Sick

We are sick people living in a sick world. Literally.  We have germs, and I've had it up to here with them.  

I'm not one of those people who spends the entire winter longing for warm weather.  I enjoy the changing seasons, although I hate heat, and cannot imagine living someplace without snow.

But this year?  I'm that person.  Enough is enough!  Too much snow!  Too much cold!  Too many days stuck indoors!  Too many recirculating germs!  

I feel like I've been experiencing some form of illness or another since Christmas.  I know we're not alone.  It's like the entire state has been sharing lip balm.  Everyone is sick.  

We need open windows!  We need fresh air!  We need to get the sick out of our systems!  I've been spraying everything with Lysol, and I HATE the smell of Lysol.  

This week it's Vivi's turn to be ill.  I think she has the same stomach virus that I had three weeks ago.  Her symptoms are the same.  But three weeks later?  Could that be?  Come on! This bastard should have been out of our lives by now.  Take a hint, dude.  Nobody likes you.  

Thankfully, due to years spent in the germ factory that is daycare, Madeline seems to have the immune system of a lead box.  She hasn't been sick much this winter at all.  (Knock on wood!)  Although she has had to miss school a few times because her sister or mumma were too sick.  Poor girl.

Likewise, Eric very rarely gets sick.  I joke that he's the Typhoid Mary of the family.  I'm convinced that he brings all these germs home from work, but never shows any symptoms.  That stomach bug that took three weeks to work its way into Vivi?  It's probably been lounging in Eric playing video games and drinking beer for the past month.

Sigh...so I guess it's really just me who is sick all the time.  Dammit.  Maybe it's a lack of vitamin D.  This pale skin is good for nothing.  Maybe I should start bathing in Lysol.  Maybe I should stop wiping my children's noses and let them figure it out.  Maybe I should wear rubber gloves every time I go to the grocery store.  I swear that's where we pick up a lot of crap.  Stop breathing on everything,  you germ-y strangers.

Come on, spring! 

Felt Paper Dolls

I made the girls this set of felt paper dolls.  Madeline loves dressing and undressing her dolls, so these are perfect for her.   

I drew out my own patterns, traced them on to felt, embroidered their faces, and used my sewing machine to piece them together.  The dresses are made out of various scrap fabrics I had in the house, backed with felt and a circle of Velcro to help keep them in place.  The girls can pick the dolls up to play with them without their clothes falling off.  

There's a Madeline doll:  

Complete with Olaf Bear.  Obviously.  

Then I made her some friends:

And a whole mess of clothes:

Funny story about these dolls.  They were a long time in the making.  The summer I was pregnant with Vivienne (nearly two years ago), Madeline spotted some fabric paper dolls at a craft fair.  I felt that I could easily make her some using materials we already had at home, so I busily got to work that very same afternoon.  They came together over the next few days, and Madeline loved them, but I neglected to finish them.  The dolls were mostly complete, but there were little things like a missing piece of Velcro and unlined dresses that I just never got around to.   

This is why it's almost always a better idea to just buy something somebody else already made.  Cause sure, I could make my own, but will I ever finish it?   Iffy.  

Madeline recently dug the dolls out from the bottom of her toy box and asked me to finish their dresses.  I figured it was about time those poor dolls had some decent clothes, so last month I finally made it a priority to get them done.   

Now that Vivi is older, she really likes playing with them too, so I've got a Vivi doll waiting to be finished.  Hopefully it doesn't take me another year to get around to it.

Parenting Currently

I just read If You Give a Pig a Party for the fifth time today, and it's still hours till bedtime.  I don't know how many times I read it yesterday, but at least five, probably closer to ten.  I estimate that there have been at least forty readings of that particular book this week alone.

Vivi is obsessed.  She toddles over to me with the book in her hands and presses it into my face until I read it.  As soon as we're done, she flips right back to the beginning.  A half-an-hour or so later, the book is back, and Vivi is grunting to read it again.  

Round and round we go.  There should be a book called If You Read a Book to a Vivi.

I think we all know how the plot would go.

I'm very glad that Vivi loves books so much, but my enthusiasm for that pig's shenanigans is starting to wane.  Boy, does she love to party!  

Random Thoughts

- How come I can dress my baby in mismatched patterns, funky knit hats, pants that are too short, sweaters that are too big and covered in banana stains, and it all just makes her look more adorable? Yet, when I dress this way, people think, "Oh, she must be homeless.  Avoid eye contact."  Vivi and the Olsen twins...the only people on the planet who can pull off baby hobo chic.

