What Does the Fox Say?

GERING-DING-DING-DING-DINGERINGEDING

http://youtu.be/jofNR_WkoCE

Dog goes woof   Cat goes meow  Bird goes tweet and Mouse goes squeak...

Cow goes moo  Frog goes croak  And the elephant goes toot...

Ducks say quack and fish go blub And the seal goes ow ow ow

But there's one sound no one knows

WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

WA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-POW!

She's baaaaack. 

Actually, she never left. At least she never left my heart or yours. Right?

Today, The Cousin and I went to the library. Just her and I and, what seemed like, a million snotty nosed 2 and 3 year olds that drove me nuts, reminding me that I'm much more qualified, these days, to be a pole dancer than a pre-school teacher.

GAWD! It was like a nut house and the only sane one?  The Cousin.

Calm, cool, collected and VERY well-behaved, she patiently waited her turn to participate in Miss Linda's interpretation of the children's story "There was an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly." (Weird messages throughout, but all in the name of rhyme, which I abhor.)

I gotta hand it to Miss Linda. Day in and day out, dealing with a room full of out-of-control toe-heads that do far more than just wiggle on their carpet squares. These punks throw full-blown, screaming tantrums and the moms, every once in a while, look-up from their IPhones.
I pray to God that Linda isn't a volunteer.
The Cousin and I positioned ourselves on a multi-colored beanbag.  She insisted on sitting on the patch of blue fabric, because blue is now her favorite color. (Man, I was worried it was going to be pink.) We were both poised on-lookers, and every once in a while, she leaned into me and whispered, "Valerie, what does the fox say?" Her giggle is infectious.
This is her new joke and her new favorite video. And that's right. She calls me "Valerie" now.

The days of "Wallery and roses" are long gone. Caillou too. (Thank you, Jesus!) She's shedding Elmo and Caillou like an old coat and turning to Madeleine and YouTube fox videos.
She's growing up.
She doesn't need my hand to get out of her car seat, nor an extra offer of support to climb 3 flights of stairs. Today, along with her usual books and movies, she wanted to check out a book to read to her new baby sister. Now that's maturity, people!  It's as if Superwoman has emerged out of the ashes...
Yes, I am now, and forever more, "Valerie" to her and together we will conquer this library story time madness, one screaming toddler at a time. 

And then we'll get the hell out of dodge. Have a little beverage. Chat about the old days. And read her new addiction, one square at a time!

She's a cool kid with a cool outlook.
We all should be blessed with this much curiosity and zest for life:

See a pile of fall leaves, jump in them just to hear the C R U N C H !  

CRUNCHING, PBJ IN HAND

Plop down in the middle of our shadow, simply because you want to "touch it!"

As adults, we've lost that "zest for life."  Seems we go about our daily routines, rituals and obligations required of us at such a pace, any zest that remains is just in the lemon peel of our cocktails.

Seems we've also lost, what I often refer to as, "the art of conversation."  Look in your mailbox. Any cards, notes, letters from friends or simply bills and consumer ads?
Now, look in your email box.
Less and less, right? How about on your voicemail of your phone? Any calls from friends lately? Maybe, but not as much as a few years ago. Lots of texting to converse and lots of Facebook to share stories, opinions and pictures. The idea of calling a friend, on a regular basis and meeting at a cafe to "catch-up" or sharing recent photos, offering a hug (real arms not virtual)...
Those times are less and less. 

I propose to you, that this lessening, is removing the zest from each of our lives. 

So, what does the fox say? 

Call a friend today! Meet on an unknown trail and take a walk with that friend or by yourself.
Sit smack down in your shadow! Put a box, from your remote control car, on your head and pretend it's your helmet!

Play the video at the beginning of my blog, and dance around your living room!

Locate "The Cousin" inside yourself! She's there waiting.
Let her soar today!

~tpg

P.S. Next week... Interview #5 with Mina; a polished gem who's a very long way from home.
Stay tuned in, pals.

