What's UP?
What's up with the 70 hits this web site had yesterday? Hmmm...

Anyway, just in case anyone is still into the Old Evil here, thought I'd update the look so your eyes don't have to go all googly woogly when you read.

I'm writing semi-regularly at www.secretevilblog.com and almost every day at www.workingmamma.com.

Hugs and kisses,
Nen'

Shutting it Down
Okay, not literally. But I will now be posting at and from the all new, mostly pink, me:
Secret Evil Blog

Today
As is always the case, I had no ever-loving idea what I was getting myself in to. Two kids, two years apart. Diapers, in two sizes (except not any more, wa hoo!), two cribs, two high chairs, two in the bathtub, two sets of car seats in two different cars, two sets of socks that look maddeningly similar, two hours a week at Kindermusik, two seats in the stroller, two birthdays – in the same week, two toothbrushes, two to dress in coats and hats and boots and mittens, two special plates of food prepared in two different ways, two thousand sipper cups.

And two kids, unbelievably attached to each other. Two kids that dissolve into fits of giggles together over silly noises. Two kids that hug and kiss and snuggle together. Two kids that chase each other around the house, screeching and laughing. Two kids that don’t want to be separated, for anything.

This is a golden time in my life, I know. This time of having my children at home, knowing where they are and what they are doing every minute of the day. This time when their days are centered around when I leave for work, and when I come home for lunch, and when I come home for the day, and when I put them to bed. I understand, in my mind if not in my heart, that I’ll lose a little bit of them each day, each year, as they grow up and grow away from me. And so, today, I’ll give them extra hugs and kisses, and appreciate who they are, right now.

Where There's a Will There's a Way
We’re abandoning our children. For three days in April, Husband and I will be basking in the um… rock-like glow of the Rocky Mountains. Actually, I’ll be in a conference all day, partially as a presenter sharing my oh-so-fascinating expertise on absolutely nothing. Husband can enjoy hours and hours of free-free-expensive-freedom all day long until I come “home” to the hotel room, where I’ll likely just want room service and cable TV. The kids will be at home with their Grandma, and I have high hopes that by the end of the three days, Grandma will finally learn how to say “no.” But I’m probably fooling myself.

All of this leaving-the-kids business has led me to decide that the time has come to get our crap together and write some type of will or guardianship trust or whatnot. Ugh. I hate thinking about that, but the more time I spend reading random blogs o’ tragedy, the more firmly I understand that shit happens. And there’s absolutely no reason it can’t happen to me.

It's hard to decide, both because it's a great, great burden and because trying to balance the needs of the children and the needs of their grandparents and what we want for their lives. Luckily, the deal includes 21 years of my diaries. Who wouldn't raise two kids for someone else in exchange for the chance to read a very graphic description of my first period? Hello? Awesome, right? Wait - where are you going? I'm not done talking! Hello?

On Maturity
So, I got invited to a dildo party. You know, like Tupperware or candles or scrap booking shit, except that you’re supposed to buy things to help you get off. And what I’ve discovered about myself, much to my chagrin, is that I’m a big, giant PRUDE. I can’t be in the same room as sex toys. I can’t do that. I’m actually not even that comfortable walking by the bras at Wal-Mart. I still blush when I have to buy tampons.

My friend did go to the party, though. And she brought home a treat for me, which she gave to my husband.

Neno: I think I’m going to switch purses.
Husband: I think that’s a really good idea. (Leer, leer)
Neno: Okay. Why are you being so weird?
Husband: I’m not being weird. Just go ahead and do what you’re going to do. (Google eye)
Neno: Okay, freak. (Neno takes out of her purse a wallet, a stack of paid bills, keys, receipts, a calculator, a pen, and…)
What’s this?
Husband: Ha HA Hee HA
Neno: There’s a penis in my purse.
Husband: Har hee har har
Neno: A penis pen.
Husband: Haw haw haw haw
Neno: Did you put a penis pen in my purse?
Husband: Ha. Ha.
Neno: Get out of here before I shove this tiny tiny penis up your ass.

So, I’m now the proud owner of a pen with a itty bitty pink penis on the end. Actually, it writes kind of nicely. Maybe I’ll take it to work. After Husband finds it, of course.

