G Training

Over at 365 days I really developed a style of expressing how I felt with song lyrics and then using those song lyrics to come up with an idea for a picture:

Fighting for your relationship? I give you Soldier

Marveling over the love for your child? I give you Little Wonders

Felling a bit randy, baby? It’s Still the Night

Missing someone? Ask them to Return to Me.



And so on and so on. I have a ton of them.

I’ve grown so used to relying on songs as a means of expression that I’m finding it a bit difficult to blog. (Harnessing my inner Mary Catherine Gallagher) I guess that if I had to pick a song to sum up how I feel today it would be Sailor by Tracy Chapman.

Ummmmm. Yeah.

See? That type of expression doesn’t work so well in blog format.

So please bear with me as I try to get back into blogging and resort to talking about what I know best: boobs and poop. Actually, I’ll spare you the boob talk and just get straight to poop.

The Gavinator will be 4 in September and is still not pooping in the potty. I haven’t really forced the issue because in all honestly, I know my kid and dude is completely freaked when it comes to pooping in the potty and is not playing around at all. I’m worried if I force the issue he will begin to hold in his poop, stretch out his colon, and he’ll wind up with life long chronic constipation and ummmmm, having him fully potty trained really ain’t worth a lifetime of poop chute issues.

On the other hand, if I don’t put a diaper on him when he needs to poop he could just decide to start pooping wherever he wants to and ummmmmm, having him fully potty trained is not really worth a lifetime of living in a house that smells like poop.

I’m at a loss. I really don’t know how to handle this issue and I use the term “issue” loosely as it really isn’t something I’m worried about. I’m pretty sure I’m doing the right thing by not forcing the issue but then again, I would love to have him out of diapers- especially poopy diapers.

Grace accidentally pooped in the potty on Mother’s Day (thank you, Goose) and by accidentally I mean we were doing our usual stick her on the potty before bath routine and she pooped. It wasn’t like she came up and told us she needed to do it. We made a HUGE deal out of it and we decided to start trying to potty train Goose but as you can see from the e-mail the hubs sent me yesterday at work, day one of Goose training can best be summed up by “holy crap if we keep this up my entire house is going to smell like Goose urine forever” (witty, I know):

Just an fyi.......i've had Grace in panties for about 2 hours and it has been a failure...yes I know it's going to take time. So far she has sat on the potty about a dozen times with no results. She has gone pee pee in her panties twice now so im going to put a diaper on and try again later....she's almost out of panties. I'll get more at walmart this week. Oh and nothing from Gavin yet but he has yet to need to poop.......

Side note: Reading that e-mail from the hubs really made me miss the days when he used e-mails as foreplay

Eek! I just inadvertently admitted that we shop at Walmart! Don’t tell the debate board!!!!

Anyhoo, when I got home from work yesterday the Gavinator begged for a diaper so he could poop. I decided to ride the wave of Goose just pooping on the potty and see if we could use that as an incentive to get Gavinator to give it a try and I said no and stuck him on the potty. Since I have developed some educational tools at work regarding potty training (not be hater because I have such a cool job and get to talk about poop so much… nobody likes a hater) so I know some things that can be done to ease the pooping experience. I made sure he was comfortable and I got a little stool to support his feet and I got a couple of books for us to read. I remembered that one of the education tools suggested having the child blow out through their mouth to encourage pooping so I started blowing and encouraged Gavin to start blowing like he was trying to blow out a candle. He asked me why and I told him it would help him poop.

I mean, right?

Next thing I know he has his head down between his legs blowing into the potty and when I asked him what he was doing he told me “I’m blowing out my poop!!!”

I mean, right?

People, you couldn’t make this stuff up. Me and Goose sitting on the bathroom floor, books everywhere, and Gavin up on the potty, feet supported by a stool, with his head between his legs trying to blow out his poop.

Good times.

On the bright side, as soon as Gavin was done trying to blow out his poop, I sat Goose on the potty and she pooped. Of course, Goose has never had a problem with pooping.

