The daily report

Here's a little peek into my average Tuesday.

What's in my purse today:

1) blood pressure cuff

2) bib (unclear if clean or used)

3) almost-empty Dior lipstick in Rock Star

4) brand new Makeup Forever lipstick in 34

5) Tide pen

6) empty water bottle

7) Marshall's receipt (for the purse it's inside)

What Amazon.com suggests for me today:

1) Pampers Swaddlers size 3*

2) Conair hot rollers

3) Garnier eye de-puffer

4) 1 ounce silver coin**

5) Rustoleum water-proofing kit

*Um, what? First of all, we buy Huggies. And furthermore, we buy size 2 and size 4 but not 3. Maybe Amazon is averaging?

**I have no idea. I mean, seriously, no idea.

What's on my docket:

1) 4 for-sure rheumatoids and 1 diagnosis TBD

2) interviewing a housekeeper

3) cooking spaghetti

4) running 3 miles without stopping

5) futile attempt to stay dry while sitting in the splash zone of Ellison's bath

6) fall asleep within 3 minutes of lying down in bed

Wash, rinse, repeat tomorrow.  

Something good

Lots of stuff happens to me every day, much of which isn't worth blogging. Other stuff is way too big to throw out there into cyberspace. And other stuff is totally blog-worthy (and appropriate), but I simply run out of time. Just like I run out of time to put away laundry. Or paint my last 2 toenails. Both of which I'm neglecting to write this, all while Nick is fussing at me from the bedroom to just go to sleep if I'm as tired as I say I am. So I'll keep the second half short and sweet. Unlike the first half.

I used to call Ellison my favorite baby in the world, but we've had to alter that a bit now that Archer has a right to at least half that title. So Elle and I have a little ritual now - in the car on the way to daycare, at the dinner table, in the tub, where ever.

Me: Ellison, you're my favorite little girl...
E: In da werd! [in the world]

Guys, it's just perfect. She points out toward the wild blue yonder and gets this huge smile that scrunches up her whole face. The smile of a little girl who knows she is loved absolutely and unconditionally. And it makes her happy. And now, at the risk of sounding really super cheesey (which somehow seems not as bad when I'm sleep-deprived = almost always these days)...  it's been a real lesson to me about how our Heavenly Father views us.

God: Bethie, you're my favorite little girl...

OK, cheese-tastic moment over. I'm going to bed. Good-night, all.

Stuck in my head

So I'm back to being a kind-of runner. I have no half-marathon aspirations. I just want to fit into my skinny jeans again. I run the same loop 3 or 4 times a week (not quite 3 miles), and I find myself thinking the same thoughts. For your enjoyment, or at least entertainment, here are some of the frequent flyers in my supratentorial region (that's my conscious thought, peeps).

1) Ug, I have to pee. Why didn't I pee before I left the house? Oh wait, I did. Why do I have to pee again already?!

2) Hmm, is that stop sign Atwell or Braesmont? Hmph. Atwell. How can it only be Atwell? Haven't I been running longer than that? Why is it always just Atwell?!

3) These streets are so terrible. So many potholes. I hope I don't fall and break my ankle. I wonder how long before Nick comes looking for me? I really need to tell him my route so he knows where to start.

4) Is that car gonna move over? I think he's gonna hit me, better head for the side walk. Oh, just kidding. He's just swinging wide to turn into his driveway. He's probably laughing at me freaking out over here.

5) Bleh. I don't wanna do this. I still hate running. But you know what you hate more than running, Bethie? Not fitting into those J. Crew matchstick jeans. Keep going.

6) Don't slow down. Don't slow down. You don't have to go any faster, Bethie, just don't slow down.

7) Why am I the only one in this neighborhood running? Where do all the cool kids around here go to run? Or am I the only cool kid who does run?

8) I wonder if I should feel awkward running by that Jewish family walking to synagogue [on Saturday morning]. Does working out count as work that you aren't supposed to do on the Sabbath?

9) Oh! I forgot to get _____ at the grocery store!

10) The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round...

