Stay Tuned

I have to level with you. I'm just not that into this. Right now that is. I am compelled to write something to fill the page on my beloved blog, and yet I am drawing a blank. I actually have quiet a bit going on at the moment, enough to fuel many more inspired posts, but for now I must remain quiet. And since I cannot write about what is truly on my mind, I am finding it difficult to find acceptable material. I can promise you this, stick with me, and this blog will get a whole lot better, I just need a little time.

In the mean time, the highlights from my weekend:

• I went to a movie by myself on Saturday night. I know *crazy*, but I rather enjoyed it. I mean who really needs a partner to view a film? It isn't as if I want to chat during the movie, and after 11.5 years of marriage, I feel no urge to make out in a dark theater. So going solo suits me just fine. Accept. Accept I ran into a couple from Zack's preschool and I instantly felt weird. What did they think? "Look at that poor woman.... doesn't she have any friends?" "Where do you think her husband is?"



• My husband's friend visited us from the great state of Minnesota this weekend. He confided that one of his goals was to get a mention in getrealmama. So here it is Pete-great to see you. You are a true beer nerd, and I mean that in the nicest of ways. I am sure he feels a profound sense of fulfillment now.



• Today was a day chock full of trick-or-treating. We took our two little Batmen out on three seperate occassions to collect candy from strangers, and they were delighted. I was mildly embarressed by Zachary's lack-luster "Trick or Treat" and forced "Thank you", mumbled with his back already turned to the door. However, Evan's cheerful "Trick or Thank you!" made up for it all. He was quite the charmer. Now we have enough candy to keep us sugar-loaded until Easter. Super.

Hope you all had a lovely weekend. Stay tuned.

Let's hear it for Poughkeepsie!

Fellow bloggers, tell me that Google Analytics are not a wee bit addictive? No? You're lying. I own it. I get sucked in, checking my stats each day with my morning coffee. The peaks and valleys. Why only 13 visits on Saturday? Don't ya'll love me? Someone found my blog by searching the key words "experiments with live rabbits"? A little creepy.

My find from reviewing the stats today? On October 4, 2010 a reader in Poughkeepsie spent 20 minutes and 43 seconds, reading 10 pages on my blog. My blog. They must have liked it right? Heck, maybe even loved it, otherwise why stick around for 10 pages? They have not yet returned, but I wanted to put a shout out to Poughkeepsie. Please come back! I love you! We should be friends!

Ego boost of the day. Thank you Poughkeepsie. I needed one.

The List grows longer

Perhaps I should rename this blog "The Diary of Debbie Downer". Maybe it is just easier to write when I'm in a sour mood. I apologize. For those of you who would prefer a peppy positive take on life, I know there are plenty of mommy blogs out there for you.

I guess that I'm on a roll. First on my list was Mr. Pickles. Now we can add "Bertha" the babysitter. I am calling her Bertha to protect her identity, while I am sure she doesn't read my blog, you just never know who does.

Bertha has babysat for us probably about 6-7 times over the course of the past year. She works at my son's preschool, which is how I met her. She is a fine older lady. Not the spry, energetic type my children would prefer, but rather the trustworthy person who you hire to watch the munchkins for an hour or two before bedtime. She feeds them, sticks them in front of the TV for a half an hour, then tucks them into bed.

I'll be honest. I have always been slightly dissatisfied with her services. For $15/hour, you think she could give the boys a bath before settling on our sofa to watch Dateline until we arrive home. Nope. No bath. Cleaning up after herself also doesn't seem to be a strength. One night we arrived home to not only a mess of dirty dishes, but a full pan of almost untouched lasagna sitting on the counter. It had been there since I removed it from the oven upon her arrival, five hours ago. The lasagna, needless to say, went in the trash. I don't know why I kept calling her. Maybe because finding a new sitter is so much work, and at least I knew Bertha would show up.

Well today was the final straw. This camel's back is broken. I can take no more. Goodbye Bertha. True, I may be over-reacting, but I'm not feeling very well, so cut me a little slack.

