Today, she put the dress on and took a good look at herself in the mirror. I don’t know what happened between Sunday and today, but whatever it was, wasn’t good. She started complaining about how ugly she looked, how everyone would make fun of her. The dress, a simple shift dress in greens and blues, looked pretty on her. She looked exactly like a 12-year old girl should look. . . her age. She felt it was too loose around the waist and wanted something to tie around the dress. The waist-tie to her white sweater was nowhere to be found, so with five minutes until we needed to leave, I ran upstairs and searched my closet for something that might work. I found a sweater that tied in the front and brought it down to her. I also grabbed a bunch of pretty barrettes that matched the dress, bought at Charming Charlie’s a while ago.

I helped her fix the sweater and put a carefully placed barrette in her hair. She stood in front of the mirror and said, “I’m so ugly.” She attempted to rip the barrette out but I insisted she wear it. We told her to put her chin up and be happy. This was going to be a big night for her! She moped all the way to school.

We arrived at the school, grabbed a program and found seats. Just as I was settling in, Mr. BBM says, “She’s not in here. She’s not in the program.” I scanned it myself and found her nowhere. Another Mom suggested that maybe she was put with the wrong grade. She wasn’t. I told Mr. BBM he better go tell someone. I imagined them reading names out of the program and my poor Swim Girl standing there, never being called.

Mr. BBM found the principal, told him and he was immediately off to tell the presenters to add her name. After he came back, he announced that a couple kids had been left out of the program, but that they would be printing new ones for all of us tomorrow. He speculated that these kids had turned their papers in late. I know Swim Girl turned it in just two days after her acceptance, a week before the due date.

The ceremony began and the NJHS officers were the main presenters. When it was time to read the names of the 6th graders, they called the names so quickly that the kids were practically running across the stage. When they said Swim Girl’s name, they butchered her last name beyond recognition. It’s not that hard of a last name. It’s five letters for God’s sake.

She made her way across the stage, shook the officer’s hand and waited in front of her guidance counselor for her certificate. He scrambled for a bit, looking through the pile as the presenters continued to rattle through names at warp speed. Eventually he told her he didn’t have one for her and she left the stage empty-handed. I could tell she was devastated. The girl should not ever play poker.

I felt a knot in the back of my throat. My Mom looked like she was going to cry, and I just wanted to stand up and scream that it’s just not fair.

I’m sick of my girl getting the short end of the stick. I’m sick of her being treated like a door mat by some of her supposed friends, and I’m incredulous that the school where she is subjected to snide comments by rude kids is now also the school that called her onto stage, only to send her away with nothing.

When the ceremony was over, one of my good friends came to talk to me and to hug Swim Girl. She had watched it like everyone else. She whispered something in Swim Girl’s ear which prompted a feeble attempt at a smile. As we stood there and I had to start chasing Little Man, the guidance counselor came over and began apologizing to my friend, thinking she was Swim Girl’s Mom. My friend pointed out his mistake and he turned to apologize to me. He said she’d have her certificate tomorrow morning, and I nodded and said “thanks.” I hope my non-poker face told him the whole story. I’m not happy. It’s an oversight that never should have happened, especially when you’re dealing with the already fragile psyche of a middle school girl who already feels like an outsider, the forgotten child, the ignored friend. He couldn’t have picked a worse time or kid to forget.

I’d like to tell them exactly what I think about her being forgotten. I’d like to scream, yell, and let them know how irritated and disappointed I am that they did this to my daughter. But what’s done is already done. Nothing can take away what happened, or how she felt; and there’s nothing that’s going to make it better.

I encouraged her to run for an officer position within the NJHS. That way, she can help to insure that this kind of thing doesn’t happen to anyone else. But right now, her confidence is completely shattered, and that’s not going to happen unless we figure out some way to repair it.

Swim Girl has been begging me to home school her the entire year. I’ve told her “no,” on many occasions and expressed to her how important it is to be part of the school, how she wouldn’t have access to her amazing art teacher, or events like this. I just lost Exhibit B in my case for her staying there. Instead of being a night to remember, it’s one she’d like to forget.

