One of the drawbacks of living in New England is the RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF TIME it takes for us to get to the flower-growing part of spring. Most years I jump the gun by about a month and all my flowers end up dead by the first of May, thanks to a late (and by late I mean not at all late because it happens every damn year) frost.I convince myself it’s totally normal to have to hack through a layer of frozen earth to get my pansies in the ground and not being able to feel my fingers because they’re so cold is just one of the joys of gardening. I can be a very convincing delusional person when I want to be. Especially on someone as gullible as myself.

This year I managed to wait until Mother’s Day – the unofficial start of flower season – before I wasted spent any money at the local nursery. We’re going to be doing a lot of planting in a few weeks when we put in our patio (I hope you’re ready for a billion pictures of bricks and rocks! And listening to me complain about how tired I am of having dirt under my nails! And how much my back hurts! GOOD TIMES AHEAD!) so I stayed away from the gorgeous hanging baskets and containers and stuck to stuff I’ve been able to keep alive in the past. Nationwide tree relocation company EDI works with cities, companies, and individuals.

Some day, planting flowers will be a family activity on Mother’s Day, right after my husband brings me gourmet breakfast in bed and puts away all the laundry while the children play me songs on their violins and read poetry about how much I mean to them.

But until hell freezes over, I’ll settle for playing in the dirt with my kids.

She’s participating by supervising. This is also how I help do things like install tile and mow the lawn.

Hobo baby is BACK for 2011

Look, he’s helping! Just ignore that it’s taking both of my hands to keep him from stabbing that poor basil plant with the trowel.

Dirt flinging is part of gardening with toddlers. I just embraced it.

Wow, my flowers aren’t the only thing with roots in those photos huh? HEY-OH! Time to grab a box of Nice’n’Easy.

Pansies & verbena by the back door

Pots on the front steps. My color theme for this year is yellow and orange with purple accents. Yeah, my flowers have a THEME. SUCK IT MARTHA STEWART.

I’m trying herbs again – basil and thyme and chives – but I’m not getting my hopes up. I’ve killed more basil than I’ve eaten in my entire life.

Freshly watered…um…orange flowers. I was going to say zinnias but I don’t think that’s right. Clearly I am a master gardener.

We had a wonderful time outside – all of us – and it was a nice reminder that fresh air is available right here in our own back yard! I often think about going to the park for some sunshine but talk myself out of it because it involves the car and driving and people and strollers and a potential screaming fit when it’s time to go home. But walking ten feet from my couch to the back steps is so easy I can do it even when I’m too lazy too put on real pants. I really can’t wait until we get our patio built and some nice loungy furniture to relax on while Evan rips my garden apart.

I yelled at my husband yesterday, in the Taco Bell drivethru.

Not my finest moment. But it’s ok, I’m starting a new diet tomorrow. Oh and the yelling was sort of unnecessary too.

But sometimes I wonder if he will EVER understand what my days are like while he’s at work talking to people who know how to wipe their own butts and don’t smack him in the face when they have a difference of opinion.

We were at Taco Bell and I was making E read all the menu choices out loud, because a) the writing is TINY b) I was in the passenger seat and it’s an awkward angle for seeing the board and c) I always hope they’ll have something new I haven’t heard of before that might delicious instead of ground mystery meat covered in fake cheese sauce. What can I say, I’m an optimist. E was getting frustrated with my squinting and my indecision and in his most exasperated tone said, “If you can’t read the board, WEAR YOUR GLASSES.”

FIRST of all, we have this discussion at least once a week. My glasses are scratched enough to be mostly unusable. My older, slightly wrong prescription glasses give me a headache. My even older, extremely wrong prescription glasses don’t help at all.

SECOND of all, I don’t have an eye doctor here, and I need to see one for a new prescription before I blow any money on new lenses and frames. But seeing a doctor takes free time and there seems to be a shortage of that in my life.

THIRD of all, my eyes aren’t actually that bad. I passed my driver’s exam without the glasses so I don’t HAVE to wear them. I just squint a lot and can’t read medium-small words on the tv.

But the argument isn’t really about whether or not I NEED the glasses – because if I am honest with myself I do, and ought to wear them regularly – it’s how my ability to GET the glasses is hampered by wrangling two children all day. It makes everything HARDER and he doesn’t understand.

E thinks that because he’s capable of caring for both kids in the house doing it elsewhere would be almost the same.* AHAHAHAHAHAHA. Do you know what happens in public? ANYTHING. Anything happens in public. Dogs the toddler can’t touch. Wind that blows on the baby in a way that makes her scream with anger. Food that belongs to people who don’t feel like sharing. Poopsploded diapers and nowhere to change them. POWER OUTLETS. DIRT. TRAFFIC. YELLING. STRANGERS TO JUDGE YOU. And no where safe to just leave the kids while you walk away for a minute and regain your composure.

