Are you ready? Cuz here we go.

I've downloaded the Fresh Beat Band to my iPod and I must admit to listening to it more than the kids. I don't know what's wrong with me.

In addition to children's music, Christmas music has taken over a good portion of my life. Granted it was only Christmas two days ago, but you would think that three months of the Bare Naked Ladies singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen would be enough but it's so not.

I went away for four days over Christmas, leaving early Friday morning and returning late Monday night. I did ALL the kids' laundry before I left and was greeted with three full loads of their crap when I arrived home.

And yes, it feels like home.

Everywhere feels like home.

You know that phrase, "make yourself at home"? You don't even need to say that to me. I will. And I have. If you've ever invited me in to use your bathroom I now feel like I own your house.

Anyway, cut back to me doing three loads of laundry. R used 9 pairs of panties in 4 days. I don't know what goes through her head, but she changes outfits like five times a day and that includes underwear. She wasn't much more conservative with socks either.

And the family must have attended parties every night because every nice sweater and pair of jeans in this house was dirty. There was a pile of coats and fleece in the kitchen and J had peed on the daybed in the playroom, thoroughly soaking several stuffed animals and a pillow.

Christmas vacation over.

It was probably good that I had something to keep me busy all day because I overslept this morning after my violent crash from my four day sugar high. When I went to bed last night I was WIRED and I felt a lot like Hammy in Over the Hedge.

I had managed to nod off on the bus ride home but then running from there to the train and people watching on the late night LIRR woke me up again. I had so much energy I unpacked my bags. I've never unpacked the night I got home from anything. Ever.

Not even Africa. I usually just crash and then I unpack as I need things.

It was so weird.

And before I forced myself to stop moving and close my eyes and pretend to be asleep until actually falling asleep (my new insomnia-fighting tactic) I sat down and charged all my electronics and then AND THEN I wrote New Year's resolutions.

I have never done that before. I've never even thought of any before.

I've always thought the whole tradition seemed silly. And I still do. But I'm going to participate anyway because I am nothing if not a hypocrite.

So here's what I got:

1) Stop being such a hypocrite.

2) Do my devotions once a day (not once a week in seven rushed entries).

3) Blog every day.

and my personal favorite,

4) Talk the kids into talking their parents into getting them (me) a kitten.

I've always thought this was off the table because the kids are always telling me "Daddy's allergic" but T just informed me that he's allergic to dogs too and Willie Nelson is still here...so...

I think it's only fair that if I am willing to put up with his dog breath and BO and clean the stupid frog tank once every...well...twice, I've cleaned it twice, then I deserve the pet I actually want.

I would ask directly, but I have a feeling the pleas of little children are more effective than the demands of the nanny.

Although, nanny demanded a few other things that nanny got. Nanny has had no trouble having demands met. Maybe I should...but this way just seems to much funnier.

Now, monsoon rains and wind are threatening to knock out the power so I have to go soak up as much cable as possible before the blackout.

Snobby holidays!

That's what I am going to wish people this year.

Tonight I have a Christmas party to attend which means tomorrow I will be a sleep-deprived mess and then Friday I am taking a Martz bus into the Poconos to be with my family for Christmas. Taking the Martz line is something I have avoided with a fervor ever since moving here. I've only used them twice because you have to sell your organs to afford them, but it seems that at holiday time everybody's prices get that high and since they are the most direct I thought now was a good time to let them have whatever I can get for a kidney.

On Sunday I attended a Hanukkah Harry party, which is basically secret Santa, who I disapprove of. It was at E's mother's house and his side of the family was there. They asked me if my family did a secret santa and I said no, we don't even like Santa. To which E's sister said, "Why? Are you Catholic?"

I just love the disconnect between cultures and religions.

I laughed and told her no and that my church wasn't even against Santa, so to speak, just that I thought it was a silly tradition and that kind of thinking seemed to be prominent in my family.

Regardless of my lack of Hanukkah and what they perceive to be Christmas spirit, I was given two Hanukkah gifts from E's mother. There was a $20 spending limit that more than a few people violated. And since Mom E had just given me a present after J's birthday party last month I wasn't expecting her to feel obligated to get me anything else.

But I received a (horrible) sweater and a lovely brooch, which greatly exceeded the spending limit. E got a keychain and expressed his jealously after we got home. Haha.

For all the grief Mom E has caused me, she is very sweet and she really, really likes me because I take good care of the kids.

Yesterday we did a whole lot of nothing all day and then since T was working through the evening and I had agreed to make dinner, I googled a traditional Hanukkah dinner and fried everything I could think of. I made latkas, chicken and artichokes. T brought home some of the greatest donuts in the entire world.

Right before she got home her mom stopped by to say hi to the kids. She hung out for a bit and they played while I cleaned the war zone that my room has become since the electrician came in to install outlets. I HAVE ELECTRICITY!

When it was time to T's mom to go she said she had to run out to the car and then came back, handed me some folded up cash and said, "Merry Christmas. Don't lose it."

I had vivid flashbacks to my childhood when anyone gave me money and my mom said the very same thing, and then I laughed and thanked her and she headed out.

We ate so late that the kids were a wreck, not mention the effects of the cold that they are all getting over. It took over an hour, but we got them all fed and then they were presented with their one big Hanukkah present; a play kitchen.

R was beside herself with joy while it was being assembled.

I took the kids one at a time to get ready for bed in matching pajamas and then they sat by their kitchen for the photo op of the century. J was literally falling asleep while droning, "cheeeeeeeeeeeeese."

This morning the kids were barely functional but we all have so much to do we sent them off to school anyway. I planned out my travels for the next few days, got a few emails and phone calls out of the way and then of course, since I was online, I had to check Facebook sixty-five times.

I thought I had neglected you all long enough too, so here's what that resulted in.

I am now going to spend the rest of the day (until party time) washing sheets and clothes so that when I come back after four days away I won't have to do much. It's all about planning, people, planning.

I like to make detailed plans to get everything done at once so that I can slack off for days at a time.

It's going to be great.

Merry Christmas and snobby holidays!

If I had to live through today, so does everyone else.

I'm not usually one to refer to a day as a "hard day."

In my opinion they each have their challenges and graces. There aren't many full days of my life that I can just discount as crappy and wish to never live again. Most of them have some redeeming moments.

Today, however, does not.

This was a hard day.

J has perfected the art of puking into his plate when his parents enter the room. When I tell him to stop gagging and chew, he does, but only if no one else is around. If Mommy or Daddy are there he ignores me, continues gagging and loses everything he may have eaten up until that point.

Oh, I'm sorry, was that too graphic for you?

WELL TRY EATING BREAKFAST WHILE THIS IS GOING ON.

So that was breakfast.

And the baby had his last class at the library which might have been the closest thing to a normal activity that we had today except that I didn't take any lady products with me and GUESS WHAT I NEEDED HALFWAY THROUGH THE CLASS.

So, I had to just breathe through that one and we got home and he went to sleep and I sat down and then remembered that I hadn't been home all morning and there were breakfast dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer and I have a list of things I want done or packed up for tomorrow. So I started on that and R got home all too quickly.

And then the baby woke up early and at first I wasn't sure why but then I did.

Because shortly after he woke up his stomach revolted and his rear end has been on fire ALL DAY. Every hour on the hour he starts pulling at his diaper yelling, "Poopoo! Poopoo! NOOOOOOOOOOO!" And when I change him there's not much in there, just enough to burn his poor hiney bright red and make him scream when I try to clean it off.

I had to stand him under warm water and just rinse it the last few times because I felt so bad trying to wipe his butt.

So while that was going on every 45 to 60 minutes, J got home and started asking for food and then R got home and started asking for food and then -- OH THEN IT GOT REALLY GOOD.

Remember when we were in school and it was fire drill day and you were sitting in class and everything was normal and then all of a sudden you were partially deaf and you were thinking, why am I always seated right next to the alarm on this day?

That's what it felt like right around 4:30 in this house today. I mean, it was already pretty hectic and noisy but when they coordinate so that noises are coming at you from every direction in every possible octave at the highest achievable decibal level it really is something mind-blowing.

My mind was blown.

Then it was time to make dinner.

I've never cooked "dark meat" chicken before. It's the chicken thighs that have been deboned and honestly, I don't know why this is considered food. I find chicken thighs pretty revolting to begin with but when you turn them into floppy, fatty blobs of "meat" I just don't see how this is appetizing.

But that's not the point.

I've never cooked dark chicken and so I've also never smelled it. IT STINKS. I opened the package and almost threw it all away. But it didn't smell rotten. It just smelled awful.

Is that what animal carcass smells like?

I haven't been eating a lot of meat in the recent months, less and less as times goes by. I've had only chicken and some turkey on Thanksgiving, but after tonight I think I am leaning closer to full-fledged vegetarian.

I doused it in spices, all the while replaying that episode of Seinfield where George's dad tells about spicing the rancid meat during the war and making an entire mess hall of soldiers sick. I was picturing my kids taking two bites and then doubling over in pain and vomitting all over the kitchen when I called my mom to ask her if dark chicken is supposed to smell like the worst thing on earth and, more importantly, why anyone eats it.

After we decided that it was ok, I had to chase the kids out of the kitchen and away from any potential snacks. I changed the baby and smothered his hiney butt in cream and powder and ointment. I checked on dinner. I changed the baby. I told them no snacks. I changed the baby.

You see where this is going? For an hour.

Skip to dinner.

R tasted the chicken and said it was so yummy she could eat without mayo. This is a huge compliment. I fed the baby only rice and kept asking him to describe the goings on in his diaper. All was quiet in the Pampers.