But now I’m seeing it for myself.

This blog has had a self-imposed gag order on it for a long time. Too many people read it and know about it, and frankly, if I can’t write honestly, then there’s just no point in writing. If I have to avoid writing about the things I really want to write about, then why bother? But I’m done feeling that way.

A month ago, the board of the swimming organization I’m co-President of, made a business decision to better the club that a small minority didn’t agree with. The decision was made thoughtfully, not arbitrarily, or on a whim. Since then, the VOLUNTEER board, who spends countless hours daily making sure this club runs properly, grows and thrives (not just exists), has been attacked on a personal level. We’ve had one individual send nasty emails; we’ve had to deal with confrontations that crossed the line of appropriateness. Our friends have been confronted and attacked for supporting our business decision. And worst of all, we’ve seen our children become involved in the ridiculousness of it all.

Every once in a while, our coaches will give the kids an opportunity to end practice early. They choose one swimmer (last week, Swim Girl was chosen because her birthday is this month) to swim a 50 sprint of the coaches choice. They tell the swimmer that they have to swim their 50 in less than however many seconds the coaches decide. If the swimmer does so, practice gets out a couple minutes early. If not, they don’t. Swim Girl was chosen to swim a 50 fly and all the other swimmers are supposed to cheer that person on. I sat in the bleachers and watched as my daughter dove into the water and swam as fast as she possibly could. I couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was in the natatorium. One girl, whose mother has made it her mission to make our business decision as personal as possible, stood on the side of the pool with her arms crossed, refusing to cheer. I watched as she involved the girl standing beside her too, silent, as my daughter swam for all of them to end practice early. When the 50 sprint was over, Swim Girl had met the required time; but the coaches weren’t satisfied due to the blatantly obvious lack of camaraderie among those on deck. Practice continued. As the coaches reprimanded the swimmers about it, I couldn’t help but notice the look on the face of Swim Girl. She’s an 11-year old who swam her third best time ever in the 50 fly in an effort to end practice for all. She did her part; why couldn’t those girls do theirs?

When the coaches made one of the silent girls swim a 50 sprint immediately after, my daughter stood on the edge of the pool, cheering loudly the whole time, despite the fact that she knew the favor had not been returned. That is the kind of daughter I have raised.

Last night, I sat cuddled on the sofa with Little Man and Sassy. We were watching an intense episode of “The Backyardigans” when Sassy said, “There were some moms saying mean things about you in the locker room last night.” I sat bolt upright. “What are you talking about?” I asked her.

“I was in the showers and was talking to my friend. I was telling her that my Mom taught me how to say a bad word in French.” (The “bad word” she’s referring to is derriere, hardly a felony to know how to say “butt” in French; however, to her, it’s a bad word.”) That’s when a Mom standing at the next shower made it a point to say loudly to another mother, and directly in front of my daughter, “The person who taught her that is mean and bad.”

Sassy said she didn’t say another word. She said she wanted to defend me, but her teacher taught her that “if you don’t have anything nice to say, you don’t say it.”

What struck me then was this: my 7-year old has better manners than a grown woman.

We had a long talk about how this lady (described in vivid detail so I know EXACTLY who she is) could have assumed Sassy knew a word much worse than “butt,” and how “butt” is not a bad word. It’s actually just a body part. We also talked about how rude it was for this woman to interject herself into Sassy’s private conversation with her friend; and how inappropriate it is to say anything when you don’t know the whole story. I assured her that I am not a “bad” or “mean” person because she knows how to say a body part in French because of me, and thanked her for telling me about it. It took her 24 hours to tell me, because she was upset about it. She got all teared up as she was telling me.

Perhaps the most bothersome part of this incident is that we have done many personal favors for this woman over the past two years. Clearly, she must have forgotten about the constant allowed late payments that Mr. BBM and I personally approved and arranged. It really makes you want to help out the next person. Clearly, I am a “bad” and “mean” person.

I’ve had some awful things said to me, about me and emailed to me in the past few weeks; but involving my children because you are unhappy with a business decision that four grown adults made on behalf of a swimming club that’s been doing a pretty good job of improving and operating for the past two years, in large part because of these four individuals, crosses the line.