Life Unscripted

As many of you know, I taught elementary school for several years, beginning in the '90's.
Like the trailer park, I have retained numerous memories that make me laugh out loud
when I recall them. One in particular was when I was teaching a 2nd grade in the fall of 1998...
We were studying the process of how food gets to our table; meaning, the farm to the Save-Mart to the fridge thing.  I don't know if you realize this, but many children think that the food
on their plates originate at Safeway on aisle 5. Anyway, we were studying nuts (No, not my personal history) and when we looked at regions where various nuts were grown and that day, we did a lesson on peanuts.  We sang a song called "Oh! Peanut Butter" and read books on peanut farming and even ground our own nuts to make the chunky butter.  I'll never forget this one little girl writing in her journal about all that she had learned...
"Today we made penis buter.  I lik penis buter. penis gro on trees."

Recently, I was reading an old article in The Huffington Post on unintentionally inappropriate drawings by kids.

The last one brought back a memory of my first year teaching 6th grade. I had the class from hell and I don't care how that sounds to all of my politically correct readers.  I was barely hanging on day in and day out. At about mid-year, I looked out my classroom window and I saw the principal and the vice-principal walking toward my room with a student's journal in their hands.  They wanted to see if recognized the handwriting.  There were 3 sketches of people, each with giant "talk bubbles" above them.  Each person was nude, and I might add, drawn with explicit detail and accuracy.
I had large tits.  My bubble said something like, "I want to have hot sex with Dr. S."  The others' followed along the same lines.  As my principal (Dr. S) questioned me as to who might have done this, I felt my face bursting into flames.   Suddenly, it was as if I had been immersed in 20 feet of water.
All went silent.   I could see his lips moving but I couldn't hear a damn thing.
Days later, I told a 6th grade colleague and her response to it was, "Well, didn't you tell Dr. S. that it isn't true?" 

Nannyhood

In all my years of chronic caffeine addiction, I never thought I could make my cup of coffee too strong. Somehow I did this morning. You can peel it off my front teeth like old carpet.
I'm drinking it though as a matter of necessity.

So, this week I was on hiatus from the babes. No, I didn't need a break, folks.
I was out of town.
Most certainly, I still have material.
First, let me start by introducing you to Nugget.
Nugget is one of The Cousin's many pals that lives at the bottom of a toy bin, except when
The Cousin takes him out for a diaper change, a feeding or a hug.

Nugget

Nugget, like Lambie, Lambert, Kitty and Rudy (the bear with the weird body) are all my helpers.  I use them on a regular basis to distract, entertain and stall The Cousin when such forms of manipulation are required.

But The Cousin is no dummy.  No way.
She's nothing like the 'trailers' who fit the cliche, "dumber than a stump".  She knows distraction when she sees it.
She's "onto me" big time and all the time.
In fact, she's always 5 steps ahead of me.

Nugget (unintentionally) being suffocated

 The Cousin is a busy girl. Her life is a full 32-oz glass.  There's always chores to be done, animal friends that need attending to, and of course, there's the "Sweet Pea" factor. But The Cousin doesn't complain much about her busy life.  She takes it all in stride and I'm sure there's a lesson in that for all of us.

The Sweet Pea Factor

"This"

"This" is getting less and less. THANK GOD (or the new scientific fact of the Big Bang Molecule).
"This" only occurs when she wants this:

The Bribe Factor

I just need to be one step ahead of her, which most of the time, I am.
Last week, though, because the 3 of us and all our f@#!ing animal pals were stuck inside due to lack of a stroller and rain, I was not in step.  Ever have one of those days where you can't find your rhythm?

I did resort to using food as a "mid-day pacifier. But I disguised it as a "learning tool".
Thanks to Trader Joe's, I had happy babes as long as I stuffed their little beaks with sugar.
We sang The Alphabet Song and I offered some quick-course instruction
in spelling and grammar.  
Sweet Pea can now indulge in "solids" as long as you pulverize it into teeny pieces.