Tonight, at this very moment I am suppose to be in San Francisco with my husband at The World Series! The hubs scored tickets from a generous vendor, and I was invited to attend. Now, I am not a huge baseball fan, but I do enjoy a game, the crowds, the junk food, the beer, it's a good time. And The World Series? That has to be one heck of a party. Bertha was scheduled to babysit. But here is the problem. I am sick. Sick-sick. Too sick to go out and have fun, even if it means that I am stuck at home with rowdy kids. So I called Bertha with the news this morning. Bertha was not happy. Bertha was not shy about her feelings. Bertha went on and on about how she had just turned down another job and how she had planned on working tonight.

Okay, before you think I am totally heartless, to some extent I get it. She was planning on making $60.00 tonight for sitting on her butt watching TV in my living room. Maybe she had that money ear-marked. But it isn't as if I have ever cancelled on her before. It isn't as if this is her regular job. I am not her employer.

What really ticked me off? The fact that she didn't have an ounce of sympathy for me. Did she think I was lying? Did she think that I decided that it would be more fun to stay at home eating saltine crackers than going to see the ball game that everyone is talking about?

In the end I asked her if she wanted me to pay her for a portion of what she would have received tonight. Her words? "You just have to do what you think is right." I gave her a check for $45.00. You can be damn sure that was the last dollar she is going to earn from me.

Maybe I am not being fair. Maybe it is common practice to pay a sitter when you cancel on them. Perhaps I just have some pent up anger about the lack-luster job she does for us, and some general dissatisfaction with the way this evening turned out.

What do you think?

A little bit like crack/ A little bit like watching a train wreck

What can I say? When it comes to the Real Housewives, I am a sucker. SUCKER. I cannot get enough. I know it isn't good for me. Mindless television. Voyeurism into the lives the rich and pissed off. Oh the drama. The Louis Vuitton handbags. The vehicles that are worth more than my husband and I make in an entire year. The face lifts, personal trainers, sprawling homes, cat fights, bad music, family feuds, fancy trips and endless, endless cocktails.

I have to admit, there is a sting of jealousy when I see these women fly off in private jets, only to arrive in Paris and drop $20K on a single shoe shopping adventure. It sure looks nice, but we all know that money can't buy you happiness. And none of these well dressed, well traveled, well pampered ladies are happy right? Bah. I don't know.

Tonight's episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta featured a baby shower (pictured above) for one of the women. A baby shower for 150 of her closest friends. A baby shower with a dress code, (floppy hats and white gloves.) A baby shower with ballerinas and an open bar. A baby shower that probably cost more than my wedding. Damn. I bet she got a lot of good gifts, and the thing is, she doesn't need them. With money like that she can buy all the cashmere receiving blankets and silver spoons she wants. I wish those ladies had come to my baby shower. Maybe then my kids wouldn't have had their diapers changed on a rickety old hand-me-down, out of style (gasp) change table. Perhaps then they would have slept in one of those elegant bassinets from The Land of Nod with a beautiful gauzy canopy overhead.

Then again, at least my kids are happy. At least I wasn't so vein that I hired a surrogate to bare my babies (True story for Real Housewives of Beverly Hills). At least my kids don't call a full time live in nanny "mommy." Right?

Silver lining folks. I don't want to be a Real Housewife. I just want to be invited to one of their baby showers, and own at least one pair of Jimmy Choos.

You talkn' to me?

Mr. Pickles you are on my list. I have sought revenge on the pages of Yelp! Ha!

Today, after a visit to the pumpkin patch in Livermore (see the happy photos) the family and I decided to grab lunch at a very casual sandwich shop, Mr. Pickles. When I use the word casual, I specifically mean about a half step up from Subway. This type of restaurant suits us perfectly, since our kid's are not the type to appreciate or respect the rules of a fancier establishment. Mr. Pickles has counter service, very loud music, and was very busy. We ordered our sandwiches, and I admit it, the boys were a bit rambunctious, but in a good way. They were having fun. We purchased 2 kids meals for the boys, and sandwiches for us. We found a table behind a group of college age boys who looked like they might have been nursing a hangover, but they looked happy enough eating their gigantic subs. The rest of the place was full of people noisily trying to converse over the blaring music.