J ate his rice and then began practicing his most annoying behavior. I think he must have entered a contest or something because he pulled out all the stops. Bouncing, getting out of his chair, gagging, spitting his food out, crying, you name it.

His response to time outs lately has been to snap into action and gobble down his food.

Not so tonight, my friends. Not so.

After two tries I put him to bed. He was tired. I have things going on. The baby was screaming again. Bed time for J!

He washed up, brushed his teeth and went to sleep.

I think he knew as well as I that he had no fight left in him.

While he was lying in bed drifting off but still whining, the baby was half nude on his changing table cursing my name while I dabbed ointment on his bright pink rear end, R discovered a fallen Saltine in the hallway.

Rather than summon the dog as is habit, but we have been scolded by the vet for doing recently, she was a good girl and she went downstairs to get the dustbuster. I left the baby's butt to air dry a bit and went to tell J to zip it. I got back to the baby's room in time to hear R return with the vacuum, clean up the mess and then drop the dustbuster and spill everything inside it onto the hallway floor.

Everything, including the Saltine she'd just picked up, three tons of baby powder (I might be exaggerating) and a few dead critters from my neck of the woods.

"Sorry Kimmy!"

"I know, I know. You are trying to help me. I appreciate it."

I sent her to watch the baby on the changing table while I took care of the grossness. J fell asleep.

We let the baby down to run around diaper-less in his room for a while. I rolled up his rug and closed the door so that any drippings would land on the exposed wood and be dealt with immediately.

The first pee I missed, but it was small. I noticed it after he stepped in it a few times and tracked it all over the room.

The second one was slightly more intentional. He sat down on a vinyl playmat R had brought into the room, peed and then cried happily, "Mess! Mess!" And splashed joyfully.

The third one (IN FORTY MINUTES, MIND YOU) was a river. There was motive, intent and passion behind it. I saw the puddle only for a fraction of a second before my hand moved on its own accord, siezed the baby and removed him from the vicinity, even while he began to smile and chant, "MESS! MESS! MESS!"

He seemed to be feeling better and I seemed to be losing my very last precious marble (and I NEED my marbles, I really do) so I cleaned him up, dressed him for bed and ditched him for the night.

But wait, there's more.

R, my right hand, my sweet helper, turned against me.

There was stomping and throwing of oneself onto the bed in anger. A surge of tears and a long moment of defiance before Kimmy won. And win I did.

She was calm again as we tucked her into bed and then, thank goodness for God's timing, E got home. I ran away the way I used to clock out after my retail jobs. Quick like a bunny, a band-aid. Make like a tree and get the heck out of there!

The best part of all of this, the real punch line to the entire day?

T was supposed to be home at 4.

Basement ecosystem update.

I’ve become very accomplished at falling asleep without killing all the other living things in the room. Call it maturity, call it severe exhaustion, but it’s happening.

For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, crickets are attracted to my corner of the basement and my corner alone. They’re coming in through the (now empty) cess pool trap and then they make their way around the perimeter of the basement and into my room. They set up shop on the wall to the right of my bed, under the window, and then wait to see if I am going to kill them.

If I try to, they jump around like hyperactive children while I suppress screams and risk nosebleeds from my sky-rocketing blood pressure. If I succeed I am left with a pile of cricket legs and guts and the knowledge that one more wooden puppet has lost its conscience. If I don’t succeed, the cricket hops out of sight for ten to fifteen minutes and then makes the trek back to the open trap.

If I don’t make an attempt on their lives, they just sit on said wall and watch me read. Sometimes they sing and I have learned it is best to just join in lest I lose my mind trying to tune the little buggers out. We might harmonize a patriotic number or a T Swift ballad (back up, baby, back up) or lately, a heart-wrenching rendition of O Holy Night and then as I drift off to sleep I watch them slowly tip toe up the wall and into the oblivion between the rafters.

Ok, it’s not an oblivion, it leads directly outside.

Surprisingly, nothing comes in that way. That I’ve noticed anyway. I intentionally don’t pay much attention.

I haven’t seen any spiders down here since I started spraying for them on a regular basis. And the silverfish have been diminished to such low numbers of youngsters (You can tell because they are small. Those two and three inch monsters are 6 months to 2 years old. That’s right, there’s a bug with a longer lifespan than some goldfish. Barf.) that they have had to regroup and retreat until they are of marriageable age and can reproduce to save their population. But the joke is on them; I’m going to kill them before they can do that.

But I have an occasional roly-poly, which I don’t mind at all. And once or twice I’ve come across some beetle-looking thing, but not on my side of the basement, so I don’t mind them.

And so I have learned to sleep with these critters haunting my space, namely the crickets. I’ve forgiven their resemblance of spiders and as long as they are not touching me or my bed I can handle bunking with them.

At least until I get over this recent bout of insomnia and can function again.

We love you Old Gray Hair!

I just came from tucking R in. I was lying beside her in her bed and she was telling me I couldn't wear a dress tomorrow and I said, "You're not the boss of me." To which she replied, "No, Old Gray Hair is the boss of you." And then we both laughed so hard we cried. I've never heard a four year old make an actual funny joke and I've never shared a laugh like that with one either. It was quite funny.

For anyone not in on the joke, Old Gray Hair is my poor mother. And also a Native American in The Last of the Mohicans. R decided to call my mom Old Gray Hair on a whim last week and I explained to her that this was also an ooooooooooooold man in a movie. She was quite pleased with her cleverness.

In other news, the iPod in the baby's room is stuck on repeat and has been for two days now. We put music on while he sleeps to block out the noise of the rest of the house. During the blackout that followed the hurricane the iHomes were all useless and the house was SO quiet. I swear that baby has super sonic hearing as well, and he woke up every time we breathed too loudly.

But he doesn't seem to mind the same song (Time to Say Goodbye -- by Some Italian Guy) playing over and over and over and over again all night long. The rest of us do, but he doesn't. Last night T and E were out and I had to take the monitor downstairs with me. I almost ripped my ears off. Then I just turned the volume off and hoped that if he woke up crying I would just see the red light indicating blood-curdling screams in the dead of the night.

Fortunately he didn't wake up on my shift and the very second I heard the garage door open above me I turned off the monitor.

Baby I's new catch phrases include "Oooooooooooooooooo!" and meowing. I take full responsibility for both of them as I like to meow and also exclaim "OOOOOOOOOO!" every time I discover something I like, no matter how mundane.

The doorbell rings and it's a package for me.

"Ooooooooooooo!"

T's blow dryer brushes hair stick straight while drying.

"Ooooooooooooo!"

The garbage man has been throwing away our recyclables because this company doesn't take plastic and if I just stick to glass and metal the right truck will pick it up.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

That was a big moment for me. It's been an ongoing battle since I got here. E and T told me not to bother with the recycling because the garbage man was just throwing it all out but I knew there had to be a reason. And I was right.

This company doesn't take cardboard or plastic. How lame is that? It has greatly reduced the amount of actual recycling we have any given day. And no we are throwing out oodles of plastic and cardboard. Especially right now.

Do you know how many milk jugs, tissue boxes and Cheerios boxes having three kids in the house can produce? Enough. That's for sure.

I spent all of today kneading cookie dough and freezing it for the next few weeks. I baked some and the kids decorated sugar cookies. E came into the kitchen while we were hard at work.

"Ahhhh, Kimberly, I know what you're doing here." He said smugly. "Child labor. Having the kids make Christmas cookies for you. I know that's what's going on."

He couldn't be more right.

I am not even really a nanny.

We were all home all day and the banter and ridiculous accusations have gone on just as long. There was much laughter today.

Except for the baby. He's moody and all he does is throw tantrum after tantrum. He's learned that his gentle "falls" to the ground aren't getting attention and so he has actually begun to throw himself to the tile floor and has several bumps as a result. He's still not getting his way though and it's really ticking him off.

He ran from adult to adult all day trying to get us to give him things he wasn't allowed to have or do things he's not allowed to do to no avail.

So maybe he would be more bothered by the repeating iPod if he wasn't so exhausted from screaming at everyone all day.

I have to go turn the heat down now. It's become something of a sauna in here.

I'm going to put on a sundress and wrap Christmas presents while singing Christmas carols to myself. It should be fun.

Gobble gobble.

The two days that I worked after J’s birthday party were all about cleaning this place up and making it livable again. 30 kids can do a lot of damage in three hours. Someone spilled cranberry salad in the playroom, but right on the gate so that it also bounced into the hallway. The playroom is wood floor and the hallway is tiled, so I got to mop all kinds of different things. The night of the party R had the BIGGEST pee accident in the universe and T put baby powder on it to keep the smell to a minimum until the washing machine was free. So of course then there was baby powder all over that floor, the bathrooms had been trashed during the party and then there was the tiring after-party chore of popping all the balloons that haven’t already popped and finding ALL the pieces to those that exploded and throwing them all away. I hate balloons. They’re loud, annoying choking hazards that have no place in my household.

I was going to take the day off on Wednesday because my mother was coming into the city for a good old Snobby Thanksgiving. She planned to arrive around 1, so naturally I was expecting her around 3. When I saw the weather prediction for Wednesday, I told T I would work Wednesday morning rather than go out to town in the downpour. I told her my mother was due in around 4 and made dinner reservations for 5.

At 3 o’clock I changed our res to 6 and while Mom, after leaving over 2 hours later than planned, was sitting in traffic, T got home and I went down to the basement to pack.

At 5 Susie McQ (that’s my mother’s REAL name, despite what she says) arrived with some boxes of mine from the Perez storage unit and I put them in my room, showed Suze the changes that had been made around here since I moved in, introduced her to T’s mom who had dropped by and we ran out of there to escape R and J, who were swatting my mother on the rear end and being otherwise bratty. The baby cried and tried to come with me. I love him.