Neno and Her Same-Same Perhaps Have Too Much Time on Their Hands
Earlier this week, I received a very touching e-mail from Daniel Dae Kim.

Daniel Dae Kim: (Subject line: Good morning [Neno]; picture below was attached) Why yes, I dreamt about you too. It's just been so looooong.



Neno: Dear Daniel, you have now been at the very top of my laminated list for several months now. But I must ask... What the h.e.l.l. is up with your hair in this picture? What's with the pseudomullet? This is a situation that must be rectified immediately if you hope to avoid list termination.

DDK: Dearest [Neno] of my heart, It was a dark and stormy night at the Globes . . . Oh, did you think I had more? Sorry, it was dark and stormy and I tripped and fell into a gutter, after the rats had their way and licked out all of my coconut flavored hair gel compliments of the edible Jessica Simpson line of products, I was then befriended by a very amorous bulldog with fleas (Shout out to section C at the Globes - sorry guys - I'll send you some dip). But, hey, I made it and I brought my portable wireless crimper - WHAT A LIFESAVER! With all my love, Daniel

Neno: I just don't know if I can believe your story, as I have watched every episode of Lost and even on the island of so much mystery and so few bathrooms, you are still able to maintain the sexy. Yet, here you are in L.A., and even though Britney would disagree, it is quite possible to practice basic hygiene and also to, at the very least, make a stop at Cost Cutters for a trim.

I may have to CC this to Justin. I believe we need to bring the sexy back.

DDK: Well, yes, if anyone could bring it back, he could and even he is not going within 500 yards of Brit. Please take me back though! I'll bring some relaxant and deep conditioner and you can teach me how to be beautiful again. Everyone knows that sandy beach is to hair what sugar is to cocoa. Gutter beach, on the other hand, well, that one's for the rats. How does Naveen do it?

Neno: Well, Daniel, I've given it some serious thought for the last eight minutes, and you may stay on my list, but you have been bumped down a spot. Because I must make room for THIS (see attached). I know this probably makes you cry, but the hotness of Mohinder cannot be denied.



DDK: (Weeping) Oh, he IS too beautiful (whimper, twitch, whimper) The Hair! So lovely, so brilliant! (sniffle, shudder) Products only do so much! To be born with those genetics . . . (Sob, twitch, Sob) It's N O T F A I R! (jumping off a tall building)

My Same-Same
Her daughter is two months younger than my daughter.
Her son is three months younger than my son.
My husband looks a bit like her husband.
She is the youngest child in her family.
So am I.
Her husband is the oldest in his family.
So is mine.
I have three cats.
She has three cats.
She is nursing her baby.
I am nursing my baby.
We went to the same junior high.
And high school.
And college.
She drives a Toyota.
And I drive a Toyota.
She blogs.
I blog.
I quit smoking.
She quit smoking.
I love Moutain Dew.
She loves Coke.
She used to be a vegetarian.
I ate broccoli for the first time last month.
She lived la vida loca.
I went to church camp.
She likes vodka.
I like wine coolers.
She has many piercings.
I have a tattoo.
She’s tall.
I’m short.
She has big boobs.
I have boobs, really I do. See? They’re right there!
She eats seafood.
I prefer Pop Tarts.
She loves gardening.
I don’t touch icky things. Like dirt. And vegetables.

Better Living Through... Blogging?
I haven’t had much to say lately. Partially because someone’s children keep waking me up at 4:30 in the goddamn morning. Additionally because I’ve mostly just sat my big ass on the couch and watched Sopranos for the last month or so. I love the Sopranos, but at the same time, it makes me all:
• edgy, like I never know when I might smash a beer bottle into someone’s face for suggesting that I blow firefighters (by the way, I originally typed “blog firefighters,” which is funny in a Freudian type way)
• potty-mouthed. I’m all, “What’s this fuckin’ comma doing here, you stupid cocksucker?”
• feeling bad about my very serious lack of homemaking skills in comparison to one Carmela Soprano. My husband tries to remind me that Carmela Soprano is not a real person. Whatever. Says him.

