long days

Front Seat: ...and we need to buy Tessie diapers. Anything else we need to get?

Back Seat: Yes, I need more Lightning McQueen diapers!

FS: You know, you're getting to be a big kid now...

BS: Yes, I'm a big kid. Tessie's a baby.

FS: And you know, big kids wear big kid underpants. All the big kids you know, they wear big kid underpants, and they put their pee and poop in the potty. If you're going to be a big kid, you need to wear big kid underpants too.

BS: I need to wear diapers.

FS: Babies and little kids wear diapers. Big kids wear big kid underpants.

BS: Then I need to wear big kid diapers.

If you can succesfully argue your way out of potty training, I think that alone says that you are READY TO BE POTTY TRAINED. If only I had thought of this comeback in the car.

Lucy has given up her naps. We've been trying to introduce "quiet play time" instead, with mixed results. She needs to play quietly in her room for an hour, and then when the timer dings she can come out. This is the idea, anyway. Usually she just runs in and out of her room and then she poops and needs a new diaper and we're all done with quiet play time.

Today, for whatever reason known only to herself, she's decided to go along with the plan and is merrily singing to herself (quietly!) and building something with legos in her room with the door closed.

So what did her mother do to reward her for her good behavior and cooperation? I crept down the hall and reset the timer for another 45 minutes. What a nice afternoon for me.

My mother babysat for us on Friday night so we could get a few hours out of the house to decompress. We got dressed up and went out and ordered martinis and appetizers. I called home after the salad was served and got an earful of Tessa screaming as my mother attempted to assure me that everything was fine and she could handle it. I might have believed her if I could have heard her. We got the rest of the meal to go. You know, a typical date night.

Tessa flashed me a triumphant grin when my mother passed her off to me. Easy one, my ass.

Anyway, my mom was here for less than three hours on Friday. She sat on the bedtime for Lucy's storytime while we read her set of Princess Stories: Kindness Counts (yes, I deeply regret that purchase.) In this set of stories, we learn a lot of lessons.

• From Ariel: always listen to your father and never explore
• From Snow White: it's nice to keep the house clean for the 7 men you live with
• From Jasmine: when you only have enough money for one thing at the bazaar, deny yourself the pretty necklace and buy your man a gift instead
• From Belle: don't bother with your silly reading, go home and help your father clean up.

I exaggerate, but really, only slightly. Anyway my mom was here for storytime on Friday night. And today we read those damn stories again before Lucy's nap, and now I smell like my mother's perfume. And so do Tessa and Lucy. That stuff has some staying power.

Everyone tells you when you get pregnant with your second child that your heart will fill with enough love for two children. No one tells you it will also fill with twice as much worry.

Lucy's having a hard time at preschool. I don't think it's fair to her for me to share exactly what's going on without her telling me it's okay. And right now, anything you ask her, the answer is "nope." So, I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to zip it. In case you're tallying acceptable blog topics: social and emotional difficulties of my children? No. Marker all over her leg at naptime? Yes. I was telling my husband last night: it feels like it's my life, because I'm in pain about it, but really, it's hers. So, I have to respect that.

But when your child has trouble at school, it's like you're immediately transported back to everytime you were picked last. Everytime you froze while trying to figure out where to sit at lunch. Everytime you watched the mean girls pick on someone else, and cringed while trying to fade into the backround so they wouldn't turn their evil gaze on you. And you really try to forget the times that you were the mean girl.

When I put aside the loftier but somewhat ridiculous goals I have for my kids (did anyone else practice their baby's name with Chief Justice in front of it to make sure it sounded okay?) I really just want them to be happy, and hopefully make it through their childhood relatively unscathed. I am so with Anne Lamott when she prays in "Operating Instructions," that somehow her child will never have to turn thirteen. And she didn't even have a girl.

It's funny how quickly your hopes for your kids change when confronted with the reality of who they really are or could possibly turn out to be, rather than the blank page you've been projecting on since your first ultrasound. And all of a sudden you would give up Chief Justice in a second if it would guarantee your kid a free pass from the mean kids for the next 15 years.

I made my blog pretty. I am so proud of myself it's sad.

I worry that it may be the only thing I've accomplished in three years that didn't have something to do with my uterus.

(I'm not going to think about the font issues.)

''Angie and I will consider tying the knot when everyone else in the country who wants to be married is legally able,'' says Brad Pitt, in a new interview.

That is such an admirable stance. To be so committed to the cause of equality and gay marriage, that they refuse to get married themselves until all couples can join them. They are an example for us all.

Of course, they do have at least three failed marriages between them already. But I'm sure Brad's heart was secretly breaking when he pledged to stay with Jennifer Aniston until death (or a very hot single mother) parted them, knowing that someone else was denied the rights to a Frank Sinatra tribute band and fireworks over Malibu on his or her wedding day. I'm sure Angelina has wept for the injustice of it all. Shouldn't everyone -- be they straight or gay -- have the right to marry someone else's boyfriend and wear his blood as an accessory?

Seriously, could two people be any more pretentious and annoying. Like this is what is going to change the minds of right-wing conservatives. "Oh well, if this is what it takes to get Brad and Angie down the aisle, I guess we'll have to suck it up." The save-the-world-one-orphan-at-a-time schtick was a smart PR move last year, but now it is time to give it a rest. Thank you.

I only wish I knew how to photoshop some gold chains on her.