For my birthday this year, instead of the earrings that I wanted, I got a newly remodeled bathroom. Wait, let me rephrase that: I got the stuff to remodel the bathroom.

When we moved in here, we did almost nothing to the house save from starting to live here. When I got pregnant with Alex, we painted the previously Disgustingly Pink ™ room a nice shade of yellow, and because we kind of had to (and really, we enjoyed it) we bought furniture to go in there. Then, in a fit of maternal guilt, we bought most of the stuff to decorate Ben’s room, but because I was hugely pregnant, no progress was made on it. This weekend, we finished Ben’s room. This makes 2 (almost) finished rooms (I still have to hang some stuff in Alex’s room).

After we had bought the stuff for the bathroom (read: beginning of July), Dave set on the nasty task of removing the 3 (!!!!) completely different wallpaper + ancient glue. No easy task. He promptly got sick of it (honestly, who could blame him?) and stopped working on it.

Several weeks ago, I decided that I was sick and tired of living with it, and rather than pay someone (read: I’m cheap), that I would finish stripping the glue and paper myself. I knew it would not be an easy or pleasant road.

Yesterday I began work on it and I’m guessing that it will easily be another month before it’s even remotely completed. The old glue has bonded to the drywall in certain spots, which makes me glad as fcuk that we bought the industrial sized can of spackle.

I supose that on the bright side of things, at least my best and worst quality will play a factor in finishing this project: I’m damn determined.

I must correct myself for a moment. The worst job in the world IS NOT taping for painting. It is removing old wallpaper.

I am so freaking mad right now. So mad I could cry.

Let’s back up a bit, and I’ll explain myself. I send Ben to a private school which I have previously mocked as far as their asanine stipulations for school supplies, etc. I love, love, love the education that he recieves there, it’s totally perfect for his temperment and ability level and I have no doubt that he will continue to flourish there.

Which is a fucking good thing, because year after year they make me feel like I must be the worst parent ever in the world ever. As my brain is so full of anger right now, I am unable to post except for in bullet form.

* I have gone to no less than *5* stores to get school supplies for him PLUS having to pay double for something that I could only find on the Internet.

* Most of these items are still incorrect because the stipulations placed on them are so asinie as to not actually exist in real life. For example: a three subject, wide ruled, non-perforated edged, PLASTIC COVER ONLY yellow notebook. It does not exist.

*Without mentioning it on the memo that was sent home, I needed to buy 2 pairs of shoes for him to have at school. I only had bought one, and had to run out yesterday morning to buy him a second (but completely different) pair of heavily stipulated shoes. On Day 1 of school.

* We were never informed as to what time school both began and ended, nor were we told that he would have to take a lunch. Luckily I had guessed correctly and sent him with one the first day.

*As a back-to-school treat, I bought him some packets of cookies to take in his lunch. Today, Day 2 of school he was sent home with a note requesting that cookies not be sent to school in his lunch. Why couldn’t that have been mentioned BEFORE school began?!?

*His father and his family pay for school, INSTEAD of paying regular child support to us, which has been the arrangement since he began to go at age 3. The bills are always sent to his grandparents. Year after year, they forget this and send home bills to me with wee nasty-grams on them so I must call and complain over and over about it.

I guess that the moral of the story is that I am angry that there is almost no communication between the parents and the school. While I don’t mind being proactive as a parent I feel that this is getting out of hand and I am part way considering transferring him to the public school system.

Phase One is complete, and I must share what I have learned today:

1) ABSOLUTELY WHENEVER I have something of import to complete the following day, Alexander will be up every 1-2 hours the evening before. I shudder to think of what tonight will hold, besides lots of vodka.

2) For some reason, the people who lived here before us loved to use the walls as tissues. For boogies. Yes, that’s right, I spent the morning cleaning old crusty boogers off the damn wall. Damn straight, my life is glamorous.

3) Instead of using the $2 sponge to wash the walls (because it sucked and smeared the dust around without picking it up at all), I used a Swiffer, which I almost never use what with the complete wastefullness of such a device. My parents are hippies, what can I do here (besides use reusable cloths to dust with on any other day).