Anybody, besides me, digging those new AT & T "It's Not Complicated" commercials featuring a small group of youngsters gathered around a table answering questions about life?

I would imagine those are scripted.
What I ink, and then share with y'all, is not. Unscripted all the way!
So stay tuned. The best is yet to come.
~tpg

What's Up?

“Do you want the small brush? The medium brush? Or the large brush?” I say to the artist.  

This week we’ve decided chalk and pens are for amateurs.  We agree that swirling and sweeping our brushes across blobs and dots of paint is the only way to go.  

“More purple Bal La Lee”.  

Did I mention The Cousin digs purple?  I did too when I was of the toddler age.  

I still do.  Purple is one of those gorgeous shades that no one can really deny its beauty or place in the world.  Teaching kids to make purple from red and blue is like offering them a small package of magic. THEY LOVE IT!

And so The Cousin proceeds in forward motion and she is so into it.  She sees no end in sight.

“More, Bal La Lee”.  "Again, Bal La Lee".  It’s somewhat frightening because you know; being the adult and all, that painting can’t go on endlessly into the night, right? But you also know, that even though you hold the cards, she holds the tantrum that is waiting to explode when you say that  it’s time to clean up the paints and brushes.  

Ahh, the almost 2-year old tantrum. It’s a special, special thing.

Sometimes I still have them.  But The Cousin's tantrums, though dramatic, don't last that long. She had a teeny weeny one today. Hell, she was tired. We turned on Pandora to our Raffi station and she wanted to hear Baa Baa Black Sheep. Since I don't subscribe to the Premium Pandora, where I'd have to pay, I get the freebie which doesn't allow you to choose specific song titles. Every other f@*!ing song came on except Baa Baa Black Sheep. I tried to sing and dance to the others, which usually makes her laugh and forget about the tantrum tornado that lay in wait, but not this time. 

The Cousin's technique consists of throwing her toys, throwing herself on the floor and flailing her limbs or choking Sweet Pea. That's it. Then it's over.

We had some "mini-episodes" today.  Nothing major.   

Although I feel pretty damn confident in many areas, I've never professed to mastering this job.  

I actually could use a nanny support group if the truth be known.

I came very close to calling my union rep today because had the tea been hot, I would have been fired. No doubt.  I put my cup up high enough, or so I thought.  But 'too high' and 'too challenging' are not in Sweet Pea's vocab and thank the Mother of God herself, the Moroccan Mint had cooled.

Yea, it's really funny.  Mommy's gonna think it's funny when the tea stain doesn't come out 

of your shirt or she sues my ass for child endangerment.

The other setbacks today were minor; simply one nanny's inability to set boundaries.

"Yep, I know I wasn't supposed to get into your bag"

And her inability to keep Sweet Pea's socks on.

I remember when my freshman English teacher at Camarillo High School had us write an essay entitled "Wednesdays".

It took me forever to even get a visual because at that time in my life, as so many other times, Wednesdays could be summed up in one word:   Boring.

Those days are gone, my friends.  My Wednesdays are nothing remotely close to boring now. 

There's something way cool about The Cousin's style.  Today's look is reminiscent of the young 

16-year old boys I see walking home from school, pants down below their asses, boxers in full view, skateboards under their arms...

And what about the bed-head? I am such a feeble opponent. 

She didn't want it brushed, so I didn't push it.

What's Up, Bed Head Girl?

It’s so cool to walk around downtown with The Cousin and Sweet Pea all bundled up and tucked in their double-decker Cadillac of a stroller. People are super-oober nice to me. No seriously. 

I mean I feel as if I’m actually reaching celebrity status.  Men smile. Old ladies say, “Hello” and tell me how terrific I am; what a great job I'm doing.  Other moms nod at me as if we’re in the same club and we have oodles in common.  I feel young because a few (a very slight few) ask me, “How old are your children?”  Now that’s worth a million bucks for sure. But then there’s the ‘assumers’, “Do you and your husband live here in town?”  But I’ll tell you what really clinches my jaw. 