- There was a flashback sequence to 2004 on The Mindy Project last night in which she poked fun of her bootcut jeans and cowl neck sweater.  Funny except that it's 2015, and I still wear bootcut jeans and cowl neck sweaters.  What's a pear-shaped gal to do? 

I think low-rise bootcut jeans with bedazzled back pockets are the mom jeans of our generation.  Someday the girls will be all, "God mom!  Why can't you wear high-rise, acid-washed jeans like the cool moms?! You're not even wearing boots and we can see your granny panties!"  

And I'll shoot back, "Those other moms are just trying to hide their tribal inspired tramp stamps!  Bet you're glad I didn't fall for that one in 2004!"  

- They talked about time-outs at Maddie's school the other day, and when it was her turn to share, she claimed she didn't receive any form of punishment at home ever.  Then I realized she hadn't had a time-out in a long time...maybe too long.  So, I brought her home, and the first chance I got, I gave her a time-out.  I felt like a better parent, and she seemed happy to have something in common with her friends.  Win-win.  

- A Market Basket employee criticized the number of chicken fingers I ordered at their store last week.  I don't wanna talk about it.  I already vented my rage on Facebook.  I'm taking this as a sign that maybe I shouldn't spend my days guzzling coffee between snacking on carbs and chocolate.  But, dammit, I really hate squats.  

- I want to teach Maddie that my phone serves a purpose other than watching videos of dancing gummy bears.  It would be nice to know that if I pass out from too many squats that somebody could call 911.  I have no idea how to teach her to dial 911 on an iPhone without actually dialling 911.  Also, I don't think she knows what a 9 looks like.  They practiced this at school one day, but when I quizzed her later she was trying to dial 117, which doesn't do anyone any good. 

Happy 2015

We've started a tradition of going to the beach on New Year's Day.  There's no better way to celebrate a fresh start than by freezing our booties off in the sea air.  

Last year, Vivi wasn't quite two weeks old yet, and I had a breast infection.  I stayed in the car nursing the baby while Eric and Maddie braved the cold.  

This year, we bundled both girls up.  Maddie ran around collecting rocks.  Vivi pointed at the ocean mumbling, "Dat. Dat," and cuddled with Eric.  

2014 was a good, challenging year.  It started off a bit rocky as we adjusted to being a family of four.  But a year later, I feel confident parenting our girls.  

Last year was about survival.  This year, I want to take everything up a notch.  I want to spend more one-on-one time with Madeline.  I want to learn more recipes for Vivi. I want to read more.  I want to finish more projects.  I know these goals aren't very specific, but basically I want to make the most of my time with my girls before I go back to work in nine months.  

By the way...2015?  Really?  

We're living in the future.  

Bye Bye Baby Gear

Vivienne turns one in a few days.  Umm what?  Excuse me?  That can't be right.  I just squeezed that wailing little lemon head first into this crazy world... 

In celebration of this milestone, (and also because we needed to wedge a Christmas tree in the living room) we packed up and donated all our baby gear to a local charity.  Lamb swing, lamb bouncy seat, jump-a-roo, co-sleeper...all gone.  We're left with a pack n' play and a used breast pump.  

We're pretty sure we're done having babies, and we have no storage space for such large items.  I considered hanging on to them, but I hated the thought of letting everything rot in our damp basement just in case...so off they went.  Of course, we're taunting the universe with such a bold move, so we'll probably be blessed with triplets next year.  

It was sad watching Eric load everything in the back of his truck.  It's just stuff, and I usually have no problem getting rid of things I no longer use.  But these things rocked and cuddled and bounced my girls.  Sob.  Mah babies!!  

I remember how exciting it was to set up all those items for the first time.  That jump-a-roo seemed so foreign.  A spaceship might as well have landed in our living room.  The swing was bought in desperation during the height of Maddie's colic.  It changed our lives!  

It was just as exciting to set them up again last year as we waited for Vivi's arrival.  Madeline would put her dolls in the seats, and we'd wonder what it would be like to welcome a little sister to the family.  Vivi napped in that swing or bouncy seat for the first six months of her life.  

But as exciting as it was to set all that equipment up for the first time, it was also liberating taking them apart.  Baby stuff takes up a lot of space.  Our tiny house suddenly feels so spacious.  

And in a way, it feels good to set that stage of our lives in the past.  We're ready for the next part.

 I know from our experiences with Madeline that it only gets better.  Each age is more interesting, more challenging, more fun than the last.  So, while I'm mourning the end of our baby days, I'm more excited to watch our girls grow, grow, grow.

Random Post-Breastfeeding Thoughts

It's been a little over a month since we switched Vivi to formula.  My days of being a baby's meal ticket are done...probably forever.  