I had spent the morning browsing coupons and dinner deals in the Great Neck area but didn’t find anything I wanted to take advantage of. Buy one get one hamburgers just didn’t seem like a festive enough pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner, especially because I don’t eat beef. All my regular haunts are pretty regular so I thought I’d take Mom to a place that I have wanted to try since I got here but didn’t have a big enough occasion to do so.

Simply Fondue.

Fondue is among the top ten best foods ever invented. Nay. Top five.

Our waiter was bored, so he gave us all the extra help and attention we needed to order from the complicated menu and after we chose all our fondues and meats and sauces and salads we were served the best meal I have had in a really long time. And I eat a lot of good food.

We got to dip all our own food in one of the two fondues we had chosen and we had veggies and meats and pasta and shrimp. The waiter showed us how to stuff mushrooms and bread them and dip them. For dessert we had white chocolate amaretto fondue and I’m telling you this to make you jealous (Brianne). Our waiter lit a layer of alcohol on fire and we roasted marshmallows and then stirred in amaretto and dipped fruits and cookies until we ran out. We were offered more but there was no room left in the waist of my pants and it was getting late so we headed out.

To sum up, it was the most fantastic pre-Thanksgiving dinner dinner I have ever had. And everyone should eat at Simply Fondue.

Everyone.

We went on from there in our fancy dinner clothes to visit my Aunt and cousin on Staten Island and drop off Susie’s car. We made a pit stop at the place we were staying in Manhattan to first drop off three pies. Three.

Mom made three pies. For six people.

We were late to my aunt’s house but we hadn’t seen her in a while so we had to gab and then we missed the ferry back to the city. By the time we got on the next ferry we were tired. When we disembarked from the ferry and began looking for the subway we were pooped. As we walked the 8,432 miles (I clocked it) underground to the train we needed my poor feet succumbed to the pain of walking in fancy boots for 8,432 miles and my mood plummeted.

I started to ask if we were there yet.

And then when we finally were, Mom was so tired she second-guessed herself and we let a train pass that would have taken us where we needed to go. So we sat down. And we waited. And I cursed my feet for not being better sports about wearing such pretty boots.

We got our train. We got to uptown Manhattan within blocks of our destination.

I took off my boots and walked in my brand new white socks on the New York City sidewalk. I could feel blisters that had formed and they were on fire and I just wanted to go to bed.

I threw my socks away immediately.

We were staying with a family friend from the Poconos (Poke to the oh to the nose) who now lives in Manhattan and whom we call Mare. It had been a while since we visited with her and we were going to spend Thanksgiving with her and her two grown children. We even had an ambitious plan to get up and go see the Macy’s Parade at the hiney crack of dawn.

Since it was nearly 2 am when we dropped into bed I let Mom out of getting up at 5 am and we slept in a bit.

Until 7. Mom got up and got ready and I missed my alarm and got up after 7. We left before 8 and hurried out to get good spots. We had seen the setting up going on the night before on our pass through the city. The giant balloons were blown up and waiting under nets on side streets and bleachers had been set up along Central Park. My plan was to climb over whomever I had to in order to get on the bleachers.

But the cops wouldn’t let us through. We walked and walked and walked and were told several different things by several different cops about where we should go. We went up a side street and my little mother tried to muscle her way through a crowd to get back up to the park and get a good spot. Instead we got stuck in a crowd with no view at all.

We backtracked and tried again with no better results. We stood back in the middle of the side street, directly in front of a police car. We had a view of the balloons, the tops of the floats, and all the children’s backs in front of us.

I started to make small talk with the nice looking policeman at my side. I smiled and made jokes and he laughed and I tried to convince him to let us climb on top of his car. It didn’t work. We stayed there until we were nearly frozen and then gave up and started home. But on the way we were beckoned by curiosity and driven by determination to walk up a pathway that we had previously been shooed back down. This time when we reached the street where the parade was taking off there were no cops to stop us. The crowd was thin and we walked along the street until we had a front row spot. We were face-to-face with some men dressed as fairies and some performers dancing. We were standing before the start of the parade line and we had the best view of everything.

Best parade I’ve ever been to.

Back at Mare’s house we began the blessed American tradition of stuffing our faces.

It was so fun to just sit and talk and laugh and eat that we decided to do just that all day.

I checked in with T around 7 to tell her I would start home soon. She and the family had gone to E’s aunt’s for Thanksgiving and T was jealous of my dinner because it would include a turkey while hers would be largely Persian food that she eats all the time. She was headed home as well so I stayed until nearly 8 and then said my goodbyes and headed for the subway while slightly under the influence.

Merlot.

I found my subway, entered on the wrong side, went back up to the street, entered on the right side and boarded a train that was already in the station.

I was back in Penn Station with five minutes to get to a Great Neck train that I hadn’t expected to even see. I got home an hour earlier than planned.

Slightly under the influence.

Merlot.

Turkey.

Pie. Pie. Pie.

E and T were home and all the kids in bed. They were so tired they had left the garage door open and the door unlocked and gone to bed. This is not like them.

I texted T to ask if I should close the garage because the merlot had eaten away at my brain cells and made me think that there could possibly be a reason they would leave the house open on purpose. T confirmed that there wasn’t, congratulated me on having a good time with my family and I went downstairs giggling.

I discovered on my bed a pile of clothes and beside my bed the stacks of things my mother had delivered from Pennsylvania and I realized that a small part of me hates my future self. Whenever I am going out and I know full well that I will come back late and want nothing more than to just crawl into bed, I leave junk all over my bed and all over my room and I don’t know where anything is. I stood there for a good five minutes trying to decide whether or not I had to deal with the mess.

In the end, I did, because I couldn’t even get to my bed without doing something.

It was awful.

Have you ever tried to move boxes and make decisions with a turkey dinner, dessert enough for three people and too much merlot all in your belly after walking over 8,000 miles the night and day before and laughing all day?

It’s hard.

Don’t do it.

I stacked everything quite precariously in front of my dresser, posing a problem for my future self in the morning, but I don’t care about her anyway. All I know is right now I am going to crash and it’s going to be wonderful.

Merlot.

That was a good party.

As little J, with his brand new hair cut, drifted off to sleep tonight he muttered those words to himself and then quietly recapped the day.

"That was a good party. I got my hair cut like Daddy's. I got some toys. I got some candy. My hair's not long anymore. It's short."

Turning three involves a hair cut and a little ceremony for Jewish boys. And he was SO GOOD. Everyone was afraid that he would be scared of the haircut since he is scared of getting his nose cleaned, he cries when you brush his teeth too long and he shies away from new experiences in general.

But he was excited for it and when he and his parents snuck up to the master bathroom with the haridresser after the ceremony, he was so quiet and sneaky and happy to go that no one knew where they had gone. Just as we had planned.

T ordered the pizza to arrive at exactly the moment that they ran upstairs to hide and cut his hair without the interference of all the hands-on grandparents. And at that very moment, the baby woke up from his early nap and I had to run around and do a hundred things AT THAT MOMENT, so I couldn't even stop to lie to the grandparents about where T was. Which was the goal. Not having to tell them or lie.

The party was wonderful. The kids had a great time. I looked adorable and several people told me so, including hot Dr. M. All the bitties love me and tell me how good I am with the kids and Mom E even redeemed herself.

Near the end of the party when only a handful of people were left we were sitting around in the living room trying to squeeze in a few more calories before we exploded and Mom E came, kissed me on both cheeks like family and gave me a present for being so good to the chidren. She thanked me for taking care of her babies and told me she hoped I always stay. HOW NICE IS THAT?

The sweat suit she gave me is truly awful, but her actions just reenforce what I already know about her and make her much easier to tolerate. She means good in all her nagging. She is not trying to annoy me. She is a very, very sweet woman and very caring. And even though she tries my patience, I need to think nicer thoughts about her.

When the party was over the three of us who live here started tackling the mess. My first goal was t get every scrap and remnant of food out of the basement so as to not attract any critters. When that was over, we tackled all the food and I started washing things while T got the kids ready for bed.

E came into the kitchen with half a bottle of champagne that was missing a cork. It had my name all over it.

So I tackled the champagne while I washed the crystal and the Tiffany platters and the china. I don't know if T was nervous about that, but I guess not very because she yelled, "drink one for me!" as she ran through the kitchen on their way out the door.

After all this, they had to go to a memorial service tonight. They stayed to help with clean up so long that they were an hour late for it and when they got home and the kitchen was clean and the champagne bottle was empty T started laughing at me.

"Are you drunk?!"

I don't think I am but I'm so tired, who can tell? I can still type pretty quickly and I didn't break any of the highly breakables so I think I'm in pretty good shape. Still, it's a long, hard trek from here to my room, to the shower and to bed.

Maybe I'll just sit here and sleep it all off.

Insomnia causes delusions.

Like thinking nonstop work all day long is a good idea.

Like being absolutely sure that eating five slices of bread for dinner is normal and not at all a betrayal of your nutrition plan.

Like saying the words, "I'll mop the basement tonight" out loud when everyone can hear you and really believing that you can.

My family just left for Shabbat dinner at F's house. F is E's sister and she's very sweet. She has a daughter who is a horrible, snotty teenager and a son who is a hot doctor.

F stopped by this morning after being called in by Ebby's mom, Mom E. T left the house this morning to shop for J's upcoming birthday party, a party 90 people large that is happening here on Sunday. The plans were in place right before T's visit to the ER, so naturally after all that, her family and in-laws took over cooking for the entire thing.

That left shopping for dry and paper goods and fixing up the basement, which we have been working on anyway.

