him we need to discuss my Quit Date sometime this week--I need a date in my mind to look forward to, something I can circle on my calendar that will end the insanity of working in a place where your day off isn't REALLY your day off, and can be recalled at any given moment.

Is it bad that she puts herself in time-out?

Number of waking hours spent with Zoey today: Roughly four.

Number of visits to the time-out chair: Four.

Sadly, hitting and throwing things have made a comeback in our household. (On Zoey's part. Not ours. We have no idea where she gets that from--really.) Back in June, our darling and delightful daughter went through a brief phase where she would randomly bitch-slap innocent, smaller children on the playground, leaving both her father and I horrified and explaining to the parents of said smaller children that we are NOT child abusers. Thankfully, after many, MANY visits to the time-out chair, she seemed to have learned her lesson. We breathed a sigh of relief and quietly chalked one up for our parenting prowess.

Yeah, I know. Funny.

Hitting is back with a vengeance, with an added hint of throwing things and generally acting pissy. This normally occurs when we can't figure out what she's trying to say--for instance, any word Zoey is not sure of is dubbed a "guh-buh". Well, sometimes "guh-buh" is easy to decipher, as in "Mama! Guh-buh!" (Pointing excitedly.) "Yes, Zoey. A spider." Other times, it's not so easy, and when she gets frustrated, she hits. Or kicks. Or throws something. (Whichever is most convenient for her, really.) But the thing is, she'll walk right over to the table, look at me with the biggest let's-see-what-I-can-get-away-with look, and smack the table. Or her book. Or her bowl of soup. (Again, she's an equal opportunity kind of gal.)

So, do you ignore that? Or put her in time-out?

Smacking somebody is a quick one-way ticket to the time-out chair. But hitting the desk? Shouldn't that just be ignored? Today I shot her a look for smacking the table leg, and she walked right over the to the time-out chair and hauled herself up. Does this indicate over-usage of the Time Out Technique? And if you don't do time-outs for discipline, what else is there? (Despite our child's bratty behavior, we don't believe in hitting or spanking.) (Except for that one time after a horrid day at work, when I just didn't have the energy to wage the Great Carseat Battle of 2008. In the midst of a back-arching, red-faced screaming temper tantrum--Zoey's, not mine--I reached over and thumped her on the forehead and yelled "YOU DO NOT HIT MOMMY!". Not my finest parenting moment.)

Luckily, I have the next three days off to spend at home giving my daughter all the Mommy time she needs. I am noticing, lately, a big surge in the I-need-Mommy-at-all-times attitude. I think this speaks directly to being in daycare, and largely lost in the shuffle for most of the day. (Granted, it's a great big fun chaotic shuffle most of the time, but still.)

Anyone want to wager a bet as to how many times she'll sit in the time-out chair tomorrow?

A little planning never hurt anyone.

Today I started working on the invitations for Zoey's birthday party.

You know, the party that's on Sunday, December 7?

That's right. I am a craft-nerd at heart, and the idea of making invites by hand was just enough to get my creative juices flowing. (Since nobody in my family appears to be getting married any time soon, this leaves me--and my sister Alisa--with no outlet for our love of cardstock and ribbon. So my child's birthday party invitations will be painstakingly constructed, while the actual party itself will probably be just your garden variety pizza party.) And it's a good thing I'm getting started here in the middle of October, since the ONE invitation I was able to half-way complete today took me 45 minutes.

Did I mention that I need to make 25 of them?

The theme for this year's party will be owls. Of course.

So it's a good thing I can be creative when need be, since owl-themed party decor is hard to come by. If anyone comes across any paper plates of the owl variety (that don't cost $32 per eight pack), please let me know.

F*&#@ School Pictures

I'm sorry. I try really hard (and it isn't easy) to keep this blog rated at least PG-13. But sometimes the F-word just happens to be the word that most accurately sums up my day. In this case, it seems to sum up my entire week.

Today was School Picture Day at the daycare. I naively assumed it would be great fun to take Zoey in (on my day off) and have her participate in her class photo. Teacher Amy informed me the picture would take place at 9:00 a.m. Awesome. We arrived a few minutes early to...total and utter chaos. Kids everywhere. Teachers trying to keep things organized, while filling out slips of paper for each kid to take back to the photographer. That's right--individual photos first, THEN class photos. Not so awesome.