I really hope you already ate before you read this post.

The Secret

This morning I went to “Muffins with Mom” at Gavin’s preschool in honor of mother’s day. Before we left the house I told him how excited I was to be going to school with him and he told me “No! You can’t go to school with me!” Sweet. Love you, too, kiddo.

On the drive to school he told me that he didn’t want to sit me and that I could sit with Ella and he was going to sit with John David. Right. Because John David squeezed your giant head out of his nether regions so of course you should want to sit with him at a mother’s day breakfast.

As it turned out, I was the fetcher of muffins and juice so he wanted to sit with me but he wouldn’t let me eat. He took the muffins off of my plate and put them on his and ate all of them. The Gavinator is not that big of an eater so I imagine the only reason he ate all four mini muffins was so I could not eat the muffins. He also knows I am entirely too vain to make a second trip to the buffet with a hundred other women looking on so he had covered all the bases of “operation starve mom at the muffins for mom breakfast”. Awesome. I can hear the sales from my mom diet book skyrocketing.

However, the craziest thing about the breakfast was not that my son did not want me to go, did not want me to sit next to him, and did not want me to eat. It was as I was trying to get my butt back to work in time for a meeting that Gavin did decide I was worthy of his love and would not let go of my leg that a woman came up to me and told me that she had been dying to meet me and she just knew I must be something special.

Come again?

I thought people spreading tales of my glory in bathroom stalls ended in Morgantown.

What the hell was she talking about? She thinks I’m special because my kid is totally and completely insane and I have made it three and half years without institutionalizing him? She reads my blog? Follows my 365? Thinks I’m special because for someone who is as flat chested as a 12 year old boy I manage to talk about and show off my ta-tas daily? (speaking of the ta-ta’s, they’re fine… thanks for asking)

As it turns out, it was none of the above. She was dying to meet me and assumed I was special because I’m married to a man who… GASP… SHOCK… takes care of his children!!!!!!! She told me she sees the husband drop off the Gavinator and pick him three times a week with the Goose in tow and she just doesn’t understand how with all his testosterone and scrotal tissue he manages to do it when her husband can’t even play catch with her kids and would NEVER do what my husband does. She went on to tell me that I am SO lucky and SO blessed and she is SO happy to finally be able to see the kind of woman who could get a man like that.

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

I leaned in and told her that he cooks, too, and you would have thought I told her that he was making me orgasm at that very moment from one mile away.

I don’t know what is more sad: that she is married to a man that can’t even play catch with his own damn kids or that another female would think it was so earth shattering terrific and amazing that a man is doing what 62 billion other women do EVERY. STINKIN’. DAY. Not only that, women do it with NONE of the crazy accolades that this woman expressed to me. Hell, I do what he does and no one runs up to the husband wanting to meet the man who is married to me! I also hate the insinuation that I must be so flippin’ special for him to that. It was almost like she wanted me to let her in on my secret of how to make man take care of his kids.

You want to know my secret? Don’t procreate with a piece of shit who won’t even play catch with his own kids and uses a Y chromosome as an excuse.

Now granted, I am one hot piece of ass with a magical vagina but he doesn’t take care of his own children for those reasons. He takes care of his children because they are his children. That’s what parents- male and female- are supposed to do.

Don’t get me wrong. I do know I am lucky and I do know I am blessed and my husband is a pretty terrific father and while maybe he can’t always make me orgasm from a mile away, he’s got a pretty good average.

Working Moms Finding Time for Children

No sleep? Check

Filthy house? Check

Husband who? Check


Did they use me in this study?

I have failed as a mother AND a dietitian

This morning, the kiddos and I were sitting at a red light at an intersection across from where I work when Gavin started yelling "McDonald's! McDonald's!! I see McDonald's!!!" I looked all around and was all "where do you see a McDonald's" because while there is a McD's close to where I work (face it, there is a McD's close to EVERYTHING), it is nowhere near the intersection we were sitting at. Gavin pointed and told me "over there!!" So I looked in the direction he was pointing and there, waaaaay in the distance on the other side of a forest of trees, I could barely see pieces of the bright red, trademark McDonald's roof through the tree limbs. Seriously, the boy was able to assertain that it was in fact a McDonald's by seeing 1/1000th of the roof from practically a half mile away AND with a million trees blocking the view.