We started eating our meals. The boys continued their bantar and play between bites. Just as I was about half way through my sandwich, some skinny kid in a Mr. Pickles shirt came to our table and informed us that he had received a complaint about our children and could we kindly move outside. Outside? In the cold? Excuse me? I could barely sputter out a response. I don't remember exactly what I said but I believe it was something to this affect: "Are you kidding me?" "In this place? Just who are we bothering? Who comes to Mr. Pickles expecting peace and quiet?" The skinny kid went on, sweetly explaining to us that he could wrap up our food to go. It was all I could do from hurling my sandwich in his pimply face. He caught me on a bad day. I was a little short on patience. I went on to tell the guy that they shouldn't have a kid's menu if they were not prepared to serve actual children, and my husband out of character, mumbled something about this being really "f*cked up".

With a huff we packed up our drinks and sandwiches and moved outside to eat in the wind and slight drizzle, but I had lost my appetite. I sat there stewing and thinking about what I could possibly do to get back at this stupid restaurant and that bratty sandwich maker. Clearly, I will never return to a Mr. Pickles, and I have made my little visit to Yelp, yet my blood is still boiling. Just wait until that loser franchise manager has a kid of his own, now that will be the sweetest revenge.

Yes, I am pathetic.

I got my haircut over the lunch hour today and it got me thinking. Just what is it about the salon that makes me open up as if I were sitting in a therapist office rather than on a vinyl adjustable seat facing a mirror? I swear to God, when under the artful hands of my "stylist" I start to spew. Why? The woman who cuts my hair is fine, but I have nothing in common with her. She is a young twenty something, with hair that changes color with the day of the week. She parties hard, lives the single life and is really not my type. And yet with her I talk. I tell her secrets that I would never share in this public space. She listens. She nods appropriately and asks questions. But I doubt she cares. In fact after I leave and she pockets the $15 tip I leave her, I bet she goes to the break room and has a good laugh. But what do I care?

It was worse in Denver. In Denver I went to a salon that would pour you a big ol' glass of wine. It was like being on a mini-vacation every time I got a haircut. With a glass of wine in me and a stylist who had cut my hair for years, I was pathetic. But at least she reciprocated with her own funny stories.

These days, I am thinking this is a sad result of the fact that I am short on girlfriends. It's true. When I first arrived in Berkeley I was motivated and gung-ho to make new friends. Every outing to the park was a mission for me. I was out to meet my new BFF. And for a while it worked, I formed playgroups and mingled with the mother's at Zack's preschool. But ever since I returned to the workforce last spring things have slowly fallen apart. I could no longer attend the playgroups, and the new friendships faded. It's nobodies fault. We are all short on time. And friendships, if nothing else need time to develop.

So now here I am. This side of lonely and sharing my secrets with the lady who cuts my hair.

Damn. At least she could have served up a little vino with my whine.

Rachel's Behavior Star Chart

Because if kid's get reward's why shouldn't I? If only.

1. Behavior: Maintains composure while children
   wail and sob after being served french
   toast for breakfast... they wanted microwave
   pancakes. Reward: One grande Starbucks latte.


2. Behavior: Shouts "Rats!" after dropping an eight volume cookbook on big toe, rather than using a more descriptive exclamation. Reward: Getting to watch a real-life rated "R" movie for a change.


3. Behavior: Gives up opportunity to watch "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" so husband can watch baseball game. (Again). Reward: A professional massage.


4. Behavior: Does not cry when son tells her for the 22nd time in one day "you're not my friend" Reward: A night out with girlfriend's who actually like being around me.


5. Behavior: Picking up husband's dirty socks, underwear, and t-shirts, putting them in hamper without muttering a single snarky comment. Reward: Peace


6. Behavior: Listening to son painstakingly read each word of the 62 page "I Can Read" version of Danny and the Dinosaur, while my dinner gets cold. Reward: A heart all swelled up with pride.

SOS

This is not a funny post. I am not even going to make an attempt at humor. This is serious business.

Zack hates his little brother.

If Zack were in the mafia he would order a hit on him.

If he had a facebook page, he would taunt him 24/7 with his status updates. "Evan poops in his diaper!" "Evan is a stupid baby!"

If he were the head of this household he would disown Evan. Trust me, he has inquired on multiple occasions about the possibility of "kicking Evan out of the family."

I am not making this stuff up.

Is it a phase? If it is it goes back to June 12, 2008.

Sure there have been flashes of tenderness along the way. I will never forget the first time Zachary witnessed me changing Evan's diaper. When I removed the infant onsie, Zack recoiled in horror at the site of Evan's stumpy belly button. I had forgotten to warn him. He looked truly scared and for his brothers well being. Sweet, but that was a long time ago. Since that moment, I would have to say there have only been a handful of times when Zachary has shown even a small amount of kindness toward his nemesis.