As T left this morning Mom E showed up and I died a little inside.

Mom E was dropping off some baskets for the party, and of course she then had to say hello to the baby. And then of course she had to linger and ask what he ate for breakfast and if he had any fruit yet. And if I gave him milk. She was with him in the kitchen so I went about my business as if she weren't there, because I was trying to will her away as I still haven't forgiven her for DRIVING ME CRAZY.

I heard her talking to me from three rooms away and as I bit my tongue about that I went nearer to her and asked her to repeat herself.

"When you are here along with him and you do your work, what does he do? Who plays with him?"

"The %$#@!#$%! dog!"

Just kidding. That's not what I said.

I told her that he usually just plays in the play room or follows me and "heps" as he puts it. She didn't seem satisfied with that and told me I should only do my work while he's sleeping. Rather than explain that I can't mop the wood floor in his room while he's sleeping and that he only naps for less than an hour before the other two start getting home and that HE IS JUST FINE PLAYING ON HIS OWN FOR AN HOUR IN THE MORNINGS THANK YOU VERY MUCH I just smiled and told her I had a lot to do today in getting ready for this party, which is true.

I thought rather than split up my share of the work between today and tomorrow I would do as much as possible today so that I can nap tomorrow. Saturday naps are very important to me and since no one is cooking in this house, T and I are really looking forward to our pre-party down time.

I offered to stuff the goody bags along with some of my regular housework and some irregular housework created by the needs of the party. Those sorts of things include washing the crystal that the woman who lived and died in this house before us left behind, making sure the curtain that is hiding the cess pool trap is hung and figuring out why in tarnation the dehumidifier chose NOW to stop running properly.

I was quite busy.

But I've been in child care for half my life now and I have tackled way harder chores with several more children present. I thought this one baby whose routine I know like the back of my hand and who is quite capable and more than willing to entertain himself free of his oppressive older siblings for a short, precious while would be ok in my care while I did a few things.

But Mom E didn't think so, and she told me as much.

She then called F and asked her to come over since she herself had to run.

F never misses a chance to show up and visit the baby, as evidenced in her bedtime visit the night T was in the hospital.

But when she arrived she too had been bested by Mom E.

She had been told Mom E was there and that they were visiting. She had no intention of hanging out there all day to do half of my job while I did the other half of my job. She played for a bit, chatted with me while I tied goody bags, snuck a Kit-Kat and then thanked me for my time and left.

I finished everything I had intended today, except for the basement floors, which I offered to clean because I don't like how the cleaning lady does it (I'm getting territorial, I know, but she leaves whole sections unmopped!) and in a moment of excessive lack of sleep induced delirium I actually volunteered my night of freedom to mop down there.

The words were out before I knew what was happening.

In the course of the evening both T and I forgot that the baby needs to eat dinner (so maybe he's not ok in our care) and got lost in our party planning. We were setting up tables for food in the basement, dining room and living room and deciding how best to strategically place the scented candles that would mask the cess pool trap (this sounds a lot grosser than it really is -- they had it pumped Wednesday night and it's empty now) when it dawned on us that since the rest of the family was going to F's for Shabbat, the two of us staying home would probably get hungry.

I whipped up some soup and fed the baby while simultaneously reading Curious George Rides a Bike to J. I walked R through choosing an outfit for the evening without setting her off, a process which requires an hour of time, three glasses of water for the parched throat you get using your "calm voice" and expert level skills at dodging land mines, because that is how carefully you have to tiptoe around her potential tantrums. I have perfected the mixture of firm, order-giving tones and understanding, patient murmurs. She got dressed pretty quickly and I just pretended not to see the small hole in the back of her tights, as did T.

After they left I put the baby to bed and then thought, "If I go sit down and blog I am going to lose steam and I'll never get the basement mopped." And then that's exactly what I did. I sat down. I wrote this. And now I am so severely low on steam that I might not make it to the shower.

Wait.

I know what can fix this.

Chocolate.

Home sweet health.

T is home.

On Friday afternoon as we were getting ready for Shabbat dinner at her mother's house she was plagued but a headache, one of several in the last few weeks. By the time we got to her mother's house she was also nauseous and having terrible stomach pains.

Let me just tell you that in the presence of your Persian Jewish mother and your Persian Jewish mother-in-law is not the best place to get sick. T knows this, but I don't think she could have hidden it. As it was, she tried to play it down, simply resting in the den where I hide with the kids.

It didn't stop the sporadic fits of worry that struck the mothers, but we muscled through the evening and went home early.

Somewhere around 3 am T came to wake me to let me know she was going to the emergency room. I retrieved the baby monitor and went back to sleep. I think.

Somewhere around 4 am Baby I's diaper exploded in a fit of rage and drenched his entire crib in pee.

I cleaned him up, threw all the peed on pajamas into the peed on crib, wiped his entire body with baby wipes and set up camp with him on the playroom bed. He fell asleep rather quickly and snuggled right up in my arm and it was SO CUTE.

Somewhere around 6 am J came down to the playroom and I nearly shot and killed him. But I don't own a gun. I roared something about it being too early, turned on PBS and went back to sleep. R joined us a bit later and I tried to snooze through them babbling and climbing all over me. Baby I woke up shortly after her arrival and then even feigning sleep was over. All over.

I got up, made breakfast and set about entertaining the munchkins until further notice. First, T's mom called to see how T was feeling. I told her the couple was out. She seemed unhappy with my answer, but she let me go. She called back an hour later and asked what they were wearing when they went out. I stuttered a little bit and then thought of something truthful to say about the situation without giving away T's location.

"I don't know. They woke me up early to say they were leaving and I wasn't really paying attention to what they were wearing."

Still unhappy with me and my lack of knowledge, she hung up. I texted E to let him know I was having a hard time fending off T's mom, which could only mean that when his mom grilled me the beans would be spilt.

He called a few minutes later to say they would call the family. T had been admitted for tests which had all come back negative. No kidney, appendix or gallbladder problems. She was about to undergo an MRI.

I spent the day trying to talk the kids into going to the library but they were too happy to be home all day so we stayed put. I turned a diaper box into a house which they finger painted. We made soft pretzels which no one but the baby and I would eat. We were having a good old time when the mothers showed up.

Sometime in the afternoon they decided that if they weren't going to be allowed in the hospital they would just set up camp under my feet and drive me closer to the edge of sanity than I have ever been.

The curses dripping out of my mouth that day were unfathomable.

E's mom kept telling me to feed the baby more fruit even after insisted that he had had enough. The next day he had some fierce bowel movements. T's mom kept telling me to follow him around the house even after I explained that he is quite a large baby now and can move freely about without dying. I decided not to mention the fact that he can go up and down stairs alone, but just started repeating myself.

"He can play in the living room. It's ok. He knows what he can touch."

"It's dangerous!"

"No, no, he plays in there all the time. He's ok."

As I was making dinner they both came into the kitchen to tell me how dangerous the table was. In their defense, Baby I has run face first into the table's edge before, but it's been a while. In my defense, it's not their house, it's not their table, it's not their job to watch the kids, it's not going to kill the baby to figure out that he can't walk directly into the table anymore and it's not going to kill the other two kids to not run in the kitchen, which they are not allowed to do anyway and if it takes running smack into the table for them to figure out why, then I think that is a lesson they need to learn.

The two mothers turned the table and pushed it up against the wall, telling me how much better it was and insisting that I help them in their quest by telling E and T it was better this way.

I pretended to have fallen deaf and finished making dinner.

As the lasagna cooled down, E's mom verbalized something I hadn't realized she understood.

"If I stay, the children will not eat."

"Yes, they sit and eat much better when there's no one else here." I agreed, exchanging a look with T's mom to let her know I didn't mean her. For some odd reason the kids will listen to her, but not E's mom. When the latter is here they are monsters at the dinner table.

"I'll go then, I'll go." E's mom said, putting on her coat and proceeding to stand directly behind the kids at the table. I waited a moment and then looked right at her.

"They really do much better when no one is here."

"Yes, they sit and eat when I go." And she stood there. She said goodbye to the baby, which makes him cry, and then held him to make him stop and set him in his chair and did it again.

Instead of tearing my hair out, or hers as I would have really enjoyed at that moment, I took a deep breath.

"Ok, thanks for coming. I can't serve them until you go, so...bye."

She took the hint and hurried out of the room.

T's mom sat down and I served the kids and they ate. Every bite.

E stopped by that evening and I got the kids all ready for bed pretty easily with T's mom helping and whichever child I was not handling at the moment following E around.

And then, JUST as I was going into the baby's room with him in arm, tired and cranky, more of E's family showed up. These people are very nice and very, VERY sweet. BUT DO THEY EVER THINK????

His sister and her teenage daughter came upstairs and right into the baby's room and took him and kissed him and tried to get him to talk to them. And he was moody. He wanted to go to bed. He started crying and reaching for me and they still kept at it. Finally E came in, took the baby and said, "He's going to bed now." And they got the message and left the room.

UGH.

Sunday morning E called to say T was being released later that morning.

Around 11 she came home and then had to go for an acupuncture treatment to alleviate some pregnancy related digestion issues that were believed to be the cause of all her pain.

Sunday evening the mothers decided it was their job to cook a huge meal and invite everyone in the family for dinner at our house, you know, to help T relax and recover.

E barbecued and T's sister's kids trashed the playroom and the new basement playroom. T's dad cleaned up the dinner dishes and put most of the food away and I will love that man forever for doing so.

Monday was back to normal.

In the afternoons after school we have been working on getting the basement put together for J's birthday party coming up on Sunday.