On one hand, it's nice to have my body (or at least some version of it) back to myself.  In general, I think nursing makes moms feel more comfortable with their bodies.  This is good.  But there's a thin line separating comfortable from too comfortable.  It's about time I stopped walking around this place basically shirtless and unshaved.  My husband, for example, now views my body in the same way he views Five Guys burgers, which he used to love until they built one on every corner.   Now, if I suggest we eat there he's like, "Five Guys?  Really? Meh. I mean, if you really want..."

Even the teenage girl across the street had the unfortunate luck of running into me as I walked to the mailbox with my shirt unbuttoned to the navel one afternoon.  No, I was not wearing a bra.

I didn't even realize my mistake for an hour afterward.  No wonder she rushed inside so quickly without returning my wave.  Hidey-ho, neighborino!

Now that I'm not unbuttoning my shirt to feed Vivienne every few hours, I can go out in public fairly confident that I'm not going to end up unintentionally flashing everyone.  That's nice.  

But on the other hand, growing babies does a number on a woman's body, and nursing helps temporarily cover up some of those issues.  So, now that it's all over....Woof.  

I can't post a real picture of my chest because, as I said, my flashing days are through.  Plus, ick.  Instead, let me provide this visual:

Yup, my breasts look like Statler and Waldorf...those old, wrinkly guys from The Muppets.    

After nine months of pregnancy, and an additional nine months of lactating, I'd forgotten what my chest actually looks like.  It turns out that I'm not blessed with the bodacious curves of a Kardashian after all. (Except for, you know, the fat thighs.)  It came as quite the shock.  At least in my younger years thou they were small, they were at least round.  Now, I feel like my whole body is one big deflated balloon.  The party's over, people.  Nothing to see here.  Move along.  

Plus, now that I'm not effortlessly burning through calories and no longer avoiding all dairy products, those pumpkin lattes are starting to take their toll.  My jeans were a little snug this morning, and I think my scale is probably broken because that was not the number it was showing last week.  

The hair on my head is also rapidly thinning.  So, there's that...

And lest I think I'm fooling anyone with my cleverly positioned scarves and dark, slimming jeans, Madeline scooted past me on the couch last week and cried, "Excuse me, you big, silly hump!"  Maddie Bear:  Keeping it real since 2010.  

Moving on...

Probably the biggest bonus about giving up nursing is that I will never again have to use a breast pump.  Breast pumps are the devil's instrument.  We watched a demonstration of a cow being milked at a dairy farm over the summer.  The tool they used on that poor lactating beast was really just a larger, slightly more industrial version of the same exact pump I was using.  

They are horrible.  And now I'm stuck with a $200, really weird looking planter because nobody wants a used breast pump.    

Meanwhile, Vivi, the baby who latched within five minutes of being born, comfort nursed at all hours of the day, and vehemently refused a bottle for the first eight months of her life, has moved on surprisingly fast.  She now eagerly drains the formula from her bottle without a backward glance.  

Times were good, Mumma, but I've moved on.  

Truth be told, all the jokes and TMI above are just meant as a cover.  I am sad that it's all over.  I feel a bit rejected. Replaced. Obsolete.

My child will never need me on such a deep level again.  Tomorrow she'll be packing up for college, and I'll probably never see her again because she'll become some sort of genius astronaut and move to mars...all because she was breastfed.  

Plus, the fact that the human body can provide nourishment for our offspring is pretty remarkable.  My body was taking all the pie, potato chips, and blood orange San Pellegrino I was consuming and turning it into milk.  When I wasn't busy feeling like a dairy cow, I felt like I was performing some kind of magic.  

And unless we have a major change of heart, (or a major birth control failure...you were all thinking it) Vivi will be our last baby.  My magical, lactating breasts are gone forever.  Sob.  All I have left are my raisins in the sun, a breast pump/ planter, and a hefty formula bill.  

Then again, now that she's no longer nursing, Vivi sleeps through the night most of the time.  And when I get a full eight hours of sleep, forget everything else I just said, I wake up looking like this:  

Instead of this:

So worth it.  

Tucked Away Memories

Every time Madeline draws a picture, she hangs it on the refrigerator with pride.  My kitchen is so cluttered with colorful squiggles, crude letter M's, princess stickers, and stamped handprints that one can barely tell that there's a refrigerator under the mess at all.  And so every few weeks, I sift through Madeline's masterpieces.  Most are placed discretely in the recycling bin, while the best of the bunch are tucked away in a box on top of our bookshelves for safekeeping.  

Meanwhile, Vivi outgrows clothing so quickly that I am constantly juggling what needs to be folded, donated, or discarded.  The most precious of her outfits are saved under her bed in a box that's identical to the one that holds Madeline's baby clothes.  