We went back with Teacher Melina to get in line for the individual photos. Zoey began having a meltdown as soon as we got in line behind four other children. "Bye-bye, Mommy! Bye-bye!". Clearly she was not thrilled to be at school, whether Mommy was staying with her or not. The meltdown only intensified when it was finally her turn. She was NOT going to cooperate with the very talented and patient photographer, unless I was parked securely beside her. Not wanting this to be an all-day affair, I sat her on my lap after the photographer assured me she could photo-shop me out of the picture later. Whatever. Because really? We were just here for the group shot.

Which didn't take place until 10:35.

By that point, Zoey wanted milk, and she wanted to go bye-bye, neither of which were viable options at the moment. (We'd been waiting an hour and a half. She was GOING to be in the fucking class photo if it were the last thing we accomplished in the day.)

The kids were placed in two lines. The only one holding still on his seat was Zoey's beloved best friend, Ari. Zoey was sitting directly in front of Adley, Rebecca's daughter. Because nobody was wanting to cooperate, Teacher Melina sent someone back to the classroom for the M&M's. When the candy arrived, Zoey got so excited she leaped out of her seat and flung her arms back in the air, making direct contact with Adley's face. This sent Adley in to hysterics, complete with full-on ultrasonic screaming. Zoey looked like she didn't know what to do for a moment, then she decided crying might be the way to go. Rebecca went to hold Adley and tried standing with her in the back of the photo. All tiny eyes were on Adley, not the photographer. Things were quickly spiraling out of control.

And that's when E.R.L. arrived on the scene and made the following announcement: "Well, let's just try another group for now and we'll bring these kids back later".

What. The. Fuck.

"Oh no," I said. "We're toast after this is over. We've been waiting a LOOONG time, and we're not coming back to do this later."

I mean, seriously? We had been told photos would be at 9:00. They didn't actually happen until 10:30. Shit happens, I get that, BUT COME ON.

At any rate, I'll be amazed if any of the 2-year-old class photos turn out. And I don't really care, either. The whole experience set the tone for a very crabby day, and taught me that School Picture Day certainly isn't worth sacrificing a day off for--next time, if it falls on a day that Zoey is already at school, great. If not, too fucking bad.

Baking: Cheaper than therapy.

Question posed to me recently: "How is it that you have time to bake regularly when you have a toddler running around at home, a husband in school, etc?"

Answer:

1. My husband is fantastic and loves both spending quality time with his daughter AND eating whatever I make. Therefore, it is in his best interest to keep said daughter occupied while I do my thing in the kitchen.

2. It has been well documented on this blog and in conversations with friends and family that a) I work with certifiably crazy people and b) the stress of putting my kid in daycare has been taking it's toll on me. These two issues in combination are enough to make me crave strong anti-depressants and intensive therapy, neither of which I can really afford right now. So I find that blowing off some steam in the kitchen is really the way to go.

This morning, as I was scanning the fridge for my coffee creamer (because my darling child was up at 6:30 despite lengthy discussions regarding the importance of staying in bed until the sun is visible), I could tell life has been stressful lately, based on all the homemade items I noticed in a quick glance. Leftover apple crisp. Jugs of homemade tomato soup. Pumpkin spice bars. Sweet potato and vegetable soup.

How my husband and I don't weigh 200 pounds each is beyond me.

Chalk one up for the daycare.

Had a LONG, LOVELY chat with Teacher Amy at Zoey's daycare yesterday afternoon, mainly to warn her that a doctor's note was on it's way regarding Zoey's diaper rash, and that I would be expecting her to be changed every two hours. I was pleasantly surprised to arrive at the daycare this afternoon at 4:15 and find a happy child and a detailed list of all the times she had been changed, as well as all the creams she had been slathered in. One point for daycare.

Another improvement/revision to The Plan has been recruiting my wonderful friends, Kendra and Rebecca, to help me out in the mornings. Because seriously? I just can't leave my kid with E.R.L. anymore. SO, I will be dropping Zoey off at Rebecca's house at 6:30 on Monday and Wednesday mornings (thank you, THANK YOU Rebecca for opening your house to my child at such an ungodly hour of the morning) and Bryan will be taking Zoey to Kendra's house at 7:00 on Fridays. They each have a child in the same daycare as Zoey, but their kids only go for preschool from 8:30-12:00. So they'll just take Zoey along with them and I will pick her up after work.

We tried this plan for the first time this morning, and it was SUCH a relief to leave my daughter with Rebecca and NOT with the nutbag at daycare. Also, she ate a fantastic breakfast before school (apparently she really likes bacon, which was news to me) and had a blast playing with Rebecca's daughter, Adley. She also had a thorough diaper change before leaving for school and there is no doubt in my mind that Rebecca strongly reinforced The Schedule Of Changing with Teacher Melina before leaving the girls. (She offered to whip up a quick spreadsheet with a time schedule on it--she does something financial so she's capable of things like "whipping up a spreadsheet"--but I told her maybe we'd just see how they did on their own. But don't think I won't take her up on that offer should the need arise.)