It happened today.  So, I’m sitting on a park bench after power-walking for 30 minutes, singing my heart out in hopes they'll crash.  Finally, they’re both out.  It’s heavenesque. 

So I park the rig in the sun, put the sun protector flaps over their little faces, take off my glasses, close my eyes, lean back and soak up the rays. The only sound I hear are a few sparrows chirping in the distance. Gone are the screaming tantrums.  Gone is the hustle, bustle and mayhem of 2 babes throwing books, spilling juice, pulling their diapers off.  It’s just me, the sun and a few restful thoughts.

Then suddenly, some oblivious dude with a long gray beard and a SF Giants cap approaches the stroller, pokes his big ‘ole head in and with a voice that sounds like he’s just smoked a pack of Marlboro’s says, “Hey! Are the cuties twins?”

My Nirvana comes to a screeching halt and I instantly want to strangle him. 

The Cousin opens her eyes first. 

She’s petrified of the bearded man and starts to whimper rather loudly. I have absolutely no urge to be polite. 

I shoot him a look. He gets off easy though because I really just want to head-butt him.

I encourage The Cousin not to wake Sweet Pea, which is a joke.

Soon, we're all wide awake and we head for the park.
Today, The Cousin's dad meets us there and I have never felt so free.

It was quite pleasant actually.

A 2-parent family is definitely helpful.  With him on "swing duty",  I'm able to watch Sweet Pea and she actually doesn't have a chance in hell of eating leaves or wood chips.  I'm on it.

She did, however, eat peach yogurt earlier in the day. 

She's like a garbage disposal.  Man, I couldn't shovel the stuff in fast enough.

What's Up, Yogurt Lovers?

I think Wednesdays are under-rated. Hump day. Didn't we call 'em that once upon a time? 

We're half-way there; trying to make it to the weekend. But what exactly is our hurry?

These girls are "minute by minute" in a moment that could last briefly or for hours.  They don't give a damn what day it is. Every day is a great day!

They are blissful most of the time, and because they are... I am.

Well, it's almost 8:00 p.m. Nightie night all!

~tpg

Those Damn Hippies Had It Right

Wednesday.  Why is it I’m the only one that wants a nap? The Cousin hates the word. 
Turns and runs at the very mention of it.  Christ, I can’t even get the "n" sound out of my mouth and she’s gone.  
And Sweet Pea? Well, Sweet Pea is Sweet Pea in all her reigning glory and we all know what her most powerful artillery against napping is:

That ear-piercing cry that I’ve written about for months.  

So, The Cousin got a new toy. 
It's a "spinning egg".  She so digs it, but she digs it alone. She wants her space and I so get that. But as you can see by the hand in the right corner of picture, The Cousin and I had our work cut out for us.  Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea. Why can't you take "no" for an answer?  Actually, my very own mother used to say that to moi.  Hmmmm... 
I guess if there is such a thing as karma, then this whole bloody gig makes sense.  
It was destiny that brought Sweet Pea and me together.




This Wednesday I took some hits.
Sweet Pea bit me to communicate that she wouldn't be going in her baby play seat. 
Her teeth made direct contact with my left shoulder.  
After the bite, she looked me straight in the eyes and smiled.

The same was true with the carrots. Her new trick is to clamp down on the spoon when it's in her mouth and hold on. I end up puling that thing like it's caught in a vice and she digs it. Looks right at me and smiles big through the orange substance.
Carrot puree sprayed all over my glasses from her other new trick: blowing bubbles with food.
She loves the sound of it and she loves my reaction.

When it all goes to hell in a handbag, I get out the rig.

Initially, they are reticent to go.