Is this normal? It seems to me that all of my friends with multiple kids have older siblings that look after their little brother or sister. They give out hugs and kisses, perhaps sometimes to forcefully, but at least the intention is there. Zack has never asked to hug his brother. He will barely stand next to him for a photograph.

So what did I do wrong? I tried to prepare my son for the arrival of his baby brother. I read the "I'm a big brother!" book to Zack about 200 times. I talked on and on about how important a big brother is. We talk about jealousy, and got a book about it. I feel as though we give him tons of attention. Today for example, I took him for a mommy & me day, and went to the bookstore and the movies with him. I filled him up with mama hugs and popcorn and we had a delightful time... until we got home, and the fighting between brothers started all over again.

Please readers, I am looking for your advice, or your words of encouragement. Have you witnessed this type of behavior before? (Tell me I am not alone!). Do you have any ideas on how to improve the situation? (Since brothers cannot get a divorce, we are all stuck together under the same very small roof for at least the next 13 years). I am all ears.

That's my boy

What does this picture say to you?

To me the biased mama, it screams two things:

1) I have a very, very smart son, perhaps even "gifted". Harvard here we come (full scholarship of course.) Zachary at five years old, selected this shirt himself. Why? Because he could read every word on the shirt. "Do not feed the bears" "I am not a bear" "Trust me". And he thought it was hysterical. Okay so maybe his sense of humor is that of a preschooler but the kid has some mad skillz.

2) I have a teenager with attitude stuck in a five-year old body. I mean just look at him.

"Vacation"

Disclaimer, I wrote this post early this morning, when I awoke with a raging headache. The boys were behaving quiet poorly, and I just wasn't in the mood. To be fair, and before you call social services on me, our day improved. I did not in fact, completely loose it after all.

We interrupt this pleasant, feel-good programming with a much needed bitch -fest.

Vacationing with a five and a two year old is hard. I knew that going into this, however, I think that I am just about ready to throw in the towel. All I can tell you is if upon my return to the real world, anyone asks me if I feel refreshed, I might have a few choice words for them.

First, the fighting. I know that a little sibling rivalry is to be expected, but the level of brotherly hatred is unprecedented. Just about any verbal communication that is shared between Zack and Evan is said to the tune of nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-boo. You know that old teasing song usually accompanied by one putting their thumbs in their ears and wiggling the rest of their fingers back and forth. It sounds something like this around the Kargas family: (remember to hum all of the following comments to the teasing tune) "I have pirate socks, you have plain socks" "I have more milk, you have less milk" "I got to the car first, you are last." For Pete's sakes, put a sock in it!

Then there is the name calling. The boys get super creative here. "Evan is a poo-poo baby!" "Zachary is a poo-poo baby!" That's about it. At least they are consistent (if not constant).

And the children, well they aren't exactly exactly showing their parents a whole lot of respect and love either. Nope. I had all kinds of Kodak moments in my head, you know roasting marshmallows and singing camp fire songs, watching one of my little munchkins happily eating a smore, looking up to me with a slight smudge of chocolate above his lip and then lovingly saying "This is so much fun mommy! Thank you!"

Hilarious! No the scenario has been something closer to this:

While eating smores: Wailing from the younger munchkin "It broke! Oh no! oh no!" Sobbing, the child hurls the mess of marshmallow goo to the floor.

At the pool: I inform one shivering, teeth chattering child that it's time to go in and watch a movie. Child: "I don't want to! You are too mean! You're not my friend anymore!"

As we are getting ready to leave for a fun filled day of hiking and swimming: Daddy informs Zack that it is time to go potty and put on shoes. The nerve. Zachary: "I hate you! You're not my friend." Angry sobbing. Then, "I hate you!" "Give me a tissue!" And finally the biggest zinger of all, "We don't do anything fun for kids!"

Excuse me? What planet are you on? Let's see Disneyland, the beach, hiking, the pool, eating hamburgers, hotdogs, and smores, G-rated movies. What more do you want kid?

