Winter update

This is my fifth full winter of living in Michigan. And I can proudly say that it is my best winter here. Why? I credit my attitude 100%.

I decided last fall that I would work as hard as I could to embrace and accept the winter here as part of life -- instead of fighting it, cursing it and dreading it. (Actually, now that I'm looking back at that fall entry, I realize I have used the word "resolve," which puts me in a contrary position to another recent entry. Ahh, well. You can't win 'em all.)

So back to my "win" on the winter front. I have sailed through this winter, taking in stride even the coldest, most miserable days (more on that in a second). The girls and I have played outside in the snow and ice as much as possible. They have loved every minute. And I have loved them loving it. See, they're Michigan girls, unlike me. But I'm working on it.

And, I actually have found it funny -- in a "ha ha" way, not in a cynical torture way, for once -- that the winter I have chosen to embrace and accept is on track to be the coldest winter on record since 1880 and so far has the most snowfall ever for the period ending January 31. We have more snow on the ground than I've ever seen in my life. And I'm not bitching! I'm smiling.

Don't get me wrong, I won't be sad when spring arrives. But I also won't start my winter dread for NEXT winter on the first warm day -- yes, this has been my MO in the past, no wonder I couldn't stand it!

Cutting the cord

I'm talking about phones, not babies. It's been about a month since L and I decided to drop our landline in favor of cell only. I always said I would never do it, but never say never.

Our cordless phone was dying a slow death, so we knew we'd need to replace it. At the same time, I needed a new cell phone because I hated my other one. It pained me to spend extra money just to have more phones that ring in the house, so we decided to go for it on the exclusive cell thing.

I thought it would be a big transition. Turns out, not at all. It's actually nice to have my "main" phone with me wherever I go. Then I don't have to worry that preschool might be trying to track me down or that I could be missing some other such hypothetical emergency.

The best result out of the switch is that L and I have discovered texting (I know, welcome to freakin' 2009). It was awesome during the holidays at family gatherings, L and I and L's brother doing running commentary under the radar amidst everyone. But it has been convenient in many other situations when talking out loud wasn't an option yet we needed to communicate.

I have had a couple etiquette struggles, though, so I need to make some rules for myself. I was at the library one day chatting with a woman I think is so cool, and my best friend was calling on my cell. That was a toughie -- I don't get to talk to either of them as much as I'd like, and there I was caught. I was able to find a way to transition each conversation and talk to both of them, and last I checked, they're both still speaking with me, so I guess it was all right.

The reason I thought I'd never drop the landline was safety. I wanted to have a phone available at all times to grab and dial 911 -- also that my kids could do the same. We do have phones, they're just not connected to the wall. We have set locations for the phones, and I'm teaching my kids our address since 911 doesn't auto-locate on cell phones (can you tell I used to work at the phone company?).

So now we're free of all phone constraints! And we pay less every month. Text me, and I'll tell you all about it!

Only child, mother of two

So far in my parenting life, with two little girls, I have amassed quite a lot of skills. The newborn stuff is down pat, babies crawling and walking I'm pretty good at, and I'm honing my toddler skills each hour. However, my life experience has a gigantic gaping hole in it that I could really stand to draw from right now: sibling life.

I am an only child. I like it this way because I really don't know any different. My life has been wonderful and quite blessed. But what I haven't learned enough of is what it's like to live with a sibling -- kind of critical information being a mother of two.

L's brother is six years younger, so he has a few insights, but definitely not insights that involve siblings close in age. Most of my friends are siblings, so I've gleaned a fair amount of info just from observing over the years.

Here's where you come in: I'm looking for your tips. You can post them here, e-mail them to me, tell me, whatever's easiest. If you grew up with a sibling close to your age, tell me what your parents did that you liked. Tell me what they did that you didn't like. Did you get the same presents? Do the same activities? Share a room?

Help a sister (get it?) out here. I'd love to hear from you.

The great Desitin caper

Everyone has that story from when they were a little kid that relatives and friends retell into adulthood. It involves an ornery three-, four- or five-year-old smearing [insert your favorite sticky substance here] all over the floor/walls/couch and creating a disaster zone of permanent stains.

My particular story from my childhood involved ketchup and Italian dressing, but I was mostly an accomplice. I had always wondered when one of my children would have their epic moment, and I think it happened last night.

We had a babysitter so L and I could go hear Greg Mortenson (as in, Three Cups of Tea) give a talk and then solve the problems of the world over dinner with friends. This particular sitter has been here before, she's a college student, and we were very confident. We were at dinner at about 8:15 when the cell phone rang, and it was the dreaded call from the babysitter. I braced for having to ditch the restaurant for the emergency room as I answered the phone. Luckily, what she had to say ended up making for great dinner fodder, and very little harm was done.

She had put Jellybean to bed after Peanut was asleep. Things seemed to be going well, but the sitter heard Jellybean talking animatedly on the monitor. She opened the door to Jellybean's room, and Jellybean announced to her, "My hands are dirty." What Jellybean failed to mention, and luckily the sitter turned on the light to discover, was that it wasn't just her hands that were dirty. It was her face, her hair, her pajamas, her bear, her sheet, her comforter and her wall that were dirty. All covered with Desitin.

In case you're not familiar with Desitin, it is used to prevent diaper rash on kids. Put it this way: When you were at that pool party and you wore your wet swim suit/trunks all day and got all chafed, that wouldn't have happened if you had Desitin on.

So, the sitter was calling us at dinner to see if I thought Jellybean might have eaten the Desitin, since it was on her face. Jellybean wasn't sayin'. The sitter had read the label, and you're supposed to call Poison Control if you ingest Desitin. I felt pretty confident that eating Desitin wasn't something Jellybean would do, so I just told the sitter to keep an eye and ear out for the next hour until we got home, and to call me if anything strange happened.

We came home to a quiet house without further incident. The babysitter had cleaned Jellybean's face and hands, changed her pajamas and gave her new covers. She couldn't have handled it better -- and she even said she's willing to babysit again. Phew!

For the work we avoided on the front end of this, we made up for on the back end, this morning. I Googled stain removal with Desitin (wow, are there many a Desitin-ruined garment and couch out there) and proceeded into stain-removal mode. Because it is a water repellent, you have to treat the stains like you would grease or oil. I spent about 45 minutes doctoring the various surfaces and laundering things. The stains didn't come out completely, but now they're a lot less obvious. L got most of the Desitin off the wall, but you can still see a bit of residue.

The story from my childhood -- now known as the Great Ketchup Caper -- ended much worse, with my parents' neighbors having to replace their brand-new (as in, installed the day before) carpet. My parents offered to help pay for it, but the neighbors knew it was their own son who had inflicted the damage while I mostly served as witness.

I am hoping, though, that once word spreads about the Great Desitin Caper, maybe we can shelve the Ketchup Caper story once and for all. I'm tired of hearing it.