I can't quit you...

T@rget.

Maybe it was that big red bullseye that first drew me in. Or the cleanliness. Or the rows and rows of neat things, for home, for baby, for whatever and whoever.

I'm not sure what got me started when it comes to my love for T@rget but I can now admit that I am a T@rget-a-holic. And you know what they say about addiction: the hardest part is admitting it. So there, I've admitted it, accepted it, come to peace with it, all of the above.

I can go in for one thing and one thing only, and leave with a loaded cart, having spent way more than originally intended. Today, for instance, I went in to simply return two pairs of pants that I bought last time but that were too small for big sister (what? the 5Ts are too tight?! when did she get this big?!). But then...wait, what is that I spy over in the dollar section? Stocking stuffers, note pads, lip gloss...so much to catch my eye. Before I even realize what I am doing, I am pushing my cart out of the dollar section and deeper into the bowels of the store. Bliss. And don't even get me started on the Bookmarked section...porn for a former English major like me.

Cue forward almost an hour and I'm leaving with three bags full of stuff and just over $100 poorer.

Is it wrong that I then went home and promptly hid everything put it all away? ;)

Personal space, or "How I Almost Starred in a Lifetime Network Movie"

We were at D1sney W0rld this past weekend, enjoying the fruits of Walt's labors. While there, we had a lovely meal with Cindy-relly and family and then opted to head out to D0wnt0wn Diz afterwards.

While waiting for the magical bus to take us there, a heavyset woman on the next bench struck up a friendly conversation with me. She asked where we were from, how old the girls were, etc. A few minutes go by waiting and the nightly fireworks began to go off. Not a problem for most people, however, when you have a child with the world's most sensitive hearing, all hell breaks loose. There is much covering of ears, crying, and general unhappiness.

It got taken to a new level however when baby girl realized that she too could pull this card and get attention from mommy and daddy. So now we were faced with not one, but two unhappy-at-hearing-the-fireworks kids throwing fits. Yea us! While trying to talk them both down from the ledge, the bus arrives. Standing up to walk over to it puts us out further into the night sky and the fiery hell that is the fireworks a fair distance away in the Magic Kingdom. Cue more screaming and fussing.

And then...cue the heavyset lady going over and picking my baby girl up, holding her up to her neck and comforting her...all while I stood there in a stupor, dumbstruck at this move (and dumbstruck at the fact that baby girl has allowed someone other than me--and a stranger at that--to pick her up)! Then my mind starts going a hundred miles a minute...visions of her running off with baby girl, I'm going to have to chase her, or knock her down, or both, or something else entirely. OMG...what nerve she has, yet I am still in disbelief at this turn of events. The husband is giving me the stink eye to do something (what, he can't go over and take her himself?).

This woman takes her onto the bus, with me all but up her ass behind them. She sits baby girl down on a seat, then sits two away, while I sit down next to baby girl. Big sister then proceeds to sit down right next to the heavyset woman and chat her up. What kind of weird alternate universe am I in?

A few minutes later, the heavyset woman starts chatting me up as if nothing happened. She is so tired she says, being pregnant and all (which was hard to tell given her stature). She is 15 weeks along she tells me, and then she tells me how her first was a tubal, the second she lost at 17 weeks. I extend my sympathy, tell her how I lost my first one, commiserate that she's probably terrified until she reaches the 17 week mark and passes it with this one, and so on.

And then it hits me.... She could be the woman who finds out where I live (I did tell her the city, who knows how hard it might be to figure out the rest), kills me, my husband, and big sister, and takes baby girl for herself, having told everyone she was pregnant when she really wasn't. Hey, it could happen...it has happened in different scenarios. And she might have a tough time passing off a 2 1/2 year old baby girl as her own but I imagine stranger things have happened.

Looking back on it now, it was harmless, but while it was happening I was so shocked I didn't know what to do. I could only think, if I snatch baby girl back from her, it might offend her. Why would I care about offending this stranger? Maybe she was counting on my shock to give her an opportunity but then realized it wouldn't work. IDK, but I do know that something like that won't ever happen again. I don't care who I offend.

A little PSA

In case anyone was wondering, why yes, it is possible for a stealthy rogue poop nugget to survive both the wash and dry cycles.

If this happens, you will be left with something that looks like a cross between a raisin and a pebble. You may even pick it up and put it on top of the dryer while you empty the rest of the clothes. You will then turn your attention back to said 'raisin' and pick it up out of curiosity...sort of an "ooh, look what happens to a raisin after being in the the washer and dryer, the wrinkles are all gone, and it's hard as a..." And you may then stop and get a whiff of something...funky.

And then, you just may put said raisin-rock hybrid up to your nose and about fall over backwards at the stink of it...the stink of...OMG, it's poop!

You will then have to rewash the entire load of clothes again. And scrub your hands for a really long time afterwards.

Yep, that's me...boldly going where you haven't so that you won't have to.

Consider yourselves warned :)

Sinking

I think we all pretty much know the expression, "Life can change in the blink of an eye"...mine almost did this past weekend and not for the better.

We packed up the family and went over to our best friends' home for some pool time and dinner, a fairly regular weekend occurrence around these parts.

The girls were happily playing in the pool with two friends--baby girl hanging out on the large top step, big sister swimming around like a fish. I was in and out of the house doing whatever the heck it is that moms do (but yet, looking back on it now, I can't seem to remember exactly whatall I was doing), while the husband was sitting at the patio table about 20 feet from the pool, chatting with his buddy, having a cold beer, watching the kids.

I came out onto the patio and walked toward the pool. Something made me stop and count the children swimming in the water: one, two, three. Why are there three children in the water, I asked myself? There should only be two, and one on the step. About a nanosecond later, I realized that one of those three children was not swimming, but flailing about under water, a panicked look on her face, mouth gaping open and closed like a fish...drowning. I think my heart about stopped as I took inventory in another nanosecond and realized that it was my baby girl, who was no longer on the top step.

I then proceeded to do what I do best in a crisis--scream for the husband...remember him, the one 20 feet from the pool, "watching" the kids? Yeah, him.

He jumped right into the water and quickly got her out. She coughed up some water while we fussed over her, lightly thumping her on the back to facilitate any remaining water to come out until she told us, "Stop Daddy."

She then proceeded to go hang back out on the top step, this time with her arm band floaties on, something that had been missing from the picture earlier.

We went about the rest of the day with no problem.

It wasn't until Sunday that the full potential of what happened hit me. Perhaps it was shock that kept me from realizing it the day before when it all went down. But now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is the look on her face, the panic in her eyes, and wonder how long it would have been before someone saw her had I not walked out when I did. The day could have taken a horrific turn for the worse. It didn't but, oh my god, I just cannot get that look on her face out of my mind.

I see it when I close my eyes, when I sleep at night. So I hold her a little tighter, hug her a little longer, kiss her a few more times. She is still here with us and she is okay--a checkout by the doctor on Sunday found her lungs clear but still...the 'what-ifs' haunt me. 

And the husband? Meh, to him this was no big deal. She's fine, as he swears he knew she'd be. To say that ours has been a happy loving relationship lo these past few days would be about 180 degrees from the reality. My confidence has been shaken to the core. How can I have faith that when I leave him alone with the girls going forward there won't be another incident like this? Perhaps not a near-drowning, but something else. When I voiced this thought, he got bent out of shape, couldn't believe I would feel that way when it was an accident.

True, but if you had a babysitter (and let me clarify, my husband is not a babysitter, I'm just hypothesizing here so go with it) who had been watching your children when something like this happened, would you ever use that babysitter again?

I didn't think so.

I rest my case.