And so, today, I am finally feeling better about daycare.

More reasons why Shea should drop out of college and come back home to babysit Zoey.

So.

Today Zoey and I visited her pediatrician...again...for more advice regarding the Raging Diaper Rash From Hell, that has been going strong for 2 1/2 weeks now. Last week we were told to change her diaper frequently, alternate the yeast infection cream with the $15 home-brew I was telling you about in an earlier post, and to keep in mind that as soon as she gets potty trained, these diaper rashes will go away.

Frequent diaper changes? Check.
Alternating ointments? Check.
STRONG encouragement of big-girl-potty use? Check.

And then...she goes to daycare. Which I'm thinking is where it all falls apart.

First, let me say this. I've been thinking hard in the past few days about the POSITIVE aspects of daycare. For instance, when I clean my house the night before Zoey goes to daycare, it stays clean all the next day! Because nobody is home! That's nice. And I DO like a lot of the teachers that are at her school. I love that she goes to preschool with so many of her friends. She seems to love the preschool portion of her day, which is full of fun times with friends, fun art projects, and playing with the fun toys in her classroom.

What her day does NOT consist of, from what I can gather, are regular meals and frequent diaper changes. And that's a problem.

Now, I know that these daycare employees are saints (with the exception of E.R.L.) and are trying to manage at least seven kids at a time, coordinating all of their meals, potty times, naps, etc. Not a job I'd sign up for any day. And I SO do not want to be one of "those" parents who nags her daughter's poor caregivers with unrealistic expectations, and wants her daughter to be the center of attention all throughout the day.

However. I feel like I've been pretty clear about Zoey's Raging Rash, and the fact that it needs a little TLC if we ever hope for it to heal. (And we do.) But yesterday, I dropped Zoey off at 6:45 a.m. and checked in with the less-ditzy teacher about the diaper cream regimen. No problem, I was told. Thankfully, Zoey was picked up at noon by my friend and taken to her house. I arrived to pick Zoey up and found her wearing a different pair of pants. Turns out her jeans had gotten dirty. On closer inspection, however, I found that "dirty" really meant "wet". And if my nose is serving me correctly, I'd say it's from her diaper soaking through to her pants. Also in her bag was a note saying she'd had her prescription cream put on at 10:30 a.m.

So, I'm wondering, was 10:30 her first diaper change? Am I dropping her off at 6:45 and nobody is checking her diaper for almost four hours?

And don't get me started on breakfast. Let's just say that the box of cereal and package of granola bars I sent in last week for her to have at breakfast time are still camping out, untouched, in her cubby.

If my child were not the type to get a Raging Rash at the drop of a hat, or the type who would walk up to an adult and ask for food when she's hungry, I would write these things off as just being part of a daycare experience. But I'd really like to see my family get off the weekly cycle of visiting the pediatrician, I'd love to see my daughter's poor, painful tushy heal up, and I NEED TO KNOW that she isn't just flying completely under the radar when she's at daycare.

That's what it all boils down to. Zoey has a very mellow personality. And she is, after all, not even two. It would be very easy to overlook her if you have your hands full with six other kids, or you're a cranky old lady who doesn't really like kids anyway. I am concerned that she arrives on the daycare scene each morning and isn't paid much attention to until, say, her pants are soaked and her bottom is raw. I do NOT need her to be the center of the universe in her small class of seven. But I DO need to know that somebody is watching out for her.

BIG NEWS!

Guess who went potty on the big girl potty tonight, for the SECOND night in a row??

(Hint: not me.)

That's right folks, we've got a kid who's well on her way to potty training! I am dreaming of a day in the not-so-distant future which will involve zero diaper changes, the disappearance of all diaper rashes, and the purchase of many pairs of cute little itty-bitty panties. Zoey is dreaming of all the chocolate she's going to get ("treat! treat!") for using the potty like a big girl.

HOORAY!

Daycare Day 2 (Sadly, not as smooth as Day 1)

I didn't have time to pour out the whole sad story last night, as my mom is here for the weekend and I was trying to stay awake long enough to visit with her. But I thought my quick post, hinting that the world was potentially off it's axis, might give you a clue as to how crazy the whole day went.

So, I dropped Zoey off at daycare yesterday morning at 6:45. We gravitated to the OTHER teacher who is there early in the morning, taking care to avoid E.R.L. When I left, she looked like she was terrified, but trying very hard to be brave. There were no tears.

