PPB--Poo, Pantyliners, and Babysitters

Here's a taste of the kind of day I've had:

Joel was sitting in his high chair, finishing up his delicious breakfast of carrots and bananas. He was making these grunting noises that can mean only one thing: he was working on something. If his noises weren't enough, the telltale purple vein on his forehead was a dead giveaway. It never fails to surprise me. When he's making such a commotion, I'm convinced that he will have a Coke Can in his diaper. Instead, after all that noise, it's always a mere nugget.

Meanwhile, as Joel grunted away, Owen was getting into things he shouldn't. So, out of character, yes? Today, he toddled out of the bathroom, brandishing a panty liner, asking, "Hello? What is that? Mommy, what is that?"

I closed my eyes and willed it all to go away. When I opened my eyes, the baby will still in mid-shit, and Owen had determined the panty liner to be a band-aid, and was wrapping it around his wrist.

Serenity Now.

In other news, I've come to realize that Paul and I need to start Date Night, or things could get seriously ugly. With one child, we were able to do fun things together, pawning Owen off on grandparents or other family members every few months. With two, things are different. Paul comes home and one or both of us is working with a boy until bedtime. When the kids are asleep, Paul and I head our separate ways to decompress. We both need our alone time---to read, go online, watch TV, putter. If we don't have it, we get testy.

Consequently, there aren't enough hours in the day for us. So, need finally overcame stinginess, and I called a reliable teenager. The average babysitter pulls down more money per hour than I did my first year teaching, but it's still worth it. Paul and I need to reconnect, and not just three to four times a year, when family's in town. It's too important. Besides, I miss him.