I can hold my own in a verbal battle, but I have chosen to take the high road the last few weeks. I have let the insults roll off my back, because I know the board has the club’s best interests in mind. What I didn’t know, was how ridiculously low some people would stoop.

Swim Girl will frequently tell me about middle school drama and how crazy some of the girls act sometimes. Last week she said she couldn’t wait until she was out of school. I had to break the news to her that the drama and craziness never really ends. Actually, it just gets worse and people get nastier. It is so difficult to take the “high road” and to teach your kids to do the same when there are so few other people doing that as well. But it’s what is right and I’ll continue to do it. I just wish there was a way to make myself and my kids bullet-proof along the way.

This is why I am constantly amazed by my girls. Swim Girl is at the bottom of her age group (11/12) and has spent this entire year clawing her way to faster times by practicing all the time. On Friday nights, when many girls are heading out to the school dance, she’s at practice (her own decision) with one of her favorite coaches. While friends are hanging out after school, she’s at physical therapy, working to strengthen her leg muscles and ease the over-use/growing pains that happen when you’re an 11-year old breast-stroker. And when she gets home from practice, she’s reading her swimming magazine and articles that her coach recommends, soaking it all in and hoping that it, combined with her drive and hard work, earn her Junior Olympic qualifying times like last year.

Last year, as a 10-year old, she spent the entire season adding additional JO QT’s to her schedule of events for the big event in March. When the regular season was over, she was qualified in 11 events. This year, when you combine the much tougher time standards for 11-year old’s with the fact that USA Swimming made the QT’s even harder this year, she has had her work cut out for her. Still, she continues to drop time and chip away at those QT’s, being just a second or two away from several with just one month to go.

After Christmas, the girls both started doing to archery. It’s once a week, but it just so happens that it falls on a night at swimming that Swim Girl doesn’t like to miss. The initial excitement of it all had her miss the last three weeks of that night of swimming. However, with a month left to qualify, she made a decision this week. She was heading off to Coach Ian’s practices for the next two weeks. We had a conversation in the car the other day about how proud I am of her for catching up and moving right on past so many of the swimmers that she thought she would never be competitive with. There are a few remaining that push her and she asked me how she could close the gap. We talked about getting enough rest, eating the right kinds of food, working on core fitness and upper body strength with some daily push-ups. And each day, since that conversation, this girl has been giving it her all and doing exactly what it takes to get stronger and knock more time off. To help her, I told her I would do it with her. So far, the only thing I’ve lifted though, is a Hershey bar to my mouth. I’m not quite sure where her drive and motivation come from, but I wish she could bottle it and give a little bit to me.

Then, there’s Sassy, who has missed maybe two swim practices the entire year. Not going is just not an option. She has competed in several meets this year and although 7-year old’s are notoriously unpredictable when it comes to times, she has continued to shock and amaze me with her own abilities. Sassy went from doing just 25′s to swimming the 100 IM (most of the time legally) and in under two minutes. Her initial time was a 2:02 and she dropped it to a 1:53 in her last meet. Sassy wrote goals down for this year and our bulletin board at the pool if filled with her completed goals. 25 fly below 30. Done. 25 fly below 25. Done. In fact, she now swims across the pool in about 21 seconds, which is about the time it would take me to drown while trying to do that stroke. She dropped her 25 back from around a 30 to a 23 and she’s just about to break through the 20 second mark for her 25 freestyle. And she’s 7 years old. Seven.

The best part about her is that she doesn’t take things too seriously. Ask Swim Girl if she’s going to the Olympics one day and you see a light in her eye, a determination to do everything possible to be the most amazing swimmer ever. Ask Sassy about that and she’ll laugh in your face, turn around, braid her one coach’s hair and ask the other to play “Rock Paper Scissors” while whispering that she has a crush on another one of her coaches. The girls certainly approach things differently, but both ways have brought pretty amazing results.

Mid-March, we begin a four week break in swimming until the spring/summer session starts. Swim Girl asked me how long the break was the other day. When I told her four weeks she got very agitated. “I only want to take two weeks off,” she said. “You have to find me someplace to swim.”