Nice. One point McDonald's. Zero points me.

Later in the morning I called the husband to see how thing were going and I could hear Grace in the background screaming "Donald's! Donald's!" I asked the husband if that was what I thought it was and he confirmed that yes, the Goose was begging to go to McDonald's.

Sweet. Two points McDonald's. Zero points me.

The "Officially a Mom" Diet

Alright, folks. I have finally decided to write a diet book for all those mom out there wanting to lose the baby weight. It is based upon years of extensive research, personal experience, and cutting-edge nutritional science. I have even made an easy to follow photo tutorial for the laymans.

Step 1.

Prepare something to eat. Doesn't matter what it is. You can eat whatever you want on this diet. The only caveat is that your children MUST be nearby when you are eating.

Step 2.

Sit down to eat.

This is where the magic happens. Once your children see you with food, they will quickly shun whatever is on their plates in favor of whatever it is you are eating. Like lions circling a gazelle, they will move in closer and closer and then finally....

Step 3.

For every bite you take, give the kids three... or four.... or hell, give them the whole thing if it keeps them from screaming their heads off.



Photo tutorial:



What do you think?


I'm going to make millions!!!

I got a fever

And the only prescription is NOT more cowbell!

It's more babies!!!!!

I have a raging case of baby fever. Three of my coworkers are pregnant and they are so stinkin' cute and all curvy and glowy and "baby this" and "baby that". One of them had their big ultrasound to find out the gender (boy) on Tuesday and we watched the video yesterday afternoon and I was practically in tears the entire time remembering my ultrasound videos with the G-unit and the insane amount of excitment that came with seeing the "hotdog" or the "cheeseburger" for the first time. It is amazing that something that resembles a grayish blob at worst and Skeletor at best can be the most amazingly beautiful thing in the world.

Argh. I let one of my coworkers borrow my maternity clothes and I swear, clothes that a mere 2 years ago I bitched about wearing are now the cutest duds EVAH and I just want to be able to wear them again! I have reached out to rub the preggo bellies so many times (yes, I'm one of THOSE annoying people now) that I'm just waiting to be called to Human Resources to be reprimanded for harrassment.

It's not that I don't feel complete right now. I do. I feel very complete. I'm overwhelmed with completeness. I am Mrs. Complety Completedness from the Land of Completia.

I don't even think having another baby would cure the fever. I know that if I did have another baby, once the baby stage came to an end, I would probably be longing to have another baby and then once that baby stage ended, I would long to have another... and another... and another....

I'm sick.

Playing hooky from work today

Ok, so maybe it's not really hooky considering I have permission to not be at work and I am receiving paid time off today but "playing hooky" sounds so much cooler don't you think?

And after last night's Real World post, I can use all the help in the cool department that I can possibly get.

I'm at home because Gavin's Christmas presentation at preschool is today at 11:00. I helped him get dressed this morning in the shirt he made last week at school for this very occasion. I told him he had angels on his shirt and he got mad at me and was all "NOT ANGELS, MAMA!!!!! PAINT!!! IT'S PAINT!!!!!"

"Fine. I'll compromise. Not just angels but paint in the shape of angels."

"NOT ANGELS!!!! NO ANGELS!!!!! PAINT!!!! PAINT!!!!!"

"Fine. You have paint on your shirt."

So here is the Gavinator in his "NOT ANGELS PAINT" shirt:






I just hope I can keep the waterworks to a minimum this time around.

Public Service Announcement

The FDA issued a warning letter to Nestle.