When the girls are grown, we'll open the lids and marvel that their feet were ever so tiny.  We'll smile at their early attempts at writing their names.  Favorite toys will bring up long-forgotten memories.  Some of the contents may be passed along to their own babies one day.  

Those boxes are mini museums housing the priceless artifacts of my children's lives.  And as the years pass, more and more boxes are stored under our beds, in the back of our closets, on the top of dusty shelves.  

But there's one box, safely nestled in my nightstand, that is never added to and will never multiply.  Ellis Jane, who came into this world still, has just a handful of items to prove she existed.  Her box  contains an envelope of photographs, her footprints, hospital bands, the clothing the nurses dressed her in, which miraculously still smells like baby.  

I used to pour through the contents of this box daily, then weekly, then every now and again.  Six years later, I am almost reluctant to open her box and be drawn back into that place of sadness. 

So much has filled the space between then and now that six years feel like another lifetime ago.

But today is her birthday, and today I will let myself remember.  Tonight, when the girls are safely tucked in bed, I will open the lid, flip through the photographs, study the footprints, and let my fingertips smooth out the wrinkles of her tiny pink sweater.  I will feel sad, and grateful, and maybe even an odd kind of peace.  Then the lid will close till next year.  

We love you, Ellis Jane, our forever baby.  

On Love Bugs and False Hopes

You guys...

I'm in love.  

Isn't she beautiful?  

I used to drive a VW Beetle...a lime green Beetle to be more specific.  Go big or go home, ya know?  

It had a sunroof and a flower vase.  I could always find it in a parking lot.  Children would punch each other in the arm when they saw me drive past.  It was fun, young, and so very me.  

The year before we had Madeline, I traded my Beetle in for something more "family friendly" and "practical".

My current car is dark gray.  It doesn't have a sunroof or a vase.  I can never find it in the parking lot because every other car looks exactly like mine.  I've even tried to get into the wrong car no more than one occasion.  It's a good car, really it is, but it's pretty boring.

Let's face it, my life is pretty boring these days.  But it doesn't have to be.    

Driving to preschool...Driving to the supermarket...Driving to the doctor...Driving to pick up, yet again, more diapers...It would all be so much fun in my bus!

As soon as I saw its picture float across my Facebook feed last week, I had one thought only: She will be mine.  Someday. Oh yes, she will be mine.

I texted the picture to Eric.  He said we could get it, but that he should never be expected to drive it.  I could live with that.  That night, I dreamt of carting my two kids, a dog, and even a tuba around in my mom bus.  

But alas, all dreams must come to an end.  I scoured the Internet looking for release dates, prices, any information about when this beauty could be mine.  There were conflicting reports....and then I learned the cold, hard truth.  Volkswagen has no plans to reintroduce a Microbus.

Damn you Internet and your false hopes!  Don't you know that it's dangerous to toy with the feelings of an exhausted mother desperately trying to reclaim her youth?  

And so, please, Volkswagen.  I implore you.  Make my dreams come true.

We are Loved: We are Hated: Mostly We are Barely Tolerated

Going places used to be no big deal.  I was just another forgettable face in the crowd going about my frozen-pizza-buying business quietly and efficiently.  But now that I have two small children, we can't go anywhere under the radar.  Running errands is an event.  We've arrived everybody, stand back less you get sucked into our maelstrom of drool and budding estrogen!

I popped into Starbucks on a whim this morning because the pumpkin spice latte is back, and I think it's some sort of requirement for young, white, middle-class women like myself to indulge in at least one a week if we want to keep our lady bits thawed for the winter.  So since Madeline was at school, and I was in the same plaza doing errands anyhow, I thought I'd just pop in to satisfy my weekly quota.  (My town does not allow drive-thrus because they like to make parents of young children miserable.)

The barista behind the register threw us a smile, but it was clear that she was not thrilled to see a baby balanced on my hip.  Her words were welcoming, but her eyes read, "Okay, how's this baby and her bitch mother going to make my job harder?"  Her feelings were justified when ten seconds later, my spawn knocked an entire display of gift cards across the floor.

The woman behind the counter sighed wearily, her smile a little more rigid, as I apologized and tried to scoop up handfuls of the spilled cards.

"I have three kids at home," she nodded.  "I know how it goes."  Clearly, this woman was in no mood to deal with my child's shenanigans when she had her hands full cleaning up after her own.  And then she shouted toward the back, "Can someone come pick up these cards that just fell all over the floor?"

A manager poked her head out from behind the counter, a clear "WTF" etched between her eyebrows.