But I harness them in like roped calves and they don't have a choice. 
I need fresh air. Well, actually, I need a cool, refreshing grown-up beverage, 
but fresh air will have to suffice for now.

After Work Grown-Up Beverage.

I can't write a blog this week without mentioning Sandy Hook Elementary.  Especially when I am surrounded by 2 little children who light up a room when they walk or crawl into it, just like the youngsters who lost their lives that horrible day.

But, I can't help but think that we, as a nation, are not really getting it.  You see, sadly, this is America. Why are we surprised when something this violent happens? We fund every war, involving our nation or not, with our weapons, drones, arms. Very profitable for us. Why aren't we outraged when our drones kill hundreds of children in other countries? We are a nation that advocates the death penalty as a solution to violence. We violently took this country from its native people, then violently built it with slaves...why are we surprised?

Now there were times that, you know, I wanted to pack a small handgun when I managed the park. 

Would've ended a few disputes over so-in-so's dog shitting in so-in-so's carport.  Could've also possibly deterred Ralph from crashing park parties and calling the sheriff on himself...

But seriously people! 

Now I'm not a girl that thinks the solution lies in prayer. 

And I most certainly don't think this act of violence was some God's plan as some extremists suggest.

I think the truth lies in the good old green-back dollar and I think assault weapons 

are a huge, profitable business.

I also think the NRA has its grubby little hands tightly around (and squeezing) the genitals of every political hopeful in D.C.  As Feinstein just said, "You don't need an assault weapon to kill a deer." 

Ban 'em!  It's the only solution, however, 

I wish I were as hopeful about a change or a ban as many of my friends are.

Send me some hopefulness, would y'all!? 

Somehow, I can't help but wish that if we put love before greed and power, love is what we will get.

This year my partner and I are standing up for peace. Well, in this case, lying down for peace.

And for us, it's a laugh or two but really, the truth is, it takes more than a wish, more than a prayer...  

It takes action. 

It takes action from you, from your family, from the politicians we elect (or the ones who get in due to voter machine tampering or paid off Supreme Court Justices).  It takes action from your boss, her brother, the guy selling coffee and a nutty girl like me. 

Maybe 2013 is going to be that kind of year: An Action Year! 

Taking action to speak out against violence, to get laws changed, to say, "NO" to the dudes that are profiting from mass weapon production that not only kills our children, but children world-wide. 

Those damn hippies had it right. 

~tpg

Give Peas a Chance.

Word Up: The Cousin

I got the phone call at 7:45 a.m. on the day after the election…

"You only have one today. Sweet Pea is sick, so you only have The Cousin.”

SWEET JESUS! Truly a bonus morning! An Obama win!  A Yes on Prop 30! Todd Akin taking 

a legitimate loss! Same-Marriage wins in 4 states!  

But nothing, NOTHING spelled J O Y like the words “You only have one.”

It’s like don’t wake me up from this luscious dream I’m having.  Just tiptoe around the bed, PLEASE!

The Cousin calls me “Bau lee lee” and I hear her calling my name from the back of the apartment 

as soon as I arrive.  She comes out wearing pink tights and a fresh little “onesy" with tiny grey elephants on it.  She has severe “bed head.”  She doesn’t want to brush her teeth. 

She only wants to play with Bau lee lee.  I dig that.  

This morning, I put on a sad face and say to her, “Your cousin, Sweet Pea, is sick today.  

She isn’t coming over.” 

Inside, of course, I’m dancing so hard there's marks on the hardwood, but I’m way more mature than to let it show.

After the mom takes off, we begin our day with our morning beverages of choice and PBS’s  

Curious George, followed by Super Readers and Sesame Street. 

(Thank God Big Bird will continue to be partially federally funded.)

Today’s activity or “word up” in Elmo language is: E X E R C I S E.

We toss our bottles, get down off the couch and stand in the center of the room. 

First word up: S W I N G.  

We each extend our arms out, lock fingers of both hands together just like Pablo “The Panda” at bat and swing! 

