The Queen's Rambles

*Elsa is not feeling well. She has a cough that is about ready to send me into orbit (I feel bad that I just want to yell “Quit it with the coughing! QUIT QUIT QUIT!!!!” and I don’t actually yell it, but it is insane making). Then, this morning, she was crying when she had to pee so I took a look at her vagina and it was really gross up in there. Was it regular diaper rash? Yeast? What? I have no idea so I decided I needed a professional opinion.

We couldn’t get an appointment until 4:45, which meant I had to take Erik with us. We didn’t get called back into the room until almost 5:30. At least the doctor saw us the moment we stepped into the exam room. She was the doctor who clicked a wrong box on Elsa’s chart when Elsa had Lyme’s disease, accidently giving her a dose of antibiotics that did not knock out the infection. Thankfully her symptoms reappeared immediately and we were referred to an infectious disease specialist who figured out the problem. As soon as the doctor walked in she said “Elsa! I’m so glad to see you! I think about you every day!” She then told me that there are moments in your life when you make such a bad error that you think about it every single day and that she recalls that mistake every day when she prescribes amoxycyllin.

Obviously I am not happy she made the mistake, but it is really nice to hear that she didn’t view it as a throw-away mistake. She learned from it and thinks about it.

They wanted to get a urine sample from Elsa and I told them I didn’t think that would be possible. The girl has the biggest bladder you’ve ever heard of. In the mornings she doesn’t usually pee until she’s been up about an hour. That’s over 12 hours of holding it in. Sometimes I think she’s going to overflow her little potty. No way was I going to get her to pee on demand.

The point was moot since I couldn’t even get her to sit on the toilet, much less try to get her to squeeze something out. She was kicking, screaming, running. . . it was a mess.

Finally the doctor knocked on the door and said I should take home a couple of cups and we would start with topical treatment.

I was supposed to give her a baking soda bath tonight, but I couldn’t get her to sit down in the tub. She usually loves taking a bath and she thought it was fun to put the baking soda into the water and stir it around, but she completely freaked when it was time to sit. She was like a cat, clinging to the side.

All that yelling and fit throwing wore her out, so I was able to get her down super early, thank goodness. I was just about d-o-n-e with her today. Between the coughing, the refusal to cooperate, and our food fights (oh yes, you can bet your booty we’ve had horrendous food fights today) I am beyond exhausted.

*Did I mention that Mike is out of town all week? He always says that he’d prefer to be here at home with us, but how can that be true? He’s out in Arizona eating Mexican food and talking to the fancy space people. That sounds more fun than dealing with a screaming girl who won’t give you a urine sample.

*I told Erik he was not allowed to watch Elsa’s medical exam, but when the doctor got her in position he ran up and looked for a brief second. When we got home he refused to eat his dinner because he said it was all he could think about and it was the grossest thing he’d ever seen, so how could he possibly eat? I just don’t even know what to say or do in this parenting situation so I pretty much ignored it.

Later he asked if he could make himself a grilled cheese sandwich, which irritated me since I had already cooked dinner. I told him if he could cook it all by himself he could have one. I kept an eye on things, but he did it all himself. He gets more and more independent every day! Yesterday he made cookies almost entirely by himself from a recipe he found in a book Elsa got for her birthday.

*We had a fondue night with friends on Saturday. I think my friends were taken aback when Erik asked if he could cook the fondue, so I handed him the spoon and let him stir. Irish Lad wanted to help, so I let him put the cheese into the pot. He was very proud of himself. I don’t think he’s ever had a chance to do something like that.

Later that evening Erik wanted to cut himself another slice of french bread, so I asked the husband if he could hand Erik the bread knife since it was too high for Erik to reach. Both he and my friend had their eyes pop out of their heads and they told me they don’t allow their children to play with knives. He ended up cutting Erik’s slice, much to Erik’s annoyance.

*The fondue night was my last hurrah. I started Weight Watchers again in earnest yesterday. I know it works, but it is just so fucking boring. I hate biology.