Do you know what mommy wants? Hmmm??? Mommy wants to run away from this cabin, and find a bar, and get hammered. And then mommy wants to watch an R rated movie and eat sushi for dinner. Now that is a vacation! So listen up little ones, you better start appreciating what you're getting before you send mommy to the nut house.

No, really folks I love my family.

I just need a vacation.

These are days

Our family car trip has given me plenty of time to play DJ, spinning tunes on the old Ipod. I have gotten a bit nostalgic as I have selected songs that have been neglected for some years. These days our musical selections include a heck of a lot of kid's tunes, folk, alt-country and jazz, but the soundtrack to life in my twenties was a bit different.

It is simply amazing how music can illicit memories and emotion. A certain song can bring me back to the butterflies I felt in my stomach before a date, or the smell of a diner I used to frequent.

Yesterday I selected Willy Porter's "Rita" and felt tears well up in my eyes as I remembered the filthy apartment I shared with four college roommates my senior year. I recalled those evenings drinking creative fruity concoctions we whipped up in the blender while primping to go out at 10pm. Bonding with my girlfriends in a way that life no longer allows for.

Travis's "Driftwood" brought me back to the Uptown apartment I shared with my new husband in Minneapolis. Our home was small but cozy, decked out in pure Pier One. We had candle light dinner parties with two appetizers and a homemade dessert. We would walk out our front door on an autumn morning and run together around Lake Of The Isles, marveling at the explosion of fall color. We hosted an annual holiday party each December, cramming 70 people in our two bedroom duplex, celebrating (hard) until the wee hours of the morning.

And then finally I hit play on the 10,000 Maniac's These Are Days. This is a song that resonated with me as I planned our wedding, and in fact I had the lyrics printed up on our wedding program.

These are days you'll remember.
Never before and never since, I promise,
will the whole world be warm as this.
And as you feel it, you'll know
it's true that you are blessed and lucky.
It's true that you are touched by something
that will grow and bloom in you.
These are days you'll remember

In 1999, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. I was marrying my best friend, our life was just beginning. I believed the song summed up my life perfectly.

As I was driving through southern California with my family, I realized something wonderful. If I had to select the perfect song lyrics to describe my life today, I would choose this very same song. If I thought that life was beautiful and exciting at 25, if I thought it wouldn't get any better, I was wrong. These are days to remember. I am blessed and lucky. Right now.

It just may be the best possible soundtrack to this messy, lovely life as a wife and mommy.

My children aren't going to college, they went to Disneyland instead.

Parking: $15

Admission for 2 adults, 1 five year old and 1 two year old: $220

Lunch, including 2 kids meals we brought from home, 1 barbecue sandwich, 1 chef salad, 2 juice boxes and a fountain drink: $38

2 souvenir Mickey Mouse T-Shirts, 1 Micky Mouse visor, 3 postcards and a 2010 Disney Christmas ornament: $78

2 Donald Duck lollipops to comfort sobbing, terrified children after foolishly taking them on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride: $8

3 single scoop ice cream cones to be consumed while watching the "Celebrate You!" parade (which by the way, was performed by a disproportionate number of gay, African American men): $17

Tylenol to sooth aching feet after standing for nearly 7 hours: $7

Realizing my childhood dream of visiting The Mouse: Priceless

Better pictures to come.....

Heading to LA

What do you think of when I say vacation? Sipping cocktails pool side with your honey? Sleeping in until 10 and enjoying a leisurely breakfast? Walking until your feet hurt from site to glorious site?

That is one way to look at. These days here is what "vacation" means to me. Spending endless hours trying to figure out if you have all of the necessary belongings. Swim diapers? Check Diaper cream? Check. Toys? Check. Wipes? Check. Books? Check? Mr. Brown Doggie? Check. Snacks? Check. Trying to cram all of these belongings into a reasonably sized suitcase. Listening to 5 hours of Dan Zanes & Friends or the Amazing Andy Z in the car and uselessly trying to comfort a 2 year old with motion sickness. It means getting into the pool even though it is far too cold. It means going to bed at 8pm because we are all in the same motel room. It means the crappy continental breakfast served in the lobby, drinking weak coffee and eating stale bagels. It means "hiking" the paved .75 mile loop, and forgoing the walks we would like to take.