This letter is dated November 27, 2006, and this is the first piece of information I have come across regarding the fact that "Nestle® brand Good Start Infant Formula with Iron (was found to be) in violation of the Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act (the Act) and the implementing regulations contained within Title 21, Code of Federal Regulations, Part 107 (21 CFR 107)".

Apparently the calcium and phosphorus levels were below the minimum requirements set for infant formula and were less than what was stated on the label.

I have been scouring the internet looking for more information and I came across this from the Associated Press dated December 12, 2006. Nestle has 15 working days to address the FDA's concerns so hopefully we'll know more soon.

I just don't understand how a woman breastfeeding on a plane can cause a media frenzy while infant formula found to be nutritionally deficient barely causes a blip on the media radar.

Dirty Santa

I attended a holiday party/going away party for a coworker tonight and we played Dirty Santa (see definition number two).

I ended up with Booby Boosters and a training bra:



At the end of the game, everyone was all "hahahahaha... how funny that everyone ended up with a gift that was appopriate for them!!!" and I was all "yeah, hahahahahaha, really funny that WE ALL ended up with gifts appropriate for OURSELVES because hahahahahahaha, I got a training bra and hahahahahaha, I don't have any boobies!! Isn't that hysterical!?! I'm built like a 12 year old boy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ouch! My side!!! I can't stop laughing!!!!! Not having breasts is heeeeeee-steeeeer-i-caaaaaaaal!!!!!!!!!"

Oh well, I can't say they don't have a point:



Too bad I didn't end up with the inflatable husband. I could certainly use the comfort of a man who can't talk and has an excuse for not listening to me right now.

Five years of Service

In addition to receiving my five year service award last night (the watch, not the ring... or the hairy forearm), I danced the funky chicken, competed in a limbo contest, a twist contest, and a ball contest (ball contest is where you and your partner dance while keeping a ball between you), and twirled our hospital administrator around the dance floor by his necktie to the tune of YMCA.

I got robbed. I totally would have won the limbo if "ability to flash one's beaver" was past of our annual evaluations and I came in second in the twist contest but only because I was up against the director of Human Resources and hello, what unemployment-fearing soul wouldn't choose him over me? Of course, once I got tired of doing the twist I started doing the running man. Twist.. running man... whatevah. I also came in second during the ball contest but only because it was taking too long and DJ was anxious to wrap things up. One of the directors came up to me at the end of the night because he totally agreed that I was robbed and gave me his door prize- a $50 gift Card to Bi-Lo.

Although I came in second during the ball contest, I definitely came in first in inciting many lesbian fantasies. My partner during the ball dance was one of my favorite coworkers who also happen to be one incredibly hot blonde. As soon as the dance started we almost dropped the ball and by going down as low as we could go, we caught the ball between our crotches and wound up dancing like that most of the time. We worked the ball back up and then were pretty much boob to boob with it. Turns out it was a good thing that I didn't wear the green dress because "ability to flash one's boobages" is not part of our annual evaluations, either.

Alas, no pictures. The husband was busy at the bar watching WVU defeat Rutgers in triple overtime (can I get a hells yeah) but when I was doing the lesbian waltz ball dance, I was nearly blinded by all the flashes so I'm sure in due time I will have plenty of photos of shaking what my mama gave me in front of the people I have to face tomorrow morning at 8 am.

Sweet.

Makeover Mama

Before:




After:

The winner is....

The winner is….

The black dress.

But only by default.

I really want to wear the green dress. It’s so, so, so pretty and frilly that it makes me feel like prancing about in ballet slippers while singing songs about ovaries and menstruation and osteoporosis.

It’s that feminine.

I raced home from work yesterday to try it on with a padded bra but not only does the padded bra give the illusion of super-fake, rounded fun bags; the type of bra necessary to give me the illusion of anything in the chestal region and fill the dress out is so big and bulky that it totally peeps out of the top of the dress. When I tried it on with a less padded bra, I didn’t fill the dress out and the bra still peeped out of the top of the dress.