My other ongoing project, is keeping the baby's newly developed love for a security blanket in check. He has several of those tiny soft square blankets with a stuffed animal head attached. They're all blue and they are all the same or similar material but there are two that he favors. He never used to care about them but suddenly in the last two weeks he wants them all the time.

I am all for a security object but I hate when kids get too attached, mainly because I don't want to be the poor soul standing in the library while the baby screams bloody murder for a stupid blanket that I left at home.

So I am trying to keep them in his bed and we give them to him only for sleeping. He calls them "da-das" while the rest of the family calls them "na-nas".

Because of the timing of his naps and when R returns from school she us usually the only one home when he wakes up. She likes to go up to his room when he's awake and get into his crib with him until I come for him.

On Monday afternoon I was listening to them on the monitor and when it sounded like he had had enough crib time I started up the stairs. As I reached the top I could see R facing I in the crib and pointing a serious finger at him.

"Drop. Your. Na-na." She ordered. He did.

Smoothest transition ever.

Well that'll screw them up.

Today the kids had no school for election day.

WHY DON'T WE DO THIS IN PENNSYLVANIA?!?!?!

I grew up getting off for the first day of deer hunting season, but not election day. How does that make sense? I guess a redneck is as a redneck does...

Since they had no school, T let them stay up last night. I'm not sure what the logic is behind this. Parents, you've all uttered the phrase, "Well they don't have to get up so..." Please, explain this to me.

I know they don't HAVE to get up, but we both know they will. And we also know that without a proper night's sleep they are going to be absolute monsters. Do you like to torture yourself? Do you value your child's teachers' sanity more than your own? Please, I just want to understand. I don't care if it's Friday or a holiday or a snow day or the summer. Your kids won't know there is a "stay up late" option if you don't plague the your household and the rest of the world with it.

Anyway, she let them stay up. And don't you judge her because you know you've done it too.

And this morning they were up at six.

And I wasn't.

So, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA T. Haha.

When I did get up around school time the house was already full of tantrums and whining and the dog hadn't been let out and if he could cross his legs he would have.

I let Willie out and promptly forgot about him, as T, who was supposed to be suffering all day at home with me, came down the stairs with bad news.

"I have bad news." She said. "I have to go in to work for training."

I don't ask a lot of questions about what she does or trains for. She's in real estate and that's as much as I care to know. But she had to go, so that was that.

I would have all three beasts -- I mean, kids. All day.

"Go somewhere. Go to the library." She told me sympathetically as she ran out the door to childless bliss.

Ok. I collected the emergency fund from the "draw" in the kitchen and called a cab.

The kids love riding in a cab and they have a special song that they sing to our drivers whenever we go out in one. Today they sang and our utterly personality-less cabby grunted from up front.

We got to the library a little before ten and spent as much time there as the kids could handle. There are computers the big two can play on and a Lego table so the baby can feel like he is destroying something without actually doing so. Of course, we read books and there's also a nice little yard in the back with giant animal statues the kids can climb on and a nice stone seat overlooking the creek that runs behind the building.

The baby took his nap in his stroller after throwing a tantrum about...something. I don't even try to find out anymore. I just put him to sleep. He's such a grump lately.

While he was asleep I went to sit on a couch just outside the play area and still well within the confines of the children's room. I was lost in the depths of Zimbabwe when I heard R calling to me. I cursed the gods of Murphy's Law (if you want to get a child's attention, sit down and look comfortable) and looked up. She was running over to me with a look of panic on her face.

When she reached me she looked as if she was unsure as to whether or not she should deliver her news. She likes a good opportunity to tattle but I think she realized that what she was about to tell me might change the course of the afternoon, nay, our very lives.

"J hit somebody!" She finally spilled the beans.

"Oh reaaaaaaaaaaaaaally?" I said in a voice only dogs could hear.

I'm not normally one to freak out about kids fighting other kids, but here in Great Neck where kids are all "children" and women can be a little uppity I tend to be a bit stricter with my minions. And J has been hitting nonstop for three days now. He had been thoroughly warned before we left the house this morning.

And usually punishment when we are out is getting strapped into the stroller for a timeout, but Baby I was sound asleep in the single stroller I brought along. Of course. Because I normally have a double with me but it doesn't fit in the cab.

I tried to find the precious child my runt had struck but the play area was jam packed with moms and nannies alike trying to fill up the day off from school. In the chaos of the zoo, R couldn't point him out. I took J back to my little couch haven and gave him his timeout there.

He didn't seem all that concerned.

Later, when we had gone outside and then run back in for a potty break and then gone back out and then gone back in again, we were cleaning up the part of the mess we were responsible for and getting ready to head back outside for good. R was right there helping me but I lost track of J for a moment or two and when he registered again on my radar he was having a yelling match with a little boy who had climbed onto a book shelf. The baboon child was standing halfway up a shelf and hurling insults back down at my little J.

Now, J is very sweet tempered and usually very patient. For instance, one day T was smothering him with love on the couch. When the same is done to R she screams, "GET OFF ME! YOU'RE KILLING ME!" But when done to J he simply said, "I love you Mommy, but you're squishing me."

His recent hitting habit is usually reserved for his little brother, who has been increasingly annoying lately. J rarely fights with R unless she starts it.

So I was curious as to how this boy-war had gotten started.

From up on the book shelf the demon child yelled again.

"Well, I'm stronger than you!"

"No, I'm stronger than you!" J said defiantly. He was several inches shorter than his opponent, had they been on even ground, and he probably weighed half as much. But he was angry and unintimidated.

I tried to distract him and get him to follow me, as we were leaving, but he had to finish what was started.

"I'm stronger and I'm bigger!" And then I grabbed him and hauled him out of the children's room before the little punkface hoodlum could retaliate, thereby giving my little punkface the last word.

They didn't sing on the ride home.

Once home, around 2pm, I started some spaghetti sauce for dinner and changed the baby's third poop of the day. A while later T called with exactly 40 minutes to spare before she had to leave for the city. She picked us up and we met up with her sister at a playground.

By the time we got home from there all three kids were EXHAUSTED, bratty and covered in sand. I threw them into the tub and explained how the rest of the night would go. There was going to be no more tantrums (Baby I), no more hitting (J!) and no more whining (R -- before my head explodes). Everyone was going to eat their dinners, all of it. Every bite. Without any problems. And then, they were all going to sit like angels and watch Finding Nemo. That was the deal.

R asked if we could modify it and eat in the playroom with the movie, which I normally object to, but I didn't expect them to last long enough to do one thing after the other, so to appease them and keep my head, I consented.

We set up dinner at the playroom table and I put on the movie, which they were already mostly through.

They started off golden.

Halfway through, J lost steam and I had to start feeding him. A little bit after that, the baby just started to be a jerk and I had to force feed him while he laughed spaghetti back into my face. He thinks he's SOOOOO funny.

J finally stopped eating altogether and I told him fine, but he wasn't getting another chance or dessert. He agreed and I cleaned up and everyone pretended to watch the movie for a few more minutes.

Then.

It started.

The baby crying about goodness knows what, R started a fight and J started doing every naughty and annoying thing he could think of, from hitting me with a giant plastic crayon to jumping all over the furniture.

They were tired.

I was tired.

I gave J his warning, one more naughty and he was going to bed. It was 6:15.

Ten seconds later he was jumping all over things again and I told him it was bedtime for him. R started in on one of her favorite ways to get in trouble: telling J to keep doing whatever it is he's getting in trouble for.

She's been doing it off and on since I got here, but the last few days it has been constant. She grins while whispering at him to keep being bad, keep spitting, keep ignoring Kimmy. I gave her a warning.

Five seconds later she did it again. I promised her bed as soon as J was asleep, and we both knew he would be asleep in minutes.

She stood in the playroom crying at the top of her lungs until I had J washed and brushed and in bed.

When she came upstairs we talked about how completely sick I was of her telling J to be bad. She apologized, promised to stop and ten minutes later she was asleep too. The baby was all that was left.

I gave him his milk and put him to bed.

And then I got to watch Jeopardy! for the first time in a very long time with no kids yelling all around me. It was glorious. And the kids were all asleep so early that they very well could get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow but you know what?

I'M OFF TOMORROW!

Snobby nanny is going to meet her sisters in the city!

GOOD LUCK AT HOME T!

GAAAAAaaaaaaahhhhhhh MY EYES!

Tonight was the last of the last of ice breakers in this house.

There were several wardrobe malfunctions on T’s part this summer and the flashing that resulted barely bothered me. Lady parts are something I’d rather not see, but they don’t shock or surprise. Especially those lady parts, used for nursing so often in public places these days.

I could handle that.

And one special afternoon T and I were both upstairs in different rooms having a conversation across the house while she was running around doing something and I was running around doing several things and I innocently went into the hallway and boom.

Headlights.

Again, not traumatizing. But still, not preferred.

As one of seven children I have to deal with my share of half-dressed sisters. I don’t particularly care when it’s my sisters, especially because they all possess the normal amounts of decency that keep people dressed to some extent when in company, but of course, there have been mishaps.

With my brothers.

Who also like to run around half-dressed.

And once. On Easter break. One morning. When I came down the stairs.

My brother.

In the kitchen.

Boxers.

Trying to gauge eyes out for several minutes.

I recovered from the Great Easter Catastrophe of Whatever Year That Was and also survived several roommate incidents, mostly with one roommate (who could very possibly be reading this) who really enjoyed her naked time, but also there were other occasions where I would walk in on someone or they would walk in on me. These things happen when you share small spaces.

And drink too much.

And I knew coming into this live-in nanny thing that boundaries were going to be redrawn. I just had no idea what that would mean.

