Truck You

I'm not exactly sure when the day went completely downhill. We went for the fall craft morning session at the library. There is nothing like trying to control a 2 year old around paint AND glue, let me tell you. On one hand, it was nice that there were only 2 other kids in the session. That way our sweet librarian could help me handle my 3. But it's always disconcerting to have the only and far apart kid parents stare at me as I try to pay attention to all 3 kids, who grow more and more rambunctious while the solo kids sit there quietly. Especially when I totally fumbled the instant they sat down and let Hugmonkey grab a paint brush while I was talking to Ironflower. But they all made great projects, and Lovebug really surprised me with his design and attention to detail - he finally applied his Lego skills to art!

After surviving that unscathed (only because, I'm sure, I had an emergency outfit for Lovebug in the car because it was school picture day - if I hadn't had one, paint would have been everywhere), and finding out that I don't currently owe the library any fines or lost books (obviously there's been a computer error), I started to relax. That's probably when the gods decided to teach me a lesson. We dropped Ironflower at her school, which is close to our house. In fact, we'd stopped by the house first so I could exchange their winter coats for lighter jackets in light of the nice weather. Then to the elementary and then to Lovebug's preschool 10 minutes away.

I was pulling into the parking lot at the preschool when I reached into his school bag to pull out the picture order form so I wouldn't forget to give it to his teacher. Naturally it wasn't there. Or on the floor. Or in my purse.

And I hadn't noticed it when I went home to get the jackets.

And I didn't have my checkbook with me.

Since we were early (we're always early, we can drop Ironflower off 25 minutes before Lovebug has to be in school), I decided to quickly drive home to find the damn picture envelope. But I got stuck behind a landscaping truck.

I have known some perfectly lovely landscapers. Hot Guy was even a landscaper in his youth. BUT. This truck was pulling a bunch of leaf blowers. I am convinced that we could end global warming and possibly childhood cancer if we banned leaf blowers. The leaf blowers proved that the day was definitely going downhill as the truck drove UNDER the speed limit the entire way back to my street. I raced into the house and found the envelope in the third place I looked.

I jumped back into the car and began racing back to the school. But there was another landscaper truck. It wasn't hauling leaf blowers, but it might as well had been. We began going at a snail's pace and I may have muttered some curse words. And I may have giggled when the boys repeated, "Damn leaf blowers!" before I admonished them about swearing.

I may have let them swear with me when ANOTHER landscaper truck backed into the road and blocked traffic. Maybe. Also, I may have made things worse when I worried aloud about Lovebug missing school pictures. But, you know, it was the LANDSCAPER TRUCK's fault, not mine. If they had not been blocking the road, I never would have made Lovebug cry.

Which made Hugmonkey cry.

Both were calming down when we pulled into the school and I practically made them run into the building.

Then Hugmonkey and I returned home. And - I swear this is the truth - when I started thinking about how late Hugmonkey was going to be for his nap, a landscaper truck pulled in front of me.

This has got to be karma for the fact that I refuse to learn how to mow, which doesn't matter now that we live in a development but was a bigger problem when I was a single person with a grassy yard. Obviously they are proving that since people like me are too damn lazy or busy to mow, they have a right to drive very slowly EVERYWHERE and to blow leaves for hours on end.

I would like to report that the day got better, but our after school experience included Hugmonkey crying at the top of a giant slide, Lovebug getting kicked in the head, Ironflower falling off the monkey bars and our Cars DVD not working.

Although there are no landscaper trucks barring my route to the refrigerator, so that's something.

Whipping Out The Boob

Sometimes people compliment me for breastfeeding, impressed with my commitment and devotion. I smile modestly. Because if I say anything I'm afraid I'll laugh.

I embraced breastfeeding not because it's supposedly better for children (turns out some of the research has been dubious at best, or so one article I read recently claimed) and not because it is SO MUCH cheaper than formula.

I started breastfeeding for those reasons, sure. But I've also started doing yoga because it was good for me. . .  . . . . several times. Follow through is not my strong suit, especially when you're talking about something as time-consuming, alcohol-denying and occasionally painful as breastfeeding.

I lasted ten months with Ironflower. She weaned herself. Lovebug was fifteen months. And ChunkyMonkey is coming up on eleven months. That would be good for someone who's only made it a month or so with yoga, except for one thing:

I'm a dedicated breastfeeder because I am LAZY. Newborn cried in the middle of the night? I didn't have to get my ass out of bed, let alone go down to the kitchen. I never had to spend hours washing bottles - in fact, with the last two, I didn't spend any time washing bottles. And when the kid was fussy and no one knew what to do with him? (I say "him" because, honestly, Ironflower was a super easy baby) All I had to do was whip out a boob.

And then, Friday night, it didn't work. ChunkyMonkey DID NOT WANT TO NURSE. He fussed and screamed and yelled and I was lost. I tried each boob multiple times. I walked and bounced. I swayed. I paced. He kept screaming.

Eventually I realized that his stuffy nose meant he couldn't breathe with the boob or the pacifier in and that I was screwed. ChunkyMonkey nurses, then goes to sleep with his pacifier. This is our routine. It works. Except for Friday. And all I could think was, oh my God, what do people who don't nurse DO?

Let me say something to those who look down on bottle feeders: Shut up. You have no idea what those people go through to calm their children (such as pushing the stroller all night long, like I did on Friday) down.

And let me say something to all the women who have told me that they didn't breastfeed because it seemed "too hard": Pushing a stroller all night is a lot harder than breastfeeding, even after they have teeth.

What do you guys think?