I'll Snatch Your Kid!

As mamas, we know people tend to say very strange things to us and to our babies. Grocery stores, Target and restaurants seem to be where these loose-lipped people gather. Oh, and come to find out, Children's Hospitals. Most of the time it's stuff you can easily brush off - like comments about how your child is/isn't dressed (Oh! No shoes today?!), their binkys (My child stopped using a binky at 3 months - isn't she kind of old to still be using one?) and any other subject people seem themselves experts on. But there is one particular comment I get every few weeks that REALLY frosts my cookies - "She is so cute! Better watch out, because someone might snatch her when you turn your back!"

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME?! Did you just say my child is going to be kidnapped?

And I'm not talking about the times people say things like - I want to take her home with me! - or stuff like that. I consider that still in the range of normal. But referencing kidnapping? Not so funny.

The most awkward time this was said was in January when we rushed Miss Paige to the Children's Hospital because of a super high fever. As the doctor was leaving the room, she turned around in the doorway and said with a straight face, "You better keep a close eye on her! She's likely to get snatched one day!"  Daniel and I just stared at the doctor, both with blank looks upon our faces. Did she really just say that?! We were speechless.

Another time, I was in line at Subway with Paige when a woman walking by stopped, looked at Paige, and said, "If she were alone, I'd grab her and bring her to Hollywood. I'd be rich!"  No lie.

Today in Target as I was browsing the diaper/wipes aisle looking for a good deal on Huggies wipes, a woman approached me from behind and said, "Could you turn your back for a second so I can take your baby?" She was smiling... I wasn't. SO not funny. I made a beeline out of the aisle before she tazed me or made a grab at Paige. Back that stuff up, lady!

While I love Nancy Grace and watch her show religiously, I'm not trying to be the next mugshot featured after I'm arrested for vigilante justice as a result of some psycho getting too close to my babies. However, I think I'm going to start wearing a sign around my neck that says, "BEWARE OF OVERPROTECTIVE MOM!" and maybe put one on Paige that says, "THINK BEFORE SAYING SOMETHING STUPID - MY MOM IS A BEAST!" : )

Packing My Hospital Bag

In the 16 months that passed since I gave birth to Miss Paige, I've gotten significantly wiser. No, not about everything - I still only wash my face once a day, I drink way too much caffeine (when I'm not prego) and I still despise folding laundry. 16 months can't produce a miracle, after all! : ) But I have gotten smarter about packing a suitcase. Instead of throwing in every variation of an outfit I own just in case I feel like wearing it, I've streamlined the process. I take the time to think through what I'll actually be doing on the trip and go with the basics. This is a major step for someone who used to pack a separate suitcase just for shoes (My justification: I have size 10 feet! How were those suckers gonna fit in with all the clothes?!)

So this week during Paige's "nap-nap sleepytime" I'm putting together my hospital bag so it's ready in case of any craziness going on between now and mid-June - and if I do say so myself, it's VERY practical (not normally a term most would use to describe me). Here's what is in there so far:

• Three stretchy tanktops (That allow for easy-access breastfeeding. Left at home: The nursing camisoles I just HAD to have last time - that ended up being so darn tight I could barely breathe, let alone produce an adequate milk supply.)
• Three pairs of pajama shorts (Technically men's boxer shorts. Replacing my multiple nightgowns and cute sleepwear... I don't sleep in that stuff as it is for fear of it wrapping around my body like a boa constrictor - so my normal sleepwear should be just fine.)
• One pair of rubber flip flops (Last time around I brought cute slippers. Upon my arrival home they immediately hit the trash can because I couldn't stand the thought of bringing grimy hospital floor grossness into my house. These flip flops can be bleached and sprayed with a hose before reentry.)
• One lightweight robe (I brought my big comfy wooly red and leopard print one last time - I had it on for 0.2 seconds when I experienced a post-partum hot flash for the first time.)
• My breast pump (Things don't start flowing as quickly when you have a planned C-section... gotta get those juices flowing! Also included are sterilization bags and storage bottles.)
• Boppy (A single piece of cotton inserted into a pillow case does not constitute a pillow.)
• Toiletries (I think this goes beyond saying - everyone needs to bring their own soap, shampoo, conditioner, facewash, razor, toothbrush and toothpaste... I just got sliced open for goodness sake - mama needs some comfort.)