*Remember when I popped the bible bump on my wrist? It’s back and I can’t seem to pop it. I guess I’ll need to see a doctor about it, but I am not going back to my primary care provider until I drop 20 pounds.

*Elsa just had her nightly 11 pm wake-up, so I guess it’s time for me to get to bed. I was able to get her down in her own bed, so I am crossing my fingers that I will be able to sleep alone most of the night. I don’t usually deal with her bedtime, so I had no idea she prefers to use the baby quilt I made for her while I was pregnant. I need to make her a new quilt. She is way to big for such a little square.

*I am down to the dregs on my DVR. I didn’t even watch anything tonight. Tomorrow I think I’m going to watch an episode of Chuck. Yes, the show has been off the air for over two years. Yes, I still have the last three episodes on my DVR, unwatched.

Thank you for all your thoughtful responses, stories and sympathies on my Elsa eating post. I also talked to one of my IRL best friends who may just be the best mom I’ve ever met. We basically have the same parenting philosophies, but she’s a lot calmer than me. She sent me THIS LINK which basically says everything you all were saying.

I have a problem–I don’t understand how number 1 and number 2 work together. Number 1 says trust a child’s hunger instincts but number 2 says to have scheduled eating times.

After all your comments, talking to my friend, and working things out in my own head I’ve come up with a plan (that Mike supports, though he was not really a part of the making of the plan since he was working. He has a big presentation this upcoming week).

From now on all eating will take place at the table. Meals always take place at the table anyway, but I’ve gotten into a bad habit of letting her bring snacks down to the basement to watch TV. That’s over. Snacks will be much more regulated. When she goes on her “I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry” kicks she will have the option to eat various fruits that I know she likes.

When she cries for junk food, she’s going to be in time out until she stops crying.

We’ve already started implementing this on Friday and things are already getting a little better. The true test will come next week when I will be home alone with no adult back-up for a week.

And, of course, I will still be talking to her doctor about it at her 3 year check-up. My sister has type I diabetes and celiac disease, so I definitely want to have a conversation with a medical professional. I’d really like both kids to get tested for celiac now that we know my sister has it.

I’m really hoping she’s just having a growth spurt. I know kids do go through phases of eating more food than usual. With Erik it was always like he subsisted on air, then suddenly he would spend a few days eating regular size meals. I guess since she is already eating regular sized meals, eating constantly might be her way of having a growth spurt?

I love Elsa. She has many, many wonderful qualities. She’s often sweet, usually funny, and tries very hard to make us happy.

But. . .

There’s one thing that’s driving me nuts and making me completely worried about her future.

The girl likes to eat.

Of course most parents of 3 year olds would think this is a GREAT thing. On the outside looking in I would also think this was a great thing. I can’t think of any food that she consistently rejects. Some days she rejects everything, but sometimes she eats anything. Erik went through the typical white diet–only eating white foods. I’ve read it has to do with evolution and survival of the fittest. White foods are not likely to be poisonous like a nice red berry might be.

When he was little I refused to fight about food. I provided him healthy food and always made sure there was something he would eat (I refuse to deal with a hungry child. In my personal experience hunger is the number 1 cause of meltdowns and bad attitudes). I lived by the wise words of some random child development book that said children know how to regulate their own hunger. They will not starve or overeat if left to their own devices.

It worked well with Erik. It drove me crazy to keep offering things I knew he wouldn’t eat since I hate waste, but the whole food thing was not much of an issue.

I only describe all this so you’ll understand why I feel like a total noob with Elsa’s issues. I’m supposed to be an experienced parent, but I am at a complete loss with this problem.

Elsa will not stop eating. She wants food when she’s hungry. She wants food when she’s bored. She wants food when she’s upset. She wants food if she happens to see food. Get my drift? Girl wants food.

If we’re on a playdate or whatever, she’ll find the food and just sit there and eat and eat and eat until I put an end to it. It pains me to do so since I firmly believe hungry children should be fed, but there is no way in hell that she can actually be hungry.

