Well, maybe more like a little new hair color and cut, with a little Bare Minerals Make-Up swirled on.

So, today was Mo’s last day of school for the year. Stupidly, I told her and Co, at breakfast no less, that I would take them out for ice cream after dinner to celebrate. As soon as I pick Mo up from school, she’s asking for ice cream, never mind the fact that she has a mouth full of Cheez-Its and had some kind of sand-encrusted watermelon at school. Anyway, we head off to the park for lunch and some play time before afternoon naps. Somewhere between then and dinner, Mo and Co manage to consumer more Cheez-Its, a quarter of a sandwich apiece, chocolate covered preztels, about gallon of juice apiece and Flavored Ice. All before dinner. Yeah, my mother of the year award in the category of “Best Well Balanced Meals” is looking like a sure thing.

Dinner time rolls around and I have been looking forward to taking them out after for ice cream, but I know that they’ve got to eat some dinner. So I make it even easier for them by doling out five (yes 5) green beans, two small piece of chicken and some french fries. All they gotta do is get into the CPC (clean plate club) and we’re off for that creamy confection of bliss. I mean, c’mon — I’m practically giving it away. Mo inhales her dinner like her name was Electorlux, while Co prefers to play with her food or try and covertly drop things over the side of her booster chair where the dog — we’re dog sitting — eagerly waits below. I am really trying to stick to my guns here about eating what you’ve been given, you know what with the starving kids in Bangladesh/China/Africa/Williamsburg and all. I hate to disappoint Mo, but if Co doesn’t finish up, then one of two things is going to happen.

1. We go for ice cream anyway and I become the mom who says one thing and does another. You know, the one who talks a lot of shiggity and that’s it? Yeah, you know the one.

2. We don’t go for ice cream, I am a mom who says what I mean and means what I say, and Hurricane Mo and Tropical Storm Co blow through town.

I’m practically begging Co to eat so that we avoid both options and that everyone wins. Wouldn’t you know this little dickens picks up her chicken and says, “Here, Morgan”! And Morgan, whirling dervish that she is, rolls through the kitchen, eats the chicken and rolls back out again, effectively catapulting her sister into the CPC. Alrightythen.

I wash the dishes, pack up Thing One and Thing Two and off we go to the local ice cream shoppe. Yes, I called it a shoppe — shop-pee. But I digress. I’m actually kind of excited about taking my girls out for ice cream. I’ve been holding down the fort while DH is putting in long hours at work and my parents are whooping it up on vay-kay — hence the dog sitting. It’s the end of the day, I’m tired, but I figure, a trip for some ice cream should boost spirits all the way around.

Two vanilla kidde cups with rainbow sprinkles later, we’re parked at a table just below a mammoth flat screen TV. Mo instantly goes into zombie mode, so focused is she on the continuous highlight reel offered up by SportsCenter, she doesn’t realize half of her ice cream is in her lap. Co, on the other hand, is now shoveling ice cream into her face so fast, sprinkles are flying furiously around her like sparkles. She then begins to pick up every sprinkle that has failed to make it to her mouth, including the ones on the floor and the table-top, and then puts them back into her cup. Nice.

Then, Mo decides that she needs water. From the water fountain. Which causes Co to chime in with an incessant, “Me,too, Mommy!” But, with Co, it sounds like she has a perpetual case of the hiccups because it comes out more like, “Me. Oooo. Ommmy!” And I patiently explain to them that we have Norfolk’s finest tap water at home, that we’re here for ice cream. Hello?! Ice cream? Good stuff here! No water. Eat the ice cream. And cue the tears.

Oy.

So we make the first of several trips to the water fountain. Water all down the front of their dresses, mixing with renegade sprinkles and rivers of melted ice cream. Where is my Tide To Go Pen when I need it? Up and down, up and down. Water. More napkins. Oops, the spoon is on the floor. New spoon. More water. More napkins. Wrong table, Co, we’re over here. Up and down, and pppbbbbttttt! “Mommy I boofa-ed, that means poop is coming. I need to use the potty”.

Oh and did I mention that I haven’t had dinner yet? My stomach is touching my back. I’m exerting an inhumane amount of self control because my desire to confidently wear a bathing suit this summer is all that is holding me back from leaping across the glass case, wrapping my lips around the soft serve spigot and pressing down on the lever. By this time, I’m about to leave them in the shop and just drive home by myself, but I know there’s all kinds of paperwork involved with that once child services catches up with you and who has that kind of time?