It means having the kids run into the room yelling, “Daddy guzzied!” (which is Farsi for farted) and walking into T’s bedroom to find J’s slippers and coming across T passed out and snoring through an impromptu afternoon nap. And of course, actively participating in couple’s arguments and home renovation decisions.

But tonight was different.

Today, it took until 4 o’clock to get lunch fed to all the kids. Today, we slept in all except Baby I, who has developed a nasty cold. He was up several times in the night (so I heard, I don’t work overnight) and was up for good quite early this morning. He was watching “Doowah” otherwise known as Dora, around 6 while everyone else slept on and on.

After breakfast I went outside with the kiddies to play and T left to do something. E was still asleep. T came home to pick up I for a doctor’s appointment and I went with E to take the kids for a bike ride.

The afternoon was just as lazy as the morning. Baby I threw the mother of all tantrums and all three adults in the house tried to calm him down before finally he finally fell asleep for a nap and then the kids went to play whatever it is they play in their room that involves moving all their bedding onto the floor and stuffing stuffed animals up their shirts.

E and T went to Home Depot for some more things needed in the basement makeover and then with my blessing and encouragement they also went to lunch and ran some other errands. The kids were eating lunch and when their parents come home in the middle of a meal it all falls apart so I do everything in my power to have these things timed.

When they did come home we all did a lot more nothing. Since lunch was so late dinner was also late, and since no one had given one thought to what we should eat for dinner it was even later. So I used one of my favorite tricks and pureed some zucchini to layer under pizza sauce and made a pizza. I fed the older two kids while Baby I was upstairs with E and T.

They were getting ready to go out, I knew, but after the kids finished their meal they went upstairs and I cleaned up a bit before going to get the baby.

Now, let me draw a picture for you here.

The stairs are wood and they aren’t terrible noisy but they’re not very quiet either. There’s also not a lot on the floors or walls, so everything echoes. The upstairs is mostly open hallway, and the master bedroom is visible from the stairs and every part of the hallway. Normally, when my employers are changing, the door is closed. But they had all three kids with them (or so I thought--it turns out the other two were actually in their room) and the door was open. So I climbed the stairs with the usual noise of footsteps and as I reached the top I said,

“Can I take the baby for dinner?”

T was starting to answer me that I could, but my eyes were already burning out of my skull. E had been in the nude, crossing the room and of course, passing the door just as my poor, poor eyes looked in. He said something and then T started laughing and yelling sorry.

And the baby just sat there on the bed watching TV like no one else was there.

I told T I would manage ok and I laughed. I think.

And then of course I had to spend the rest of the evening trying to act like I’m fine and everything is normal and I’m totally cool with everyone being naked all the time.

Just kidding. They both apologized again and I think I really will be ok. The whole event is already becoming hazy. My mind has superior powers of defense and is very good at blurring details until everything looks like a cartoon dream.

So after the kids were asleep I went downstairs to my room, which I cleaned yesterday for the first time in several weeks. I was inspired by my new clothing rack, which is not the one I had picked out originally, but instead a long wardrobe rack like they use for costumes on movie sets. It’s beautiful.

I got a good eyeful of my clothes and then I felt much better.

So I came up here and wrote this and now I feel sick again.

Time to go gaze at my shoe collection.

Slow Snobby Wednesday.

Snobby Wednesdays are becoming increasingly quieter. Not for the first time, I am entertaining myself today but walking back and forth between the coffee shop (Esparks) and the Great Neck Library Station branch.

Where I would normally sit and half pay attention to a book all day, I can now play online on my teeny tiny adorable computer. Isn’t that wonderful?

This morning I slept in and didn’t set any alarms, which was also pretty wonderful. I got up and got dressed and then hated my outfit and got dressed again. And then changed my shoes and had to get dressed again to accommodate that. It was bliss.

Even more blissful, was connecting with my Brenny (SHOUT OUT) who moved EVEN FARTHER away from me recently and who apparently, also lives in a cellular-reception challenged hole. Only hers is on an island on the beach in the Carolinas and mine is, well, here.

So I got to talk her ear off and get an update about her family there before downing my soy hot chocolate and cyber-stalking a few people.

My original to-do list revolved around getting a much needed coat for the winter but a sudden burst of laziness overcame me and I didn’t make it that far. I was ALMOST on the train when I lost interest and returned to the library.

I left the house this morning, as usual, without all of the things I need to accomplish all my set tasks. No matter how many lists I make for myself I can’t seem to get my act together. I have lists of lists. And I still can’t function.

Last night, when I should have been getting things together for today and cleaning my room to match the rest of the spotless basement, I was gabbing with T in the kitchen. We started off talking about my day off today and somehow the conversation morphed into ten other things and then thirty minutes had passed by and we had both lost steam and everyone just went to watch TV and pass out instead of cleaning up the kitchen and getting ready for today.

She had gone into J’s school yesterday to participate in something or other that the preschools make the parents participate in and one of the teachers approached her. It seems that the kiddies were discussing family and they were listing family members they loved and J informed the class that he also loved his Kimmy.

Naturally, the teachers were concerned that a child should love his nanny enough to list her as family.

When T heard she laughed politely and said, “Yes, we have a Kimmy. She lives with us and helps raise the children.”

Again, the teacher was astonished. Most NY nannies aren’t there to help raise the children, they are there to cook dinner and clean up after the children.

T explained that she had tried the conventional New York nanny-who-doesn’t-speak-English-and-is-terrified-of-the-boss-lady route. It didn’t take. And so here I am.

I must reiterate how nice it is to have found one of the most down-to-earth families in Great Neck. Especially considering I just found out that T’s sister’s nanny has learned how to cook all the Persian food and now cooks Shabbat dinners. I can promise you I am not going to be doing that any time soon.

Speaking of K, the other nanny, she is currently on Jenny Craig’s weight loss plan and she is losing weight exactly two sizes ahead of me so I am inheriting all her clothes as we go down the line. This is very exciting for me, because I both love new clothes and hate paying for them. I was prepared to own one pair of jeans for each size from now on but thanks to K, I will be able to change my pants from time to time this winter.

How exciting!

Also exciting, as most of my close friends know, I am not a licensed driver. Since my move away from Allentown and juvenile delinquency, I have actually become a non-driver to correlate my non-licensed status.

When I interviewed with T she was highly unconcerned about my inability to drive but as she now finds herself with child she is getting more and more excited about not having to take J to school in the morning and stay home with both babies instead. Since New Baby is not due until Spring, I technically have until then, but as PennDOT would have it, I am eligible once again for licensed driver status.

Coming soon, Snobby Nanny Drives A Mercedes.

I’ll keep you posted, but as of now, it is really time for me to get on the train.

Will you be here next Halloween?

My snobby weekend turned into something completely different than what had been planned.

The plan was to be off Saturday, take a bus to the Lehigh Valley, do a photo shoot, see old friends, smother my niece and nephew in kisses for six hours, and head home.

What actually happened was just as wonderful, and maybe better except for the absence of my niece and nephew.

Since I worked on Saturday, I was able to have off for Sunday. A real Sunday.

I tried to go to Kristen's (my sister) anyway, but her power was out from the snow storm, so I listened to God and went to my own church.

I talked all day inbetween services, spending the day with the family that has newly adopted me. I got home early enough to fall asleep early and wake up rested on a Monday for once.

But that's not what happened.

The cursed insomnia is back. I spent two hours lying there pretending to be asleep, hoping that I could fool my body into thinking it was really asleep so that perhaps it would still feel rejuvenated.

When my alarm went off this morning I reset it three times and then decided to kill it.

Instead of killing it, I just manned up and got dressed. I thought about wearing my witch stockings and skirt, or my adorable peacock outfit, but I didn't have the energy for either and I was freezing, which is weird, because I'm rarely cold.

I ignored the tiny voice in my head that suggested that perhaps the hint of a cold I'd been fighting all last week had finally caught up with me.

I've been taking 1200% of the daily value of vitamin C required in an adult. Today was no different, but somewhere around midafternoon my immune system gave up.

I gave the kitchen it's Monday Mopping, half-heartedly and I put the baby down for his nap. Then I stared at the dishes in the sink until R got home. After T picked her up for Hebrew school I stared at the dishes some more.

T's mom brought R back home and we sat around reviewing the alphabet and talking about Halloween. She asked when we were going trick-or-treating and I reminded her that she had gone twice already, yesterday with her parents and today at school. She insisted that since today was actually Halloween we should go trick-or-treating. I said I couldn't agree more and told her that there was a time when people celebrated holidays on the actual holiday but that time has long gone and we need to mourn it properly and then move on.

"Ok." She said, not at all sure what the heck I was talking about. "But what about next year?"

"We will go trick-or-treating again next year but we still have to go whatever day they tell us to."

"Ok." She agreed again. "And will you be here next year?"

"Yes." I promised, so now it's official. And I suppose I can just be a peacock next year...

I don't now how or when, but the dishes got washed and I made dinner after T called to say she was running late and she had J with her. I fed the other two and threw them in the tub.

Then I sent them to T and vanished.

I searched the kitchen for fever reducer, took another vitamin C for good measure and argued with myself about having a glass of wine. The verdict is in: I'm going to have one. If anything will ensure that I sleep tonight it's rich people merlot.

I don't feel snobby at all tonight, I feel chilly. Wednesday, come quickly!

Rescheduled.

Baby I is sitting beside me right now and every few seconds he pats my arm to get my attention and goes, "Mimi! Mimi!" likes it's really important and then when I say "WHAT?" he just smiles and babbles something and pinches me.

He's really very sweet.

Today is as miserable as predicted. Rain, cold, wind, rain, sleet, snow, sleet, rain, sleet...need I continue?