And now for a few things I deem necessary - but may seem impractical for some:

• My own handsoap (Nothing grosses me out more than the smell of hospital handsoap - so I'm bringing my own. Bath and Body Works' Coconut Lime Verbena to be exact. Don't worry - it's anti-bacterial : )  )
• Febreeze (Last time around I smuggled in a relaxation candle - it was confiscated within the hour : (  This time I'm bringing something a little more "legal and hospital friendly" to help freshen up the room.)
• Miralax (Whatever they gave me last time didn't work - like, at all. I wasn't able to poop for days until I took some Miralax. As for the prune juice? You can still bring it to the room - my husband enjoys it's putrid flavor.)

And I think that's it... Anything I'm forgetting??

Awkward Pregnancy Photos: Part 2

I recently checked back at my most favorite website - www.AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com (other than SLM of course) and saw they have posted new Awkward Pregnancy Photos! HOORAY! Enjoy the foolishness...

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2011/04/16/saturday-night-special-bumper-cars-3/

 

 

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2011/04/09/trigger-happy/

 

And... my all time "What the Fuzzball?" favorite...

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2011/03/28/the-mistoffelees/

My Son Smuggled in a Shank

I don't know how it happened, or when it happened, but the baby I am carrying in my belly somehow managed to smuggle in a shank. What is a shank, you ask? Through my husband's obsession with crime/police/prison-related TV programs, I have learned that a shank is a homemade weapon/knife often molded out of toothbrush handles or bars of soap, and usually concealed in the spines of library books or under the rim of the toilet to avoid detection. Sometimes these weapons are smuggled into jails through homemade baked goods (i.e. birthday cakes) or smushed between layers of a postcard. ; ) And somehow - despite the maximum security that is my uterus - Lil D has managed to smuggle in - or perhaps even manufacture - a shank inside my womb. I'm thinking he may have used the massive amount of Starburst Jelly Beans I've been scarfing down (which I purchased under the guise of stocking Paige's Easter basket last week). Becasue, honestly, if it's not a shank, how else in the world can I be stabbed at least once a day from the inside out?

The doctors are claiming it's "round ligament pain." I call cow poop on that one! Can so-called "round ligament pain" stop you in your tracks - even when those tracks are leading straight to an amazing sale on undergarments and sleepwear at Kohls?? Can "round ligament pain" cause you to momentarily consider that your baby may be trying to exit through your hip joint?? Can "round ligament pain" feel like a Charlie Horse that galloped up to the side of your abdomen/hip and got stuck? Well - according to Google - yes. That is exactly what round ligament pain can feel like. After I decided the Dr.'s must have missed the boat on this diagnosis, I turned to my trusty search engine and discovered - lo and behold - that round ligament pain can really be that painful. And while I was relieved to find out my son isn't preparing for the remake of Prison Break, it's still hard to believe that stretching ligaments can be so bad. I guess what I am experiencing is the ligaments ceasing up - being stretched to their max, then shooting back like a rubber band and freezing there for a while. Fun.

Only 7 more weeks to go! Woo hoo!