So I wipe them off with some napkins, load them in the car and head home. The dog shoots out of the house like a cannonball when I open the door, Mo announces she needs something to drink (WTH? You are so full of water your teeth are floating in the sockets) and Co has managed to pull off her diaper which is now stuck to the front of her dress by a melted ice cream and general toddler stickiness adhesive combo.

I need a glass of wine. And a straw. Like five minutes ago.

Suffice it to say, they were bathed and pj’ed in record time. Stories were read, prayers were said and wine was poured. And the next time I decide to celebrate something with ice cream, I’ll leave it to my go-to guys– Ben and Jerry. Oh, with a big glass of water on the side.

I’ve been taking the girls to the park after I pick Mo up from school the past few days. The weather has been mild and everything is just a big slice of Stepford, but in a good way. There are other kids climbing all over the equipment and each other. There are moms with their mongrammed lunch sacks, pulling out juice box after juice box and snack trap after snack trap. There are ambitious babysitters juggling several charges of their own, plus several hangers-on. Mo and Co are quick to make friends with whomever is around, joining the pile of mosquito bitten arms and scratched-knee bearing legs. They look like a pile of puppies just rolling and tumbling along the mulch from one jungle gym to the next. When given a choice of where to play, though, my girls always come back to the swings.

It used to be that I would use their confinement in the bucket seats to make all the calls I hadn’t had a chance to make up until that point. I always feel that I have so much to do and not enough time to do it all in. In order to check things off of my list, in order to feel like I had accomplished something today, I would squeeze in some things during play time with the girls. Hey, trying to be all things to all people means having to do some overlapping on activities. And yet, while things were getting done, I was left feeling I’m moving so fast that everything is blurred together. It’s as if I’m trying to wrap up one thing in order to get to the next thing — just so I can wrap it up and check it off. I’m set on fast-forward and it sucks. I mean, really, that’s what it boils down to. I find that I’m wasting way too much time thinking about things that in the grand scheme, don’t even matter. I’m wasting time on “woulda, coulda, shoulda” instead of spending time on this.very.minute.

What’s worse is that at the end of the day, I know I have spent time with the girls, but I haven’t really been there. Like when I tell Co to stop picking her nose — she’s listening, but she’s not hearing me. Maybe it’s more like those early weeks when you bring your baby home from the hospital. You’re in such a state of sleep-deprived, raging hormonal delirum, that when you look at photos from that time, you’re surprised that you’re actually in the picture. You find yourself wondering, “When was this? Oh, I can’t believe she was ever that small! What happened to that shirt I have on? Why didn’t you tell me my eyebrows needed to be plucked? I look like Bert for cryin’ out loud!”

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to beat myself up about how little time I’m spending with the girls when I’m back in school this fall. But in the here and now of Summer 2009, I’m going to be there. I’m leaving the phone in my bag. We’ve got a voicemail system on the house phone that is under-used. I’ve got a sleep function on the computer that needs to be used, too. Hell, I’m may just turn the whole thing off. . .but baby steps, baby steps.

I’m looking for a normal pace. I’m looking for that contentment and ease that comes with pumping your legs on a park swing underneath a canopy of tall trees and afternoon sunlight.

I’m looking at my girls and loving what I see.

Maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. Maybe my own ineptitude with motherhood and dealing with toddlers is truly coming to a head. Seriously, that’s what I feel like is going on around here. Sugar to shiggity in .6 seconds. That’s about how long it takes to go from a quintessential slice of butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-their-mouths wholesome children to straight up Children of the Corn (i.e. slam crazy). In a single instant, we swing from one extreme to the other . All of this pendulous mood swinging often finds me with my mouth slightly open, gaping in disbelief at how fast and how far we have fallen.

The weather has been kind of mild lately, and we’ve been taking advantage of it by spending some quality time in the front yard. I’ll break out some balls, bubbles and some sidewalk chalk and let the girls go to town. Mo likes to sprawl out and pretend she’s Georgia O’Keefe, drawing massive swirls and whirls that somehow come together to form *sigh* Cinderella. Co, on the other hand, will attempt to blow bubbles by putting the entire wand into her mouth and then. . .inhaling. I’m surprised that when she breaks wind, we don’t see the bubbles on the back end. And yet, despite all of this slice of suburban bliss, the perfect storm brews close to the surface. Let’s say Co runs over to see what Mo is up to and in her unsteady toddler gate, trips and faceplants, spilling bubble solution on Mo and her chalk drawing. So now we’ve got skinned knees, howling children, a bubble solution slick sidewalk, shoving from Mo, slapping from Co and me, sitting on the front stoop wondering how or if I can neutralize it as fast as it took to disintegrate.