"The baby did it," the barista deadpanned, pointing in my direction.  The manager gave me another exasperated, frozen smile as she went about cleaning up our mess.

As I tried to disappear into the haze of artfully brewed coffee and glowing laptop screens, another customer started cooing over how cute Vivi is.  Then she launched into a history of her own teenage daughter.  My pumpkin spiced latte arrived, and still the woman chatted on about her child and mine.

And so, I find that the world's population can be divided into two main categories:  Strangers who are happy to see my kids and strangers who are most definitely not happy to see my kids.

People who are happy to see my kids include the following: most teen-aged girls, moms of much older children, men in business attire (who very rarely take the time to say anything to us, but smile nonetheless), the elderly, fellow redheads/ former redheads/ relatives of redheads, and grocery store cashiers. 

Meanwhile,  attractive young women on cell phones, moms/dads of young children who are trying to get a break by leaving them at home, grumpy old people, pretentious ass-hats*, and every member of the service industry, except for grocery store cashiers, are usually not happy to see my kids.

(* Special Note:  These people are not ass-hats because they don't like my kids.  I suspect many people view my children the way I view other people's pets.  Sure, that hamster seems nice, but I just don't know him well enough to find him cute and/or particularly interesting.  And that's okay.  These people are ass-hats because their heads are in the wrong place, AND they don't like my kids. This includes the lady who spent twenty minutes inspecting and critiquing every slice of meat she ordered at the deli the other day, but who also gave me a dirty look when Madeline knocked over a package of kaiser rolls.  Move along, lady.  Move along.)

There's also a third category of people who don't notice my kids either way.  This includes the moms/ dads who also have their young children with them because A. They are two busy dealing with their own brood to bother with mine, and B: They think their kids are cuter anyhow (false).  This third category also includes most adolescent males who don't notice much of anything at all.

Here's what a recent trip to the grocery store looked like for me and my girls:

Vivi spent the entire time growling, giggling, pulling Maddie's hair, and kicking her in the head.  Maddie spent the entire time screeching, giggling, and pretending to be angry.  (I know M looks sad in these pictures, but don't be fooled.  She was egging Vivi on the whole time.)

Some people smiled at our chaos.  Some scowled.  Some laughed.  Some threw me looks of absolute horror.  Some were too busy blocking the aisle to notice us standing there at all.  Some stopped to compliment Maddie's hair and talk about their ten redheaded grandchildren.

We're now out of paper towels, but I'd rather let the girls wipe their faces with bits of toilet paper than bother with bringing them to the store.  I hope that brings the people who are not happy to see my kids at least some measure of comfort.  And I won't be going to Starbucks anytime soon either.  I'll drive two towns over to use the drive-thru.    

The Best of Bayside

I watched Lifetime's drama The Unauthorized Saved by the Bell Story last night.  It was bad.  Really bad.  I mean I knew going into it that it was going to be just awful, but it wasn't the kind of awful I was hoping for.  Based on the way the movie was promoted, I was expecting to see the cast doing lines of cocaine off each other's bellybuttons. Instead, literally nothing happens for two hours.  There are a few scenes where alcohol is consumed, and lips are locked...but that's it.  It even has an "and they all lived happily ever after" ending, which we all know is total BS.  Sure, half of the cast members turned out fine, but the rest...Jessie ruined her career making Showgirls.  Screech made a porno.  And Lisa's face?!  What has she done to her face?!

I may, or may not have, read Dustin Diamond's tell-all book Behind the Bell on which the Lifetime movie was based, so I had pretty high hopes going into last night's viewing.  Alas, most of Diamond's allegations were either watered down, or left out of the movie altogether.  I get it.  Diamond has since admitted that most of the book was a lie, and Lifetime certainly doesn't want to get itself sued.  But what a bust!  Totally killed my Monday night...I could have been sleeping!  SLEEPING!

Anyhow...sigh...I wrote the rest of this post yesterday afternoon when I was still bubbling over with anticipation.  (What a fool I was...)  I didn't get it finished in time to post it before the movie aired because I don't have Zack Morris' ability to freeze time whenever Vivi or Madeline need me.

.................................................................................................................................................................

Saved By The Bell was more than a cheesy, sub par Saturday morning program for the thousands of kids like me who were fans.  It was a promise.  A promise that the teen years that loomed before me were going to be freakin' epic.

Just think of the cast of characters: Zack Morris?  Hunk. A.C. Slater? Hunk. Kelly Kapowski?  Babe.  Lisa Turtle? Babe. Jessie Spano?  Smart babe. Screech?  Ridiculous, daft human being who still somehow manages to be surrounded by the most popular hunks and babes in the school.  How could high school possibly be bad?

