The older two kids woke up with hacking coughs this morning, and the patio guys are working the backyard, so after lunch today I let them watch Backyardigans instead of going outside to play. It wasn’t quite time for the Wee One’s nap, and I don’t like her to play in the room where the TV is, so I took her in the front room with a few books for some rare quiet one-on-one time.

I had brought a picture book about colours that was one of the Captain’s favourites as a baby, and I was showing her the various pictures in it when I realised that she totally has no ability to pay attention. I know it’s unusual for a baby to be able to focus on a task for longer than a minute or so, but my other two loved this book because it has pictures of babies in it, and they were excited and would point to the babies and gaze at the babies and love the babies, even at this young age. Wee One is interested in the babies too, but she has no powers of concentration; she’s constantly looking around to see what that noise was, what that toy is, what’s going on outside the window.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since our house now is a crazy jumble of activity. Even while I was having my “one-on-one” time with the Wee One, Gal Smiley was coming in every minute or so to have me guess what she had hiding behind her back, and the Captain came in every few minutes to ask me which one of the Backyardigans I would like to pretend to be. While I was showing the Wee One the book, Gal Smiley wanted to turn the pages too quickly, and the Captain danced in to ask if he could play video games after the TV show was done. It’s no wonder she can’t concentrate on anything — I can’t concentrate on her, either.

When we had the Wee One, lots of random people we’d meet would say stuff like, “Oh, the poor third one, never gets any attention.” And I’d smile and nod, but inside I was always thinking, “Not this one, she gets plenty of attention.” Taking care of a baby takes a lot of time, and if you asked the Captain and the Gal, I’m sure they would say that Mommy is always changing the baby’s diaper, or putting her down for a nap, or nursing her. She gets carried around a lot and she gets fed at all mealtimes. Besides me, she also has the older two buzzing around her all day, showing her things or singing her songs or just demonstrating really cool skills like walking. The Wee One certainly does not lack for entertainments or care; it’s not like she is sitting alone in a corner all day while I go about my business.

But today’s playtime showed me that what she is really missing out on is quiet, focused playtime with me alone. I remember when the Captain was this age — I had so much time to devote to just playing with him. I’d read to him and I’d make up little puppet shows with his stuffed animals. At mealtimes I’d put on music and sing to him, and when he was done eating I’d pick him up and we’d dance. I’d use his naptimes to do stuff like cleaning and cooking, so when he was awake, I was all his, all the time.

The Wee One, in contrast, only ever gets half my attention. At mealtimes I feed her, but I’m up every 30 seconds to get someone else more juice, or to fetch the margarine, or to wipe up a spill. While changing her diaper I’m yelling at the Captain to get dressed, or telling Gal Smiley to go and put her shoes on for school. Even when I’m sitting on the floor with her, playing with her, the other two are usually hanging around, dominating the play and the conversation. So even though the Wee One gets attention, and is involved in our family, she doesn’t seem to be getting a chance to focus on just one thing at one time; and I don’t seem to be getting the chance to focus on just her at one time.

I know that she feels happy and loved here, and I’m sure she’s going to grow up just fine. I guess I feel kind of sad about not giving the Wee One the same kind of attention that the Captain got, but each of my kids is different, our family situation is different, and so, they’ll each get a different experience in life.

Still. I think I’ll try to work a little more Wee One time into the schedule.

The patio guys are here! I’m so incredibly excited. This morning they have spraypainted the outline of our new patio and walkway on the lawn in bright orange, and let me tell you, it’s the bright orange of JOY. I can already imagine myself sitting RIGHT OVER THERE with a Tom Collins in hand!

They’re currently across the street digging out the patio for another house on our street. Later this afternoon they’ll be digging ours out. Then, the concrete will actually arrive tomorrow. I thought that it would take a few weeks, maybe even months, for all the work to be done — this company’s main job is to provide patios for pools, and they squeeze in little jobs like ours between their main jobs, so it’s sort of a work-whenever-we-can kind of schedule. But at this rate, we could be barbequing in grass-free comfort by the end of the week!

I’m REALLY HAPPY right now.

