My weekend was full

of screaming and tantrums galore. The Peanut has reached that stage where a total meltdown is a millisecond away at any given instant. Do you want to go to the playground? Yes? OK put on your shoes...... and we have tantrum, full on throat tearing screams, earsplitting nerve grating tantrum. My sweet little Peanut Butter Pie has become that kid.

She's also become the kid who will get into the worst possible mischief as soon as my back is turned. Yesterday brought a "I have something special for you Mommy; come and look" which turned into a whole jar of sugar sprinkles spilled on the floor in front of my drawing table. Later I heard an excited "look at me Mommy" and turned to find a new roll of paper towel unrolled in a carpet down the hall and into her bedroom and back. Both of these happened while I was in the process of making breakfast and then dinner. Keeping track of what she's got in her hands where she is and and how she'll manage to push her boundaries is... well there are no words because at one and the same time there's frustration, laughter, exasperation and joy and a billion other thoughts and feelings...

On that note, I can't even begin to tell you how pleased I am to have AnyMommy's blog on my reading list. I've been following anymommy for quite a while; her posts are full of all that stuff I mentioned above; written with more eloquence and grace than I am able to muster most days; and she does it with four beautiful children to my one little peanut.

I look forward to Stacey's posts because she makes me laugh and cry and squeal with glee sometimes all in the same fifteen minutes. AnyMommy is, as her blog title refers a mommy blog about a Mommy who didn't always want to be a Mommy, who refuses to sort laundry and only recently caved and started pre-treating before washing among many other but not so recent things.

When I found Anymommy she was pregnant, living with her three children in paradise and dealing with poop in the public swimming pool.

The only things that keeps the peace these days

are painting and ddd's (DVD's) from the library. While we've tried discussing the move with the peanut she's less than enthusiastic about conversing. Her preferred tactic is to change the subject to what Kipper ze dog has been doing on automatic replay for the last week. So we know she's a little disconcerted about things disappearing into boxes and strange people walking into the apartment at random times but there's no reasoning with a two year old.

As I said Kipper is on auto-replay and the paints and art supplies have been left out to pacify our little Mussolini.


I think it's a little unfair that as a 36 year old, I must refrain from temper tantrums and meltdowns and pack instead.

I've always thought of myself as a little isolationist. I don't make friends easily, in fact the friends I do make usually make the first move to introduce themselves. And as one of my dear mommy friends pointed out the other day, I tend to make friends so that I don't have to make others. My circle stays pretty small that way. It's amazing how roots seem to set themselves down when you aren't looking.


I'm being transplanted and my roots are cringing at the thought of getting used to new soil. I'm going to miss the mountain, the ocean and my neighborhood. I'm going to miss running into friends on the street and all the pars and playgrounds we frequent. And while I know I'll have some of these things at the new place and will be close enough to come back to see the rest any time I want to, I want to whine about it and moan and basically be a big baby about it.

So we're packing

and The shelves are down, the books are all gone into big boxes that we've been assured are the right size for boxes but there is no way that We'll be carrying that sucker down the stairs (thank what ever gods for movers) and I have a large Dishpack box open in the living/dining room area that is mocking me. I've got so much more to do and I'm contemplating putting everything else on hold until we're in the new place.

On top of it all our Peanut Butter is not feeling well. We had fevers last week and gobs and gobs of thick yellowish mucous flowing out of her nose. The combination of a head cold and a bunch of strange people traipsing in and out of our home to give us estimates on moving or to show the space to rent it out leaves us with one very out of sorts little girl. And by out of sorts I mean tantrums and night wakings and the new mantra of "I'm crying again" repeated over and over as I try to keep my cool.