Went to work and had the WORST DAY EVER. (Well, maybe not EVER. But seriously in the top five.) Couldn't escape until 4:00.

I arrive at daycare at 4:20 and find Zoey playing in the gym. She bursts in to tears the minute she sees me. As I am holding her and talking to the afternoon teacher, I am told that Zoey had a great morning, but upon waking from her nap in the afternoon, she began going to the window periodically and looking for me. The teacher tried to hold her and distract her, but Zoey was having none of it.

Tell me that wouldn't break your heart.

I immediately began re-playing all the horrible events of the afternoon at work in my head--I had spent all day putting out fires and dealing with a doctor we work with frequently, whom I refer to as Captain Annoying. (Re-naming the doctors we work with is a coping mechanism for me, had you noticed?) And now, to know that while all that was going on, my daughter had been sadly wondering where I was...well, let's just say it did nothing to help the whopping case of Mommy Guilt I had been struggling with all week.

And it gets better: as I went to write a check to pay for the week's daycare, I was informed that E.R.L. had quoted me the wrong price. Turns out it's $165 per week, not $135. At that point, I was too damn tired to argue.

The good news is that Zoey was thrilled to get home. We immediately sat on the couch and read her favorite book over and over. When Bryan and my mom arrived (Bryan from school, my mom home from her conference), we walked to the new coffee shop that just opened down the street. Then we went out for pizza.

And, although the evening was a MAJOR improvement over the day, Zoey still gets teary each time I am out of her sight.

This daycare thing is going to be a rough road, I tell you.

What the hell?

Today, Dr. Cranky walked in to the department and gave me a big old hug.

Is the world off it's axis?

Can I Get A "Hoot-Hoot"?

Owls are all the rage in our house right now.

Pronounced "ow-uhl", Zoey adores them and loves to find them in as many places as possible. She has an owl night light. (Combining two favorite words! Ow-uhl! Light! Delightful...) She has an owl t-shirt and a coveted pair of owl pajamas, sent to her by Auntie Abby all the way from the dirty south. When either of these items are in the process of being washed, it is a sad, sad occasion...

So, today, an item on our to-do list is to hit Ross (and possibly Target) in search of books with owls in them. The other night, at Ari's house, she discovered a book featuring an owl on one page and I thought I'd have to cut off her hand in order to get her to leave it with Ari when we had to go home. Does anyone know of some great kids books featuring owls??

Also, I found some totally adorable owl-themed bedding online at Pottery Barn Kids. Unfortunately (or, fortunately?) I can not bring myself to spend $159 on a quilt for my child's bed. The quilt on MY bed did not cost $159. But, for the record, I will be monitoring their website like a hawk, waiting for it to go on clearance-clearance-clearance!

We survived...again.

Guess who popped out of bed at 6:00 this morning, in a fantastic mood, ready to start her day?

Hint: Not me.

Zoey fared quite well during her first full day at daycare. Many of my concerns about the day turned out to be nothing to worry about (imagine!), but leaving her with Evil Religious Lady was almost as bad as I had feared. We arrived promptly at 6:30 a.m., to find only two other little girls on the scene, eating their waffles quietly at the table in the gym. Zoey is SO not a breakfast kid, and as I explained this to E.R.L., she cut me off by saying "well, just put her in the high chair over there and we'll give her a yogurt, then we'll see how she does when you leave. I suppose I might have to hold her when you leave if she gets upset".

I looked at Zoey. She looked at me. And then I threw her to the wolves.

I sat her in the high chair. I presented her with a yogurt. She gave me a withering look that clearly said, "are you kidding?". I whispered to her that it was time for Mommy to leave, and that she would have a very fun day playing at school. With all the other kids who would get there...later. She whispered back "no 'cool". (Translation: no school.) But after a moment, which I spent debating whether I should rip her out of the high chair, run quickly back to the car, and call work to give them my notice, she leaned in for a kiss and seemed to be fine. So I left. E.R.L. called "bye bye!" as I walked out the door. I peeked in the window of the gym as I was leaving, and there sat my daughter, calmly holding her baby doll all alone in a high chair, staring at a yogurt that she and I both knew would not get eaten.

But she didn't cry. And I didn't either. For awhile, anyway.