And beyond all that, it didn't matter how many times those crazy kids crashed the principal's car, or stole the rival team's mascot, or sold calendars of half-naked, under-aged girls without their consent...Zack always got away with it.  Smooth.  So damn silky smooth.  

Of course, we all know that life turned out nothing like Saved By The Bell.  High school mostly sucks and is filled with nothing but pimply awkward teenagers who make one another miserable.  Besides, by the time I actually became a teenager, the grunge movement had wiped out the neon-tinged optimism of Bayside High.  Sure, the likes of Jordan Catalano of My So Called Life was still a hunk, but he was a moody, aloof, angst-ridden hunk who in no way resembled Zack Morris except in terms of pure bangability.

Saved By The Bell was a lie, but it was a beautiful lie.  And thanks to endless hours of syndication, it's one that has spanned generations.  Today's high school students may not know who Maya Angelou, Gandhi, or Julia Roberts are, but you can be damn sure that they know the name Zack Morris.   

Tonight, Lifetime airs its Saved by the Bell biopic based on Dustin Diamonds tell-all book Behind the Bell.  I'm not too proud to admit that I read that book, (thanks Carol) and it was just as amazingly awful as you could imagine.  I'm hoping tonight's movie can do the book justice.

In honor of this momentous event, I've been thinking of Saved by the Bell's most memorable episodes.

Here's my initial brainstorm:
I'm so excited; I'm so scared
The sprain
U2 tickets at the mall
Just Say No
Zack and Kelly break up
Zack's creepy poster of Kelly
Zack Attack dream sequence
Elvis head
Miss Bayside
Punky Brewster
Volley Ball Tournament

And here's my final ranking:

(I had to look up the actual episode titles and some of the plot synopses because I'm not completely psychotic and have other interests in life beyond Saved by the Bell.  Honest.) 

10. "Screech's Spaghetti Sauce" 

(AKA: Punky Brewster)

Screech gains fame and fortune from selling his delicious tomato sauce.  This doesn't make any sense at all because nobody wants to eat Screech's secret spaghetti sauce.  There's probably left-over robot parts and bits of pornstache in there.  Gross.  

A girl named Robin suddenly wants to date him, but we all know she's just after his spaghetti sauce fortune.  But wait!  That gold-digging little minx is non other than Punky Brewster.  That blew my mind back in elementary school.  Soleli Moon Frye...I salute you.  

9. Miss Bayside

Screech is entered in the Miss Bayside pageant as part of a bet between Zack and Slater.  Spoiler Alert: He wins.  Meanwhile, Jessie and Kelly boycott the pageant because...sexism, but eventually end up competing anyway.  In my head, I had this episode confused with the one where Kelly's face turns maroon, but I think that's the contest for homecoming queen.  There were just too many contests for these people to ruin for the rest of the student population.  

This episode perfectly captures the inner essence of each character.  Screech is a loser who talks to his homemade robot more than real people, but he still has a heart of gold.  Zack is a smooth-talking hunk with a total sleazy streak.  Slater plays the drums, wears bright neon shirts, and flexes his muscles a lot...and they are spectacular.  Jessie is a feminist. (Except for that time she became a stripper after high school.  That's where those caffeine pills will get ya, kids.) Kelly is sweet, and a total babe, but pretty much just does what people tell her to do because she's not known for her brains. Lisa doesn't care about feminism.  She likes to shop. 

8. "House Party"

(AKA: Elvis Head)

You hear the title, "House Party," and you imagine things are about to get real for the Bayside crew right?  But no. Screech's parents go out of town, so the boys decide to have a guy's night at his house.  A guy's night means they sing "Barbra Ann" in their skivvies a la Risky Business.  The girls (including nerdy Tori Spelling) catch them dancing and laugh their asses off at them because wouldn't you?  

They end up breaking Screech's mother's prized Elvis statue, and invent some elaborate scheme to raise enough money to buy a replacement.  But none of that is really important.  The "Barbra Ann" scene is what makes this episode memorable.  

Also, Screech's mother is crazy, but that's not really surprising considering her son spends all his time building robot slave armies and repeatedly hitting on Lisa even though she's told him off in a million different ways.  

7. All In the Mall

(AKA: "U2 tickets at the mall")

The gang (except Jessie "too busy pushing caffeine pills" Spano) stands in line to buy U2 tickets at the mall.  They find a box of cash which they decide to keep in order to scalp tickets. After noticing two thugs eyeing them suspiciously, they assume they've involved themselves in some serious criminal activity and freak out.  Spoiler Alert: They're on Candid Camera and end up winning U2 tickets.  