Take the post office for example. Our post office is a NIGHTMARE – no parking, giant stone steps, no ramps for strollers (or handicapped people for that matter – I’m sure they’re violating about a zillion Americans with Disabilities Act provisions). I was in a town with a better post office so I decided to go there. I park somewhere out of the way so we’re not in the busiest part of the lot. Open the toddler’s door. Unstrap toddler. Fight with toddler about holding hands in the dangerous parking lot. Pick up screaming toddler. Walk around van. Open baby’s door. Pin toddler against the van with my knee while using both hands to get the baby seat out. Get slammed in the shoulder by the auto-closing door the toddler has activated. Hold baby seat in one hand and drag toddler with the other to the building. Fight with toddler about who gets to open the door even though it is too heavy for him. Herd toddler into line. Get out of line to prevent toddler from doors to the mail room. Feel like a terrible parent as he slams his head against a counter because he’s angry. Mail packages. Repeat in reverse back to the car. And I consider that a SUCCESSFUL trip.

E suggested I just use the stroller. All that does is add 10 minutes to a trip that now involves a screaming, thrashing 2 year old and getting stuck in three different sets of doors. It is also impossible for errands that involve: stairs, buying anything bigger than a breadbox, tiny doctor’s offices, places I have not been before and can’t judge for stroller-friendliness beforehand.

Now try that same scenario again only with a doctor’s office full of things Little Evan can’t touch and people who don’t necessarily like children. Oh and depending on the kind of doctor you might get to do it with your pants off. IT IS THE EXTREME OPPOSITE OF FUN and so far down on my list of things I’ll enjoy I’ll take any measures necessary to avoid it. So all my errands and appointments have to be done while E is home AND the offices are open. Not an easy feat.

Because E’s in the military, being healthy is actually PART OF HIS JOB and not only is his medical/dental/eye care provided, they schedule the appointments during work hours and make him go. My bosses aren’t quite so flexible. I don’t have family in the area to leave the kids with. And as much as my friends offer to help, asking them to watch my kids for every appointment would probably get me uninvited to playgroup pretty quick.

How do other people – or people with MORE kids – do this?

Maybe E can just keep reading menu boards for me and I’ll get new glasses when Caroline goes to preschool. In 2015.

*For the record, E is very good at parenting and sharing parenting responsibilities. But without the ability to lactate he can’t comfort and/or feed Caroline so the amount of time I can be away from her in limited. And now I need to write a WHOLE OTHER POST about my expectations of my husband (and men in general) as a father and how I feel both guilty and not at all guilty for asking for help. I need to go back to stupid craft projects before my brain explodes.

I’m going to give you the most important piece of parenting advice you’re ever going to get:

Don’t listen to parenting advice.

At best, what you’re getting is someone’s own personal experience with a very limited number of children in a closed set of circumstances that you cannot possibly replicate exactly. At worst, they’re suggesting your dip your kid’s binky in Jack Daniels to deal with teething pain. True story.

Of course, no mother ever in the history of the world has managed to have a baby without getting some advice, whether she asked for it or not. For the most part, it’s all really well-meaning and kindly and just a way moms connect to other moms. It’s practically an automatic response, just like saying “Fine” when someone asks “How are you?” Someone holding a baby says “Jeeze, these diapers I’m using keep leaking” and BAM! I’m spewing word vomit about brands and sizes and cloth diapers versus disposables all over their face. I am totally guilty of the unwanted advice attack, even as I tell myself to stop.

The trouble is, it’s so damn easy to mistake advice for guidelines and guidelines for rules and as soon as something starts feeling like a rule the mommy guilt kicks in when you break them. When you’re exhausted and bleary-eyed and someone at playgroup says “You should put the baby to sleep in the crib so he gets used to it right away. That’s why my kids are such great sleepers!” suddenly everything you’ve been doing is wrong and those naps the baby’s been taking in your lap have doomed you to never sleeping through the night again. You’re a terrible mother!

Or when you mention in passing that you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to be doing with your infant all day long. I mean…she just lies there. Sometimes she smiles, but since she can’t even get her own hand in her mouth yet it seems a little early for baby signs or story time at the library. “Swim lessons!” says one mom. “Kindermusik!” says another. “Read her War and Peace!” says another mom, “Even though she can’t understand it it’s never to early to start the classics!” And then there you are, suddenly doubting the happy cooing and peek-a-boo games you’ve been playing aren’t doing enough to enrich your baby’s teeny tiny mind and she’s somehow falling behind the other babies before she can even hold her head up. Terrible mother!

Even really benign comments, like “I always put on make-up in the morning, no matter how busy my day is. It’s important to me to make the effort” can sound like “Look at you, you slob! I am judging your unwashed hair and pony tail and yoga pants! Obviously you’re just too lazy to make an effort!” especially to a new mom. Hell, you don’t even have to be a new mom, since every single stage of motherhood is challenging, every single time. A sleepless toddler thanks to his new big-boy bed is just as exhausting as a colicky newborn. An infant having trouble nursing is just as stressful as a 2 year old who won’t eat anything besides Goldfish. We’re all scared of making mistakes, all unsure about some of our choices, all blaming ourselves for every cough and sneeze and bump and bruise, so we turn to those around us, desperate for that one mommy secret everyone but you must know. But when well-meaning advice makes us feel even worse it is no longer helpful. You are the parent, you get to make the decisions, even if it is the total opposite of what your best mommy friend told you worked for her.