Never underestimate the power of a mom who wants to find out how her child is doing without having to deal with the lady who mans the front desk at the daycare. I knew my friend Rebecca would be taking her daughter to preschool that morning at 8:30, so at 8:50 I called her from the O.R. where I was getting ready to help with a procedure. I whispered to her that I needed to know--quickly--how Zoey looked when she had dropped of her daughter. She assured me that my baby was having a GREAT time running all over the gym, playing with the bikes and throwing a ball around to the other kids. Rebecca (God bless her) made sure to get a report from one of the staff members on how Zoey's last two hours had gone. While no breakfast had been consumed yet, Teacher Melina promised Rebecca that she would try to feed Zoey breakfast, again, while the other kids were having their snack.

I was happy to hear that she was doing well. But it made me a little teary, too, for some reason. Suddenly, I really MISSED my kid. As I was trying hard to get a grip and return my attention to the patient in the O.R., the doctor I was working with asked if I was okay. And that set me over the edge.

Side note: this particular doctor is an older Polish gentleman who prides himself on his crabby attitude and enjoys spending the bulk of his time in my company complaining about how awful the hospital is that we work in. Actually, now that I think of it, they aren't all Polish, but the rest of that description fits 95% of the doctors I work with.

I reassured him that I was, in fact, okay, but that I had taken my daughter to daycare for the very first time that morning and it had been rough. On me, apparently--not my daughter. He didn't say much. We went back to the procedure.

Then, two minutes later, he turns to me and says "daycare, this is okay, you know? Kids, they need to be socialized. I went through residency with several people who had been raised by grandma--no socialization! And they turned out weird. Your daughter, she will be fine."

So there you had it. My stressful morning, from daycare drop-off to painfully long staff meeting to the O.R. with Dr. Cranky, all of which was suddenly making me feel like I might be having an aneurysm, and Dr. Cranky turns out to be somewhat nice after all.

(I will take silver linings wherever I can find them.)

I called Rebecca again shortly after noon, when I knew she had been back to pick up her daughter. Zoey was still in fine form. I called the daycare at 3:00--still doing great. She had napped for an hour and a half, even!

I picked her up at 4:30 and she was overjoyed to see me. She immediately asked to go bye-bye. I was happy to hear that everyone had participated in Project Slather-Zoey-In-Diaper-Cream, and happy to see that my child did not appear to be mentally unstable after being left all day in a daycare.

I asked her all about her day on the way home. Generally, this is a yes-or-no type conversation, meaning I ask yes-or-no questions and Zoey invariably answers "yeah". Did you play with your friends today? Yeah. Did you color a kitty picture? Yeah. Did you take a good nap? Yeah. Did you milk a cow? Yeah. Sure, mom, whatever. BUT, as we were getting out of the car, she pointedly (and very seriously) told me "apple. 'cool.". A breakthrough! "You had apples at school?!?" I asked her, so excited. The answer? "Yeah."

Surprisingly, she held it together at home for most of the evening. Judging by the contents of her lunch box (read: most of the contents that went WITH her to school came RIGHT BACK HOME), she had made it through most of the day on two bites of a sandwich and her applesauce. (A new favorite around here, dubbed "apple shoop".) This likely explains her Human Hoover Maneuver at dinner time. I couldn't keep the pasta and beans coming fast enough. We made it through bath time, and the Massive Meltdown I could sense was on it's way arrived at 7:37 p.m. (Approximately two hours later than I had originally predicted.)

She was in bed, asleep, by 8:00.

And that concludes my lengthy description of Zoey's First Day at Daycare. For those of you who only wanted the highlights, well, I'm sorry. Feel free to skim-read future posts!

Why I Love My Job

Because in no other profession, during a heated staff meeting, will you hear the following phrase:

"Look. I refuse to answer the phone with poopy hands, okay?"

Pre-school jitters...again.

Tomorrow, Zoey will be camping out at daycare FOR THE WHOLE DAY. As in, from 6:30 in the morning until whenever I can sneak out of work to pick her up. (2:00? 3:00? 4:30 at the latest...) While she has grown somewhat accustomed to being part of the preschool program that's included in the daycare, I'm totally dreading the entire experience tomorrow for several reasons:

1. I am dropping her off. Remember the anxiety over Bryan taking her to the first day of preschool? And the reasons behind that? If you completely reverse all those concerns (he won't dress her properly, tell the teacher about her diaper rash, etc.) you have a great reason why I should be concerned to be dropping her off. Our dining room table is presently covered with the following: Zoey's backpack, a container of diaper wipes, a bag containing enough breakfast foods to tide her over for three weeks, her entire (expertly coordinated) outfit, and a list of things not to forget in the morning. Overkill? Perhaps. I will SO be the mother they have to kick out of the daycare in the morning.