Lately, my whining about my wardrobe has become a constant high-pitched buzzing around here, like bees on the swarm. And yet, I pathologically refuse to do anything productive about it. Every weeknight Sir Monkeypants comes home and says, “Why don’t you go out tonight and shop for some new clothes? Here’s a coupon for Mark’s and I hear that Eddie Bauer is having a sale. If you leave now you’ll have a good two hours of shopping time, all to yourself.” And then I shudder in horror, and claim to be FAR FAR too tired for a two-hour ordeal at the mall, my poor delicate flower of a self, so I am forced to spend the time lying on the couch in front of Deal Or No Deal, whining about how terrible my wardrobe is, instead.

Pity Sir Monkeypants.

A few days ago I told Sir Monkeypants that I absolutely, most definitely, was going to do something about it. To force myself to go the mall and ack, try stuff on, I would throw away everything in my closet that was 15 years old, or more. You might chuckle and think, oh, that can’t be more than a few items, could it? And to you I say, TRY ME. Seriously, Sir Monkeypants laughed when I told him about my new resolution because if I actually carried it through, I’d be left with about four things in my closet, all of which were gifts, and none of which fit me.

So rather than run around naked, I decided to keep my 15+-year-old wardrobe, stretched out and stained and ill-fitting though it may be. Besides, although I hate my clothes, they are little more than Mommy-shaped barf-cloths anyway, so what’s the point in putting on something that I actually care about?

But still. I see the other Mommies at my kids’ schools and they are wearing clothing that actually came from this decade. And sometimes they even have a little foundation and lip gloss on, maybe some nail polish and a pair of shoes that were not hand-me-downs from one of their sisters. It makes me think, hey, why can’t I be that Mommy? Why can’t I have a little style, too? Could it really be that hard?

Then the end of the day rolls around and I’m a big tired lump on the couch who is still 30 pounds overweight and I think, oh hell, why bother.

I’m really fun to live with, aren’t I?

Anyway, my point here, and I do have a point, is that today I managed to squeeze myself — with the help of a shoe horn and a healthy application of moisturizer — into my hot ass jeans. These are about four sizes above my skinny jeans, but still they are incredibly amazing pants that manage to combine style, comfort, and fit in one spectacular package. These pants not only make me feel attractive again, but having to constantly hold in my tummy to fit inside them is giving me a pseudo all-day workout. By tomorrow I’ll be able to zip them up without the shoe horn, I can tell!

So I have new resolve to go out TONIGHT, THIS VERY EVENING, and find new tops that will do justice to my hot ass pants. They deserve better than this 20 year old t-shirt I have on with pit stains. And in the vastness that is the mall, surely there will be one thing that fits me, right? One thing that is a nice colour and flattering without being too tight that makes me feel like a person and not a recepticle for barf? Yes?

I have hope. But check in again with me in two hours.

We watched this week’s episode of Lost last night, and whenever I see a new episode of that show, my head starts buzzing around and around with all the theories and I can’t think of anything else. Then nothing gets around here for three days and hoo-boy, if my mom could see that pile of dishes in the sink, she’d swear I was someone else’s baby who was switched at the hospital at birth.

So, in an effort to remain part of my mother’s family, I’m going to spew out some current thoughts of mine on the show. These are not spoilers as I personally know nothing about where the show is going or what is going to happen. But there will be attacks on various internet pet theories. Superfans, you have been warned.

Who are the Oceanic Six?
Five of the Oceanic Six have been confirmed on the show: Sayid, Kate, Jack, Hurley, and Sun. The only place I read about Lost is in Entertainment Weekly — although I am sometimes obessive about the show, I have no time for chat rooms or fan sites or crazy Lost online games in which you have to collect one-second snippets of a video file and put them all together to reveal… absolutely nothing about the show. At EW they think the sixth member is quite obviously Baby Aaron. But that doesn’t make any sense…several times the Oceanic Six have been referred to as “survivors of the crash of 815,” and the outside world thinks that Aaron was conceived and born by Kate on the island (because the rest of the world thinks the survivors were there for a couple of years, while Aaron is only a few months old).