She can throw an hour long fit because she wants a bowl of ice cream or sprinkles. Doesn’t matter if I have them in the house or not. If she decides she wants it, she screams and screams and screams and cries and kicks and it is completely awful.

I do all the things I know to do. Ignore her, put her in her room, hug her close and tell her I wish we could eat ice cream all the time, pretend to give her silly ice cream treats, play distracting games. Sometimes the tactics work; sometimes they don’t.

I’ve done a lot of the obvious things. I’ve replaced most of the junk with healthier junk (frozen yogurt vs. ice cream; WhoNu or Kashi cookies; lots of fruit). I offer her strawberries and other good choices when she’s hungry. Sometimes I just flat out refuse to feed her, which hurts my mommy heart.

My next step is to completely get rid of all the junk. It’d be better for the whole family (don’t even get me started on my self-sabotage and complete inability to get back into WeightWatchers. I KNOW it works. I KNOW I need to do it. I HATE the unfairness of life and refuse to help myself. Yadda yadda yadda boring body stuff) if we didn’t have random junk food around here.

I think I’m going to have to set up a much stricter meal/snack schedule. I’m terrible at scheduling, especially when it comes to food. We do a lot of playdates and park days so I hate to be locked into something. Can I really deny her food when it is not the proper time? I’ll become the one woman I really can’t stand! She only feeds her children at certain times (no snacks) with absolutely no deviation, ever. She’s crazy! I don’t want to be crazy, but this is getting out of control.

I’ve had to ask people to stop giving her snacks at playdates. She goes up to everyone and tells them she is hungry. I feel like a heel when I tell them she can’t have pretzels (or whatever–not like anyone is giving out candy), and sometimes she completely loses her shit, but she’ll sit there and eat non-stop for the whole time if she’s allowed to do so.

I am really worried that she likes to eat when she’s upset or bored. She’s too young for that! As a fat woman who has never known a skinny day in my life, it worries me more than words can express that she seems to be following in my footsteps. I want her to be happy and healthy. I have never been happy with my body. How can I save her from the misery that’s plagued me my whole life?

I guess I have a game plan, but I am not thrilled with it. I don’t think it will solve the one thing that drives me absolutely insane. She constantly follows me around and says “I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry.” She ate three adult size pieces of pizza today. Before we were even out the door she started in on the “I’m hungry” business.

It’s hard to be strong in the face of constant crying and whining from your child. I just want it to end. I give in to her more than I should and I know that. I kick myself for that. I hate that I allow myself to be worn down. I know that if I love her I will deny her all these sweets that she demands, but it is hard to take the long view when she is in my face crying.

I need to talk to her ped about it, though I don’t ever find the ped particularly helpful. I suspect they will say “Just don’t give her junky food.” Maybe they will have something better than that. I hope! Her 3 year appointment isn’t until mid-May since I was recovering from emergency surgery around her birthday last year. It is so silly how they can’t have their well child check even one day before the anniversary of their last well child check. I suspect it has something to do with insurance, since the 3 year visit does not include a vaccination.

Anybody with practical experience have any words of wisdom for me? I need to hear that this will turn out ok and she won’t be damaged for life. Food and I have a horrible relationship. I truly believed I could change that in my kids since I have all the knowledge to prevent the food craziness–just not the will power to take care of myself.

Sonja!

I wrote all the names on slips of paper and had Erik draw one! He actually drew two, and I made him narrow it down. Sorry, Kisha! You were name number 2. Hmmmm. Maybe you would have preferred I not tell you how close you were to winning.

For anyone who is bitterly disappointed that you didn’t win, check out Woolzie’s FB page HERE. There are a lot of giveaways listed and if you have a blog you may even be able to run your own review and giveaway.

