Plugged

LB has not gone #2 in 5 days. We reached out to several sources and came up with the following solutions:
Belly Massage
Prune Juice
Reading the book “Where’s the Poop” to LB
Singing songs about #2
Thermometer Stimulus
Glycerin Crayon (aka Suppository)
Highlighting the successful careers of players that wore #2 (Jeter, Leetch, Moses Malone and the Secretariat)

Before passing judgment about the reading and singing, you should note the ceremonial rain dances performed by Native American tribes and remember how effective they were at living off the land.

End result – A 6:49pm, four alarm stinker. Mission accomplished.

The Trade

Rarely does one find an even swap where both parties feel like they gained. But in this house everyone is a winner.

The deal - 162 Phillies games (Direct TV package) for a 1 year subscription to the following magazines:
Lucky, Oprah, People, US, Rolling Stone, Real Simple and In Style.

The fine print - No Atlanta Braves shirts for LB. No complaining about the extra inning games. LB will grow up knowing every player on the Philadelphia team. And she will practice baseball just in case the Philly ball girl job is accepting applicants.

A day in the life

According to John Lennon and Paul McCartney
Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late.
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in second splat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
and Somebody spoke and I went into a dream

According to LB
Woke up, picked out of bed,
He pulled my wet clothes over my head.
Found my way to the mat that sings my song
And looking up I notice a furry dog…(cue dog panting sound)
Found my bottle and sucked the nip,
Drank 5 ounces and lost 1 on the bib.
Made my way to the swing to get some sleep
Turned on the radio, moved my feet to the beat.
Ahhhhhhhh, laaaa laaaa laa la.

Date Night

It’s been a while. A long while. For this evening, we traded 2 feedings, 4 burpings, a couple soiled diapers and some paddy cake for a singer/songwriter prancing around in leather pants. Yes it was a blast to the past (circa 1988) to jam out with none other than Jon Bon Jovi. Thanks again to Grandpa for assuming the parenting duties for the night. His homework list was about 20 activities deep, starting with measuring out the bottle, finishing with tying the straight jacket, aka swaddle. I told him to use rope if she started to break lose; Ash did not find this funny. We did make it out of the house on time, no tearful goodbye's. No pressing hands against the window to symbolize unity while apart. Just a "see you in 5 hours".

Enter concert. The loud music was consuming, but in this moment we realized that even a trip downtown to hear Bad Medicine cannot fully relieve you of parenting feelings. LB is always on your mind no matter how loud “Tommy used to work on the docks…Union's been on strike, he's down on his luck, It's tough…so tough” rings through the arena. So even though we can look forward to these mini vacations, it never feels truly fulfilling when you are missing a key ingredient in your entrée.

What once was lost now is found

With a 2 week trip to Atlanta (Just Mom and LB) now behind us, the foursome has been reunited. I know what you are saying- how nice it would be to have 2 weeks of me time. Well not me. The nice wore off after one night of good sleep. Quiet filled the house and I found myself playing peek-a-boo w/ Lux, only she wasn’t reacting like her roommate.

I was pleasantly surprised to see a pocketful of new tricks or developments as the books would say. Starting with finding her singing voice (see video). I find myself judging the pitch changes à la Simon, Paula and Randy (sorry, I can’t acknowledge the new judges- they are awful). Toe touching has become a regular exercise, as is rolling over in both directions.

So the voice and sound monitor is back with full volume- Which means more tender sleep, more false alarms and more stinky diapers. The good life has returned.