Today’s Writing Wednesday topic, “Firsts,” is the brainchild of the fabulous Margarita Belle Nicole at Sitting Still. She and Mrs. Flinger put their collective bloggy creativity together and came up with Writing Wednesday. If you’d like to participate, put the link to your blog post in the comments or just write them below!

After four nights confined to a small room with nothing to eat but hospital cafeteria food, I was ready to escape flimsy oversized nursing gowns, mesh washable panties, and nurses monitoring my every bodily function. I was ready to go home with my husband and beautiful new daughter and be a mother. Beaten down mentally for the last time by the boob nazi (aka lactation consultant) and longing for my own bed, we packed our things in a frenzy after I was finally released late on a Monday afternoon. I had crammed hospital baby blankets, newborn diapers, and enough freebie bulb syringes to siphon the snot out of every infant within a 5-mile radius into my overnight bag. The hubby had loaded the trunk down with presents in pastel gift bags and flower arrangements sent by friends and family. I had nervously strapped Caitlin in her infant car seat, sweating with anxious hormonal fear that I had somehow not done it right and she would be crippled for life while she peered from beneath a sea of pink, all the while sucking contentedly on a pacifier at her clueless new mama. I don’t have any pictures of our getaway because I was so anxious to get home. (In contrast, we have several photographs of Amelia’s trip home from the hospital but I was feeling a thousand times better emotionally, mentally, and physically.) The weather was perfect for early June. It was sunny with not a cloud in the sky, quite the contrast to the 3 a.m. drive in the thunderstorm we made days earlier when my labor pains progressed to the point where I was oblivious to the crazy laboring lady things I was shrieking at the graveyard shift security guard standing watch at the door to mecca, otherwise known as the altar of epidurals. I sat in the back seat of our Honda as we listened to the same classical music CD we’d listened to on the way to the hospital days before. I looked out the window and then down at our beautiful little girl and I cried, like a baby, all the way home.

Our trusty manny (aka my dad) babysat Amelia Saturday while we went to Caitlin’s soccer game. Nearly all of Caitlin’s games are scheduled at 1:30 which means I had to wake Amelia up mid-nap last time to head out for the game so this past weekend I thought I’d ask my dad to babysit so we wouldn’t interrupt her one sole nap of the day. Of course, because kids never do what you expect them to do, this past Saturday she went down for an early nap and was just waking up as we headed out the door.

At half time my dad came walking on to the field carrying Amelia. She was wearing a souvenir train conductor’s cap from our trip to Chattanooga last year (in his defense it was the only hat he could find at our house that fit her and it was pretty brisk in the shade). My dad also had a Huggies size 4 diaper peeking out of his back jeans pocket like a packet of chewing tobacco. I didn’t have my camera, but the sight of her wearing a train conductor’s cap was just too funny. I’m sure we’ll start a new trend for the toddler scene. Before you know it, Suri Cruise will be snapped by the paparazzi wearing the much sought after train conductor’s cap! I can just see a Burberry train conductor’s cap. All the rage people. You read it here first.

Caitlin set a trend earlier this year for wearing two different colored socks. What fashion trends are your kids setting…whether you like it or not?

Poor Caitlin threw up twice before 8 today. I believe it was just due to bad congestion (I will spare you the phlegmy details.) She’s asleep on the couch after watching movies all morning and seems fine. Our house now smells cleaner than it has in months…a mixture of Lysol, bleach, and Murphy’s Oil Soap. There’s nothing like a nasty bout with germs to make you clean like a maniac and wonder when exactly, if ever, was the last time you washed the dust ruffle on your bed and your child’s bed? And also, your dust ruffle will not spontaneously combust if you wash it in cold water on the gentle cycle despite the Dry Clean Only label. This Indian Summer picture perfect weather we’re having in Nashville is perfect for hanging out such special laundering all white trash like on the patio.

So here’s the world’s most boring inquiry. Do you prefer hardwood floors or carpet? We have the original oak hardwood floors in every room of our house except for the bathrooms and den and downstairs dog lair, which was originally the two-car garage but is now an all-purpose sort of playroom/dogroom/place where we put all the crap we don’t have a place for since we don’t have a garage (like our bike trailer and bikes). The berber carpet in the den, while I thought was a sound choice when we chose it five years ago with it’s “oatmeal” color scheme, has seen better days. In fact there are days I’d like to rip it up and put in astroturf. Eventually I wouldn’t mind replacing the fugly vinyl floor in our kitchen as well as the berber carpet in the den with hardwood flooring, but there’s a part of me that likes carpet in the den because that’s the room we use the most besides the kitchen and it’s nice to plop down on a carpeted floor. And if we put in hardwoods in the den will they even be able to match the original hardwood floors in the hallway or is it going to look weird? Decisions, decisions. I can mentally spend money that we don’t currently have budgeted for remodeling like it’s nobody’s business. Our darn dishwasher is on the fritz, though, which I believe is a result of Amelia’s constant tinkering with the control panel and our microwave has a crack in the door so I think appliances are going to suck dry any money I might dream of allocating toward flooring…damn modern conveniences we can’t live without. I mean who needed a microwave or dishwasher a hundred years ago? Now excuse me while I nuke my lunch.