Sigh. I do love the green dress so much that I’m tempted to let the A-team hang loose but the reality is I do hope to be promoted to director one day and I don’t think that showing up at company functions looking like an underdeveloped version of this (sans crazy rastafarian cap and stained t-shirt, of course) is going to do much to help my cause.

Thank your comments! Maybe if I knew what a whip stitch was or where a fabric store was even located in my town things would be different but hey, one out of two lesbians can’t be wrong.

Vote or Die

Ok, so if you don't vote you won't die but pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top tell which dress you think I should wear to the holiday party on Saturday.

No, I didn't suddenly bust out the old Visa card and go on a shopping spree; the daughter of a coworker is away at college and not only does the daughter have a penchant for buying fancy schmancy dresses and leaving them behind when she goes away to school, her mother has a penchant for ransacking her daughter's room and letting total and complete strangers borrow her clothes.

Whatever, I'll let them duke it out in family therapy 'cause mama has two dresses to choose from.

Please excuse my face and hair, I just got done roping cattle having the kids' Christmas portraits done.

I like the way the black one fits and hello, you can never go wrong with black, but the neckline is strikingly similar to the black dress I already own and have worn to the party for the past three years (and to every other event requiring me to get out of my work clothes or yoga pants) and I'd like to wear something different:



The green one is beautiful and flowy and it has color! OMG! I'm not wearing black! It is all feminine and I felt so beautiful in it but it is a little baggy on me and yes, I need to put a bra on the A-team. But saggy ta-ta's aside, what do you think?

I really, really favor the green one but I think I'm being swayed by the fact my coworker told me it is from Anthropologie and it cost $300.00. My car isn't even worth $300.00 and here I could step out on the town in a $300.00 dress from a store that, according to the beat on the street (read: all the other mama blogs that I read), is really hip and OMG! I could wear color.



VOTE!

Haters no more

The ultra-fantabulous, awesome, beautiful, best-holiday-dress-evah-that-I-can-afford arrived yesterday and apparently Forever 21 is not just a clever name because I could barely squeeze my birthing hips and post partum belly in the damn thing.

Now granted, the dress was a size medium so I could probably order the large and fit into it but sorry, I am a big fan vanity sizing and if I can find a dress in a smaller size that actually fits, then color me vain because I'm going to do it. When I was in Kansas City I almost bought a dress for the party off the sale rack at Ann Taylor that was a size 6 and still had plenty of room for the massive amounts of prime rib and wine I plan on consuming at the party. Now I'm kicking myself for not buying it. Not while wearing the dress, of course. I could barely breathe in the stupid thing much less kick my own ass.

Oh well, anyone know where I can find a Forever 41?

Click to enlarge (if you dare). The picture turned out blurry so apparently even the camera was afraid of focusing on me in skin-tight red!




Looking at the spawn one half of the guilty party responsible for my birthing hips and belly, therefore making me unable to shop at Forever 21!

Give thanks

We don't travel on the holidays for several reasons. The main reason being a simple equation:

Traveling with kids + holiday traffic = hell on earth.

But I also don't travel on holidays because for 6 years in college and 3 years after I moved south, I spent the bulk of my holidays behind the wheel of a car and I've pretty much had enough. After Gavin was born, I declared that I was done with the road rage, toll booths, and inclement weather in the Virginia mountains and I was going to make my own family traditions in and around my own home and if my family wanted to be with me, they knew where I lived.

Needless to say, husband and kids aside, I haven't spent a holiday with my family since I declared my holidays travel free. I'm cool with that. I have an adoptive family here in the south: my neighbors. I have spent every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter with them for the past three years and I couldn't ask for better company. Friends, after all, are the family you get to choose.

This year, instead of Thanksgiving at my neighbor's house, we had Thanksgiving at her brother's house and it was fantastic. The food was fabulous, the wine flowed freely, and there was plenty to keep the kids occupied- namely the entire child proof-free home and a pool table. Grace also took a liking to a bowl full of nuts.

It was lovely. Simply lovely.