When I was a kid I used to make chocolate chip cookies every Saturday. We didn’t bake many–just ate the dough. I could really go for a big bowl of cookie dough right now. Anyone want to go buy me some chocolate chips? The closest thing I have, which is not really close at all, is lavender candy melts that are in my Honey Dukes jar. They are supposed to be puking pastilles and a fun wink to my Harry Potter love. I don’t know if anyone else will get the reference, but it makes me happy. I don’t think they will have that satisfying chocolate flavor, even if I did cut them up into chip sized pieces so I guess they get to continue their lives as fake puking pastilles.

Poor Elsa is so, so sick. She’s puny and hot and I’m afraid she’s going to have a febrile seizure or dehydrate. We live in the year 2013. It should be simple enough to alternate tylenol and advil and keep the fever under control. Problem? Every time we attempt to give her medication she vomits all over the place. We’ve given up. I guess I’m going to have to stick her in a tub of ice cubes like they had to do with Almanzo when they were in the big city. Something like that. I haven’t watched Little House on the Prairie for over 20 years so I might be mixed up. She’s eating a popsicle right now, so maybe that will help. I do have some Fever-All suppositories, but I’m not quite that desperate yet. I am not comfortable sticking something up my three year old’s butt. An infant? Sure, they won’t remember. But not a three year old.

Since I know I’m home bound today, I didn’t bother to put pants on. I’m wearing loud, floral jammie bottoms that are not at all attractive on a woman my size. Erik came running in the house, sobbing and would not tell me the problem, just that I had to go with him.

I walked outside and he started telling a tale about new kids at the playground who threw a piece of metal at him, told him he was not allowed to play there and told him it was only for black kids.

Mama Bear started roaring and I marched down the street with my flimsy, floral clothing with no thought to anything but kicking some bratty butt. At least I had a bra on.

Sure enough there were two unfamiliar faces at the park–one was a tween black kid and one was a teen that I would not have called black, but who knows. Maybe he was bi-racial.

They knew they were in trouble before I even arrived and they tried to tell me that Erik was hitting the pesky younger brother of Erik’s best friend. I tried to sort things out, but it was pretty obvious from the stories of all the other kids that the unfamiliar kids were causing trouble. I asked where they lived and they pointed behind the houses, so I told them to get out of our neighborhood and not come back. Thankfully they left. I was afraid I was going to have to call 911, but then realized I forgot my phone at home. Calling 911 should be reserved for true emergencies and I don’t know that they would have considered this an emergency, but I figured if I started dialing they would get scared and run away.

I hung around for a little while and they seemed to be gone, so I started walking towards home. Erik and a couple other kids started screaming for me, so I turned around and the kids were back. They had doubled around the houses and were hiding in a tree, just waiting for me to leave.

I finally ran home and got my Kindle, a coat and my phone so I could supervise. I guess I finally outlasted them. I came home after about two hours* and Erik hasn’t been in to tell me they’ve returned.

I hate bullies. Why can’t we all just hold hands and sing kumbayya together?

*Mike was home with Elsa. I did not abandon my poor, sick baby.

I’ve been listening to the news almost non-stop today, and taking a look at the pictures posted across the web. I love the show Flash Point, but you never think you are really going to see pictures of that many armed police officers walking through an innocent suburb. I can’t imagine how scared the people inside their homes must have been.

I want to slap a couple of people on FB who are posting things about “I bet all you libs are glad to see assault weapons today!”

You know what? I am glad to see assault rifles today. In the hands of POLICE officers. I don’t think anyone is suggesting that trained police officers be denied their tools of trade. Bah. Thankfully it was just a couple of people. Most people have respect and realize we are all in this crazy world together and we need to help each other. Maybe that feeling of warmth will even last 24 hours.

I don’t know if you have all seen coverage of the uncle who called them losers and told him to turn himself in, but it is playing non-stop on our local news. He’s in the community just a couple of miles south of us. Some of my friends were freaking out that the suspect would try to run to his uncle’s place and cause all the commotion to come to us. After seeing the uncle’s reaction I really didn’t think the suspect would find a warm welcome and didn’t think we had anything to be concerned about. Instead, we had a tornado watch. Is the world going insane?