4) Taping the walls is damn near impossible while hoisting a 14 pound baby in the Baby Bijorn. But wearing said baby in Bijorn while carrying a 25 pound vacuum up a flight of stairs IS possible.

5) Being without music while prepping the walls is torture. Especially since my internal record player has the entire collection of School House Rock on repeat.

6) The dog who neurotically follows me up and down the stairs each and every time I go to grab the screaming baby is actually protecting the baby, not me. He, like the baby, is extremely upset that I am deviating from my daily routine.

7) Taping the walls is possibly the worst job ever.

8) Ben has been living with a crustified cat turd under his bed for I don’t even know how long. This makes me feel very guilty.

9) It is approximately 900 degrees with 100% humidity inside Ben’s room today, which means that I smell horrifying. And I wonder why no one wants to come help me paint this weekend…

I can only imagine what tomorrow with all of it’s prime-y goodness will bring…

I’ve spent the last 6-7 months gearing up to redecorate el Benjamin’s room, starting when I realized how much time and energy we had focused on Alex’s room, which made me feel quite guilty. Alex has yet to spend even a single night in his bedroom (and his crib, OH his crib, it cost an insane amount. I’m considering sleeping in there myself, just to get my money’s worth) and Ben, well, he’s stuck in his room every night that he is home. In a toddler bed. With mismatched furniture.

We picked out the theme for his room, which had to be 1) approved by myself and 2) nothing too theme-y because that’s really not how I roll, and finally decided on this. It’s obviously not as awesome from Pottery Barn Kids, but hey, we didn’t have to take out a second mortgage to afford it, which is a plus and a half in my book.

After purchasing this in oh, I don’t know January, we decided that it was high time to finally do something. Which included buying a bed without a crib mattress, so when we saw the one we’d initially been casting our eyeballs on finally on sale, we sprung into action.

(as an aside here, who the hell knew that beds were so bloody expensive? Apparently, they’re made out of platinum and diamonds and the tears of wee babies.)

So this weekend, we (and by we I mean I) will be painting, which is awesome, aside from the fact that we had no paint.

Off to the happiest place on Earth I know (aside from Target, which ALSO happens to be the happiest place on Earth. How the two co-exist, I have no idea) we trucked. And as we pulled into the lot, we noted how nasty and black the sky was behind the hardware store.

We started to gather our supplies as the rains began to pound down onto the metal roof while remarking on our good fortune not to be outside during the downpour. As I was examining roller covers–something I’d never before cared about–an alarmed employee mentioned that there had been tornadoes seen in the area. Having lived in the Midwest my whole life, I found nothing particularly alarming about the statement.

I mean, there are ALWAYS summer tornadoes. Big deal.

This news set the WHOLE STAFF into a blind panic. We were not allowed to leave the store, and a frightened mass of employees gathered at the front of the store windows (um, duh. Away from the glass, folks. That’s dangerous) all chirping nervously away, occasionally one would sprint wildly–and aimlessly–around the store like Chicken Little causing general unease and out and out fear among the patrons. The power went off as we were looking at lights and when the emergency lights came up we decided that around glass was probably not a great place to hang out. Especially with Alex around.

Languidly, we strolled to the back of the store where a frantic employee had been trying to direct us, because apparently there was ANOTHER BABY BACK THERE, YES ALL OF THE BABIES NEED TO BE TOGETHER. We took a seat on some chairs and began to wait when I heard the unmistakable cry of a child about Alex’s age threatening to drown out the cries of his mother.

I went over and invited the poor woman who was almost hyperventilating to sit down, when I realized that the poor woman had 2 babies with her and she informed me THAT SHE HAD JUST MOVED OUT HERE FROM COLORADO YESTERDAY, where they do not experience weather like this. And of course, with the alarmist attitude of the staff (which was nearly hilarious, because seriously, hadn’t at least some of these people been through this before?), she was undeniably shaken to the core, imagining that the tornado was going to suck us all up.