Child proof free home


Would it kill you to smile for a picture with your mama (by the way, note my newly colored hair... I'm thankful for it! Mostly because I did it myself and I'm glad it isn't orange and/or I'm not bald)


Nuts (gotta wait until you're two, baby girl)


Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!


She won (and dude will NOT stop bragging)


Sweet things


The pilgrims would have wanted it this way





On a much, much more serious note, someone I only briefly knew passed away this week. I still can't wrap my mind around it and the thought that someone I talked to one day being gone the next is not only far too much for me to comprehend, but also entirely too much for me- with my mediocre writing skills- to put into words.

He was only seventeen and the last words he spoke to me were "bless you".

I am blessed.

Hug your loved ones tight.

Getting my fall fash on

Ok, not really. I honestly have zero money to spend on clothes so the majority of my wardrobe consists of two things:

1. Items from the sale rack at the back of Old Navy (Hello, $6.97 anyone?)

2. Items from 5-6 years ago that, when paired with something new, are brought back into heavy rotation.

My current favorite fall outfit is a camel, cable knit sweater from the sale rack at [whisper] Walmart [/whisper] paired with a patchwork skirt from NY & Co. I bought so long ago that I'm pretty sure the store was store was named Lerner NY. So that was what? Five or six years ago? I haven't worn it in ages but my bargain sweater inspired me to breathe new life into it. I paired it with brown tights (they had already found their way to the hamper by the time I took this photo) and it looked rather cute and current. But even better, it felt new.

Hello World

I hate to admit it but I am so happy to be back at work today. I am so happy to not have a child hanging on me; so happy to not have to watch Noggin or play and replay the Cars DVD; so happy to not be cleaning up puke and doing load after load of laundry. I’m not happy that the husband is stuck at home with them but he has a few things in his favor that I didn’t have:

1. No kid hanging off his ta-tas

2. He gets relieved from his parental duties when I get home at 4:15 while I was the single parent until 7:00. Sure, some of you may be thinking that three hours doesn’t seem like a long time and to those obviously childless people I say strap a 27 pound sack of potatoes that pukes up curdled breast milk and barely chewed Cheerios every 5-10 minutes to you for three hours. Now tell me if three hours seems like a long time.

3. He gets to go bowling tonight. In exchange for being stuck at home with Puke E. McGee and Mr. I-”heart”-Lightning-McQueen-more-than-anything-except-throwing-fits-when-I-can’t-eat-candy-all-day for 9 hours, he gets to have a night out in a place that serves alcohol. The fact that the bowling alley serves alcohol is the only positive thing I can think to say about a bowling alley.


I think the hardest thing about being stuck at home with sick kids all weekend long was that I didn’t leave my house and/or have any contact with the outside world (except for when my neighbor stopped by to bring me chocolate truffles) for longer than 48 hours. I’m a people person. I don’t do well in isolation. I swear, I almost went all Nell and started speaking in my own language.

When the husband came home on Sunday night I just hugged him and tried to breathe in the outside world off his clothes. Unfortunately, the husband works a sweaty job in a stinky airport so rather than taking in a whiff of the world, I took in some B.O. and traveler funk. Still, it beat what I had been taking in all weekend.

The other thing that sucked about being stuck at home all weekend- or rather being stuck at home without caller i.d.- was that I was there to answer the phone when my mom called. I haven’t been purposely dodging her calls since the Great Gavin Birthday Diss of 2006 but I haven’t been going out of my way to let my fingers do the walking in her direction, either. My mom called to tell me that she wouldn’t be coming down to my house for Thanksgiving. I didn’t mention her planning to come down for Thanksgiving on here because I KNEW it would go bust and as much I as I like proving to everyone that I’m right, this is somewhat of a sensitive subject.

Short story long, my brother and sister usually go to her house for Thanksgiving but this year they have both been mad at her and not speaking to her so she figured they had bailed on Thanksgiving. I don’t go anywhere over Thanksgiving. Me no likey traveling over the holidays. Besides, we always have a blast with our neighbors. Anyhoo, without confirming aforementioned bailing, she went ahead and made plans with me to come to South Carolina. As it turns out, however, my brother and sister were still planning on going to her house so once she caught wind of the fact that they both thought T-day was still on at her house, rather than telling them to stuff it (ba-dum-dum-dum), she turned around and bailed on me.

