F@$% Mom, What the Hell?
I'm a curser; I love to use the f-word. I have friends who encourage me to use foul language liberally. I love to cuss and I really don't see anything wrong with it. Words are just that: WORDS. A couple of days ago I was rushing Dylan out of the bathtub; as usual I was running late. I told her to HURRY! She looked at me with this look, put her hands up and out and said, "Fuck, mom, what the hell?" Sorry to say, but I laughed because I felt the same way. There goes my “Mother of the Year” award.. 
It's hard being 3 months old
It's been a tough day, playing, eating and pooping. Must Sleep!
It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas...
OK, so maybe that's not exactly a true statement, but I am feeling a little like Christmas is nearly here because, get this; I'm done with ALL of my Christmas shopping. Yes, I said done! Last year I ran around like a mad woman a week before Christmas and spent all sorts of money on really stupid gifts because I felt desperate. This year, I came up with a list a couple of months ago and started pulling cool gift ideas from the internet and from catalogs. Then I went on a hunt and found everything I was hoping to. By shopping without fear or desperation along with every other American, I saved myself about $800. Yes, I spent $800 less this year than I did last year!!! Wait, I guess that isn't really true because I bought new couches yesterday and figured I would use the Christmas "savings" as a good reason to make the purchase!
Hayden's Room is nearly finished
OK, so Hayden is more than three months old and we're finally getting her room finished. Odd considering Dylan's room was finished three months BEFORE we had her. My how things change with the second child. I'm thrilled that Hayden's room has the personal touches that make it all her own. She's a lucky little girl!
Check out the view from her window. (This is our front "yard.") There are deer everyday. Grey squirrels that play tag and rabbits that run all over... we even have a resident skunk, although we haven't actually SEEN it.. just smelled it. :) 
A rite of passage for mother and daughter
Dylan started preschool today. This is one of those events that nothing can really prepare you for. I thought I was prepared; I researched schools, visited each one, interviewed each director, watched Dylan at each school and eventually chose one that happens to be the only accredited preschool in town. What does it all mean? Nothing. All the preparation and research means shit when you actually have to leave your child in the care of someone you realize you barely know. Sure I spent an entire day there, sure the school comes highly recommended by many people, but I still felt really sad leaving Dylan today. I cried all the way home.
Last night, she wanted to know when she was going to get to go back to school (Tuesday was orientation so we spent the day there, but I had to stay with her). I told her “Tomorrow.” She asked if I was going to leave her like Blanks mom leaves her at school. I told her, yes, that is how school works. We go together, then she gets to stay and play with her friends and then I will be back soon to pick her up. She said, hummmm I will be REALLY sad if you leave me like Blank’s mom does. Dylan was obviously apprehensive, she must have spoken to Blank and Blank must have told her a few stories… (not surprising since Blank also told her our horse died from eating a poison apple…)
Anyway, Dylan did really well this morning. She was so excited to take her backpack filled with paperwork and “Sir Trenton,” a plastic horse for sharing. She walked right up to the director, opened her backpack and handed over the paperwork, she then told her about Sir Trenton. Dylan’s teacher asked her to put her sharing object in the sharing basket and I thought, uh-oh, she is not going to easily give up that horse, but surprise, she handed him right over! Good girl! Then she sat down with the other kids and started working on a project with scissors. She looked liked a seasoned preschooler. I walked up, kissed her, said I would pick her up after school and she said, “Mommy, NO!” Then she looked down at her scissors and realized she had to make a decision, go home with me because I was walking out, or stay and play with the scissors… she said, “OK, you can go.” The end. No tears, no whining, no wave goodbye. Just a happy, well-adjusted kid ready to explore school.
I got in the car and tried really hard not to run over any kids because I couldn’t see through my tears.