2. Tears. On anyone's behalf, mine or Zoey's.

3. Waking Zoey up at 6:00 so we can be out the door at 6:25. Yeah. Sounds like fun, right? This means I'll have to be up at 5:30...I can't even imagine how much caffeine I'll have to be jacked up on to survive the staff meeting I have to sit through at 7 a.m.

4. And that's just the first part of the day! The REAL delight comes when I pick her up and she's totally cranky for the rest of the evening because she's been left in daycare all day! On Monday, she spent the entire day at her best friend Ari's house, and she was STILL crabby when she got home. I don't think I have to tell you that daycare is no picnic in the park with Ari. New friends, a huge noisy crowd to contend with most of the day, and that horrid overly-religious lady at the front desk.

5. Oh God. I hadn't even considered how awful it will be if I have to leave my tearful toddler in the arms of a woman who believes babies shouldn't be separated from their mothers. I can't handle guilt at such an early hour of the morning. Whatever amount of caffeine I think I'll need at that point will have to be doubled. Tripled.

6. That damn diaper rash. The one that landed us back in the pediatrician's office this morning. As it turns out, my little girl has a raging yeast infection that needs to be treated with a special cream three times a day and THEN--get this--a special diaper cream that I had to mix myself at every other diaper change. (That's right. The doctor sent me home with A RECIPE for diaper cream. I had to go to Target and buy $15 worth of supplies to make the special mix. So, if you ever need $15 diaper cream, I'm your gal.) This means that all tubes and jars of cream must be carefully labeled and special instructions given when I drop her off. With the crazy religious lady. Who then has to give the instructions to Teacher Melina when she arrives on the scene at 8:30. There is a part of me that hates to ask a teacher responsible for seven toddlers to please be extra vigilant about my toddler's bottom...but then, on the other hand, that's what I pay her for, right?

7. Zoey has been to preschool several times by now. But we always dropped her off at 9:00 and picked her up by noon. What if parents start to show up tomorrow at 12:00 and she can't figure out where her Mommy and Daddy are?

Obviously, tomorrow will be a long day for Zoey AND for me.

We'll see who sheds the first tear...my money is on ME.

Lesson of the Day: Be careful what you throw away!

So, embedded in the old hardwood floor in our old dining room in our old house is a nail that periodically likes to pop up above sea level and snag my favorite socks. I find this very annoying, yet I enjoy retrieving the hammer and pounding the daylights out of the floor each time the nail claims another sock victim.

Zoey was intrigued by this whole process last night. When all the banging was said and done, I told her Mommy was very annoyed about having to throw away one of her best pairs of socks, because look at that hole!

In to the trash it went.

This morning, as per usual, I got Zoey up and changed her diaper. (The "leaden anchor diaper", as I think my friend Kelly described the first diaper of the morning. So true.) As I went to deposit it in the bathroom trash can, I happened to look down and noticed a splash of colorful gray and pink cotton in the bottom of the can. Hmmm. What....? I reached down to grab it, only to find on closer inspection that the ENTIRE contents of Zoey's sock drawer were now residing in the garbage can. Along with two kitchen washcloths and a hand towel.

Super.

I safely returned the socks to their dresser drawer and went out to have a conversation with my daughter about the difference between garbage and clothing.

But I kind of think she still doesn't get it...I am making a mental note to check the contents of all garbage cans before taking them outside, at least for the next couple weeks.

Hey, everyone!

Hey, Brooke, look at me! That blog I swore would be so difficult to set up took me approximately 10 minutes to design...go figure! I wanted to have a place where all our family and friends could look at recent pictures of our lovely little Zoey, and also where I could keep you updated on (and possibly amused by) everything she's been up to lately. I'll also fill you in on any interesting poop news from work, as well as how Bryan is holding out in school. I'm going to pull a few posts from my MySpace blog to get this whole thing started...enjoy!

Zoey goes to preschool tomorrow!

My concerns about Zoey's first day at daycare/preschool include:

1. Her daddy is taking her. And you KNOW that means he'll forget to bring something, or show up at the wrong time, or forget to tell her teacher that she has a diaper rash.

2. That evil religious lady who mans the front desk. You know, the one who tried to tell me that separation anxiety in toddlers is normal, because daycare is not what God intended for children at this age? Because babies aren't MEANT to be separated from their mommies? I am leary of her ability to have unlimited access to my child several times per week, lest she turn my baby into a bible thumping nutty Baptist.