My Marriage in Dog Years

On Monday, we celebrated our 2nd Wedding Anniversary. Woo hoo! And yes, you did the math correctly - two years married, two (well, almost two) babies. Oh my : )

And when we woke up Monday morning, Daniel said to me - "Gosh. I can't believe we've only been married two years. It feels a lot more like seven years, at least!" And you know what? I couldn't agree more! And we don't mean this in a bad way - it just feels like we've been through ALOT in the last two years - enough stuff that it should be equivalent to at least 7 years of marriage. I feel like we've both aged 7 years (note the salt and pepper hair we are both sporting now vs. our wedding photos from April 2009). And so I've made the executive decision that we should measure our marriage in modified dog years from now on. Each calendar year will equal 3.5 marriage years - therefore, we have been married 7 years. And next year, we will have been married 10.5 years. Makes sense to me, how 'bout you? : )

Oh, and I also had a birthday last week. I turned the big 2-8. I don't stress about birthdays or getting older in the least - mainly because I feel like I should be 30 by now. Why? I have no idea. I think it has a a lot to do with my former life in Public Relations. I moved up the corporate ladder relatively quickly - managing a team of 20 people by the age of 24 (the majority of whom were older than me by 5-10 years). I guess during that time I felt I needed to be perceived as older than I was - you know, a more "respectable" age so people wouldn't try to walk all over me. And while I've left that lifestyle in the past, my mindset must still be catching up to an extent. I never lied about my age back then - but I didn't openly discuss it either. Graduation dates, birth years, etc. were purposely never discussed. Strange to think about now - but at the time, I felt it was 100% necessary. There was a lot of "dog and pony shows" in those days. I'm SO much happier living as a mama - Paige doesn't care how old I am, as long as I give her big hugs and kisses everyday. And fill up her sippy cup when empty. Anyway... I digress : )


So when someone asks me my age, I always want to say "30" and have to think for a second and then answer with the truth - 28. So until I actually turn 30, I kind of feel like these years are bonus years for me. But I wonder how I'll feel when I actually TURN 30. And what about when I turn 31? 32? Maybe in the years after 30, my mind will stay stuck on the 30 mark and I'll end up being one of those women who celebrate their 10th 30th birthday when they turn 40 : ) 

Bumps, Bruises and Blood: Am I Ready For a Boy?

There is a reason why I pursued a Public Relation degree in college and not a Nursing degree like so many of my besties. And no, it's not because I liked to hear myself talk in the Public Speaking classes : ) It's because I have a major aversion to blood and bloody events. I mean, does anyone really LIKE dealing with blood? Yes - my nurse friends. But Daniel informed me the other day that I better start getting used to it because raising a boy will be a lot more bloody than raising a girl. Here's what happened:

Daniel recently took up mountain biking as part of his fitness and weight loss kick. NOTE: Does anyone else see the irony in timing? He decides to get fit just as his wife (me) gains weight like a bear preparing for hibernation while prego? I informed him I'm still keeping chocolate and ice cream in the house - a prego has got to stand her ground on some things, ya know? : ) Anyway... so the other day he comes home with a huge gash in his leg. And by huge, I mean I wanted to vomit at the sight of it. This was no little scratch. There was blood. There was openness. There was flapping skin. And worst of all - I could see layers of flesh that no one other than a surgeon is supposed to see. It was sooooo disgusting. VOMIT! My first reaction was of course - go to Urgent Care for stitches immediately! Mainly because there was no way I was about to touch that gaping hole in his leg. But he insisted it wasn't "as bad as it looked" and I just needed to clean it out and put gauze on it. I wasn't buying his story so we sent a few pics of the wound to Nurse Jill in Philadelphia to assess. She had me measure it - length and DEPTH!! VOMIT TWICE! And the consensus was that it really didn't need stitches - but I did need to clean it out and pack it with gauze. So, as the Wife of the Year that I am, I put on my big girl panties and dealt with it. And by "big girl panties" all you pregos know that I'm talking about those humungous underwear that stretch OVER my belly and have leg holes big enough to fit my ever expanding thighs. Pretty, huh?