There are times when my attempts to be even-handed, fair, even democratic end up boomeranging back in my face with (in my anal retentive opinion) disastrous results. Every morning, our routine is the same: up at 7am, breakfast, upstairs to wash up, brush teeth, do hair by 7:45, a little free play time (i.e. Mommy checks the email/weather) until 8:25 and then out the door. Usually, we execute this routine sans issue, but there are days and then there are days. Mo is at the point where she can strip herself of her pj’s, put on clean drawers and socks, and get her dress over her head without incident. Co, on the other hand, is still diapered, up on the changing table while I wrangle undershirts and such over her head. Inevitably, Mo’s plaintive wail for assistance comes when I’ve got Co undiapered and semi-slathered in Desitin. I implore Mo to wait until I am finished with what I am doing and then I will help her. Meryl Streep never did melodrama better — Mo comes shuffling into the room, completely naked save a ‘do rag, head tucked down so her chin is practically to her knees, oozing pitifulness and whispering, “Now I’ll never be able to get dressed.” Seriously? I didn’t know I was a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

Then there are the times when the girls are playing dress up together or are coloring together and someone (usually Co) decides to play with something that someone else (usually Mo) has earmarked for later use. Yes, you know how it is; the child is playing happily with one toy, another child comes in and picks up a totally different toy and it is that object that the first child must now have. Right. NOW. The fight ensues, the tantrum brews and spills out and Mommy is left eyeballing the clock to see how much longer until Daddy comes home/bedtime/Max and Ruby comes on/it would be totally acceptable to have a glass of wine (it’s 5 o’clock somewhere).

I think I would feel like I had a better handle on things if I could soothe and calm them more rapidly. When Mo gets a head of steam up, she throws her head back, opens her mouth, and hollers. I swear I can see where her cardiac sphincter connects to the entrance of her stomach. Of course, that would necessitate being able to withstand her banshee like screaming to get close enough, but you see what I mean. Co, on the other hand, well, she’s a silent crier. She takes in a gigantic amount of air, opens her mouth and nothing comes out. She’s crying so hard she has completely shut down the mechanism to make noise. And once the air is depleted, then we get convulsive sobbing. It’s like the death scene in Terminator 2 when Miles Dyson keeps gasping for air. . .and keeps gasping for air. . .and keeps gasping for air. And. Keeps.Gasping.For.Air.

I feel like a ping pong ball bouncing back and forth between these flame ups, dust ups, and fall-outs. And then, I witness something completely miraculous.

Scene: After breakfast, clearing the table. Mom is washing dishes, girls are standing around being girls.

Mom: Mo, please put your milk in the fridge.

Mo: Okay, Mom. (opens fridge, goes back to table for milk, puts milk in fridge, leaves door open) Co, want me to put your milk in the fridge, too?

Co: (picking up stray Cheeri-o’s off the floor and putting them in her mouth) ‘kay!

Mo: (grabs sippy cup and puts it in fridge, closes door)

Co: Nank you, Noggin.

Mo: You’re welcome.

Sisters hug. End Scene.

It’s a reprieve like this that keeps me going. Well, at least keeps me going for another .6 seconds.

I watch a lot of movies. I watched “The House Bunny“, “Forgetting Sarah Marshall”, and “Zach and Miri Make a Porno” just this past week-end alone. I spent some time re-reading my anatomy book to jolt my brain cells back into working order.

I can quote entire scenes from the Back to the Future Trilogies, Star Wars Trilogies, and the Indiana Jones Trilogies (that last one with aliens? Indy, you went too far). I like old movies like “What a Way to Go” and “The Seven Year Itch“. I like action adventure movies and comedy, with the occasional drama thrown in. And yes, I have seen The Godfather. I couldn’t be married to DH and NOT have seen The Godfather. Several times.

When the summer movie schedule is announced, BBC and I usually compare which would-be blockbusters we plan on seeing opening day. This summer it’s X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Terminator Salvation, Public Enemies (hello, Christian Bale x 2), Star Trek, G.I. Joe, Hangover, The Proposal. . .I could go on.

During my college breaks, I watched lots of free movies, a perk of working in a 6 screen movie-plex. Of course, working there entailed spend countless hours slinging chemical engineered popcorn, ripping tickets, changing movie reels, sweeping up the crap between the rows, and the general de-funking of a public place– think Waiting, but set in a movie theater *shudder*.

After having had Mo and Co, though, DH and I have become Netflix regulars. I mean, when I have a sitter, I don’t necessarily want to spend it sitting in the dark with some strangers. Plus, with all of the water I drink of a daily basis — yes, I’m getting in 64+ ounces — I’m afraid I’ll have to get up and leave, missing critical cinematic information. And then add the ridiculous price of tickets and that movies are running longer than it takes to read the first Twilight book, well. . .I’d rather take my chances with Netflix.