It means mornings with the whole family cuddling in one Queen size bed. It means smores by the campfire, and kid's who know it doesn't get any better than this. It means writing postcards to Nana and grandpa. It means two boys basking in the 24 hour attention from mommy and daddy. It means more hugs than usual and more time to hear what goes on in the mind of a five year old.

Yup, the Kargas family is heading on "vacation" this on the heels of a hideous week, which included spending a fortune on deep tissue massages and chiropractic care, and learning that my father in law will likely be getting bypass surgery. I'm not sure that I am up for it, but we are giving it a go. Wish us all a real vacation. See you in about ten days.

Apology

Dear World,

Please excuse my unusually pissy mood. I realize that I am on edge and that I have a tendency to be short. It's not you, it's me. You see, I am wearing a freaking neck brace and I am in some of the worst pain in my life because, well, I slept wrong on Friday. That's it. It isn't as if I survived a car accident, or over did it at the gym. Nope this is a sleeping injury. And it stinks. I hurt all the time, and I look like the village idiot with my head cocked permanently to one side.

The doctor recommended this silly brace which makes me feel like a classic nerd from an 80's movie. My son called me a weirdo-head when he first set eyes on me in my contraption. My doctor also referred me to a chiropractor, and I have an appointment for possible torture tomorrow at 9am. As much as I am dreading the potential additional pain, at this point I am assuming it couldn't get much worse and I am desperate for any relief.

To make matters worse, the husband has been on business travel this week. So it's the mommy-show, and it's a crappy one. Today I allowed the boys television before dinner, and then whisked them to bath at 7pm on the dot. They got two books which I speed read, in order to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible. The munchkins seemed to pick up on the severity of the situation and didn't complain, bless them.

And now I am preparing for a mostly sleepless night, which will do little for my temperment tomorrow. Beware of the crazy lady in the neck brace, you can't say that I didn't warn you.

Love,

Rachel

Happy Meal-Happy Kids. Bad Mom.

Okay I am not above taking my boys out for a little Micky D's. I know, I know evil fast food. High calorie, high sodium, high sugar, low nutrients and cheapo toys. Easy, fast, happy kids. I don't do it often. In fact it is so infrequent that my boys truly get excited about it.

I went tonight. The husband is out of town on business travel (staying at the W Hotel in NYC, oh poor baby). I was exhausted, this literal pain in my neck that two deep tissue massages and about a million Tylenol tablets have not cured, has left me drained. Sure I could have popped in a frozen pizza, that would have been easy enough, but then it would have left me with all kinds of time to entertain my energizer bunnies, and I had an errand to run at Walgreen's anyway, which just happens to be two blocks from the Golden Arches. As soon as the word McDonald's was out of my mouth I had two little boys who acted like they had just won the lottery. "Can I have chocolate milk Mommy?" "Do we get a prize?" Yes, Yes, put on your shoes and let's hit it.

So off we went. I ordered two happy meals and one Southwest Chicken Salad with grilled chicken and ranch dressing. We sat down and the boys immediately searched their meals for the "prize". The much anticipated goody was a cheap plastic Ronald McDonald cell phone that perhaps a 13 month old who is too young for french fries would have enjoyed. The boys didn't seem to notice. I went to dig into my salad, and noticed that it was served with "crispy" chicken instead of grilled, I am guessing they don't receive too many requests for the healthy variety. The boys ate their burgers and fries and chattered away with a six year old kid in the booth next to him. This child was clearly a regular. In fact he had his books and toys spread out in front of him like he was settling in for the long haul. Mom and dad had two Big Mac's and a large order of fries each and the figure to match it. I know I sound judgemental, but it made me a little sad. The fast food culture in full color. That boy doesn't stand a chance.

After we finished, Zachary looked at me and said in a most sincere voice "That was so much fun mommy! Thank you for taking us to McDonald's! It's my favorite restaurant!" But did I get a thank you last night when I served up homemade spaghetti and meatballs? Heck no. I got two untouched plates of food. Maybe I should start serving dinner with a crappy plastic toy and a fountain drink. I think I'm on to something....

Told you so

Remember my last post, when I promised that my sunny disposition would be short lived? Well one day later and I am ready for another whine fest. Told you so.

So what's my deal today? Let me paint the picture for you. Last night I wend to bed after a lovely date night with my husband. We went to a cozy pub and drank port wine and then had Chinese food. We had a terrific time. Throughout the evening I noticed that my neck was a wee-bit sore. I complained briefly about it and brushed it off.