And just when I was finishing up, Daniel sprung this on me: "This used to happen at least once a week when I was growing up. You'll become a pro once Lil D is about 3 or 4." And my thoughts? Ummmm.. not MY son! But then he reminded me that I have always dreamed of being a Football Mommy (true!) and so injuries were inevitable - unless I was hoping Lil D would become the team water boy (no!). He then proceeded to show me scars from his childhood encounters with everything from a baseball bat, to the pedal of a bike, to the time he crashed through the roof of a golf cart (don't ask...). And as strange as it sounds, that was really the first time I realized that raising a boy was going to be MUCH different than raising my little southern belle, Miss Paige. I grew up with a sister. I wasn't t tomboy by any stretch of the imagination. The biggest "wound" I received was when I cut my thumb trying to make a stage for a Barbie Fashion Show after watching the Miss Teen USA Pageant. Having a little boy is really going to rock my world - so I plan to spend these next 9 weeks or so wrapping my mind around this concept... and probably stocking up on First Aid materials. God help us all!

So About Those Pains... My Foray into Pre-Term Labor

So those va-jay-jay pains I was having last week? The ones I self-diagnosed with the help of Google as ligament pains as my body prepared for labor? Well - I was preparing for labor all right... but at 29 weeks,  labor is not ideal to say the least.

Luckily Lil D is still where he belongs at just 29 weeks along - inside my belly - growing, developing and thriving.

However, I was scared that wasn't going to be the case. Here's what happened...

Wednesday night/Thursday at midnight: I was having trouble sleeping, as usual. I headed down to the couch so I could toss and turn without waking up my snoozing hubby. At about midnight, I started to feel major Braxton Hicks contractions - so intense they began making me nauseous. I don't remember feeling anything like that with Paige, but I figured it was nothing serious since they weren't coming regularly. The contractions kept coming - each time squeezing the bottom part of my belly/uterus so tight that I would start to dry heave. I even vomited a few times. And Lil D was not enjoying any part of it. After each contraction, he would go crazy - kicking and punching and letting his frustrations be known. At around 5 a.m. (still not having fallen asleep) I realized the contractions were becoming somewhat regular. So I pulled out my trusty iPhone to time how close they were coming - ends up, between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m., they were coming 4 minutes apart. YIKES! However - they weren't what I always thought contractions would be like. No pain, per se. Just crampy-like tightening and uncomfortable.

So I went upstairs to wake up Daniel and let him know there was def something going on and put him on alert. I ended up dosing off for an hour or two. Miss Paige had her 15 month well visit scheduled for that morning, so Daniel prepped her for that and off they went. I called my OB/GYN to let them know what was going on and see what they thought I should do. They advised me to get in a warm bathtub and, while soaking, guzzle three bottles of water. I sat in the tub for an hour, guzzled the water, but with no luck - the contractions were still coming 4 minutes apart (at this point, it is 10:00 a.m.). Ay yi yi.

Over the next two hours, I hemmed and hawed over calling the doctor back. I didn't want to be the crazy prego who cried wolf. I rationalized that it was just Braxton Hicks contractions, and they would go away on their own. But at the urging of Daniel and my Facebook friends, I called and they told me to come right in for a check up. As soon as I arrived at the doctor's office, they ushered me back and hooked me up to the monitors - fetal heartbeat and uterine contractions. Just as I suspected, the contractions weren't showing ont he monitor. However, the nurses - and then doctor - could feel them happening by putting their hands on my belly. They actually couldn't believe I wasn't in pain. So the doctor gave me a pelvic exam. And jsut when I thought she was going to say I needed to go home and rest and increase my fluids, she said, "You need to go to the hospital right now. The contractions are making your cervix thin out." WHAT?!?!? My cervix is thinning?! That didn't even happen when we TRIED to get labor started with pitocin last time with Paige at 39 and a half weeks. So off I went to the hospital (can we say de ja vu of last time??).

To make a long story short, they continued to monitor the contractions and were able to get them to slow down, and then stop completely by midnight. Luckily, no drugs were needed - just three IV bags of fluid and laying flat on my back. And, the other good news - my cervix stayed sealed shut. So although it started to soften and thin out a bit, there was no dilation of the cervix. HALLELUJAH! Plus, they said there was no medical reason they could find as to why my contractions started. Basically, they chalked it up to overdoing it in the days/weeks before (i.e. my excursion to IKEA plus 5 mile walk), exhaustion (from not sleeping at night) and dehydration (probably from the vomiting).