1 2 3 4 strong, big girl swings and we’re good to go for the next word up:

B O U N C E.  We squat down at the knees and plunge upward like Blake Sheldon’s index finger…

1 2 3 4 5 times. WHEW! This feels great!  

Final word up: D A N C E.

And boy can The Cousin get down!  We dance way into the commercials, then take our boogie into the kitchen for our bowl of applesauce with cinnamon.

Life was going down a bump-free road until "the explosion" which The Cousin’s mom conveniently forgot to tell me had been happening for the last few days.

So, we're in the living room putting together an opposites puzzle, when B O O M!

Our eyes meet in a sort of emotionally troubled way, and without warning, 

some sort of wheat-colored flood starts seeping out of her elephant “onesy”.  I’m appalled.  

I scoop her up under her armpits and whisk her to the changing table.  

The smell is indescribable. 

She looks terrified and, of course, I begin recalling child development courses I took years ago.

They repeatedly talked about not making a big deal about excessive poop; not making the child feel bad or like something grotesque and horrific is actually coming out of their body.  

I begin saying things to The Cousin like, “It’s okay. It’s just poop. No biggie.” and “Everybody poops.” 

But with my tee shirt up over my nose, I start singing the A B C song.

She knows that song, damn it, but she’s not joining in.

There’s shit everywhere; down her legs, up her back, on the changing table, on my hands, 

and it’s rancid smelling.  It’s way worse than Sweet Pea’s. 

I start wiping with as many Wet-Ones as I can pull out of the package.  

“Word up for me?” T R A U M A T I Z E D. 

Soon I realize, we gotta get to the tub…

And a bathtub makes everything alright, doesn't it ladies? 

                      The Cousin seems to adjust quite well in the tub. I seem to need a cocktail.

Sometimes in life, you know, you just make-do; roll with the punches...make Citrus Martinis from lemons and all that stuff. I recall my mom saying that and it's true.  Whatever your profession or  "calling" in life...whatever obstacles you face, you just fake it til you make.

You just make-do. Word Up: A T T I T U D E and more so, I M P R O V I S E.

I remember, 5 years ago, when the trailer park was my personal little piece of heaven, 

we took a vacation with some pals to Mexico.  We ended up driving our little Chevy S-1 over 

to their house, which is situated in a very nice "low-crime" neighborhood.  We parked the truck there for the duration of our trip.  That was our first error in a trip, that would unforeseeably, host an endless string of comical errors.

But what we didn't expect was to find our truck's tailgate gone when we returned.

It was a clean job. No scratches on the truck. No dints or paint chips. Just a perfect steal.

Anyway, my partner was pissed but resourceful. She made-do.

You see there was a new prefab going in at 29, and when the workers were nowhere to be found, she, her jigsaw in hand, cut up a piece of 29's trailer siding to exact measurements, which made for easy sliding into the grooves of our pickup. 

That damn thing's held up for 5 years now! It does have some chips, as prefab siding is made of cheap, toxic shit, and we sometimes live in fear that, with the right amount of wind gust, 

that mutha might catch and fly up. But you know what? SO WHAT! It's not a big deal unless you're the guy behind us. We miss so much of life when we focus on the big deals.

Just like "Holy Shit! shit" isn't a big deal.  N I K E word up: Just do it! 

The important thing is taking action. Moving forward. Whether it's using our resources to make something useful. Whether it's handling an explosion whose point of origin is a diaper. Or whether it's just taking steps to make it through a difficult day...you can do it!

Word up: F O R T I T U D E!

~tpg

Elephants, Stars, Balloons: A Montage

                                                       This is how we begin our day.

Sweet Pea's content at the moment because she's guzzling a bottle full of her mom's freshly pumped breast milk. That's Lambie on The Cousin's lap. Or is it Lambert?  They all have f@#king names.