My wonderful day trip to Pennsylvania was cancelled until further notice. I opted to work today rather than sit in bed and lose a days' pay. So now I'm getting paid to have slept in until after nine, sat around playing on Facebook all morning, half-heartedly fed the kids pancakes and now babysit the baby while the others are at a birthday party.

I love my job.

Last night was Shabbat dinner at T's sister's house. The baby was in an incredibly bad mood from the moment we left our house so the night was full of screaming and forcefeeding and other fun games.

We left there at 9:30 but we drove around until 10:30 to make sure all the kids were good and asleep. We drove through the neighborhoods around here and gawked at houses. Huge houses. Some beautiful. Some really, really not.

T has her eye on a particularly showy mansion.

We had intended to leave R behind to sleepover with her cousins and during our slow drive home she called and said she had changed her mind and wanted to come home.

E narrated how importatnt it was that she know she can always call her parents and they will always get her and then as we pulled up in front of the house again he said, "Ok, Kimmy, go get her." And we all laughed. Then he said, "I'm funny, right?"

"Yes, you're very funny."

T went to get her.

They are funny. They had an argument, a real one, last week and while I kept going about my work they kept going about their disagreement. And then T went, "Right, Kimmy?"

And I nearly died laughing.

I took her side but couldn't actually think of any defensive arguements for her. Anyway, it was all very funny and at the end of it they were laughing and the argument was over.

I found out this week that T speaks Spanish in addition to the Farsi that runs in the family. She is trilingual! She had hired a cleaning company for my basement and they didn't show up. She called another company and the same thing happened. This really happens in New York. HOW ANNOYING IS THAT?

So she called a woman who cleans houses, a private self-employee. The woman only speals Spanish so T made all the arrangements and she was supposed to come yesterday but she is now coming on Tuesday instead. I hope.

We are trying to get the basement fixed up in time for J's birthday party on the
20th. Since the lights have been put in and the calls have been made to get the other service people in here we are all having very high hopes for completiong of the basement to be really soon.

I might actually order the garment rack that they are getting for me and put all my clothes away. Or I might continue to sleep with half of my wardrobe. We shall see.

E found Jiminy Cricket and splattered him. Thank goodness. There has been no cricket chirping in my room for the last few days.

As for the upstairs, the main floor never has any news, but it turns out that upstairs the heat, just like the AC, doesn't come through all the vents properly. The kids' room is mildly heated, but the baby's room is like a refrigerator. The master room is pretty chilly and T's closet is like going outside. It's colder up there than it is in my basement, which is very comfortable and smells like warm dryer sheets.

There were some major plumbing issues upstairs over the last month but they have all been dealt with and so hopefully soon the electrical problem that is causing the vents upstairs to malfunction (or not function really) will be addressed soon and they will all stop having runny noses from sleeping up there.

We have been getting movies out of the library for the kids and this week I even splurged and got one for myself which I have yet to watch because I am addicted to my computer. The playroom TV is the only TV with a DVD player in the house but it used to be at kid level and they had battered the poor machine. The TV was always covered in sticky fingerprints and the baby, who had mastered all the buttons, would constantly play with it and smack it.

It stopped working properly about three weeks ago. Sometimes it was fine, and then most of the time the screen was black while the audio worked perfectly. The DVD player would only play DVDs that were REALLY REALLY REALLY clean and had absolutely never been touched by human hand.

As a result, we could only watch movies with both sound and visual on a rare occasion and even then, we usually had to contend with Baby I turning the TV off or changing the channel and ruining everything.

So when I cam home from my day off last week there was a brand new flat screen in the playroom. Not a large, ridiculous one like in the living room, but still a very nice TV. The buttons are cleverly hidden on the side and so Baby I is going to have to find a new hobby, and there is a DVD player built right into the side as well. Everything is golden except I can't get the Fios remote programmed to this TV so we now have two remotes, which wouldn't be a problem for me, but it is a huge problem for R. She's very delicate and finds two remotes, or rather, waiting for me to use two different remotes to get her shows going, very emotionally draining.

In other news, J has begun asking for food!!! For the last week he has actually come down the stairs, refused Pediasure and eaten breakfast without anyone having to wrestle him to the table. He asks for eggs and cereal, one right after the other. AND HE EATS THEM.

Today he even asked for lunch! HE NEVER ASKS FOR LUNCH.

He's been doing pretty good with dinners too, and there was only one night this entire week that he stopped eating halfway through. Since he's been eating so willingly, when he stopped I told him that was it. I wasn't going to argue. I put him to bed and then next day he ate just fine again.

He has lost a pound since going off the Pediasure but I have confidence that he will gain it back. He's also finally grown into a 3t!!!! So, even though he lost weight, I think it's justified.

They just got home from their party and J is down for the night, so I am off to do a puzzle with R and then figure out what tomorrow will hold for me.

It's raining.

Today I reached a personal milestone.

I used the bathroom upstairs.

I never have before because J was potty training and there was always pee all over it. But he is now potty trained and the bathroom was cleaned yesterday, so. It was time.

I also did too many loads of laundry and the cess pool trap in the basement was full to the tippy top of nasty water.

It's been raining ALL day.

This morning we all got up late again. This house is jam packed with weather-depressive people. I didn't take the baby outside at all since he is still getting over a cold. He sneezed something seriously nasty out of his nose this morning and I almost got sick all over the kitchen.

So we made a day of cleaning up around here and trying not to flood the basement with cess pool water.

I'm living the dream with Netflix so while he napped I watched reruns of this great old sitcom called Newradio that nobody but me liked even in the 90s when it was new. But I'll watch it again. And you can judge me.

There's two loads of unfolded laundry waiting on my bed for me and I suppose I should fold it all before I go to sleep, but the chances of that happening are slim to none.

We did some rainy day baking, which came out a little on the dark side. We have an old gas oven from the 70s which has an upper oven and a lower oven. The upper one is much easier to use but it has been temperamental laterly and only works sometimes. Today when it was time to preheat for our cookies I turned it on and happily heard the gas ingnite.

I set the temperature for my standard 25 degrees less than what the recipe says and then put in my cookies. Nine minutes later they were black on the bottom and juuuuuuuust barely done on the top.

I turned the temp down for the next batch which came out exactly the same.

Turned it down more.

Raw cookies after ten minutes.

Turned it back up and resigned myself to deal with whatever the "Modern Maid" left of my cookies. I got some rock hard, mostly edible versions back and accepted them graciously.

I'm eating them right now.

What just happened?

Today was a whole slew of crazy.

We all got up on time which is a marked improvement over yesterday. The kids and their parents all got out of here on time and Baby I and I packed up and went to his last Toy Time class at the library.

Toy Time is a wonderful hour where 20 babies under 17 months old crawl all over each other and cry. And the parents ignore them and I text. It's glorious. The poor librarian who "leads" the "class" stands up front waving puppets around and singing along to some lame CD and the babies just run wild.

I love it because they immediately fall asleep when it's over.

After school yesterday I was so bored and tired I had to drink coffee to keep from falling asleep while R and J played.

Today T dropped J off with his two wild cousins (T's sister's kids) and her sister promised to be back in an hour.

An hour later, my playroom looked like a garbage dump and smelled pretty similar to one as well. Our young guests had eaten every snack in the house and still wanted more and T's mom had arrived and was scared to leave me with all 5 kids. I'm not sure what time she got here but at 5:30, three hours after school, she called her daughter to come get her rowdy twins.

Yes, they're twins. I had no idea until about a month ago.

T's sister, who is also a T and so she continues to be referred to as T's sister, has twins who are roughly three years old and a baby girl a little younger than Baby I. The twins are a boy and girl, who I thought were different ages because S, the girl, is relatively well behaved and can communicate a clear thought. J, who actually has the same name as my little J, is like talking to Frankenstein's monster. He gtrunts and cries and waves his arm. He eats like an animal and many of his facial expressions resemble a confused ape.

He dumped out two drawers of toys and a bin of blocks and kept opening the playroom gate repeatedly after I told him to get away from it. I'm getting the feeling that Grandma visits us a lot more often than them, and that she is overwhelmed by cousin J's apparent special needs.

Since it was dinner time when the house finally calmed down and was put back together, I texted T to see what was going on. This week she and E have been going to several prayer and memorial services for the relative who just passed away. T has been working long days and then rushing home to change and eat, meet E and head out to pray.

Tonight she said she was on her way home to cook and then twenty minutes later she texted again to say she was stuck at work and could I make some of the frozen chicken and pasta. We struggled through dinner, during which R and J each received time outs for unrelated infractions.

When it was finally over I rushed them all up to start the bedtime routine.

I have mastered it.

These kids are asleep by 8:30 every night that their parents aren't home.

Every night.

Tonight we were halfway there, I was asleep and J was almost out, when E got home and ruined everything. Then T came in and so I left them all to fend for themselves. The kids were still giggling from the second floor after nine.

But I was off duty.

And T is eternally grateful and deeply sorry for my day.

But she had a rough day too.

And I...am in shock.

Just do this.

Today Walter the Electrician put the light switches in my basement. I HAVE LIGHT!

I missed church for the fifth week in a row. There have been electrical problems, septic problems, flooding problems and now a death in T's family, all of these occuring just so that I can't make it to worship.

It hurts.

So I didn't do anything today. I had the kids while E and T went to temple and a funeral, but I stayed late in my room this morning and then we did arts and crafts all day.

I even sang some hymns while I ignored the piles of dishes in the sink.

We made some Halloween crafts and while R was at a playdate, I was asleep and J was sucked into the Buzz Lightyear movie, I had some serious downtime.

R came home in the afternoon and caught me in the kitchen, squishing my stomach into the flatter shape I'd like it in. I sometimes spend a good five minutes in front of the refrigerator cursing my stomach for being hungry and round at the same time. Evil stomach.