I was locked in the house anyway. Poor Elsa has the flu, I guess. She started with a hacking cough, followed by puking, then a day of high fever and an evening of losing all food out both ends. Lovely. It is going to be a long, long night. But at least we probably don’t have to worry about a shoot-out (I hope! Never say never, right?)

This was by far one of the easiest, most successful parties I’ve thrown. Also the most expensive, but I guess that’s what happens when you get old and lazy and can’t tolerate the thought of wrangling hordes of three year olds. We have no parking at our townhouse and the weather is too iffy to plan an outdoor park party, so I throw money at the problem and hope for the best. I realize I am very lucky to be able to have this option.

Anyway!

The party was excellent. I had to do very, very little. I can’t seem to just accept happiness and harmony. A mom has to work for a party, so I decided to make cookie pops to give out as favors. I wanted to make 3s, but couldn’t find a 3 cookie cutter. I saw some flower cookie pop molds and some purple water cans so a plan was born. A horrible, awful, no-good plan*. The cookie pops tasted terrible (Wilton recipe, so no big shocker) and after hours of crying over the royal icing but finally getting the pops to look fairly decent, they all fell off their sticks. Grrrrrrrr! Never listen to Wilton. Never. I tried to take a bite of one of the ruined cookies and spit it right back out. I never spit out sweets, but this was horrid. I suppose I’m glad I didn’t get a chance to serve them.

I think I should take a cake decorating just to give me a foundation to be able to do things without so much pain. And of course Wilton is the standard cake decorating class around here. Bah.

Why can’t I stay on track?

Elsa and the kids had a blast at this party! Other than bringing the cupcakes and extras and decorating a small table to my satisfaction all I had to do was stand back and watch a grown man who probably needed Ritalin entertain 14 children (with the help of a much calmer young woman). The girls at MyGym do a great job, but they don’t have nearly the energy as the males. The guys go completely wild and the kids LOVE it. I bet they go home completely exhausted.

You can have up to 20 kids at the party (or pay for even more), but I am not a fan of the whole “invite the whole class” idea. We invite friends. In Elsa’s case we invited family friends, which meant a total of 7 families and 14 kids. I personally would not want to wrangle that many kids, but the gym is big enough to handle it and almost everyone was happy the whole time. It didn’t feel overcrowded at all.

/

It was totally delightful to watch Elsa open her presents. She spent a lot of time with each gift and loved everything. She got a play mixer and a mermaid in the same package and spent a lot of time trying to mix up her mermaid. She also got a Melissa and Doug Pizza and a M&D Birthday Cake. She has literally spent hours playing with those two toys. She got a play tent that she’s been using as her coloring hang-out. She put her markers and paper in there and goes in to color.

I know you shouldn’t compare kids, but it is inevitable. It is just such a difference experience to parent these two opposite children. Erik usually won’t even take his new toys out of the box unless it happens to be something very specific that he wants. Generally his toys get put away on a shelf and re-wrapped for other birthday parties. And he doesn’t care. It’s bizarre.

How did my little baby get to be such a big girl? Look at those long legs and sparkling eyes!

She is such a girl, now! A fierce, determined, sweet, sensitive, violent little girl! Full of energy, joy, frustration, and unbridled enthusiasm for her mom, dad and bro-bro. Her favorite thing to do is run full speed ahead and jump on us, which usually knocks us over if we are not well braced. She and her brother have established the “Fighting Club,” which seems to involve knocking each other over on the couch.

I was so worried about having a second child. No child could possibly give me as much joy as my first! I would be ruining Erik’s life! This second child would be an interloper that we shunned in the corner.

What fools we mortals be.

Of course we all love her and delight in her silliness. Erik is a wonderful big brother and they love each other intensely, even if they do fight sometimes. I’m sure only children are just fine, but having a sibling is a pretty quick way to learn that you are not the center of the universe. A harsh lesson, but a necessary one.

I don’t know how I ever imagined that our family was complete without our Elsa.

