When the Manual Has a Blank Page

So, took a whimpering Quinn to the doctor’s office tonight for an impromptu visit, at an hour when a) she should be sleeping, and b) I should either be trudging off to the gym, muttering curses all the while, or c) parked on the couch with some chocolate ice cream, my cute and charming husband, and Glee (after a day of wrangling the wee ones, I’ll let you decide which option I usually prefer). Do you remember how she initially had that walking pneumonia and an ear infection (of course you do. You are a loyal and awesome reader)? Well, apparently an antibiotic that works on one ailment doesn’t necessarily work on another. So what does that mean for the innocent 11-month-old? That’s right: a double ear infection that has gotten so progressively bad it causes a young lass to lose her usually massive appetite (she gained 11 oz. this week. That. Is not. Normal), cry whenever she nurses and randomly stick out her lower lip until it quivers while looking at me with tear-filled eyes, the memory of which will most certainly have us rushing out to buy…

The Stick-Shift Diaries

I’m starting to think that Saoirse comes by her fascination with cars quite honestly, given the way David and I pounce on the newest issue of Motor Trend the instant it lands in the mailbox. It’s only been in recent years, when we’ve had to buy vehicles with “sensible” and “family” in the descriptions, that I’ve realized how very much we’re, well, into cars. It’s just a little inconvenient that our status as a one-income family with small children doesn’t exactly jibe with what we see on those glossy pages. The other day, the girls and I were running some errands, and Saoirse saw a vehicle the exact year and model as my old one. “Look, Mom! Your red car!” she exlaimed, pointing out the window. I was shocked. We’d sold my cute little Jetta when I was pregnant with Quinn because two car seats wouldn’t fit in the thing (that and we were about to sink a down payment’s worth of money on repairs, so alas, new car). How did she remember…

Yes, I’m Comparing My Girls to the Duchess of Cambridge

Because I had to tear myself away from all the glory and splendor that was the wedding-across-the-way (and yes, the scones were awesome, thankyouverymuch), my bleary-eyed self took the girls to their music class today. After all my immersion into the vicarious world of fascinators and morning suits and open-topped carriage rides (did you notice how Catherine–sorry, the Duchess of Cambridge–bowed her head every time her husband saluted? How often did they have to practice that?), it took me awhile to adjust to all the freedom and joyous do-what-you-will that is Music Together on a Friday morning. I’ve been taking Saoirse–and now, the mighty Quinn, too–to this class since she was about a year old. It’s more of a music appreciation program, and quite honestly, I break a sweat every time I write the check for it, because it’s that expensive. But I can’t stop signing ’em up, even if it we can’t make our electric bill that month (no, I’m just kidding. We just stop using lights after 8 pm…