Personally I believe that the sixth member is the person who was in the coffin at the end of last season’s finale. Someone who got off the island with the five we know about, but was killed after a few years of being back in the States. We know from Jack and Kate’s conversation in the finale that the coffin person is a “him.” I think that person is probably Sawyer.

What happens to Jin?
Again, EW thinks that the grave that Sun visited with her new baby, supposedly Jin’s is bogus. They think that it’s a grave that was either created when the outside world thought Jin died in the plane crash, or else it was created by Sun once she was off the island to explain where her husband was.

But, let us consider the evidence that Jack presented at Kate’s trial. We know from a later conversation with Jack and Kate that Jack’s story at the trial is the story they’ve been telling the world about the crash, their accepted cover story. Jack’s story says that eight people survived the crash, but unfortunately, only six of them survived to make it back to the mainland. So this tells me that when the Oceanic Six finally leave the island, there will actually be eight of them making the attempt, and two of them are not going to make it. Jin is one of the extra two who leaves the island with the Six, but is killed during the escape attempt; so his grave contains his actual body. I hate, hate, hate to predict this, but I think the other person who comes along for the ride, but who is killed en route, is probably Claire.

So. If this season ends with eight people making an escape from the island — Kate, Jack, Sayid, Hurley, Sun, Jin, Sawyer, Claire (with Aaron) — that covers all the major speaking parts except for Locke, Bernard, and Rose. So why is Jack so tormented about getting back to the island? Is he really that attached to the extras and red shirts that have been floating around in the background?

Or…is he thinking about Juliet?

Okay, I feel better now. I’m sure I’ll have more venting to do next week!

Bah, I don’t feel like blogging today. Instead, check out Five Star Friday, a site that was started just last week by one of my favourite bloggers, Schmutzie. Anyone can submit a cool blog post to Five Star Friday, and then on Fridays, Schmutzie posts the list. There’s dozens of great posts on today’s list — more than enough to keep me reading all day, then feeling like a crappy writer for the rest of the week.

But at least I shall be entertained!

Gal Smiley is a very petite person. She is finely built all over, wears the same hat size as the Wee One, and is very, very short. For most of her life she’s been below the height and weight growth curves, but recent growth spurts have pushed her up to the 0% percentile. Whoo hoo! Her small stature isn’t anything to worry about, health-wise; she’s just destined to be really tiny like all the women in Sir Monkeypants’ family.

Even though I mentally know this about Gal Smiley, for some reason, it seems I never really understood it about Gal Smiley. I have a real problem judging the relative heights of people. Everyone in the world breaks into three categories: taller than me, about my height, and shorter than me. For years I did not realize that Sir Monkeypants was not, in fact, six feet tall. He’s in the “taller than me” category, that’s about six feet, or thereabouts. Whatever.

Gal Smiley and all her friends are all in the “shorter than me” category, so I never really understood that she is, in fact, shorter than the other kids in her class. A few weeks ago she was playing with Princess Charming, the girl whose backyard is attached to our backyard, and her mom, Queen Charming, was telling me that everyone always thinks that Princess C is older than she is because she’s “so tall.” And I was all like, “She is?” I totally thought she was about the same height as Gal Smiley, or thereabouts. Whatever.

Then on the weekend, Gal Smiley went to Princess C’s birthday party, and Sir Monkeypants took some group shots of the kids all standing up, and I was like, “Is Gal Smiley sitting down in this picture? Because why else would she be a full head shorter than Princess C?” And Sir Monkeypants was like, “News flash, YOUR DAUGHTER IS SHORT.” And I’m so embarrassed to admit, this was actually a big surprise to me. Apparently the growth chart doesn’t lie! Who knew!

Yesterday Princess C was over and I lifted her onto the swingset, and HOLY CRAP, did you know that she is way, way taller than Gal Smiley? And also, about 10 pounds heavier? I have a tiny, short daughter! Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?

We’re off for a height and weight checkup later today for all three kids, and I swear this time, I am really going to pay attention. Really.