*The intent was to put the cookie pops into the watering cans as little bouquets. I even bought floral foam! Instead, I ended up using Little Debbie butterflies, which were not nearly as cute as my intent.

I was reading a blog post the other day by a mom who is dealing with a three year old. Most of us know that Three is one of the worst ages–the Terrible Twos are a breeze in comparison but no one tells you that until you are in the trenches, sobbing because your sweet baby just kicked you in the teeth (literally and figuratively). I don’t know the blogger that well, but I posted some words of encouragement and tried to let her know that even though it felt like he was a wild hooligan now, someday he would grow up and be the great person that she’s raising him to be. I referenced Erik and how at Three I was convinced he was going to grow up to be some kind of violent psychopath, but now he is a sweet, responsible kid who makes crepes for breakfast!

I should learn not to brag like that. Truly, I wasn’t trying to brag. I was trying to help her see the light at the end of the tunnel. Karma didn’t care, though. Karma is kicking my ass.

He really has been so mature and helpful and just an all-around-great kid. We haven’t had any big problems with him lately. I thought we were good until the teen years. Foolish, foolish me. He turned 7 1/2 this week and you know what that means? The big, ugly six month craziness had to happen.

He was supposed to go to the first day of spring science class after school yesterday. His science teacher called me to let me know he forgot about it and was on the bus instead. I figured he wasn’t paying attention and that it was an honest mistake.

Oh lord.

If only.

When Erik got home he told me he didn’t hear them call science so he didn’t want to stay if there wasn’t science. A few months ago he stayed when they called fifth grade science and I had to go pick him up, so I could understand his hesitation. I was pretty confused, though. We had talked about science class starting today. He had an extra snack in his lunch box. His friends are in the science class. He should have known it was happening. I questioned him pretty thoroughly and his story was not making a whole lot of sense. He’s 7, though. His stories are often mixed up.

About three minutes after that conversation I got a panicked text from his classroom teacher asking me if I was home and if I would contact her as soon as possible because Erik ran away from the school. I don’t know why she didn’t just call, but whatever.

I called her back and found out the real story and the real reason his story made no sense.

School was over and different dismissals were being called. Erik and his friend were discussing whether or not there was science class since it had not been called yet. The teacher heard them talking about it and walked over to confirm that there was science class. Erik said he didn’t believe her (wtf, kid? I only told you twenty times before school!). I happen to be the PTA science class coordinator and had sent an e-mail to all the teachers about the class, so she took him over to her computer and had him read my e-mail. Then she asked him what it said, who it was from, and what day it was. All leading questions so he would say “ok, there is science class today.” He agreed it was from his mom and today was science class day. She asked him, “so you know there is science class today?” and he didn’t answer her. She turned around to help another student and when she turned back to him he was gone. She thought he went down to the science class, but later found out that he left the school and got on his bus before it was even called.

I am completely dumbfounded by this behavior. Just. . . .what? He just argued with his teacher and left school? He loves science class so I can’t fathom what was going through his mind and he can’t seem to explain it to me.

I was not pleased when I found out he missed class, but accidents happen. But this? Someone please tell me what to do! I’ve taken away all screen time until Saturday. He had to write a note of apology to his regular teacher and science teacher. I have him doing all kinds of additional chores.

I lectured a blue streak, but I don’t like lecturing. Everything I’ve read says less is more when it comes to talking to kids about their consecquences and things like that. Let them know you are disappointed and why, but don’t become a nag or all they will hear is a Charlie Brown teacher wah wah wah.

I stopped my hard core lecturing for about twenty minutes, then I suddenly realized that I am usually not even home on Tuesday afternoons. I have an extra hour so I usually go grocery shopping or playdating. I asked him what he would have done if I wasn’t home and he didn’t have an answer so I told him he better think about it and come up with an answer.

I am very lucky that Mike is a great spouse and we very, very, very rarely argue. However, I have lots of friends who have arguments with their husbands and the conversation between Erik and I sounded like a typical male/female argument.