This is a classic example of a Saved by the Bell episode.  Screech is dumb and ruins their plans.  Slater and Zack are boss.  Lisa and Kelly buy shoes.  They disguise themselves as mannequins to fool the thugs. Bad behavior, like keeping money that isn't theirs, is rewarded when they are given exactly what they wanted all along.  It's just so ludicrous.  

Plus, I always liked that they camped at the mall for the night.  What really went on inside that tent?  Perhaps Lifetime can shed some light on that situation.  (It didn't...) 

6. No Hope with Dope

(AKA: Just Say No)

Rockstar Johnny Dakota decides to film an anti-drug commercial at Bayside and falls for Kelly Ka-POW-ski because, duh, babe.  The gang is pretty star struck till they catch Johnny smoking some doobies at a party and tell Mr. Belding on him like a bunch of nerdy narcs.  People with caffeine pill habits should not throw stones...

I can eyeroll my way through this episode as an adult, but I totally ate it up as a kid.  I was so proud of Kelly for not giving in to temptation.  See, kids, you don't have to do drugs to be cool!  

5. King of The Hill

(AKA: Creepy Poster of Kelly)

This early episode shows how Zack and Slater first met and focuses on their rivalry for Kelly's affections. They basically spend the entire episode pounding on their chests and doing mating dances in Kelly's line of sight. (We always knew Zack would win.  Slater's dimples are cute, but Morris has the hair of a man who always comes out on top.) 

I like the early episodes where Zack and Slater hate each other, and I never understood why Slater didn't eventually get together with Kelly.  Zack hooked up with everyone.  Every. Last. One...

However, the real reason this episode stands out in my mind is due to the life-sized poster of Kelly hanging in Zack's bedroom.  Hey, creeper...

Whatever, little Zack is still pretty adorable.  And Kelly Ka-POW-ski?!  Babe. Total babe.  

4. "Rockumentary"

(AKA: Zack Attack Dream Sequence)

Zack dreams that his band, Zack Attack, (guess who got to name the band?) makes it big.  The whole episode is presented as a documentary of the rise and fall of their fame.  Zack becomes so egotistical that he eventually leaves the group.  However, he realizes the error of his ways and makes up with his friends in time for a reunion concert.  

They sing a terrible song called "Friends Forever" that is kinda so bad that it's good.  Ya know? And yes, Zack, friends are forever, except for that time you kissed Lisa in front of Screech...or that time he kissed Jessie while she was still dating Slater...or...you know...basically any time he uses his friends to make a quick buck.  

3. Dancing to the Max 

(AKA: "The Sprain")

Ah-ha! So this was the very first episode beyond the Miss Bliss years! (Anyone else every wonder if Zack Morris really is Miss Bliss...kinda like Fight Club?)  Casey Kasem mysteriously hosts a dance contest at The Max, and surprise, surprise, the only Bayside students to enter are our limelight-hogging main characters.  Zack and Slater fight over Kelly Ka-POW-ski.  Jessie teaches Zack to dance.  Screech and Lisa end up winning after Lisa sprains her ankle and they invent a brilliantly titled dance called "the sprain."  

I like this one because Zack and Slater challenge each other to a dance-off to win Kelly as their partner.  A dance off???  Dude, only in my dreams have two gorgeous heterosexual men had a dance off over me.  Kelly Kapowski is one lucky piece of cheerleading ass.  I also vividly remember Jessie's nightmare about being too tall to date any high school boys.  She's like a caffeine-pill-addicted Alice in Wonderland.  

2. The Last Dance 

(AKA: Zack and Kelly break up)

Kelly cheats on Zack with her jerk-faced, college-boy boss, Jeff, causing her to dump preppy's ass at the dance.  

This episode broke my fourth-grade heart in a million pieces.   She sobs, "It wasn't supposed to be this way.  Not for us..." while Slater and Jessie sing "How am I supposed to live without you? Now that I've been loving you for so long..." in the background.  Tear jerker.  

Kelly, how could you?!  You two were meant to be!    And then Jeff latter gets caught cheating on Kelly, so it was all for nothing.  Jeff and his stupid face...  

1. Jessie's Song 

(AKA: I'm so excited; I'm so scared) 

Jessie becomes addicted to caffeine pills trying to maintain her status as the most pretentious ass-hat in all of Bayside.  Eventually she breaks down in Zack's arms singing, "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so scared..." and thus makes history.

If a person has somehow managed to block out all knowledge of this series, she will know about this scene nonetheless.  I still sometimes mimic Jessie after my second cup of coffee in the mornings.  But seriously, guys, addiction to caffeine pills is no laughing matter.