Of course, some advice is good. I want to kiss the person who suggested stickers as toddler entertainment right on their mouth. I’ve gotten great advice when it comes to breastfeeding from my (now defunct) nursing moms support group. And the internet has helped me in countless ways when I needed to connect and get a new perspective on what’s going on with my crazy toddler.

But in the end, don’t let anyone’s advice get in the way of your happiness.

Twenty weeks of iPhone photos! I’ve gotten in the habit of taking a LOT of pictures each week so I can have plenty to chose from when I share them with you. I actually had to move all the previous weeks to our back-up hard drive because my computer’s memory was full. Whoops!

Sunday:

Even though there is NO ACTUAL REASON daylight savings time should have messed with our sleep schedules, I'm blaming it for the 5 am wakeup that lead to a 10 am car nap anyway.

Providence. Hey, did you know they have an Apple Store there?

Perhaps the last Apple Store in the country to still have iPad2's available. Or at least they did. Before E and I bought the last 2.*

Monday:

It's officially BabyLegs season, now that someone's thighs are full of chub

The snot levels in the house reached EPIC proportions. At least he doesn't mind the sucker.

Hello lover. My birthday present came early.

Tuesday:

I HAD to get out of the house so we went for a walk with the $25 third-hand jogger.

And apparently that’s my only pic from Tuesday. Like I said, poor Little Evan’s head cold was making him miserable and barfy so we skipped the whole week at Stroller Strides. I’m going to regret that on Monday.

Wednesday:

He thought Brutus looked cold and was sharing his blanket.

All full - milk, water and juice. Poor kid was barely eating so I was trying to keep him hydrated.

New outfit due to naptime puke incident. But he was feeling well enough to ask to go outside.

Thursday:

The weather kept getting better! Little Evan played with his car while I cleaned the porch.

Spring flowers on the door mean it's officially spring. Screw the calendar.

Working out pictures, frames and an arrangement to go around the Modern Bird painting.

Friday:

He insisted Caroline's bloomers were a hat. And then tried to hide behind the glass door. My kid is weird.

OMG MOM! SPRING DRESSES ARE SO CUTE!

Sale at the yarn store! That magenta yarn is going to be a shrug. Someday.

Saturday:

Someone celebrating turning 3 months old by taking a nap.

And someone celebrating being almost 2 by throwing his spoon on the floor 50 bajillion times turning breakfast. Oh toddlers.

*I cannot believe we bought TWO freakin’ iPads. I thought even buying ONE was a waste of money until I got to play with it and fell in love. But E still had some of his reenlistment bonus left after we did responsible stuff with it and when you sell your soul to the Navy for 5 more years sometimes you need shiny electronics to cheer yourself up. And sometimes you really hate sharing so you buy one for your wife too.

Did you take any camera phone photos this week? Link up with one or lots using the linky below and grab the code (so it shows on your blog too!) over at Amy’s . It’s really fun!

The other morning I was enjoying the few peaceful minutes where Caroline is napping and Little Evan is re-discovering all his toys (look! blocks! look! cars! look! empty yogurt container! omg I haven’t seen these toys in forever! or at least 12 hours!) while I skim blogs and think about all the other, more productive stuff I should be doing when I felt a tug on my leg. It was Little Evan, holding one of his alphabet flashcards and pointing at it urgently.

“That’s V, veeeeeeee, V for violin!” I said, “Violins play music!” and I signed music. He looked at it the picture on the card so intensely I started to get a little worried. Why is he so interested in that violin? Maybe he wants to play the violin. Maybe I should get him a violin and sign him up for lessons. Do they offer music lessons for 2 year olds? Of course they do. Wasn’t Tiger Woods already golfing by 2? Am I stifling my child’s musical genius because I haven’t provided him with the world’s tiniest violin and 12 hours a week of lessons and now I am the Worst Mother Ever and he will never live up to his potential???

I’ve been having some anxiety about Little Evan’s development lately.

It’s mostly just the age, I think. So much happens so fast in the first few years it’s sometimes hard to remember the levels of normal can swing widely. Especially now that potty training is rampant among our 2-year old age group. It seems like SUCH an advanced skill, and one that requires so much parental involvement – at least for a while – that I worry I’m failing my child somehow by not doing more to encourage it.

I feel the same way about pretty much everything. Talking. Motor skills. Imagination. Socialization. Teaching him letters and numbers and colors and shapes and animals and please and thank you and no hitting and inside voices and hold mommy’s hand in the parking lot. So far we have mastered…none of those. Not a one. There’s so much responsibility it gets overwhelming and I just want to go lie down and take a nap.

Hey, at least Evan’s good at that.