So, here’s the deal. I am visiting you all. Really. I just get to your sites and I so want to comment but then I either fail the damn word verification (some of these have eight letters now?!!) or I suddenly panick at all I have to do.

If you don’t know, I am trying to write a novel this month, for NaNoWriMo. On top of that, I am taking a class. The final projects for this class are all due the first week of December. Oh yea, and then there are the kiddos. One is sick, the other is going through a bipolar thing–you know, she’s two.

So basically, life is very exciting and enjoyable for me now (despite the complaints) but I have become bad at commenting. I am trying. I promise all will be back to normal in a few weeks.

Those 25 good habits that I mentioned two posts ago. 25? What was I thinking. 25 new good habits? First, I can’t keep rack of 25 habits. Second, I can’t think of 25 habits that I would want to acquire. Third, if I did have them, do you think I would really list them here? Because by the time I get to 12, I’ll going to start thinking of things like, “Stop throwing the Hannah’s dirty diaper over the banister at nigh so you don’t have to walk down downstairs to the garbage” and that would be revealing too much of my dirty laundry.

So, I’m gong to aim for 12, and if I find a few more that are respectable, I’ll add those, too.

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Does anyone remember my conversation with Hannah about everyone’s private parts? It was a few months ago, but I’m too frazzled to find it and line it. Anyway, she was afraid of her own poop, and Charlie’s (our dog) private parts, so I told it too her straight one night and four days letter, she was over what ever was haunting her.

She likes to talk about our conversation still. Something usually triggers it. Say, I let Charlie outside to do her business. Hannah will say, “Charlie ‘gina. Daddy Peeenas.” Or, we’re at the table with company, “Charlie ‘gina. Daddy peenas.” Charlie IS a girl, by the way.

So one day, it was just Hannah and I at the table. I don’t remember what set her off. “Charlie ‘gina. Daddy’ peenas.” I was feeling a little sassy, so I asked, “What does mommy have?”

“Poo-poo.”

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Those three hours I mentioned a few posts ago? They went something like this.

1. I’m cooking dinner.
2. Hannah wakes up from a nap. I go get her.
3. When we settle downstairs, I have a great idea. We’ll watch my yoga video and get some exercise. Secretly, I’m hoping we can developing a little routine of doing yoga at this time every night. Cause you know, Bonnie does yoga with her kids.
4. We start. It’s cute. We’re having fun. But Rachel wants my yoga book. She heads up stairs. Hannah wants to go with her, so I have to follow.
5. We get the yoga book and head downstairs again. Once we’re downstairs Hannah notices the yoga book and wants the Harry Potter book that I’ve barely started. “Pottah Baby! Pottah Baby!” she says with excitement. I am in a pretty good mood. I head up with her. We find the book. Then I spy “The Heart is a Lonely Hunter” which I need to finish for Kimbofo’s book club. I grab it. We go downstairs.
6. We’re downstairs. I forgot “Pottah Baby” and Hannah is asking for it. I start to run upstairs quickly by myself, but Hannah wants to come, too.
7. So we’re downstairs again. Hannah and I look at the pictures in “Pottah Baby” for five minutes. Rachel is doing yoga. Hannah joins her. I resume cooking.
8. Hannah tries to roll up the yoga mat Rachel is on. (insert whining and screaming) I try to zone out and go to that numb, happy place while I finish dinner.
9. Hannah gives up and starts playing with her stroller. Something is not right. She gives this low-grating whine that I really can’t describe. Think finger nail on chalk board. I try to fix the problem. Nothing works. Uh-oh. We’re headed for a tantrum. It’s kind of like the beginning a contraction. You know it’s starting and its going to get worse and there’s nothing you can do about it. The frustration is building for her.
10. Dad comes home. We get table ready.
11. Contraction peaks 7 minutes into dinner. Inconsolable crying. Can not be comforted. Can not be held. We do what we always have to do, tell her to let us know when she’s done crying. It lasts another five or ten minutes. Dad and Rachel go upstairs. I stay down with Hannah. Finally it’s over. “All done cying.” I dry her tears. We sit as she finishes her entire plate of food. We are calm again.
12. We go upstairs, take a bath, and she goes right to sleep.
13. I go into my room and face my homework and NaNo.

Did I say two was easy? Scratch that. Thank God they are cute. No, really. Thank you, God. It helps a lot.