Me: Blah blah blah think about it!

Erik: I don’t want to think about it. I said I don’t want to talk about it.

Me: Well you have to think about it! Why blah blah blah.

Erik: I’m done talking about this.

Me: Hysterical screeching.

Erik: Ugh. Quit talking.

And if he thinks he can talk to me that way, he has another think coming. I want to go completely nuclear on him, but am trying to contain my crazy. I think his biggest punishment was listening to me tell Mike what he did. He doesn’t care if I know he is a defiant turd. He does not want his dad to know anything about it.

Can I make a confession? I get really irritated when I’m going down my feed and certain blogs are always “review and giveaway!” I added a folder that someone else made and now I have several blogs that do nothing but reviews and give aways and worry about their blog branding. It is such a different blogging world than when I started back in 2001 on Diary-X. I don’t think the word blog quit existed. It was an online journal. It told a story. No one knew you could get anything for baring your soul in a public venue.

Anyway! I am doing my first ever review and giveaway because this is a product I’ve been wanting to try for years. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get it for free and one of you lucky readers will also get a free set Woolzies.

So what are Woolzies?

Balls of wool for your dryer!

Some of my less natural living type friends are still saying “huh?”

Ok, so you know how you have to use fabric softener or dryer sheets so your clothes don’t get staticky and shoot sparks when you wear polyester pajamas in the dark? Or maybe you don’t know. Maybe you are all good with hanging your laundry out to dry or something. Personally I like a dryer. And I really like dryer sheets. However, I discovered that I am severely allergic to dryer sheets and they are the number one cause of over 20 years of painful hand eczema. I stopped using dryer sheets over a year ago and hardly ever have eczema problems anymore.

So what’s a girl to do if she can’t use a dryer sheet?

Turn to the world of natural living.

Ugh.

I want to be a fan of natural living, but I’m not. I’m just not. I like spot-free dishes, cling-free clothing, and mold-free bathrooms. I know we are destroying our planet and I want to stop, but I can’t quite go to a cleaning system that depends on vinegar and baking soda. My kids are Swedish citizens. They can move to the north pole in twenty years, when it is the only habitable place left.*

Seriously, though, I have tried all the tricks that are supposed to get rid of static cling. I faithfully put vinegar in the fabric softener cycle, I hang dry anything with fleece, I use plastic dryer balls. None of them work very well.

I’ve known about wool dryer balls for a year or so, but they are on the expensive side. I was not prepared to pay that much money for something that may or may not work, especially considering my experience with other dryer sheet replacements.

Good news: they work!

I started using them a month ago and I haven’t had any static cling since. I am finally a happy laundry goddess**!

Those of you who have been reading awhile know that I also have wool allergies, but that has not been a problem at all. I suppose if I rubbed the balls all over my body it would be scratchy, but I only handle them to throw them in the dryer when they fall out. There’s been no itching, redness or eczema. They do not seem to shed on my clothing.

I have a six pack of the dryer balls. They bounce around in the clothes, separating them so the air can get to them more efficiently. This is supposed to reduce drying time up to 25%. I have been trying to figure out if my dry times are reduced (which is one reason it took me over a month of use to do this review), but I am not organized enough to figure it out. My dryer is a fancy digital model that shuts off automatically when the clothes are dry so I’d have to really pay attention if I was going to time it. I’ve tried, but that just isn’t happening.

The only drawback: keeping track of six wool balls. My laundry is in the basement and I do all my folding on the top floor. It is not always easy to make sure all the balls get back in the dryer. I think this is more of a me problem than a Woolzies problem.

Would I buy this product again? Absolutely! But I won’t have to for a long time. They say they last for over 1,000 loads of laundry, so per load I would be paying much, much less than I was spending on laundry sheets or plastic dryer balls that fall apart almost instantly (and aren’t even effective).

If you’d like a chance to win your own set of Woolzies leave a comment telling me one thing you are doing to help the environment. See how I did that? You won’t win if you didn’t read directions. I will randomly select a winner at 10 pm EST on April 23, 2013.

