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    Ever seen that Dateline special on the germ count on the floors of locker rooms?

    January 25, 2007

    It was only when I got to the Rec Center that I realized I had left the towels by the front door at home.  So it is snowing.  I’m Ginny’s daughter.  I’ll figure this out because BY GOD, I am not take THE POSSESSED ONE home without his burning at least 700 calories in the pool.  I grabbed the Bounty from the trunk of my car (thank you, Derek, for always preparing for the car-trapped-in-the-blizzard/end-of-the-world-scenarios that I mock you about continuously).  30 minutes of splashing coupled with 2 attempts at near drowning and we found ourselves back in the locker room. 

    By golly, Bounty IS the quicker-picker-upper.  I left The Boy standing in the hot shower with the largest stall and I crammed myself into the corner to dry myself off and reclothe.  When I was done, I papertoweled him off and threw most of his clothes on him.  We went around the corner to finish dressing by the lockers and there was a woman there with her 4 year old and her 18 month old.   I just plodded along getting dressed as The Boy went in and out of the perfectly Ethan-sized locker in front of me.  Suddenly the other little girl was doing it too.

    W:  EMILY, I DON’T want you in that locker.
    E:  Why Mommy?
    W:  I just don’t want you in it.
    E:  Why Mommy?  Tell me why.  I want to know why.

    The woman made a furtive glance in my direction.

    W:  I’ll tell you in the car, Emily.  For now you just need to know that Mommy doesn’t want you to do it.

    Maybe it was my “Mommy Wants a Cocktail” t-shirt barely covering my belly.  Maybe it was the 10 pounds of melons encased in the black bra underneath the powder blue shirt.  Maybe it was the oh so fashionable brown cord pants with the huge forgotten pizza stain on my knee.  Maybe it was the thong underwear on a 9 month pregnant woman.  Maybe it was the fact that I was drying my son off with Bounty paper towels.  Maybe it was that locker rooms at gyms are the nastiest places on earth and she was waiting to get to the minivan in order to tell Emily that Mommy doesn’t want Emily to get an STD from climbing in and out of a locker that “may have been infected.” 

    All I know is that while she spent that time trying to telepathetically explain to Emily that she couldn’t tell her WHY she couldn’t get into the locker (“Emily, only bad mothers let their children play in lockers”), I was able to not only get my pants on, but my socks AND shoes on my pretty little non-swollen feet too. 

    K:  Where’s Ethan?
    E:  HERE HE IS!!!!!

    Out he jumped and we were on our way.

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    Signs that the primary bedtime caregiver may have fallen asleep before his charge

    January 23, 2007

    1.  You walk into the kitchen to find your son standing on the counter drinking honey and yelling “HOT TEA, HOT TEA” repeatedly.  Solution:  You wipe the honey off his face, forehead and ear (?) and send him back up the stairs to bed.
    2.  You walk around the corner and find your son eating a granny smith apple that came from….anyone???  anyone???  Uh, I don’t KNOW.  Solution:  You let him finish the apple and then you send him BACK upstairs.
    3.  You walk back into the kitchen because you think you hear something going through the trash can and you find your son on the counter AGAIN and this time he has a handful of granola bars in his hand.  Solution:  You open the granola bar, hand it to him and send him BACK upstairs.
    4.  You hear a loud crash of glass upstairs.  You run upstairs, throw on the bedroom light and find a screaming Ethan jumping up and down on a groggy Dad in Ethan’s bed.  On the floor is the shattered remains of the glass lamp (who buys a glass lamp from IKEA for a toddler’s room-even if it is really cute and really cheap?).  Dad sits up and says, “wha’ ‘appened?”  Solution:  You clean up the glass, turn out the light and shut the door behind you.  

    At least you didn’t have to put him to bed.

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    How to get a response out of me

    January 20, 2007

    E:  Morning, Daddy.
    D:  Good morning, Ethan.  Would you like to climb up in bed with Mom and Dad?
    E:  ‘Os.  Morning, Daddy.
    D:  Good morning, Ethan.
    E:  Daddy, Mommy hot (poking my non-responsive body)?
    D:  I think Mommy is hot but probably not in the way you are referring.
    E:  Mommy hot.  Mommy (poking my non-moving, possom-playing back).  Mommy, over.  Over, Mommy.
    D:  Buddy, I think Mommy only does that if you have a treat to offer her.

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    And here we have the saddest gingerbread house in America

    January 17, 2007

    So it’s a month late…his father was determined…

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    He’s a little swimming fool

    You gotta love the barbells

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    I’m sure his boogers aren’t contagious

    January 16, 2007

    The Rec Center has a strict
    policy.  Please keep your sick kids at
    home.  I’m all in agreement with it.  I mean, how many times over the years did  I mumble under my breath about all those
    rotten mothers who dragged around those kids with that thick green goo dangling
    from their nostrils (except you, Marelle. 
    I was never saying those things about you).  Don’t you have any social conscious?  Just because your kid is sick and you are
    tortured doesn’t mean that the rest of us need to get sick.

    Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  Because now I have this toddler that could be
    an inch from death and if he still doesn’t get his 10 mile morning run, he is
    hanging from the light fixtures.  And for
    heaven’s sake, it’s Monday.  Monday.  Which means that this is the BEGINNING of the
    week of activities.  Swimming, wiggles,
    swimming, school, school.  He can’t be
    missing any of these things.  Who will
    pay?  You got it.  Me. 

    So I did what any self-respecting, conniving mother would
    do.  I put Mr. Snotty Nose into a steaming
    shower this morning for a half hour. 
    When he got out, he had more wrinkles than seen at t.v. time in the rec
    room at St. Anne’s Home for the Infirmed.  He had begged repeatedly to get out.  But as long as the river flowed, the steam
    shower continued.  It wasn’t until the
    end of the 30 minutes that his nose was dry as a bone.  I couldn’t have done better with a supersonic
    WetVac. 

    Now I have to go and take pictures of my boy swimming in the
    pool with his dad.  I hope the other moms
    don’t catch on….

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