So what's next for me and Lil D? Rest. Lots of rest. Plus lots of fluids. And hopefully another 10 weeks of pregnancy before he makes his big arrival. Another day, another situation... And people wonder why we're stopping after two babies? THIS is why! : )

Prego or Fat?: The Eternal Question of a Mama-To-Be

There comes a time in every mama's pregnancy when she starts to get bloated around the middle. And then that puffiness turns into a potbelly, and only around 5-6 months along does it become obvious that you are prego with a serious basketball glued to your belly, instead of just fat. But during the in between time of flat belly and basketball, most pregos choose their clothing options very carefully. For me, I would wear clothes that made it obvious I was prego - empire waists, ruched sides. However, I've seen pregos that also go the opposite route, wearing clothes that are loose and flowy because they think they don't look "prego enough" and don't want people to think they are just packing on the pounds. Every time before we go out, I turn to the side and ask my husband: "So do I look fat or prego?" He's smart enough to reply "prego" with the quickness as not to appear to be thinking about his response at all.

The same goes for when you aren't prego anymore... God forbid some fool asks if you are expecting when you definitely are not. As soon as Miss Paige popped out, the Spanx came out in full effect, along with belted tops and anything to define my waist again. I did not want anyone thinking I was still prego in any way shape or form.

Which brings me to a moment in time I try not to think about... the time when someone asked me when I was due (as in when my baby was due) when I was not prego. GASP! At the time I wasn't too devastated - mainly because of the circumstances surrounding the question - but it scarred me enough to make sure the delineation of Prego/Not Prego is clearly defined by my wardrobe.

Let me take you back - way back - to 2007. I was a spry 23 year old, planning a carefree vacay in Vegas with my boyfriend (now husband). If you remember back to 2007, the big trend in fashion was empire-waist shirts and dresses for everyone. And, being 23 and trendy, I had to jump on the empire-waist bandwagon. One fateful day before we headed out to Vegas, Daniel and I popped into Old Navy to pick up a few new outfits for our trip (obviously before mortgage payments, car payments and a baby to clothe and feed). I distinctly remember the moment when I picked up an adorable gray dress that I just had to have - empire-waist of course. I also clearly remember Daniel saying that he thought it was nice, but kind of looked like something a pregnant woman would wear... to which I said, "WHATEVER!" and went straight to the register. Fast forward one week... we're in Vegas, at the Blackjack table. I'm in my gray dress, sipping a Screwdriver or Mimosa or something that could easily be mistaken for straight orange juice. After a while, we became friendly with the dealer, and began chatting. After a few minutes of casual conversation, Mr. Blackjack looked at me and said, "So when are you due?" It was like a record screeched, as I stared back at him, in shock. He immediately knew he had made a mistake, and began stammering, "I am sooo sorry... your dress... it looks like something my wife had when she was pregnant... and you were drinking orange juice... and....and..." Daniel and I burst out laughing. I honestly wasn't upset or embarrassed at all - probably because I knew my stomach was flat, I was at a thin point in my life, and I would have assumed the same thing if I were him. The dress was indeed super-maternity looking. And what brings up this memory today? I am wearing the dress - while 7 months prego. Ends up it really is the perfect maternity dress, after all : )

Me, in Vegas, wearing the infamous gray dress. Note my look of fear/disgust in having to pose in front of Star Trek characters.

Pregnant in Heels? Ummmm.... We Need to Discuss

So please tell me I'm not the only one who saw last night's premier episode of the new Bravo show "Pregnant in Heels"?? We need to discuss the ridiculousness that is that show. First of all - who has ever heard of a "Pregnancy Concierge"?? I'm thinking Rosie Pope (the woman featured on the show) may have coined that term, and the definition is: Slave for hire, Will do any and all things at the whim of hormonal pregos with way too much money. I mean, isn't that what husbands are for when we are prego? Hehe... just kidding. Kind of.