She told me- and I quote- “it is easier to screw you over because I know you won’t get mad.”

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “W to the T to the F!!!!!!?????” but honestly, she is totally right. I’m not mad and it is easier to screw me over than the other two. I only kind of sort of care because it would be nice for my kids to kind of sort of know their grandma but whatever. After thirty one years, I can’t muster any more than an “eh”.

Eh.

Ogan-a-what?

The local news station is going to be at my house- AT. MY. HOUSE.- in 13 hours to interview me for a piece on organic baby food and extended breastfeeding!!!!!! I am fuh-reaking out.

Why am I freaking out? Four reasons:

For one, I talked to the chick at 5:00 pm today- TODAY.- to set this whole thing up

For two, all of a sudden I know nothing about nutrition and/or organic food

For three, I have NOTHING TO WEAR (help!!!! what do I wear!?!)

For four, my house smells like chihuahua pee!!!!


WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Too slutty?

Of course I'm too slutty but I'm talking about the dress- the beautiful AND inexpensive red, trendy, corsetty, strapless dress- is it too slutty for a COMPANY Christmas holiday party?



HAH! This post reminds me of Tommy Boy:

"Does this dress make me look slutty?"

"No, you make you look slutty."

Show me the Show me State

Finally I am kind of sort of caught up enough to attempt to make a halfway decent attempt to blog about my trip to Kansas City.

First of all, I must say that if you are planning any air travel in the near future you must- YOU. MUST- take a breast pump along with you as a carry on.

Formula feeding? No children? No breasts?

No matter.

One has not lived until they have taken a breast pump through a TSA check point. There is nothing like saying goodbye to your children, fighting back a sea of tears, and standing in your socked feet as a wand is waved around your body while a TSA agent- upon viewing the innards of your Pump In Style on the x-ray machine thingy- yells out “I need a bag check… I need a bag check NOW” and “Ma’am! What is THIS!?!”

“It’s a breast pump.”

Even through the squiggly, blurry, wet vision brought about by my tearful good bye, I could see that all eyes immediately went to my chest. The TSA agent who had to perform some sort of test on my pump made small talk with me by saying “you certainly don’t look like you have any kids” Too which I told him “yeah, well, breastfeeding burns calories... and it didn’t make my boobs any bigger.” The businessman behind me snickered while the agent blushed.

Speaking of tearful goodbyes, I tried with all my might to not cry when I said goodbye to the kiddos. I’m not really comfortable with crying in public places but mostly I didn’t want to cry because since the airport is the husband’s place of work, I was worried I would embarrass him if I turned our farewell into a blubberfest.

After Gavin hugged me and gave me a wet, sloppy kiss directly on my mouth and Grace pressed her body close to mine and nuzzled my neck while pleading “nusss, nussss, nussss”, I could barely contain my tears. I turned to the husband and told him that I thought I was going to cry and that I was sorry. He told me that it wouldn’t be the first time somebody cried at the airport and it happens “more than you know.” That’s all he had to say for the tears to start flowing and I made my way through security boo hooing the whole way.

The flight to Atlanta was short and sweet and I had several hours to kill at the Atlanta airport thanks in part to a layover and later to an hour and half delay due to the heavy rain in the southeast. I passed the time sipping chai tea and reading Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz. It was one of the millions of books the husband has brought home after cleaning out the airplanes at work. I don’t believe I have read a Dean Koontz novel but I enjoyed it. Finally I had enough of my goody-two-shoes-tea-drinking-page-turning ways and I hit the bar.

One of the perks of being a female traveler (besides being viewed positively for using a business trip as a vacation) is that 99% of business travelers are males- male who are more than willing spare a couple bucks to buy one, two, even three beer for a lonely female traveler.