Last night the hubby and I curled up on our respectively claimed areas of the den and watched the two-hour season premiere of Battlestar Galactica we taped Friday. For a few blissful hours I sat sipping a glass of wine and was nearly silent, which I’m sure was music to the hubby’s ears as I am a big talker. But during the commercial breaks, as the hubby fast forwarded through the commercials, I started talking about everything from Caitlin’s soccer game that day to Christmas gift ideas to my hair, which desperately needs de-rootifying.

The hubby: “How do you do that…just switch mental gears like that?”

Me: “I don’t know, I just do. I don’t necessarily like that I do it, but I do. It’s hard for me to shut my brain down.”

I’m not sure what gene I possess that enables me to multithink (term coined by the hubby which very accurately describes the way my brain flits from one unrelated topic to the next), but I think it’s the same one that allows me to surf the Internet, participate in a conference call, check e-mail, make a grocery list, draft interview questions, and obsess about whether or not I wrote the daycare check for the week and how I need to find the perfect outfit for the girls to wear for their Christmas portrait simultaneously. And that’s just at work.

Lots to be thankful for as I haven’t posted this in a while (and I feel the need to send out good karma as I just got my car washed and dark clouds are rolling overhead)…

The look of pure joy on Caitlin’s face when she saw her new wooden playset last week. We got a great deal on it from one of the teachers at daycare who is moving. Yee haw!

All the blood, sweat, and tears put into moving and assembling the aforementioned wooden playset by the hubby, his dad, and my dad. And my mom’s help in purchasing it!

All things autumn…cooler nights, bright orange pumpkins, chrysanthemums in bloom, and Halloween decorations and mountains of inescapable candy beckoning to the girls, and me, every time we hit the grocery store.

The adorable witch costume I found on Ebay for Caitlin. She wants to try it on every day.

My new camera cell phone ordered by the hubby. I don’t know how to moblog, though. That’s probably a good thing.

The best date I can recall in a long time with the hubby. We saw “Little Miss Sunshine” and ate outside at The Acorn.

Meeting blogging friends in real life.

Evening walks in our neighborhood and Amelia’s excitement when she sees a bird fly overhead like it’s the first time she’s ever seen such a thing. She points and says “bir, bir!”

Great clothing hand me downs for Caitlin from my neighbor.

Going outside last night to see the “pink sky” sunset with Caitlin.

My husband forgiving me for forcing him to sleep on the couch with our 40-pound neurotic dog whose idea of unconditional love means embracing you with her dried out old dog pads and long doggy nails.

Hat tip to Shauna for getting Thankful Thursday rolling. What are you thankful for this week?

This post is part of the Writing Wednesday project started by my blog buddies Mrs. Flinger and Nicole. Today’s theme is lunchbox. In typical creative Flinger fashion, Mrs. Flinger has designed a nifty Writing Wednesday graphic bit of bling to pretty up your blog. Join in the fun, won’t you! If you don’t have a blog and would like to participate in this little creative writing endeavor, e-mail me or post yours in the comments.

I transferred to a rural elementary school in 3rd grade after my parents divorced. Most of the kids lived in the country. They wore jeans and worn tennis shoes. I had been in a private school setting in Nashville where girls wore dresses with ric rac trim and peter pan collars peeking out from cardigan sweaters. My teacher was a kind woman with a gold tooth that fascinated me and skin the color of milk chocolate. My new school was so small that we didn’t have a full cafeteria for dining so we’d eat lunch at our desks in our classrooms. We’d wait impatiently in the cafeteria line, the air ripe and moist with the smell of food and of dishes being washed, pushing our thick plastic trays along the metal rungs with our stubby little fingers as the nice ladies wearing hair nets would scoop up green beans or yellow cling peaches. Then we’d march back to our classrooms in a somewhat orderly fashion, as orderly as 3rd graders can be without getting distracted by a bug on the floor or someone acting silly, and eat at our desks.