So, as always when I am unable to compose a coherent entry, I will make a list of things that happened lately:
• I went to an Avon meeting. As you may or may not know, I sell Avon. I’ve been doing well-ish at this, so I thought I’d show up for a meeting for the first time, since I had some awards to accept. (Whatever! Shut up! Avon is cool, no really.) I thought this would be totally funny and blog-worthy, but it wasn’t. So, the point of that, I don’t know.
• I’m taking D to a sign language class. He so could not give a shit less. I’m all, “Spooooon, D, see how we say spooooon?” And he’s all, “Yeah, whatever. Do you have a magazine I could eat or something? Because this is stupid.”
• I went to the dentist.
• Work stuff. Enough said there.
• We had a date night. We ate our meal quickly and then got all anxious waiting for the check. Yes, we were supposed to be relaxing and enjoying ourselves. Yes, that is truly impossible for us.
• I thawed some frozen chicken.
• And then I cooked it.

See my very exciting life? See why I am compelled to keep a blog, to record for the purposes of history, the great contributions I am making to the world? Which, actually, I do have a contribution: Do you ever try to use a paperback cookbook, and you don’t know how to keep it open, so maybe you put a canister on one page and your toaster on the other, right? Okay, so go get a pants hanger. Clip the book open. Hook the hanger onto the knob of your cupboard door. Voila. Take that, Carmela Soprano.

Good for the Goose
Today is the day that E becomes 2 years and nine months old. That’s like… 33 months? She’s amazing.

She loves to tell stories, which are mostly a variation on this, “Once upon a time, there was a cow. And he ATE YOU UP! The end.”

She loves to sing, her favorite being, “Oh me oh my, he barks all day and night.” I’m going to venture a guess that she won’t be an opera singer. But if Guns N Roses is looking for a new lead singer, she’s totally in.

She really, really loves her brother. I was very concerned about sibling rivalry before D was born, but they have amazed me. Their bond was immediate. She completely and fully accepted him as part of our family. Whenever I try to have special time alone with E, she spends a good chunk of that time asking why her brother couldn’t be there and telling me that she misses him.

She’s really excited to start preschool in the fall, mostly because the preschool has a toy cash register.

She has a long list of things she wants to accomplish, “When I grow up, I’m going to:
• Sleep with Mom in Mom’s bed and when Dad gets littler and littler he can sleep in my bed.
• Be Santa Claus, so that I can ride Rudolph and eat all the cookies.
• Be a doctor. Then I can listen to your heart with a skekoscope.
• Wear Mom’s polar bear sweatshirt. (Honest to God, she said that.)
• Be a Daddy.
• Play soccer with the boys. (I tried to explain to her that girls play soccer too, but she still wants to play with the boys.)
• Eat regular pizza.”

Which brings me to the gluten thing. Yes, she’s still gluten intolerant. We’re still learning how to cook gluten-free, and it’s been okay. We eat more whole foods, from scratch, and it’s good. Of course, after the kids are in bed, when most parents are probably having sex, we’re binging on doughnuts and tortillas and cake and cookies.

I’m excited at who she is becoming, smart and funny and kind and loving and beautiful. She can still be intense, for sure, as I understand more and more how emotionally overwhelmed she becomes sometimes, and I’m learning how to help her deal with that. And knowing that I used to be exactly that way. Um… this morning.

Why Yes, Reality Does Bite
I took a pregnancy test this morning. It was negative.

I’m very relieved, for all of the reasons I should be.

We can’t afford a baby. Largely because we can’t afford to buy a vehicle that would transport three car seats. And because it would be yet another five years until Husband can go back to work. And we weren’t even sure if we had the money to buy the damn pregnancy test in the first place. And we’re always, perpetually dangling on the precipice of financial disaster.

Hi, my name is Overwhelmed. Nice to meet you!

Additionally, I suck at being pregnant. No really. I get beyond morning sickness, I gain too much weight, I look and feel terrible, and all of that has an impact on my ability to take care of the kids I already have.

But a little small part of me is just a teeny bit disappointed.

Because D is already growing too fast. Because baby clothes are too sweet and tiny. Because I don’t know that I’m done picking names. Because I want to buck the society that tells me that everyone only deserves two kids. Because wouldn’t a baby girl be wonderful? Or a baby boy? Or… maybe a hot tub?

And also, now I have no excuse at all for not losing my baby weight. Damn it.