I may not have much of a social life these days, but what I do have are a few very self-motivated kids (two to swim; one to climb everything in the whole house and rearrange all my cabinets with only a diaper on). It’s been a lot of fun to witness.

People are discussing gun control and mental illness, and of course, they are all valid things to be discussing. But personally, I’d like to see an armed police officer in every school in the country. When I taught in a Delaware public school many years ago, we had a school resource officer. He was a constant presence in the school. If there was a fight, he was immediately there and involved. If there were issues with drugs in the bathroom, he knew about it, and took care of it. He got to know the kids and the teachers and having him there was a great comfort, especially considering that I started teaching not long after the Columbine tragedy occurred.

I remember sitting on my living room floor, putting together a project for one of my last Master’s classes, and watching the news of that shooting. Those images were forever burned into my brain. They were there when I started preparing my classroom. I decorated the inside of my classroom door to cover all the glass. I made a conscious effort to always have my classroom door set to lock as soon as it closed. I had an action plan ready in my head at all times so that I could keep my students safe. Thankfully, besides a couple random bomb threats at the school, we never had to go on lock down. But if we had, I was ready; and our school resource officer would have been on the scene from the start. Our school wouldn’t have had to wait those precious 5-10 minutes for 1st responders to arrive. One was already there.

I don’t think there’s a parent out there who would mind their school taxes being increased enough to fund a full-time police resource officer at their child’s school.  School budgets are tight, but funding school resource officers should be made a priority. The fact of the matter is that just knowing that there’s an armed and trained person at a school would be a huge deterrent to someone seeking a soft target to do their evil. Imagine for one second, that an armed officer had been inside Sandy Hook Elementary School last week. As soon as the glass was broken, he would have been there to meet the shooter.

And think about this. . . it’s unfathomable for some to imagine arming our school principals. But what if we armed each principal with a stun gun? Could that have saved those 20 first graders? A principal attempted to subdue an armed attacker with nothing more than her person. What if she had some resources available to her? The story may have been a lot different.

It’s easy to look back on horrible events and say things we should have or could have done. But what we should do now is push for an armed police officer in every school. School shootings are very rare and the likelihood of one happening in my neighborhood or your neighborhood is slim; however, there are many advantages of having a police officer in schools. On the news the other night, someone suggested employing armed military veterans at our schools. So many of them are looking for work. Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to put them to work and keep our schools and children safe at the same time.

Will you join me in contacting your local schools to push for more protection for our children while at school? It’s important that we are not lulled into complacency after this tragedy. As time passes, we should not forget. We should move forward and find ways to protect our children at school.

Let’s review. I ordered them Friday, the 23rd of November,  at about 4 p.m.

I emailed Loft on Tuesday because when I clicked on the tracking number, it gave me a message that said a label had been printed but that the package had not yet arrived at the UPS facility. I was concerned. Their customer service person told me I’d have my pants by Wednesday at 7 p.m. She told me if I didn’t, to call back then.

Guess what didn’t show up by Wednesday at 7 p.m.

Because I’d had the day from hell, I asked Mr. BBM to please call customer service and find out where my damn pants were. He told me it was unlikely they would talk to him because he isn’t me. I told him to tell them he was me, but with a head cold.

The phone call basically went like this:

Mr. BBM (in girl voice): “Hello, this is Jessica.”

Loft Person: “Um sir, you don’t need to do this.”

And then they pretty much told him they have no idea where my pants are. They’re pretty much Osama Bin Laden, circa 2004. While on hold with Loft’s customer service, Mr. BBM called me on my cell phone. I was en route to another mall with my Mom to try to find different pants. I answered the phone via my bluetooth van connection so my Mom was privy to the conversation. Mr. BBM started to tell me I wasn’t going to have my pants, and what happened next was an adult-sized temper tantrum of epic proportions.

“You tell them to OVERNIGHT ME a NEW PAIR of PANTS!” I told him.

“Yeah, they’re not going to do that. It’s past 3 p.m. so they couldn’t overnight until tomorrow and they don’t deliver on Saturday” he said.