Young at heart

I saw an elderly woman as a new patient a few days ago. She was darling, like so many of them are, with her SAS loafers, giant "stone age" cell phone in her over-sized purse, multiple rhinestone brooches on her lapel. You get the picture.
While performing my physical exam, I thought I saw a hearing aid in her right ear. I moved her hair to take a closer look, and whaddya know? Twas a Bluetooth earpiece for her cell phone.

You go, girl.

Crazy going slowly am I

I know it's been a month. Sorry. I've been busy.

So I've fought the good fight against mommy-hood for these last 2 years. I wear skinny jeans and stilettos. I rage against the minivan. I still go to girls' movie night and book club and whatever else I want (as long as Nick doesn't mind being home alone, please and thank you). But there's a few tell-tale signs that I'm fighting a losing battle. Such as what, you ask?

I was in procedure clinic today, wrestling with the ultrasound and a really, really big knee. Like I stopped halfway and busted out a longer needle big. As I was fidgeting with the positioning and driving my needle, I caught myself humming under my breath.... "Graham cracker. Did you say graham cracker? And a chocolate bar, I've got one in my car!"

Yes, folks, I now sing kid songs even in my non-mommy down time. Oh my. If you see my eyeing pleated front, stonewashed denim, please wrestle me to the ground and point me toward the Banana Republic light.

Great moments in parenting: dandelions

So Nick and the kiddos (still so so weird to use the pleural form - may take me months to adjust) and the doggies and I were relaxing in the backyard yesterday afternoon because it was one of a handful of truly beautiful days here in H-town. Nick was playing fetch with Izzy and wrestling with Dallas. I was lounging in a deck chair holding Archer, and Ellison was running around in circles, which is apparently normal toddler behavior. And then a wonderful thing happened.
She toddler-ran up to me (kind of like normal running but involves a lot of arm flailing) and brought me a little gift - my first bouquet of weed flowers. It was actually kind of sweet. "Hee, mommy. Dare go. All fo' you." (Here, mommy. There you go. All for you.) I got a little case of the warm fuzzies at her generosity. I even started planning the scrapbook page in my head. But before I could whip out the phone to take a picture, little goober wadded them all back up in her grubby little fist and ran away.
B: Elle, bring me back my flowers!
E: No. Dese my fows. Esson's fows. [No, these are my flowers. Ellison's flowers.]
B: But you gave those to me! I wanted to take a picture!
E: Vigorous head shaking from the other side of the yard

Well, it was a beautiful moment while it lasted.

Older but not wiser

This post has been in the works for over a week now. But I just keep finding better things to do. Like sleep. Or start (and rapidly abort) potty training. But the latter is a story for a different day; it's still just too soon to relive that pain and suffering. But on to the actual post.

The birth of my second child (now that's a phrase to make you feel old) has occasioned a bit of reflections on the habits of my youth. And I'm afraid that I've probably reached a point in life where I should alter a few of my behaviors.

For example, I think that if one carries the word "professor" in one's job title, one should probably not wear tiny cotton running shorts into public. Ever. Even if one can "pull them off." [OK, this hypothetical, third-person "one" business is too hard to keep up. You all already know I'm talking about myself. So let's keep going, shall we?] So my favorite running shorts (some of which I have actually had since freshman year of college) should probably stay at home.

Along the same lines, I probably need to keep up with my manicures a little more closely. Meaning, I shouldn't go for days on end with really (and I mean really) chipped nails. It just sort of screams "insecure 7th grader who fidgets and picks at her nail polish to avoid looking you in the eye." And thankfully, that just isn't me anymore.

And back to the whole mommy business - maybe I should cease and desist the eating of ice cream by the pint directly from the carton. For breakfast. I mean, I only let Elle have 1 teeny weeny little bite from my bowl. It's sort of the height of ice cream hypocrisy, and it should probably stop. Nah, this last one stays. She'll just have to settle for waiting until she's old enough to sneak ice cream without me knowing to follow my bad example. And speaking of, I'm now in the mood for froyo. So perhaps Elle and I (sorry, Archer) will go indulge in a little Menchy's.

Hasta luego!