But seriously... the way she caters to her "million dollar mamas" is out of control. Or, I should say, the "million dollar mamas" are out of control. Let's discuss the first couple featured last night: The mama is 36 weeks prego, and her and her "husband" are in complete denial about the impending arrival of their child. And BTW -  I put "husband" in quotations because although they flashed a wedding photo from when the couple was allegedly married, well... let's just say his ideal partner might not be female...definitely questionable in the gender preference department (and if you saw the show, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about!). Anywho... so this nutcase of a couple don't want to set up a nursery because it will be too colorful, too loud (they hate the sound of children's toys) and ultimately cramp their "sleek, sophisticated" style. When asked if she had bonded with her baby yet (reminder: she is 36 weeks prego and about to pop), her response is a flat out, "No." She said she couldn't waste her energy thinking about and bonding with a child that isn't even here yet (to which her "husband" nodded dramatically). So the Pregnancy Concierge brings over a psychologist to basically tell them they are certifiably crazy - with whom they finally agree. The mama seemed to relish in the idea that she is nuts, probably because she thinks that makes her unique.  BTW: You totally know those kind of people... the ones who dramatize every moment of potential anxiety by pouting, rubbing their faces and making everyone else around them feel like they too should be stressed to the max about anything and everything - from boarding an airplane to making a sandwich -- and love the attention it brings their way. And if you don't know a person like that, there is a good possibility it may be you : ) So at the end of the show, just when I'm about to call Child Protective Services on these crazy folks and am hoarse from screaming at the TV, they show the mama and "husband" with their newborn child, who they are loving on like crazy and seem to have bonded with. They even show the toys the couple purchased as proof the new parents finally acknowledged that the baby was a permanent addition and might new a few items of comfort around. And even though all seemed well in their world, I have to wonder if they see how selfish and nutso they were just 4 weeks earlier? My guess is no... and that they've already enrolled the baby in twice-weekly piano and violin lessons , with math and french tutoring every other day. Once a crazy, always a crazy.

And don't even get me started about the second couple that was featured, who described themselves as a "power couple". VOMIT!  The husband reaffirmed this by saying how just the other night he was at a party talking with "Mayor Bloomberg and Tom Brokaw". And I bet if you ask Bloomberg or Brokaw about this alleged conversation they certainly wouldn't respond with, "Oh! That wonderful man that is half of a Power Couple! So intriguing!" No... they would say, "Who? Oh, that guy? You mean he wasn't the waiter or bartender?" So as the story goes, this couple decided they needed to commission a focus group to help name their first born son - you know, so he would have a distinguished name and align with the "family brand." Except when the focus group didn't agree with their names of choice, then the power couple decided this group of business leaders just didn't understand what it meant to be affluent and "powerful". I don't even remember the name they decided on... probably something like George Willard Abraham Theodore Sylvester the IV. Becasue we all know it is a person's name that truly determines their life path... : )

So, in a nutshell, the show is a whole truckfull of crazy. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to watch next week. Afterall, it's good to see how normal we all seem when compared to complete foolishness.

Baby, You Are a Pain in My Va-jay-jay

I've been out of commission for a few days. And by out of commission, I mean I couldn't walk without wincing. The problem? My va-jay-jay. Specifically, the stabbing pains shooting down from my uterus/cervix. Earlier last week, just as I was dipping my toe into the third trimester, I got the 20-lb watermelon sensation just like last time. You know, the feeling that if you get up too quickly, walk to fast, or sneeze the wrong way, a 20-lb watermelon may fall out of you. And that is uncomfortable enough. But after an afternoon excursion to Ikea, followed the next day by a 5 mile walk with the fam, my cervix had given up trying to hold up the watermelon. And now, instead of discomfort, I literally have shooting pains like lightening bolts. Enough to bring tears to my eyes. I figured I just needed some rest and spent all of Sunday in bed, with my feet up. And - Thank You Jesus - it seemed to have worked. The Watermelon is back, with only sporadic bolts of lightening.