I remember my lunchbox. It was a pink checked vinyl lunchbox with a pink ice cream cone decorating the front. Lunch from home was a sandwich on Roman Meal bread cut neatly in two, most likely bologna and cheese, with chips and carrot sticks on the side, which I rarely ate (sorry mama!) Dessert was a chocolate hostess cake with the zig zag white icing or a Twinkie or Archway oatmeal cookie or some other equally decadent treat encased in shiny plastic. Lunchtime entertainment was listening to an album or 45 records played on an old square record player placed on the floor. The soundtrack to Grease was a favorite and I vaguely remember someone bringing in the 45 record to Behind Closed Doors by Charlie Rich which makes me laugh now. I remember small cartons of Purity milk and rectangles of pizza with the chewy cheese the color of dried rubber cement. I remember eating ice cream with a wooden spoon from a small plastic cup. I remember the old windows and the window air conditioning units. I remember the long hallway with the shiny floors. I remember the excitement of new notebooks and pencils and learning to write cursive and my teacher’s beautiful flowing handwriting on the chalkboard and wanting to write just as pretty as her. I remember trying to fit in at my new school that first year.

Ya’ll, believe it or not, I found what I believe was either my kindergarten or first grade (possibly both) Yogi Bear lunchbox on Ebay tonight (circa 1974).

Check it out! (Read on …)

I got a great night’s sleep last night. It’s amazing what a good solid 8 to 9 hours of sleep will do for you.

Yesterday the wife of one of my co-worker’s stopped by with their 3-month-old baby girl. I’ve missed them every other time they’ve been in for a visit and I practically ran to the lobby to say hello. She was a giggling baby talking sweetie as our receptionist bounced her up and down on her legs. And then she handed her to me. I have a running joke with a friend from work that I make babies cry. OK, not always, but it seems like the last few times we have visitors in diapers they get fussy by the time they are handed to me. I don’t know what the deal is. I don’t know if, hopefully, they are just overstimulated by the time I hold them or if I give off a weird scent or if I am just plain scary looking but SHE STARTED CRYING a little WHEN I HELD HER. Also I’ve got a bit of a cold this week and I was tad anxious about holding her because I was afraid I’d start coughing on her. Yes I am sure that’s it because I like babies. Really! I swear!

Last night the hubby went up to his office to do a bit of work. He told me was probably going to sleep on the couch as I have been tossing/turning/sniffing/coughing this week. Because of Jack the dog’s fondness for slurping his doggy toes in the middle of the night, I apparently locked the door to make sure he wouldn’t disturb my slumber. Jack pushes our bedroom door open with such forcefulness that it wakes me up and when I crawled into bed at 9 last night after taking a Benadryl I just wanted to sleep. And I did. I slept right through my husband trying to open the door. But it was locked.

Babe, I’m sorry. I love you. I blame it on the Benadryl.

Last night and this morning Caitlin got into a bit of trouble. She has taken to incessant whining as a tactic to get her way and frankly it’s the mental equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Last night she refused to eat any grilled chicken for dinner. If she had her way she’d eat string cheese, the “striped” variety, every night for dinner with an occasional slice of plain bread thrown in for good measure. I’m not a clean your plate mommy Nazi, but a bite of grilled chicken will not hurt her. I had one tiny morsel of chicken on her plate last night and told her if she’d eat it she could eat one of the chocolate chip cookies we made Sunday.

Yes, I bribe my children.

Finally after the donning of pjs and the brushing of teeth I relented and told her if she ate a turkey dog then she could eat a cookie because if she doesn’t eat dinner she’s going to wake up at 3 a.m. hungry and I would like to cut down on any 3 a.m. snacks.

Yes, I am a wimp.

This morning as we were getting ready to head out for the day Caitlin still needed to put on underwear underneath her Halloween jumper. I asked her to go get a pair of undies from her dresser and put them on and thus the incessant whining floodgates were opened and she began requesting a cookie. (Note to self: don’t make cookies again for a while.) I could take it no more. I went over to her and asked for what seemed like the 100th time to put on her undies, which by now I had retrieved from her dresser and was handing to her. Of course she’s stubborn like me and just gave me the look as I tried to wrestle a pair of underwear on her as she kicked her legs defiantly against the carpet. I smacked her on the leg and the underwear was finally on.

Yes, I occasionally smack my child on the leg.

Tears were shed but she was dressed shortly thereafter, she had two My Little Pony coloring book pages clutched proudly in her hand to take to her daycare teachers, and the morning’s shortcomings were forgotten. The girls were loaded into the car and everyone was happy, for a few minutes any way. We looked for birds and dogs on the way to school.

I’m not particularly proud of myself when I lose it like that but the whining has got to go. I told her that two things got her into trouble this morning and last night: not listening and whining. I know that’s par for the course for a 4-year-old, but she knows better. I talked to her daycare teacher this morning about the whining at home and she said that occasionally Caitlin starts to whine at school but she tells her she’s a big girl now and that she has to talk like a big girl.

Yes, I am constantly relearning this parenting thing.