Around 1 am I awoke in such pain I had tears in my eyes. No matter how I positioned myself the left side of my neck and shoulder were in agony. I am only mildly exaggerating. Perhaps I don't know what true agony is, but I can tell you this, it has been worse than recovering from either c-section. After a sleepless night I greeted my family with my head tilting towards the right at a bazaar angle. Zachary asked me why I could not hold my head up right. I refrained from telling him it was because I was in some of the worst pain in my life and merely explained that "mommy wasn't feeling well".

Today we were all going to take a drive up to Sacramento to visit relatives of my father-in-law who we have never met before. I quickly determined that there was no possible way that I could make the trip. My family departed without me, leaving me in a completely quiet , empty home. Bliss right? Perhaps, if I wasn't desperately praying for the narcotic fairy to drop off some heavy duty drugs. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself, since I was tired but could not sleep, so I took a hot shower and went and got a deep tissue massage, which really didn't help much. I came home and somehow managed to sleep for 2.5 hours, which was a miracle. I awoke at about 3:30, still in pain, but also feeling a tremendous amount of what else, but... guilt. Why? Because I had squandered an entire Saturday. Because I was given the rare opportunity of a full day without children and I accomplished nothing, even though there was so much to be done. Our house is a pig sty, the refrigerator barren, and the laundry, multiplying by the nano-second. And yet I was a useless lump of nerves.

Now the smart woman in me knows that this guilt is ridiculous, even if I didn't feel as if my head had suddenly become ten times too heavy for my tiny throbbing neck, I still would have deserved a Saturday of nothing right? Shouldn't everyone have a little down time? But the restless critical part of me was screaming at the top of her big lungs "DO SOMETHING YOU LAZY SLOB!" And although the smart part of me knows that I should have slapped the critical bitch within and settled down to a Real Housewives marathon, I dragged my butt to the grocery store and did the weekly shopping.

And now here I sit, my neck really no better than this morning and fearing another sleepless night.

A happy day.

All right readers, it's time to put on a happy face and do a cheery post. Believe it or not I am capable of such a thing. Although I tend to be a glass-half-empty kinda gal, I am ultimately a happy person, with a happy life. Today was a shining example.

Today two amazing things happened .

#1: We achieved an almost zero-meltdown day with both children. Not only that, but basically the entire days has been enjoyable. My regular readers know well that I am having some struggles with my five year old. We are both perhaps, going through a phase. Every morning starts with the circus that is breakfast. Perhaps circus isn't the right word, maybe nightmare would be better. Zachary and Evan fight about every little thing, from what color place mat each receives to who ate their cereal the fastest. Zachary spills milk on purpose and barks "more!" while poking his brother with his spoon. Ain't nobody happy at 7am in the Kargas home. Beyond that, Zachary has just been, shall we say.... challenging. We have had few bonding moments. I have worried about his apparent lack of affection towards me and his inability to follow a single direction I provide.

But today was different. Really different. It is Friday which means I don't work. Both boys got up extra special early and joined me in bed for a cuddle. It was then that I had an ah-ha moment. I made a deal with them. No fights, no complaining and no competition at the breakfast table would result in an ice cream treat at lunch. I didn't really think it would work. But low and behold it was a real life breakfast of champions. It went off perfectly. Like a Beaver Cleaver moment. Well not really. Daddy was not at the table in a suit and tie, and mommy didn't have an apron or produce homemade french toast, but at least it was peaceful. And the rest of the day followed suite. We went to the children's museum, Zack went to the dentist (no cavities!) and charmed the pants off everyone with his wide open mouth and silly faces, and then my sweet five year old made the ultimate sacrifice and decided to stay home with me to make banana bread, rather than go to the park with his beloved grandfather. Trust me he usually picks grandpa. I don't know what happened today but it was lovely. I'll take a repeat.

#2 Get ready for this.... I finally got with the times and purchased an Iphone! Oh hallelujah. Maybe having that old diet coke destroy my cell phone was really a blessing. Damn do I like that phone. Granted, I am not smart enough have the thing quite figured out just yet, but it has a hell of a lot of potential. And in my sleek baby blue and hot pink case it looks pretty hot.

So there you have it folks, a positive post. Oh don't worry, it won't last long.