Sure, I had to listen as one traveler bemoaned in a British accent (an accent that I cannot say in any certain terms was actually authentic) about the cheating ways of his ex-wife and the challenges of being an older bachelor with a convertible and sole ownership of several clubs in Fort Lauderdale and then listen again as several other travelers tried to convince me they were starting players for the Seattle Seahawks and they were on their way to Kansas City for their game against the Chiefs the next night. Those guys were maybe 5’10”, 180 pounds and they topped their Seahawks jerseys with Greek letter emblazoned baseball caps and while I’m sure the odds were greater that I was sitting next to Ghandi than the Seattle Seahawks, I just nodded, smiled, and raised my glass in honor of the Hawks and sipped my free beer.

Once in Kansas City, I discovered that my hotel was in a lovely part of town known as the Country Club Plaza. Fabulous shopping and yummy dining were a short walk from my down-covered queen sized bed. The class let out daily at 5:30 and allowed for an hour and a half lunch break so I was able to take advantage of the Plaza every noon and evening.

The class itself was fabulous. Upon the completion of my final test, I will be certified in Childhood and Adolescent Weight Management. The class did serve to enhance my knowledge of the treatment of pediatric overweight but I was happy to discover that really, it did more to reinforce my current knowledge and practices. In other words, I was already da bomb and very shortly, I’ll have a piece of paper to prove it.

Of course what you are all waiting to hear about are my fantabulous meetings with the very lovely Dee and the beautiful Abby. I have read their recounts of our meetings on their blogs and I was quite surprised to see that they were both nervous about meeting me! I was really, really excited about meeting them but being nervous never crossed my mind. Of course, perhaps after three days straight of sitting for 8 hours and being starved into submission (dietetic conferences tend to be light on available food… and by light I mean none) turned off the part of my brain that registers nervousness but it never dawned on me to be nervous. Mostly because I’ve “known” Abby for about three years thanks in part to Babycenter and while I’ve only recently discovered Dee’s blog (thanks NSPIT), I immediately felt like I could relate to her. Besides, even if we met and had nothing in common, we have both been pregnant, had babies (now toddlers), and work outside the home so if all else had failed, a friendly game of “which mommy had it worse” could have served as chit chat.

Come on, you all know every time you are around other moms, it always turns to a game of WMHIW:

“My daughter didn’t start sleeping through the night until 7 months!”

“You think that’s bad? Little Timmy didn’t start sleeping through the night until one year!!!”

“Yeah well, this one time, Susie pooped and it leaked through her diaper and got all over her bouncy seat. It took forever to clean up!”

This is where I pull my trump card… wait for it… wait for it….

“Oh really, try living through THIS!”

(note to readers: don’t even try to go there with me on the WMHIW- poop edition)

Anyhoo, it never came to WMHIW with Dee because the conversation just flowed. She is very cool and her hair is fabulous. I have total hair envy for women with short hair who wear it well. I tried going short once and I looked like a mushroom (actually, I believe my words were “OMG!! I LOOK LIKE A PENIS!!!” but since this is a family blog, I thought I would stick to my other favorite me with short hair analogy- the mushroom).

Now what can I say about Abby? First of all, she is just as funny in person- actually she is MORE funny in person- as she is on the board and she is far more beautiful than any of the pictures of herself she has shared online. We talked and talked and talked and 5 hours went by in the blink of an eye. Girlfriend won my heart by not only making me laugh all night long but also by slamming her body weight in beer in less than 5 hours and nary a wobble in her step to show for it. I nursed a massive hangover the whole way back to South Carolina but apparently what Abby lacks in stature, she more than makes up for in liver function because she was hangover free.

I am truly amazed by the community of mothers not only on boards like Babycenter but also out in the blogosphere. I am thankful that amidst one of the biggest steps of my journey through motherhood- leaving my babes to further my career- I was able to meet two fabulous women. Unfortunately, I will now have to miss both of them but fortunately, I can always read their blogs.