Still, a change is coming. You all know how I feel about the DP’s, but I may have to change my tune if, no, make that when, the newest Disney Princess gets her due once the movie is released. Yes, I have my gripes about some production choices and have agreed in part with some of the controversies surrounding the film, but the film has been made, Mattel is on board with a doll, and I will be boosting the economy when I bring home all things Princess Tiana.

Don’t look for us on December 11th;we’ll all be at the movies.

Mo’s favorite thing to ask, aside from “Can I watch a show?” is “What are we going to do after this?” Not one to content herself in the here in now, Mo-dizzle is forever making me think at least two steps ahead in order to sate her desire for something new and improved to do. Most times, especially during the semester, I could barely think about what I was supposed to be doing at that moment, let alone what I was going to be doing next.

Now that school is out (for me at least), I’m trying to remember what it was that Mo, Co and I did to fill out days during the summer months. The “what are we going to do next” refrain is set on repeat as I’m looking to fill the master calendar. Let me just say, I’m old school when it comes to scheduling and planning, meaning, I’m strictly pen and paper based planner. I tried the PDA thing, but too many folks kept yelling, “Get A ROOM!”. . .I mean, when I used a Personal Desk Assistant, generously bequeathed to me by BBC, no sooner than I uploaded all of my vitals did that craptastic thing crash. If I’m going to have a personal desk assistant, they need to be a carbon based life form who can also bring me a glass of water with lemon, some Simply Salted Popcorn, screen my calls and entertain the children so I can have a little privacy whilst in the bathroom, if you know what I mean. I mean, sure, who doesn’t like a little applause now and then, but I don’t need a full blown parade coming through every time I try to . . .never mind.

I try to get ahead on registering the girls for various activities, but most times, when I hear about something I think they’ll really like, the deadline has passed or they don’t meet the age requirement this year. Still, we’ve got one week of summer school on the list, one week of Vacation Bible School on the list, possibly some swim lessons, and of course, the ever popular playdate. This week, I’ve been busy scheduling playdates and activities, though Mother Nature seems hell bent on making moms all over town write rain checks with this crazy weather. I mean, how can you go from light spring rain to sunshine, to torrential downpour, to hail (yes, pellet size hail), to sunshine again — all within a 15 minute span? Couple that with this Swine Flu business — I mean H1N1 virus — the Celtics winning the NBA Playoffs, and a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups that I found in the bottom of my purse and DID NOT EAT?! Signs of the Apocalypse if you ask me.

Anywhoodle, I think I’m getting back into the swing of things. I’ve set up up trips to the zoo, the Children’s Museum, and the strawberry patch. I plan on having at least half a dozen mother/toddler pairings troop through the house for a visit on the days of the week ending in “Y”. The sand and water table is out in the yard, I’ve pulled out the sprinklers, I’ve even re-inflated the wading pool and thrown the Flavor-Ice in the freezer.

Bring it, you hazy summer days. We’re ready.

The official grades haven’t been posted, but suffice it to say that when I wrote my answer on the blank space numbered 130, I was effectively finishing up my A&P II experience. Yes, good people, who have slogged through this education experience vicariously with me, the semester is over. I crushed my lecture test such that I am exempt from the final exam. Yes, I am THAT kid in your class. The one who complains about how nervous they are about the test, how worried they are that they failed, and consistently scores grades that throw the curve totally out of whack. I am that kid and I am laughing all the way to a 4.0 —mmmmwhahahahahahah!!

Lemme tell ya, I had my lecture test in the morning and our last chapters were on the reproductive system and pregnancy. I have never said or heard the words penis and vagina used so much in a two week period. Ahahahah — period! Yes, I am a big ol‘ child when it comes to talking about penises and vajay-jay’s, but Christy actually gave a blog tutorial on it! A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

I have to admit, I will miss it. The class, the teacher, the random tidbits of information spewed forth by my classmates. I know who has had their ovaries removed, whose boyfriend sweats. . .a lot. . .at night. . ., whose grandmother has had every ailment known to man and taken every known medication to fight it, who has a friend with Kleinfelter’s Syndrome, and who looks like they have Kleinfelter’s Syndrome. Ahhh, it’s been a good run.

So, here’s to the summer which I plan to spend doing a whole lot of nothing –especially as it relates to anatomy and phys. Of course, since I am that kid chances are, I’ll have already bought my textbooks for the fall by 4th of July. Mmmmm. . .new textbooks. . . .