She asked me what I was doing and I told her I wanted a snack but my belly wasn't letting me have one. She thought for a minute and then asked me why I didn't just make it flat.

"I'm trying to!" I told her. "Have any ideas?"

She thought again and then dropped onto the floor, belly down.

"Just do this!" And then she wiggled in a little army crawl. "And you could do this for walking!"

Ah, yes. The simple solution. Diet abandoned.

Just kidding.

But you might recall my mentioning no one here had gone shopping in a while?

All week the list kept growing and growing and T has been crazy busy and the house has been crazy busy with runny noses and workmen and whatnot. It's the whatnot that really messes up the day.

Anyway, last night before E and T headed out for some function or another, E took the initiative of going to the store. He took the list I had put together and got a few pointers from T and headed out.

He returned with everything on the list and then some. There is more junk food in this house than has ever been in it since I've been here. T was apalled at the selection of chips and cookies he brought home.

On the plus side, there were two kinds of hummus, which is low-cal but the Swiss chocolate will surely balance that out and I promise you the eight different kinds of cheese did not go unnoticed. STUPID REFRIGERATOR.

And so my only defense is to walk around glaring at my stomach. Or to army crawl for the rest of my life, but winter is coming so...

Last night I stayed up to watch the most important show on Earth (The Soup) which didn't air until midnight. Afterward, I was just heading to bed when the doorbell rang, close to 1 am. Willie immediately started barking like an idiot and I ran upstairs to let E and T in, who had locked themselves out on departure earlier in the evening.

A few weeks back they did this for the first time on my watch.

That night I had the kids all in bed early, I got some erious paperwork done, skipped TV and went to bed early myself. On the nights that I have the kids, I take the monitor down to my room and put it on the nightstand with the volume relatively low.

I have this amazing gift for hearing babies cry in my sleep. And nothing else.

I was dead-to-the-world-unless-you're-a-baby asleep when E and T got home and realized they were locked out. They called my phone, which was on vibrate and I don't hear unless I want to. And I didn't.

They rang the bell, which was broken at the time, knocked and called some more. There were texts, voicemails and more pounding on the door.

All I heard was Willie bark, and after comparing notes with T, it was about ten minutes into the knocking. Before that they had been sporadically calling me between their own conversation for an hour. It was 3 am.

I went back to bed laughing.

And last night I opened the door and told them I was going to stop letting them in.

But to my joy as a result of the chaos and plumbing trouble and lack of electricty of the last few weeks, the upstairs renovation has been postponed and the basement renovation has begun.

The lighting was the beginning. The crack in the foundation is next. The septic is going to be taken care of during all that and then the cleaning crew that was due two weeks ago will be called back to deep clean the basement; when we're sure all the grossness is through.

I will find and murder that noisy cricket before the drywall goes up and by winter there will be carpet and a second, larger playroom for the kids to be couped up in during all the blizzards I am praying for.

I'm already teaching the kids the words to "Let it Snow."

Genuine Saturday.

Last night we were out at E's mother's house for Shabbat dinner until 11 o'clock. The kids were throwing tantrums before we left, while we were there and then topped out with the mother of all tantrums as we packed up to come back.

In the months I've been offline R has developed an indecisive streak. She spends a good twenty minutes choosing her breakfast every morning and then eats the same thing every day. But by far the worst tantrum arena is her closet when it's time to dress for anything.

She is adamantly opposed to layering her clothes and since it has been very chilly in the mornings and then mildly warm and gloriously sunny in the afternoons this poses a problem.

For school she is more agreeable but when we have places to go in the evening her inability to put a matching outfit together which is approved by her mother and that R herself feels comfortable in quickly escalades into an all out screaming match.

The first time it happened E was home. He simply went into the room, put clothes on R and said, "Keep them on or you won't come." She continued to scream for a good fifteen minutes until they walked out the door, but she was dressed.

The next time took longer. E's presence had no influence on her and it wasn't until T spanked her and told her she wasn't coming that she hurried into her outfit and promised to do as told, all the while hiccupping and breathing really hard from crying for thirty minutes.

Last night was the third and last time any of us are letting her out of the house after a tantrum like that. She was {this} close to getting left behind last night and the only reason she didn't was because I was hungry and no one here has been shopping in a really long time.

Before dinner we were dressing to go to a football game. R has a brand new winter coat that she and T picked out and agreed was perfect. When it came time to put it on R started crying. At the football game she vowed she wasn't going to put the coat on so I told T to go ahead with the two boys (E wasn't with us) and I would get her to come. I waited five minutes, said, "Ok, put it on or I'm leaving." When she said no I turned to go and she panicked and put it on.

We went home and hung out for a bit before getting dressed for dinner. The boys and I were ready before R even agreed to go upstairs and look at her clothes. When she finally did she began right away with, "I don't know what to wear!" The tears came shortly after. I told her to stop crying or I wouldn't help her. She didn't. So I left her in T's frustrated hands. T told her to pick something and get it on. She gave her options and ideas. More tears came. T left the room. For over an hour R sat in her room in her birthday suit, screaming that she hated everything she owned. It finally got to the point where T screamed back and that rarely happens. R got a spanking and the threat of not going was put on the table.

Twice R shrieked that she was going to listen and she would get dressed. Twice she started up again after making that promise. T left her in her room with the promise that if she didn't come out in a proper outfit when it was time to go then she would be staying behind.

She put on her outfit and came.

R has been throwing tantrums about other things lately too. Overall her behavior has had a marked change since the start of the school year. When I came home from a day off to a house that looked like a whirlwind had flown through it T was sitting in the kitchen looking tired.

"She's a brat." She told me and I laughed. She IS a brat. But she's actually getting better. The tantrums, I believe, are her last defense against Nanny Rule. And when no one else is home, they are very shortlived little tantrums.

This morning the kids asked if they could play outside. It was still cold at that point so I told them yes, if they wore a sweatshirt and a jacket. The deal is that when the sun gets warm the jackets can come off. J obliged and was outside in no time. The baby, of course, couldn't care less what he's wearing as long as he's outside. He has become very fond of shoes though.

R immediately started crying about having to wear a jacket.

"Ok," I said in a normal, calm speaking voice, which I am positive is key in getting your point across to kids this age. "I'm not going to argue with you. I told you what you need to wear. We're all ready. We're going outside. When you put on what I said you can come out. If I see you out there without what you need, you will be in trouble." And I left.

She argued from the doorway for a bit but when no one engaged she went upstairs and got dressed.

At lunch time T followed my advice and did not engage. We had a pasta picnic on the front lawn and when R started crying and threw her fork down and complained that her mac wasn't cheesy enough T simply said, "Ok, but I'm not making anything else and you won't get dessert." (We dessert after lunch because it has been proven that J can't handle sweets after dinner and be expected to fall asleep anywhere near bedtime.)

And R ate every bite.

In between tantrums, today was a very relaxing day. I made pancakes around 9 and we all trailed the kids outside to ride bikes and sleep on the lawn. Baby I has taken an interest in J's t-ball set and spent the morning hitting balls three inches from the T. I spread out my beach blanket and napped on it. When I sat up T was napping on it too and between us was Willie as happy as I've ever seen him.

E took the kids for a bike ride around the block and T followed to video tape so I put the baby down for a nap and did some minimal work. There was a lot more sitting around pretty much right up until dinner time.

I heated leftovers while E and T got dressed to go out. While the kids ate dinner I told them stories. This is our latest past time. They name a Disney character and I tell the story in as much detail as possible so that when we rent the movies and they watch them for the first time, R won't be scared.

She's a chicken like my little Eva! I MISS LITTLE EVA!!!

Anyway, so I told them Cars, Sleeping Beauty and almost started Snow White before we got side-tracked. R and J have become impressed also with my stories of the new wave of critters living in my basement.

Since the cess pool trap has become filled with stagnant, sulfur-smelling water, all the spiders who usually live in the trap ran out of it in hope of survival. Silly spiders. They all died in the Second All Natural Pesticide War of 2011.

I haven't seen any silverfish to speak of, and still none on my side of the basement. One night I woke up in the dead of the night and looked at the wall above my bed. It was one of those weird moments where you can't explain why you knew to wake up, but I did and there was a very, very faint looking spideresque shape running up the wall. It was gone before I could turn on a better light.

I went back to sleep, which is a sign that I am maturing. Before Africa, I never went back to sleep after a spider-sighting.

Several nights later I encountered another spider of the same species. They're so thin they're barely visible and they are FAST. They remind me of daddy long legs, and so I am not particularely bothered by them. But I did spray my side of the basement again after the cess pool incident anyway, so I haven't seen those in a while either.

The newest developement in Critter Kingdom is the crickets.

The first one I spotted was near the cess pool. I left him alone.

The second one, which I'm pretty sure is also the third one, was on the wall beneath my window. I let him wander for a while, hoping he would have the sense to GO AWAY before I settled down for bed. He didn't, and then he started singing, and so I had to throw a shoe at him. I HAD TO.

I thought I killed him and just couldn't find the body.

But the next night Number 3 was on the same wall, on the other side of the window. He crawled around frantically when I entered the room and turned on the lights. I told him I was going to take a shower and if he was still there when I came back we would have a problem.

He was very cleverly out of sight when I returned.

Unforturnately, when he started singing, I had no idea where to throw my shoes.

I told R about Jiminy Cricket living in the basement and she asked me if she could get up in the middle of the night some time and come meet him.

I thought about it for all of one second, flashing back to every wild outburst she's had in the last 48 hours, calculating just how much sleep she had been lacking in each scenario...

And told her no.