Mommin' It Up!

July 25, 2008

First-Time Offender

Last Saturday after a family get-together, Sophie and I were happily cruisin’ along home via the rural state route off of which my hubby’s sailing club is located when I looked up and saw a State Trooper coming toward me on the other side of the road. I quickly looked down at my speedometer. It said 70. The speed limit was 55. I knew I was toast. Crap!!

Sure enough, the trooper turned around and flipped his lights on, and thus at the age of 30, I got my first speeding ticket. He clocked me at 71, and the fine was $175. That’s right, one hundred seventy-five-freakin’-dollars!! A little steep, I think. Champaign County must be hurtin’ for cash. But alas, I was guilty. I knew I was. It just would’ve felt a lot better if I had meant to speed. I’d much rather be punished for a crime I intended to commit than for one I totally didn’t mean to at all. I was just driving along…not even paying attention. There was no one else really on the road out there in the sticks. Just me and the cop.

At least the trooper was nice. Right away he told me that Sophie was adorable (adorable enough to get me out of a ticket? Apparently not.) I probably would have cried if he had been mean to me. Last year we got pulled over in Indianapolis when Bobby was driving, and the trooper was a complete jerk for no reason. He was a disgrace to his profession. We had two sleeping kids in the back of the car and he treated us like we were hiding meth under the seats or something. Ugh. But anyway, while I was waiting for Good Cop to write my ticket up, Sophie kept saying “uh-oh, uh-oh!” Truer words were ne’er spoken, little girl! He wrote my ticket up and gave me my instructions for payment and/or court (I’ll take payment, thanks so much. I’d love to spend $700 in gas to come back out here and see you again, but I have to wash my hair that day. So.), and sent me on my way, admonishing me to “be safe.” Which I guess means drive 55.

So, my friends, that’s my sob story. Crime doesn’t pay. Unless you are the Champaign County Municipal Court, in which case my crime just paid you $175.

You’re welcome.

Now, please tell me some of you other ladies out there are criminals like me!

July 24, 2008

A little overdue – our St. Louis trip

A few weeks ago, I posted about my angst about our upcoming road trip to St. Louis. Obviously we lived to tell about it, and it really wasn’t even as awful as I had predicted!

We were so nervous about Sammy screaming the whole time that we went to Babies R Us and bought one of everything.

As you can see, it worked like a charm.

Actually the ride there wasn’t bad at all… we took the advice of all of you who said to leave early in the morning, and we were on the road by 6:00. He slept a good portion of the ride and we only had to stop twice on the six-hour trip! It could have been so much worse.

When we arrived, we introduced Sammy to his great-grandfather. We were there to celebrate his 99th birthday.

We visited Grant’s Farm, which is one of the many free family attractions in the city. Kate wanted to go in the petting zoo, so Andy took her (there was no way I was going in there).

And get this – one of those nasty goats BIT Sammy on the ankle! He was pissed.

Kate displayed her political tendencies.

Our kids had interesting sleeping arrangements in the hotel. The last night, Kate decided she wanted to “sleep on the furniture.”

And Sammy… well, Andy and I were afraid to find out what would happen if he didn’t have his swing. So we just brought it with us. You should have seen the look on the bellman’s face.

We couldn’t go to STL without taking in a Cardinals game. They lost 11-1. Andy and Kate were not amused.

And to wrap things up, a mathematical equation… A sleeping four-year-old + last call for beer = this:

July 22, 2008July 22, 2008

Nancy Drew and the Case of the Mysterious Turd

The last couple of weeks my kids have been sick, and I have been dee-esperate to get out of the house. So I was thrilled last Wednesday when they were well enough to have a re-scheduled playdate with my friend Bethany and her boys Eban, 3, and Benji, 20 months. (Benji and Sophie are only 13 days apart in age! Aww.)

Bethany was kind enough to make lunch for us and after we got the kids settled in the living room with their food, we finally sat down at the kitchen table to eat. After about thirty seconds of adult conversation, Eban entered the room and said four words no mother ever wants to hear.

“Mommy, smell my hand.”

Bethany and I exchanged a “yikes” look. “Why? What’s it smell like?” she asked warily.

“Poop!” Eban replied. (Poop. Of course poop. What else would it be? I think we both knew he wasn’t going to say “lemons” or “roses”.)

With Beth’s next question, “Why does your hand smell like poop?” our quest to solve The Case of the Mysterious Turd began.

“Baby Sophie throw poop at me!” Eban answered cheerfully. Beth and I both jumped up and ran into the living room. I grabbed Sophie and gave her bum a good sniff. Nothing. I peeked inside her diaper. Also nothing. No clues there! “She’s clean!” I exclaimed. Beth did a similar check of Benji’s diaper, which was also turd-negative. Then we noticed a hard, round, black, thing on the floor. Beth moved in for a closer look. “It’s poop!” was her assessment.

Sophie had by this time began rubbing her face all over my chest so I went ahead and nursed her. After Beth’s turd sighting, I lifted Sophie’s hand to my nose. And screamed.

‘Cause it smelled like POOP!!!!!!!!

“She really did throw the poop!” I gasped, horrified. I put an end to our nursing session and ran her to the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands.

Then Beth and I began re-enacting the Spanish Inquisition on our older boys.

“Where did Sophie get the poop?”
“Joshua did you poop your pants?”
“Eban did you poop your pants?”
“How did Sophie get the poop?”
“Where did the poop come from?”
“WHERE WAS THE POOP?”

After many, many, many “no” and “I don’t know”‘s from both boys, Eban told us that Sophie got the poop from his and Benji’s bedroom. Beth was, of course, mortified. “I swear I don’t just have random poop laying around my house!” she said anxiously.

By this time I was well past being horrified and was just cracking up. None of my playdates ever turn out normal! I was just glad Sophie didn’t friggin’ EAT the Turd of Mysterious Origins!!

So, we still have no idea where the turd came from. One of our kids’ rear-ends? Very probable! But Beth did have friends over the night before who changed their son’s diaper in her boys’ bedroom. So the theory we are most comfortable with is that it fell out of his diaper, unnoticed under the dresser or bed and that Eagle-Eye (or Dog-Nose) Sophie found it (like she finds everythings she shouldn’t have everywhere we go.) Because that’s the theory that makes both Beth and I less culpable in the Great Turd-Throwing Incident of 2008.

But who knows? Nancy Drew and her sleluthy pal Bess we aren’t.

We are way, way, hotter than they are though. And funnier. And our set of novels and subsequent movie are gonna rock so hard, Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie will probably become BFF just to play us! Just wait!!