I flipped out and said a lot of things my PG blog can’t handle and I’m pretty sure my Mom was wondering how she had ever given birth to this spawn of Satan who was spewing out F-bombs about pants. But I was completely done with the day and the whole situation and I just couldn’t help myself.

While Mr. BBM negotiated a refund on the $14.95 shipping and a $10 gift card (not e-gift card because I had sworn to him I would NEVER EVER get back together with Loft online-yes, Taylor Swift style), I decided to stop at White House Black Market, where they actually have pants with at least a 33″ inseam IN STOCK.

I found a new outfit there for the party and came home.

Rewind to Monday. . . I was hoping to find a stocking holder that matches the other two I have for the girls for Little Man. I happened to find one online that a woman in Virginia was selling for $2. I paid her via PayPal and took a chance she was not a serial killer or thief when I gave her my address so she could mail it to me. It arrived on Wednesday. . . before my promised pants. A random Craigslist person is a more efficient and trust-worthy shipper. Seriously.

Today is Monday, December 3rd. This morning, my $10 Loft gift card, the “apology” for not sending my pants on time, arrived on my doorstep. The apology arrived BEFORE the actual pants. If they don’t arrive tomorrow by 7 p.m., Loft will launch an “investigation,” comp my pants and send me a new pair, which, you know, if I’m lucky, might show up by July. Velvet pants are so in during July.

Often, when I am relaying the events of my day to Mr. BBM, he will say, “You really need to write a book about this.” But I don’t. I don’t even blog about it anymore because everyone I know reads this blog. I’ve offended people by what I’ve written even when I’ve been genuinely complimentary. Simply put, I just can’t win; but regardless, I always stand behind what I write and what I think. Agree with me or not, you always know where I stand.

Which brings me to what I really want to discuss, the lack of integrity and honesty in writing these days. There doesn’t seem to be any fact-checking anymore. Writers can throw together numbers and half-truths to make any story they like. There are no consequences for writing something that’s not truthful, unless you consider a “consequence” being booked on every national TV show to gain more publicity for yourself. It’s for this reason that I absolutely despise election years. Facebook statuses becomes less about “what you are doing” and more about what political statement you can make without really making a statement. Of course, some people are blatant about it. Most of these people have been hidden in my news feed because I need to keep my blood pressure under control;  many are not even respectful about it. For example, my favorite offensive statement of the political season: “Anyone who votes for Romney is stupid and/or racist.”  I’ll be voting for Romney and I’m neither of those things.

Others post links to various biased b.s. and then get upset when you post something contrary that happens to be factual. The other day someone posted a picture of low gas prices that said something to the effect of  ”just kidding-these WERE the prices when Obama first took office” on their Facebook feed. A comment quickly followed about gas prices under George W. Bush. I had a feeling it wasn’t an accurate statement so I looked it up out of curiosity and came across several articles, one an article that looked at gas prices for every President since Carter. The article then broke down the percentages that gas prices rose or fell under Carter, Reagan, Clinton, both Bush’s and Obama. I posted it. It happens to be interesting. A person replying after me said that he was a registered Republican and that you have to look at a bunch of different areas and to keep an open mind. He cited the stock market stats. To be honest, I had no idea what any of those numbers meant so I asked Mr. BBM about it and went “hmm, ok.” There was no argument. It was three people stating opinions on a picture of gas prices, a picture that was an obvious political statement. Then what happened was this. . . the person who posted the picture said she didn’t mean to be political (It was a picture of gas prices and had the word “Obama” in it. . . um, ok) and that people should chill. Her father then commented on our thread of articles and told us all to “get a life.” Not a single one of us had said anything even slightly disrespectful to each other or about anyone else. There was no argument. Then another post was started about how wacky people are (me and the other two commenters apparently) and someone said something to the effect of, “Wow, how did that get so out of control?”

Blink. Blink.