*Joke, people, joke! Well, not really. They are Swedish citizens. However, I use Method cleaners for everything and hope that’s good enough.

**I do not want to be a laundry goddess, happy or unhappy. I want to be a woman of leisure. Somehow stain removing has become my chief hobby. What happened to my robot maid of the future? And my flying car?

I am such a slacker mom! Today is the day I’m supposed to post all kinds of “looking back” pictures, with one big today picture that says THREE! My baby is three! I don’t know how this happened, but she has long legs, and extensive vocabulary, and a stubborn streak a mile wide. Three is here to stay! (until four arrives)

Pictures will have to come tomorrow. The poor dear didn’t get much of a celebration today. We went to soccer where I foolishly dressed us for spring since it was in the 90s this week. Elsa and I were freezing, so we holed up in the van where she watched a DVD and I played on my phone. It didn’t occur to me that the DVD player would suck all the juice out of the van. We used to go watch double features at the drive-in and the car could play the radio for four hours without killing the battery. I guess the DVD player sucks down a lot more electricity. Lesson learned. Silver lining: We get our money’s worth with our AAA membership.

We are such awesome parents that we didn’t even buy her a birthday present. I don’t know how that happened. I felt terrible when I realized we didn’t have a present. She’s only three, so she didn’t notice, thankfully. Instead of having a big wrapped present for her to open, we took her to Toys R Us and let her pick out anything she wanted. She ended up with a Minnie Mouse trike, so I guess we are not the worst parents in the world.

Really, I should not even joke about being the worst parents in the world. Meth heads are worse than us. My poor sister’s kids are covered in lice and have a pedophile babysitter. Not having a birthday present the moment you wake up hardly rates as abuse or neglect.

Anyway, back to happiness.

The party is tomorrow so I spent the majority of the day getting ready. I had this fabulous idea to make sugar cookies shaped like a 3 and give them out as party favors, but I was foiled when I couldn’t find a 3. I was sure my alphabet set also had numbers, but nope. Letters only.

I ended up wandering the aisles at Michaels and found a flower cookie pop pan. It has a recipe on it and detailed instructions on how to make the pictured flower pops.

What a fool I am. When will I learn that Wilton is not my style? The cookie recipe was terrible but I was afraid to tweak it because I assumed it had the right amount of puff for the pop mold.

Then it said to use royal icing. I’ve never made royal icing before and had no idea I would need egg white powder to make it safely. Hopefully my real egg royal icing will be ok. I eat raw egg all the time so I’m not that worried, but it still does give me a twinge of “Oh god, I’m going to infect 15 children with salmonella.”

I’ve discovered I have an enemy and its name is royal icing. Good gravy, that stuff is nasty. It tastes gross, which is the perfect complement to the disgusting flower cookies. I didn’t make it thin enough, so I didn’t understand how it was supposed to flood my flower. Finally I figured out that I had to add a lot of water, even though it scared me to add water to whipped egg whites. I think I finally got the flowers flooded ok and now they just have to harden 4-6 hours.

It’s 11 pm.

I am going to be putting last minute touches on these things tomorrow morning! The party starts at 10 am.

What was I thinking???

We’re having an early party b/c many of Elsa’s friends go down for a nap at 1 pm. Those that don’t nap are usually cranky by 4 pm, just in time for the other kids to wake up. Ten o’clock will be perfect for three year olds but is already making me cry. Mike and I will have to work together to get everyone ready, pick-up the cupcakes, wash and cut up the fruit and frost the damn flower pops, all by 9:30. Most Sundays I am still asleep at 9:30.

I’m very tempted to toss the stupid pops, but I bought these little purple water cans and some floral foam. I plan on putting the foam in the cans, then sticking the pops in them. It will be super cute if the pops all stay up!

Tomorrow I’ll do a proper birthday post for my little miss princess. She is my heart’s delight and I hate that I don’t record many of her little sayings and doings. We’re too busy living to write about living.