3. Her clothes. Let's face it: Bryan can't dress our child for shit. And despite the fact that I have laid out every element of her First Day Outfit, right down to shoes and socks, I am concerned he'll overlook my choice and opt for a costume of his own design. First impressions are important, okay? Nobody wants their kid showing up on the first day looking like a clown or a homeless person.

4. What if she doesn't like it there? What if she doesn't have fun and nobody plays with her? What if she cries for Mama and I'm nowhere in sight? What if she wants to keep her baby doll with her and Teacher Melina tells her she needs to keep it in her cubby?

I'm sure she'll be fine. Even if she shows up looking like a refugee and my husband leaves the diaper rash cream at home. He's sitting across the room from me right now playing with Zoey's DoodlePro. I'm sure he'll remember everything I need him to know for tomorrow.

Right.

(Originally written September 21, 2008)

Zoey survived her first day at preschool!

1. Having Daddy take her turned out to be a good thing. Apparently she ran off with all the other kids in the gym as soon as she arrived and had no interest in saying goodbye to him. Dropping her off would have made ME teary; having her ignore my pathetic attempts to say goodbye would have put me over the edge. Also, he dressed her appropriately (read: in the outfit I had designated), took her picture on the front porch, and remembered to tell Teacher Melina that Zoey has a diaper rash. Check, check, and check.

2. Evil religious lady was not at the front desk when Bryan and Zoey arrived. Apparently she saves her appearances only for me, as my friend Kendra has also commented that she rarely sees her. Hmmm.

3. Teacher Melina sent home a note stating the following: "Zoey had such a good first day. She only cried a few times. Once we got to our class, she was fine. We listened to a Bible story and colored a picture in chaple today. (Only mildly disturbing that she misspelled "chapel".) Zoey really liked hiding in the big red house. See you Wednesday!" While it makes me a little sad to know she cried after she realized Daddy had left, I have little detail to go on--let's just say Teacher Melina's note home was far more informative than my husband's brief synopsis of Zoey's day. Again, probably for the best.

Her second day at preschool will be Wednesday, and I'll be doing the dropping off and picking up. I'm looking forward to another engaging conversation with the whack job religious lady at the front desk, and perhaps getting a little teary as I watch my brave little daughter march her Big-Girl self in to the gym to play with her friends.

(Originally written September 22, 2008)

Culture, with a glass of wine on the side.

I was so excited. Not so much that we were going to the symphony this afternoon, but that I had a reason to wear my cute black dress and use the adorable little clutch purse my sister, Michelle, made for me. The one that isn't big enough to carry a diaper, wipes, OR a snack trap.

"Oh good. Wine." Abby said as we entered the building, making a beeline for the bar. I followed happily--normally that's MY line. She had been arguing with Tom all morning. (Okay. All weekend.)

Here's the deal. Listening to an orchestra can be boring. My mother dragged me to my sister's many orchestra concerts when I was in high school, and it was always painful. From the initial 5th grade concert, where the screeching of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" was borderline endearing, to the extracurricular concerts Michelle took on in the Youth Symphony because torturing me with school programs just wasn't enough, it was all just long and PAINFUL.

BUT THERE WAS NEVER A BAR AT THE HIGH SCHOOL CONCERTS! AND THAT'S THE KEY!

I'm telling you, give me a glass of Chardonnay and I'm good to go! Bring on the violins! The clarinets! All the instruments I hated listening to my sisters play in school!

Hooray!

(Originally written September 28, 2008)

Father and daughter, together for five very long days.