The Daver and I calmed her down while we compared notes on what having babies was like. Overall, it was a pretty pleasant way to get trapped somewhere, even though the computers were down by the time that we were finally free to go (the light! I can see the light!!) and it took about 29,034 hours to get all of our myriad of stuff coded and priced.

And so the real fun begins: phase one of wiping down grody kid walls begins in the morning. With only one kid (as el Benjamin’s help would not actually be help at all, what with the constant redirection and likely spilling buckets of water onto the white carpet. Oh, white carpet, you are the bane of my existence) in tow.

The Great Taping Project will commence in the afternoon, after the walls dry and I soothe Alexander from what is sure to be hysterics stemming from GOING OUTSIDE THE ROUTINE, MOMMY.

Heh. Wanna come help?

I’ve always had a great amount of admiration for parents who look so at ease while out with their young children, sitting serenely at dinner with the babe happily gumming his hands while sitting in his car seat. If the camera were to pan to my table, you’d likely see my six year old hard at work on completing the kids menu games, my the top of my husband’s head while clicking away on the Blackberry and me, sitting with the baby on my lap while he attempts to fling my plate back to the kitchen. That wide-eyed look on my face: it’s not Xanex-induced euphoria, it’s fear.

You see, after having 2 extremely demanding/screamy/colicky/generally unpleasant babies, I have started to hate going out without reinforcements. Having been front and center in the Great Colicky Baby saga of 2001-2, including such highlights as Out At Dinner, Where’s The Damn Check and At A Friend’s House, This Must Be Better Than Birth Control. 2004-5 held such gems during public bathroom potty training as Mom, Where Is Your Penis And Is It Dirty Down There? and Dave, Can I Hold Your Penis? These days, I’m more apt to have to fight such battles as Dude, Where Is The Tit? and But I Waaaannnnnnnttttt It, Mommy!!!

I want to be able to suck it up and not get so damn stressed out by it because I genuinely hate sitting around the house day after day, as I know that the only behavior that can be changed is my own. Aside from Xanex, I have no idea how I can do it.

I just watched Alexander, my talkative baby have a full out conversation, complete with full belly laughs with my nipple.

Either he was laughing at the smell eminating from my armpit, or the nipples the size of Mount Rushmore.

I had only one goal for being pregnant with Alexander. One stinking, flipping goal: not to become a total fatass as I had done with Ben. I ate well, occasionally indulging, of course, but overall, I grabbed a bowl of green beans over a donut every damn time. I guess the old “if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans” really rang true for me as I still managed to gain roughly what I did with Ben, WITHOUT THE DELICIOUS CHOCOLATELY GOODNESS.

So I figured, so what, I’d be one of those women who breastfed and lost most of the baby weight. I was okay with being 10 or 15 lbs fatter when I weaned him, but things are getting ridiculous over here. I’ve been nursing for nearly 5 months, and when I first attempted to diet I GAINED 3.5 LBS. I’ve since lost that plus an additional 2-3 lbs, but it’s killing me over here. I saw a picture of myself taken last night and nearly wept, who IS this fat person that’s taken over my body?

I considered doing Jenny Craig, but it’s extremely expensive (ala $400 a month) and I freaking hate boxed meals. I’ve tried the eating tofu, egg whites, and veggies and still, it’s not coming off fast enough for me. I’m nursing, so I can’t do anything extreme like I’d like to do, so I’m thinking Weight Watchers may be my best bet as I’m obviously not doing something right. It’d be one thing if I’d been holed up on my couch with a bag of Cheez It’s and a 24 case of Coke, but unfortunatly I’m not.

I think what’s most interesting about all of this is that if someone came to me and complained about the same thing, I’d remind her to give herself a damn break, that she’d JUST had a baby and was essentially giving him the best nutrition possible and that she needed to let it go for awhile. I DID try to let it go, and it lasted about a week before I realized that I was STILL obsessing about it.

So here is my plea, dear readers (few and far between as you may be) WHAT should I do here? How can I either buckle down and lose this fat or let it go for another couple of months?