I just heard from Mrs. Carl Sagan that while Sir E was at preschool this morning with Gal Smiley…SUPERWOMAN took her almost two-year-old daughter AND THE NEWBORN TWINS to Gymboree class. GYMBOREE! Where you have to crawl around and slide and dance and sing songs! While your NEWBORN TWINS sleep nearby!

I feel somewhat lacking as a mother. Perhaps she has no need of my muffins, after all. I can pretty much predict that there aren’t any dirty dishes in her sink!

SUPERWOMAN was at Gal Smiley’s school this morning for pickup, all four kids in tow.

And DAMN, those newborn babies are cute.

Almost – ALMOST – made me wish the Wee One had been twins. ALMOST.

For those of us who were worried about her physical and mental health, she had a grandmother-type person with her helping out, so we can all breathe a little bit easier. I think I’ll still make her some muffins, though.

I wonder if she has a sink full of dirty dishes at home?

At Gal Smiley’s preschool, there is a boy in her class, Sir Excitable. Sir E is Gal Smiley’s age, that is to say almost 4 years old. He has a little sister who is almost 2 years old. His mother just had twins, a girl and a boy. That’s a full household!

All winter long, Mrs. Carl Sagan and I would see this poor pregnant lady, pregnant with twins, trudge into the school with her not-quite-two daughter, and wrestle with her not-quite-four son to get him to sit still long enough to get his coat on so he could go home, and feel so, so horrified for her. For starters, one of the reasons why we considered not having a third was the fear that it would be twins, which we thought we really could not handle, so that was all scary. And secondly, I know exactly what it is like to have to try to control two kids in the chaos that is preschool pickup time while heavily pregnant, and it’s crazy. I think most of the moms at the school understood how hard it was for her and everyone was always trying their best to help out by getting Sir E dressed or corralling her daughter or offering her a chair.

Anyway, she finally had the twins two weeks ago, by C-section.

And today? She was at the school for drop off. With all four children.

Okay, this woman clearly has some powerful reserves of strength of which I cannot even dream. How is it possible that, exactly two weeks after major surgery, she is a) getting all four kids, including two newborn babies, into car seats and out of the house; b) driving them all somewhere; c) lifting the babies in their car seats out of the van because Sir E, sitting in the back row, can’t get out unless one of the baby seats is removed; d) rushing home to feed two babies and do something with her daughter before; e) repeating the process at pickup?

I believe I have revealed a major scoop. SHE IS SUPERWOMAN. Call Perry White!

So today, in my ongoing quest to record things that have happened to us that are lucky, I would like to say that I feel really, really fortunate that the Wee One was NOT twins, that did NOT have a job that required him to go back to work two weeks after I had a C-section, that I have two sisters who were able to come over all the time during my recovery period to cook and clean and entertain my older two kids, that when the Wee One was born, it was summer and we did not have a school schedule to maintain.

Lucky, lucky, lucky.

Last Saturday we went over to the Carl Sagans for Little Carl Sagan’s fifth birthday party. The Captain was the only one officially invited, but we all went anyway. It was the Wee One’s idea. She’s a born party crasher.

When we got there, all the kids were playing in the basement so I decided to use the main floor quiet to nurse the Wee One. Just as we started, though, a girl with curly yellow hair came upstairs to use the bathroom.

Here’s how you know she does not have any younger brothers or sisters:

YellowHair: Oooh, who is that?

Me: This is Wee One. She is Captain Jelly Belly’s little sister.

YellowHair: Can I feed her?

Me: Ummmm…well, she gets her milk from me, so I have to feed her now. But at lunchtime you can give her some Cheerios.

YellowHair: Oh.

(Meanwhile, the Wee One has detached and is looking around to see who the new person is.)

YellowHair: Oh! What IS that?

Me (covering up hastily): Um…well, it’s how the baby gets her milk.

YellowHair: Can I see that again?

Me: Well…

YellowHair: What IS it? Can I SEE IT?

Me: Um…Mrs. Carl Sagan! I’m going upstairs to feed the baby!

I figured that the party wasn’t an ideal time for either an anatomy lesson, nor an Introduction To Breastfeeding lecture. I can only imagine the conversation YellowHair had with her mom on the way home!