Lambert

Lambie

Sheepie

It's very important, during emotional meltdowns, (The Cousin's not mine) to know which one she wants.

The Cousin and I bonded big time yesterday while Sweet Pea was napping.

We played with scoops and shovels in bubble water...

And ate applesauce with mega doses of cinnamon.  

It's not that we don't enjoy Sweet Pea's company. But Sweet Pea has become a beast. Seriously. 

I've seen the change in just 2 short weeks.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, stops her from applying the 'bulldozer method'. Nothing gets in her way on the blanket. Nothing distracts her from her focus. Nothing says "unhappy" quite like this...

Sweet Pea's lungs are as massive as her body and she doesn't give a shit about the cutesy little Playskool toys, the PVC-free corn starch rattles, the soft plush bunnies, the teething rings.  

She now hates conventional infant toys.  She bypasses all of them, plowing through the childproof barricades, trampling every damn toy in her path, in order to get a tag, a Dasani h2o bottle, a magazine, 

the A+D diaper rash ointment tube or her cousin's feet.  All these items have one and only one destination: her mouth.

                  I didn't get to feed her the oatmeal.  Her mom's only "allowing" it at night.
Hmmm..trust issues with the nanny?  I did, however, secretly slip her a faint smear of The Cousin's banana and she about gnawed my finger to the bone, which pretty much told me,
bring it on!

And another thing.  Somehow, Sweet Pea didn't get the memo that states:
Babies crawl before they stand.
This presents a problem for the nanny as you might imagine, because she's pulling herself up on everything, at a jackrabbit's pace, and of course, what goes up...quickly goes SPLAT.

You know, choice words do go through my head, but I can't say what I'm thinking when it all falls apart, because The Cousin is a f@!#ing parrot and I'll get fired.
But when Sweet Pea bonks her head, all hell breaks loose.

Sweet Pea eating a red chair.

Sweet Pea eating a book appropriately titled.

The Cousin has many strengths, but her forte is not clean-up time.  She actually dislikes clean-up time with a passion. I'm trying to set a good example, but the god's truth is, clean-up time's not my specialty either.

Basically yesterday was all about primal survival.  When I got them both in the double stroller (with the help of Sweet Pea's mom and the grandma, both of whom conveniently dropped by to see if I was above water) it was as if a melodic breeze and the motion of a moving stroller worked some sort of wizardry and they both conked out.  When I'm walking with them, I do everything humanly possible
to avoid loud noises such as barking dogs and sirens.  I even silence my cell. Yesterday, I could have stabbed this dude in the jugular and left his body for the crows.  He was using a leaf blower inches away from us.
When Sweet Pea started to stir a bit, my deodorant instantly lost all effectiveness.
"I'm gonna kill that mutha if he wakes them up." 
Upon returning home, I had to carefully lift the monstrosity of a stroller up over several large cement steps to get them inside without waking them. Once in the front door, I wheeled the whole damn thing into the back bedroom, put on the humidifier for background noise and closed the door.  I then proceeded to stuff my face with carob covered malt balls and stare catatonically at Dr. Phil.
I'm sure all the stay-at-home moms or insane nannies all across America were doing the same.
I'd probably sum up "Nanny hood" with this simple one-word logline:
S O S!

It's like the army.  5-minute showers. A wipe of the drool with your own shirt sleeve.  A spoonful of cereal on the run. You can't even take a piss alone.
The Cousin follows me into the bathroom and watches.
And because I can't leave Sweet Pea alone on the floor anymore, I have to either harness her in the Johnny Jumper or strap her in the swing and that goes over like a fart in church.

Well, that's the story on this morning after. It's no joke that I was asleep last night by 8 pm.
I do have one last pic for the montage. I'm teaching The Cousin how to change a diaper.
(I wasn't born yesterday y'all and I see it as beneficial)
So, it isn't age-appropriate. So the hell what!
I think she'll be ready to help me out next week.
~tpg

The Cousin "in training."

"Sucka!"