Um, have they ever watched a show when Ann Coulter or Alan Colmes happens to be booked? Our posts were wacky? Out of control? No, actually they were  rather pensive and respectful of each other considering that we are only weeks away from an election and obviously don’t agree with each other. And wait a second, didn’t the owner of the page post the picture to begin with? I found myself wishing Facebook had a “Hide this person until after the election” button. Instead I decided it was time to bid this “friend” adieu. When you bait people, and then get ticked that they are having a discussion about it, and then try to back away from the fact that you even posted it when it still lives on your wall, that’s just odd.  How did I even become friends with someone I barely remember from school anyway? It made me gain that much more respect for my friends who allow polite disagreement on their pages; in fact, some people even encourage it. This political season is ripe with controversy right now. And if this doesn’t also prove that I really need to spend some time weeding my FB “friends” and with my heavy bag, I don’t know what will. Things like this probably shouldn’t tick me off as much as this did. Frankly, I’m tired of all the political nonsense.

On the eve of the first debate, I can’t help but think about that  Jim Carrey movie “Liar, Liar.” You know, where he is compelled to tell the truth and only the truth? Wouldn’t it be nice if that happened on debate day with both candidates? If I operate under this same premise, it’s probably wise that I stay off my Facebook news feed tomorrow through the first week of November. In fact, maybe longer.

The good news is that at the conclusion of the summer swimming (just last weekend), I eliminated one of my President jobs. Being President of the girls’ summer swim team was just too much when trying to run a year-round USA swimming club on top. Add a baby to the mix, a baby who got two teeth, started crawling, pulled himself up and started trying to cruise all the week he turned eight months old, and it’s next to impossible to have a life (or do laundry). I remain the meet manager for the summer invitational, and that is definitely a lot of work. However, eliminating the politics of working with the pool board (Why can’t we sell generic water that has been donated, just because the pool serves Coke products?), and juggling tons of volunteer duties I simply don’t have time or patience for is certainly going to be a relief. . . a big one.

This summer felt like I was running one long swimming marathon. With both girls swimming competitively, things were crazy. What one swim dad said to me a while ago rang true: “Swimming is a lifestyle.” It truly is, and those not involved in it to the extent that we are simply don’t get why we’re not available to hang out on Friday nights (we have to get up at the crack of dawn for warm-ups), why there is always a load of pool towels cycling through our laundry room, and why all we talk about is swimming (what else is there to talk about?).

The girls had a very successful summer. Swim Girl, despite being at the bottom of her age group, managed to make it to finals in all three of her events at the county championship meet. So many of the girls her age are growing like weeds, and adding shoulder muscles to their physique that look man-ish. Swim Girl is still built like a little girl, but she has been holding her own. Her “B” medley relay actually placed 6th at counties, ahead of many other teams’ “A” relays. She ended up being the only 11-year old in the county to place in the top 16 in the 100 IM at counties. She placed 16th in 50 fly and 11th in 50 breast. She had a great summer. Something tells me that next year, as a 12-year old, she’s going to own those events.

Sassy also swam competitively this summer and did amazing. She was legal in all four strokes and has a room full of ribbons, medals and trophies to prove it. One of the younger kids on her swim team, she swam in both relays at counties and placed in the top six in two of her three events at the Silver meet: backstroke and butterfly. Her free relay would have placed at counties if not for one tiny little mistake she made, which was leaving the blocks a bit too early. She was devastated when she found out, but she learned an important lessons about competing in relays: the other person kind of has to touch the wall first.

One would think that my little man would be sick of swim meets. However, the other night when we were showing some video to family of the girls swimming, little man sat in front of the TV and clapped. For him, swim meets are just a part of life. He went to his first one at just three weeks old. Something tells me he’ll be on the team before we know it.

Last year, she spent the year working on stroke refinement at her swimming club. The previous spring, we had to remove her from the program because she was not yet ready. During the past year, she did two dual meets for fun. At the first one, she pushed off from the wall, turned around and asked her coach what stroke she was supposed to be swimming. Between that one and the meet a month later, she dropped about 20 seconds of time. (It’s amazing what happens when you just swim and don’t have to ask for directions.)

This summer, she decided she wanted to swim on the summer team. We have a very big, and very competitive swim team and she showed up in the 8 & under group worried about how she’d do. We were worried she might get lost in the shuffle. But she hasn’t, not one bit.