Bryan and I have been married for nearly four years. In total, we have been together for almost nine years. And never in all that time have I seen him as thrilled to see me as he was the other day at the airport. Our daughter, Zoey, who will be two years old in December, stayed home with Daddy for FIVE WHOLE DAYS while I went to Atlanta to see my beloved sister, Abby. My vacation included long showers (the likes of which I normally experience only on the weekends when Bryan is home to keep tabs on Zoey), and sleeping in until 10:00 in the morning (which was really only 7 a.m. my time, but still, it felt luxurious). I shopped without having to rush through stores, I ate my food while it was hot and without having to cut someone else's portion first, I didn't have to wash many dishes. It was glorious. And when I arrived in Atlanta last Thursday, I made this prediction: Bryan is going to be FINE with Zoey until Monday, and then everything will fall apart. I was SO right. I hadn't anticipated just how much I would miss my daughter when I got to Atlanta. So I called home. Often. Like, three or four times a day. Thursday and Friday were great--Bryan reported they were having a fabulous time together. The weekend went smoothly as well, with some bumps in the road due to some lack of sleeping through the night. But they were fine! Having a great time, Mommy! We love you! The tone of the phone calls took a dramatic turn for the worse on Monday. Me: Hey babe! How's it going? Bryan: Oh my God. I'm so busy! This morning I had to take Zoey to preschool by 9:00, I had to have Pilgrim (our cat) at the vet by 9:15 and it wasn't like I could just drop HER off, I had to stay with her while she got her rabies shot! And I had to be at the chiropractor's office by 10:00--I just barely made it! Me: Wow. Busy morning. (Translation: So?) Bryan: AND WE HAVE NO FOOD! I mean, I went to the store the other day but all I had time to grab was milk, and cat food! Me: Well, at least the cats and Zoey are taken care of. Ha, ha. Bryan: It's not funny! I'm running out of things to fix, and Zoey is sick of grilled cheese. I miss your menu. And the grocery list you always write out. Me: Yeah, well, it CAN be hard to get all that accomplished while you have a toddler around. Let me talk to Zoey. Zoey: Mommy? Eat apples! I EAT APPLES! Eat, eat! The conversation continued on like this for several more minutes. The desperate tone of my daughter's voice conveyed the sense that she had been eating apples, and ONLY apples, for far too long. The joke had gone on long enough, Mommy, PLEASE COME HOME! Her first three-word-sentence--"I EAT APPLES!"-- and it had been an obvious plea for her Mommy to come back and plan a better menu than the one Daddy had arranged. I was proud. And worried. After eight hours of plane rides on Tuesday, I arrived home around noon. I had been up since 2:00 a.m. our time. I was tired. Bryan and Zoey met me at baggage claim. Zoey said "Hi Mama! Look! Baby!" Pointing out a baby across the room, she had apparently forgotten the length of my trip and the fact that she was exisiting solely on fruit and milk. Bryan hugged me so tight I thought I might stop breathing, and told me he was so happy to see me! And could we please go get some lunch, because he and Zoey were starving? We sat at Red Robin 20 minutes later and decided to order Zoey her own lunch from the kid's menu, even though it usually turns out to be a waste of $5.00. But when our food arrived, I watched as she and Bryan inhaled their ENTIRE meal. Bryan, in between bites, informed me that he'd love to TELL me he'd cleaned the house while I had been gone, but in reality, he'd only managed to pick up all the toys before they'd left to pick me up. I was grateful for the warning, too tired to care very much about a messy house, and really loving the appreciative looks I kept getting from him. On the surface, the house didn't look like a health hazard. But ..r inspection, after Zoey had gone down for her nap, I began to notice dust bunnies accumulating on the wood floors, jam crusted in drip-marks down the front of the stove, something sticky and dusty on the kitchen counters. Bryan wanted us both to lay down and take a nap...which was kind, but I could only lay there for 20 minutes, despite my exhaustion. Once I could tell he had passed out, I slipped upstairs to begin the deep cleaning that would last, as it turned out, for two days. I hit my stride and got the kitchen, living room, and dining room clean by the time Bryan and Zoey woke up. I planned a menu. I made a grocery list. (Bryan was right. The contents of the refrigerator included: milk, yogurt, and leftovers that had been in residence since before my departure for Atlanta.) Bryan, in all his gratitude, did whatever I asked him, while adding "anything for my wife!" in a cheerful tone. The cleaning continued on Wednesday while Zoey was at preschool. I cleaned the back half of the house: Zoey's room, the extra bedroom, and the bathroom. The bath tub was appalling and I wondered just how clean Zoey had REALLY gotten last night during her bath. And the laundry? Seriously. What a nightmare. I was so glad I had washed all MY clothes at Abby's house on Monday, because I had to wash the entire contents of Bryan and Zoey's wardrobe on Wednesday. When Bryan got home, I asked him if he had ANY clean clothes left? "No. I was out of underpants and Zoey has no clean pajamas." That night, for dinner, I fixed steak (his favorite) and scalloped potatoes (Zoey's favorite). Bryan sat admiringly at the table, and said "I suppose you finished all that laundry today, too, right?". He looked at me with what can only be described as total admiration. And that brings us to today, Thursday. In addition to getting Zoey and myself out the door to get our hair cut, taking her to a friend's house for a play date, and surviving the afternoon despite the fact that she refuses to nap, I have managed to clean the entire downstairs. (Our shower looked about as nasty as Zoey's bath tub.) And that, my friends? Is just how I roll. And now my husband knows it. And really, that was part of the whole trip to Atlanta. I wanted him to get a taste for all that goes on in this house, behind the scenes. The things nobody notices, but that happen in order for us to have clean underpants and dinners that aren't all some version of grilled sandwiches.