So there you have it.  I just spent way too much time on this.  You have no idea.

What are your most memorable episodes?  

Riding in Cars with Kiddos

There was a time when I knew the route to my parents' cabin in Vermont so well that I could make the 200 mile drive in under three hours.  I knew how fast I could safely drive without getting a ticket or careening off the side of a mountain.  I knew where the best restrooms were if I had to use them, which I usually didn't.  And I knew where to get food, which I did even less.  This was before children of course.  

By the time we made it over the Vermont border on our way home today, we already had made three stops.  We made two more stops on our way through New Hampshire.  Three stops actually if you count peeking in at a gas station restroom only to find that there wasn't a changing table.  The Dunkin Donuts across the street didn't have a changing table either, but the nice man behind the counter offered me a gigantic trash bag to lay across the floor.  Epic poops call for epic measures, I guess.  Gross.  

All in all, it took us almost five hours to get home.  

I don't mind long car rides.  I like seeing new places.  I like shuffling through songs on the radio.  I like that Eric and I get a chance to have meaningful debates such as where the capital of the American wizarding world would be located.  

But as exciting as it is to set off for new adventures in the car, eventually you have to drive home, which is never as fun.  By then, there's nothing new to look at.  I can't find a song worth listening to on the radio, and those cute little debates are starting to seem more like couple's therapy.  Add a bored preschooler and a crying, pooping, hungry baby to the mix, and needless to say, we just wanted to get home as quickly as possibly this afternoon.

When we finally reached Massachusetts, things were starting to get weird in our car.  Maddie was whining because she wanted to hold a bag of pasta.  Vivi was crying.  I was belting out "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" along with the radio.  Eric had a headache.  And thus, our wonderful vacation came to an end.

Ironically, on the way up to Vermont, back when we were fresh-faced and eager to explore, there were several stops we wanted to make but couldn't.  We drove an hour out of the way to have lunch at the Long Trail Brewery.  But when we got there, both girls were sleeping soundly.  Since two sleeping children in the hand are worth more than two cranky children in the bush, we just kept on driving.  That trip took about six hours, but hey, at least the girls got in a good nap.

The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry...especially if you have kids.  

These are the faces of three insane people stuck in traffic in the middle-of-nowhere Vermont.  Vivi was there too, but busy either pooping or crying.  It's a toss up.  

Montauk, 2014: Beach'n It

I took approximately 500 photos on ye old IPhone while we were in Montauk, so please excuse me if your eyes glaze over a bit while I share some of my family's vacation memories a la Clark Griswold.

One of our priorities for this vacation was to spend a lot of time relaxing at the beach soaking in the salt air and gazing at the horizon.  We had beautiful weather the entire time we were there, (except for the Fourth...thanks, stupid hurricane.) so we were able to meet this goal pretty easily.  

We like to hit the beach as early in the day as possible.  I don't like big crowds, I don't like heat, and obviously the sun is a little too fond of our redheadedness...but in spite of these facts, I do love the beach.  Most days we were sitting under a beach umbrella by 9:30 and gone by noon right when it was getting crowded and hot.

This was Vivienne's first time being a beach baby, and we weren't really sure what she'd think.  She's been known to protest loudly when she's not pleased with her universe, so I was prepared for some major squawking.  But...she was great!

Vivi did not like putting her toes in the water.  She did, however, like napping on Eric.  Every time Eric stood with her in the surf, she'd stare sleepily at the ocean, listen to the sound of the waves crashing,  lean her cheek against Dada's chest, and lights out.  It was awesome.

We'd follow nap time with some nursing, and then she'd sit happily on a beach blanket trying her darnedest to scoop up fistfuls of sand no matter how many towels we layered beneath her.

As for Madeline?  Our little water baby was in beach heaven.  She's still a little too young to go swimming in the ocean, but she doesn't mind.  Running from the waves is fun enough for her.  After two weeks, she became brave enough to wade in up to her thighs and laugh when the waves splashed her chest.  When she got cold, she'd sit happily digging in the sand.

Eric spent a lot of time with a snoozing Vivienne on his chest, and a lot of time observing the surfers and reminiscing about his youth, and a lot of time chasing Madeline in the waves.  I spent a lot of time nursing Vivienne, chasing Madeline in the waves, and collecting seashells and rocks.  For some reason, the beaches down there have more of those things than the beaches near us, which are pretty seashell free in comparison.

On our last visit to the beach, the weather was perfectly cool and sunny.  The holiday crowds had disappeared, and except for the lifeguards and a handful of dog walkers, we had the beach to ourselves.     It was perfect, and we can't wait to visit again next summer.