The child must know that he is a miracle, that since the beginning of the world there hasn’t been, and until the end of the world there will not be, another child like him. (-Pablo Casals)

Happy Birthday, big guy. It’s been a hell of a ride so far and we can’t wait to watch you grow even more (but seriously now, could you PLEASE stop growing so damn fast?!?).

I haven’t been childless in over 6 years. I’ve been married for 2. But I have been informed over and over about how much harder it is to be single than to be married. Not knowing what it’s like to be single and over the age of 20, I can only guess.

Opinions being like assholes and all, here’s my list of why it must be harder to be single and childless than it is to be married + kids.

1. All of those nights that you go out to dinner and HAVE to actually spend your night discussing days events and feelings and other bullshit like that. God, compare that to the screaming baby WHO ONLY WANTS THE TIT and having to constantly have your conversations interrupted with stories about Dora the Explorer. Sheesh, wouldn’t THAT be MORE relaxing?

2. You have to CONSTANTLY remind other people JUST HOW SINGLE YOU ARE and HOW YOU ARE NEVER, EVER GETTING MARRIED so that they never, ever forget it. Even if they don’t care at all either way.

3. You can use every available opportunity to remind your married + kids friends that no matter how much sleep they are not getting or whatever other bullshit they might happen to complain about to remind them that NO MATTER WHAT your life will always be harder. Because you are single.

4. The aroma of baby poo will NEVER fill your bedroom. Add a sleeping baby into the mix, and you won’t EVER have an excuse not to hump! Nothing gets you in the mood for sex like baby poo.

5. You will never have an excuse why you can’t just go to sleep after work and take the night off. Because if you don’t make it to run your grocery store errands, you’ll just have to subsist on takeout food. And Lord KNOWS that it’s more expensive to get takeout for one person than it is for 3 or 4.

6. Overnight, no one wakes you up demanding something that only YOU can provide. And if, by chance, a lover/boyfriend is over and wakes you up, you can roll over knowing that he can get whatever he wants for himself. Unless it’s sex, which you can’t avoid without the gentle aroma of rotting baby poo wafting through the room. It sucks not to be so needed!

7. You can constantly lessen the amount of work that your friends that do not work do by degrading what they have chosen to do with their lives. If you don’t work, and are (gasp!!) supported by someone else (double gasp!!!), what right do you have to complain about ANYTHING!?! Working a stressful job and paying your own bills by yourself makes you a far, far better person, and you should remind anyone else who does not do what you do of that.

8. Any messes that are made in your place are obviously made by you, which sucks because you have no one else to blame it on! If only you had a couple of other people to clean up after so that you could blame them!

9. Getting paid well, getting occasional promotions as well as the occasional “good job!” from the bosses are nothing compared to having nipples bitten almost off or the ever popular “I am not going to live here ANYMORE!” statement when you dare refuse the child something. That sounds like payment enough to me!!! Who wouldn’t feel good about themselves when their 6 year old is having yet ANOTHER tantrum about having to drink his milk!?! Being barfed on, or better yet, having the kid barf on the floor so that you have to then clean the floor too is BETTER than a promotion!

10. Running errands by yourself SUCKS! It’s so much easier to do it with an overanxious 6 year old who cannot keep his hands off anything and a baby that insists on being held the whole time! The shopping cart practically pushes itself!

But daytime TV, (shudder) now THAT’S scary.

In order to know what other moms think, I tend to lurk on some “mommy blogs.” It helps me not to feel so alone in the SAHM world, considering most of my friends have big girl jobs and no kids. It’s a hotly debated subject, the stay at home moms vs. the working mothers, one that I don’t have much to say about. Both are hard, and usually I relish that I have no hard deadlines and bosses that I can ignore if I need to.

Today, however, I want nothing more than to take a sick day. I want to pull the covers up over my head and take the rest of the day off. I want to be responsible for nothing and no one. Alas, I cannot as I have no backup.

I’ll keep on truckin’ as I always do, and tomorrow will be a brighter day, I just know it.