After two laps of freestyle, she was put into the more advanced group of the 8 & under swimmers. During her first meet, she swam in three events and did quite well. Although she was exhibition in both 25 freestyle and 25 backstroke, she came in first in both of her heats, easily. She also swam in the free relay and did really well. (Lane 1-closest to the camera.)

On Friday night, we took her to her first invitational meet. It was a long course pool so instead of swimming 25′s, she had to swim 50′s of both freestyle and backstroke with no wall to grab onto for a breather. She swam her 50 free in under a minute, coming in 7th place overall in the 8 & under division, ahead of many 7 and 8 year old swimmers. She swam her backstroke in a little over a minute, coming in 7th place overall and beating many kids who were older than her.

Last night she had another dual meet. I was shocked to see she was not swimming exhibition. I had a moment of panic, big fish in little pond-little fish in big pond and all, and then figured it didn’t matter. She’s 6. Let’s just see what she does.

She ended up coming in 4th place in the 25 free and 3rd place in the 25 back. Her free relay won 1st place by a good 25 meters at least, and that was with two of the relay swimmers (Sassy included) waiting to jump off the side until they were really sure the other person had truly, indeed, touched the wall.

After living in the shadow of her sister for so long, she is finally making her own little waves and I am so incredibly proud of her and all of her hard work. She has a couple invitational meets coming up and I am hoping and praying she does well enough to earn at least a ribbon. She has approached it all with such a winning attitude that she really deserves it. The little sister no one ever saw coming, is here.

Then all of that changed. First, people at my original karate school found out about it. I knew I hadn’t said anything unsavory about anyone, but I still went flying home after class, just to double-check and make sure. Then my family started finding out about it. Then my friends.

At some point, my neighbors found out about my blog. I worried that my crazy neighbor, the one who drank chardonnay at 10 a.m. in fuzzy slippers while stopping to peer in my kitchen window at me, would find out that the way I dealt with her weed garden and airing her litter box out on my sidewalk, was to vent about her erratic behavior on my blog. When she told me a squirrel had found its way into her house and she wasn’t sure where it was, I kind of stopped worrying. Hell, if a squirrel in her house didn’t bother her; nothing I could say was going to get to her.

Then I moved and within a few months, all my new friends and neighbors found out about my blog. Some of my best blog posts are my rants about the crazy people in my life; and when your family, friends, neighbors and everyone else is reading your blog, you’re sort of limited in what you can share without feeling like you’ll have a lynch mob after you.

But I miss writing, because it’s a release for me that I’m currently not getting by going to the gym or going to the dojo. I’m removing the gag and I’m just going to put it all out there and tell you about my week. . . because it was a good one (heavy on the sarcasm).

First, I’m now obsessed with making my own baby food. I started for two reasons: to give the little man healthy food and to save money. The amount of money that I’ve spent on little baby bullet storage containers, a crock pot, a steamer, a masher and a baby food cookbook (which basically says, “cook the crap out of everything and then blend it into nothing”), and a new peeler is definitely going to cancel out the money I thought I’d be saving. I also almost lost a finger this week.

I’ve been using a potato peeler (a super cheap one), since like college. I finally decided to be a big girl and buy a grown up one. I was amazed to find out that it actually peels stuff, well. Like really well. In fact, it peels things so well that while I was peeling an endless amount of apples to make applesauce for Baby Belated (that he still hasn’t eaten because I think he hates apples), I inadvertently peeled my middle finger. It was one of those moments where you’re like ohmygodthathurtouchholycrap, and then you think for just a second that you’re actually going to be ok, right before the gush of blood erupts.

At that point, Baby Belated had decided he was so completely done in his exersaucer. Sassy decided she forgot where all the band-aids were located (and when she finally remembered she brought me one that would cover a pimple, not a gushing near-amputating wound). Swim Girl was busy being an almost teen, locked in her room with her iPod. I wrapped my finger in a paper towel and tried to pretend I wasn’t getting light-headed. I handed a new toy to Baby Belated and ran upstairs to find a band-aid. Sassy beat me to it, because she finally remembered. The bathroom floor was covered with open band-aids, because you clearly can’t tell what size it is until you open it; and even if the paper looks the same size, what’s inside might be much bigger. You know, because that is ALWAYS the case.