During my self-imposed day of rest, I decided to consult my medical team (aka Google) re: my condition to see if any other women were experience the same thing. And lo-and-behold, they were. Many of them. Enough so that 4 pages of results came up from the search query "shooting pains int he va-jay-jay". Hallelujah for not feeling like I'm the only crazy prego out there! Of course I'm going to ask my doctor about it next time I go - which is quickly approaching the 2-times-per-week phase. But in the meantime, I feel comforted by the responses I found on Google, which indicated the shooting pains were a result of the ligaments loosening up as the body prepares for delivery. Nice.

Taxi Mouse, Minivan Mouse

My husband and I grew up in similar areas, both suburbs of major metropolitan areas. I grew up outside NYC, and Daniel grew up outside Atlanta. Given their proximity to cities, both areas were pretty rural. My town even more so than Daniel's. Farms. Cows. No street lights. However, we have two very different perspectives on city living - I LOVE it and Daniel HATES it. I love the energy. The commotion. The chaos. I particularly appreciate public transportation. Daniel hates all of the above - especially public transportation. Why? I really have no idea. So when we went to San Diego, I conveniently forgot to tell him that we weren't going to rent a car : ) I wasn't trying to be sneaky, but I knew there would be no reason to rent a car for $60 per day PLUS pay $40 per day to park it at the hotel. TOTALLY not worth it. Plus, I like the convenience of hopping into a cab, and not thinking about it again until you arrive - no maps, no GPS, no arguing over the best way to go... Daniel wasn't super excited when he found out, but I assured him we would avoid all trains, buses and subways, at which point I could see him breathe a sigh of relief.

Side note: Here is an image of Daniel from one of our pre-baby trips back in 2007-ish. Note the annoyed look, beads of sweat forming over his brow, and general hatred of all things public transportation. : )

We were in Chicago for a friend's wedding and again, I had refused to rent a car since public transportation was so readily available. At the time this pic was taken, we were waiting for the train to head back to our hotel. Just an hour before, Daniel had suggested we "flag down a bus" and "have it take us to our hotel." I started to explain the concept of bus routes to him with no avail... he was not a happy camper to say the least Am I wrong for getting such enjoyment out of this lovely image? : )


Anyway... back to San Diego. So luckily our hotel had a fleet of Taxis waiting to take us anywhere we needed to go, and the fares were super cheap. As we rode to our various destinations, I would break out my favorite Nick Jr. song (video above) - Taxi - and Paige and I would clap and sing and laugh. Even the cab driver would join in on the fun. Daniel - not so much. I could see him looking out the window, praying the ride would soon be over so he could get on solid ground and back in control of his surroundings. Mr. Too-Cool-For-School was again, sweating bullets. Heheheheh....

And everyone who has ever ridden in a taxi knows that the drivers are some of the most interesting people you will ever meet. Aspiring politicians, actors, finance gurus - they are a wealth of information. Once in NY I had a Taxi driver tell me about how he knew Bernie Madoff was corrupt before everyone else -- and because of that knowledge, he decided not to invest his money with him. I didn't realize Steven Spielberg and this particular taxi driver ran in the same financial circles ; )  I love chatting with the drivers and hearing the pearls of wisdom drop off their tongues. One in San Diego began telling us about a recent article he read re: race relations in Atlanta, then quickly jumped to discussing how the lunar landing was all a farse. Daniel thinks I'm crazy and always gives me a look like, "Please don't egg him on..." Well, on our final trip to the airport, we had the best taxi driver EVER! He was an aspiring comedian, and his forte was knock-knock jokes. BRILLIANT! The first few minutes were funny... even stoneface Daniel laughed. But you can only hear so many knock knock jokes before they get a little old. My four year old niece recently discovered the joy of telling knock knock jokes, but hers are actually funny! Mr. Taxi Driver's jokes...well... after the 50th or so we were ready to leap out the window. But it was still a once in a lifetime experience that you can only get on public transportation. Now if only I could have gotten Daniel on the train or bus.... there is always next time!