I soaked through the paper towel and by the time I got two very tight band-aids on my finger, my bathroom counter looked like a murder scene. I needed chocolate; we had none. I also sort of needed a transfusion.

When dinner was finally ready and the homemade baby applesauce and sweet potatoes were ready too, we all sat down for dinner. Baby Belated decided he would have none of that. I was SOOOOOO happy I had slaved all afternoon and nearly amputated my finger (Hey Layton, you may be right. . . ).

Today, I took the girls for swimming lessons and was maneuvering the stroller into the pool through a double-set of doors when I slammed my left pinky toe into the wheel of the stroller. At this point, I’m fairly certain I have four broken toes, each in various stages of healing, with one still being firmly in the throbbing and hurting like a mother mode. I have broken all four of them on baby things, baby seats, baby strollers. Right now my toe is purple and my entire foot hurts. This is the curse of being born with finger toes when you love flip-flops. I think I need to start buying closed toe sandals like I used to make the girls wear to prevent tripping. It also didn’t help when Sassy asked if she could see my toe, and then proceeded to squeeze it. That’s what everyone with a broken toe needs, someone to squeeze it as hard as they can.  (What was that kid thinking???)

Basically, this parenting business has been kicking my butt all week long. I won’t even go into details about how I threw my back out, all in the name of keeping little man asleep in his car seat for a little while, only to have him wake right up the minute I set him down in the house. Nope, not even going there.

He went from being this pleasant little infant, to a very busy and curious little guy who just doesn’t want to stay still. In the past two months, he’s mastered sitting, and easily goes from sitting into a belly crawling position. Speaking of belly crawling, he’s getting quite good at moving around. He can push himself completely up with straight arms and he’s beginning to move those legs into crawling position. Yes, I’m getting scared. If I leave him to go wash my hands, I am now coming back to find him feet away from where I left him. He’s realllly good at moving himself backwards; and if there’s something new to explore, like his sister’s book bag, he finds a way to get there.

He’s decided that diaper changes are super bothersome to his busy schedule. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t try to escape when I changed him. Last week, he started saying “da da.” And although he hasn’t yet mastered “ma ma,” Mr. BBM is pretty sure that he’s calling me “ra ra.” I’ll take it.

I’m also happy to take the giant sloppy kisses he’s now giving. Yes, that’s a hickey on my arm from little man. Yes, that’s likely drool dripping off my cheek after one of his killer sweet kisses. I get these little affections quite often now considering the little guy has discovered we are no longer attached and does not like that at all, not one bit.

Although he just started eating cereal and some fruit last week, he’s pretty much mastered that. He’s already eying up my eggs and bacon in the morning.

At his well visit last week, the doctor reported that he is now 29 inches long (100th percentile and just plain ridiculous) and 18.6 lbs (60th percentile). He’s a lean, sweet, little machine. While our doctor was examining his belly, he started giggling so hard that he was snorting. I’m fairly certain his doctor fell in love with him, because she just kept tickling his belly and telling him how cute he is. Not that I’m biased or anything, but my little man is a looker. He’s the cutest thing EVER.

His personality is developing so rapidly and it’s such a good one. He enjoys making us laugh and has started doing this adorable little face where he scrunches his nose and breaths in and out really fast. The girls crack up and then he does it even more. He loves to laugh and we do lots of it in this house, now that he’s here.

Tonight, Mr. BBM helped him to stand up and he was taking actual steps. I told Mr. BBM to knock that off immediately. I have much more baby proofing to do around here. I’m already freaking out about having a crawler in the house; an early walker? Um, no thanks.

I realize the blog updates have been few and far between. That’s because I am soaking in every single moment with him (and I’m slightly out of practice with writing something good and effective in these short baby-free moments). I know how fast they grow up (says the mom of a now 11-year old), and I’m determined not to miss a thing about this little guy. Not a thing.