The other night at 6 o’clock sharp our home phone rang. Because I recognized the unknown number as a call I had blown off earlier, I decided I’d better answer it. Maybe we’d won an all-expense paid Carribbean vacation?

The caller was a pleasant sounding woman who asked if I had a few minutes to complete a survey about health care services in my community.

Did I have a few minutes? Is sweet tea a Southern summer staple? Is Target retail heaven on Earth?

Didn’t she realize she was calling at dinner time, otherwise known as the witching hour? Was she nuts? Or just plain rude?

Because I am too nice an idiot, I told her “yes,” and she proceeded to ask me about a thousand questions about our local health care system.

About 30 seconds into the phone call, several cosmic forces aligned to make it the worse phone episode I bet the survey lady has had, and ever will, encounter.

The hubby and Caitlin walked in the door. At the same time, a client who has figured out how to buzz the hubby directly, buzzed him about a computer issue that apparently was so dire that he felt the need to contact the hubby directly after hours at home. Because you know…the issue. It’s sooooo dire. So dire, the client waited until dinner time to talk to the hubby about something that needed to be done for the next business day.

But I digress. Obviously people have the impression that we are lounging in the evenings in our silk pajamas, sipping martinis, listening to jazz, while the girls play contentedly with their nanny, our personal chef is whipping up dinner, and the dogs are having their auras read at the corner doggie spa.

As I was trying to answer survey questions and the hubby was trying to talk to his client, Caitlin looked at the cereal bar that Amelia was eating and asked for one. Actually it was more like she whined incessantly and tugged on my arm until I told her we didn’t have any more cereal bars and that couldn’t she see I was on the phone and to please sit down and I’d be RIGHT WITH HER!!!!

You would have thought that I’d just told Caitlin that Dora and Boots had perished tragically in a hot lava incident because she cried hysterically for a good 10 minutes while I was freaking bound and determined to finish the phone survey. Then Amelia started wailing. I’m pretty sure Bailey also started to bark at something but by then I was in a stress trance and ignoring everyone and wandering aimlessly down the hall to our bedroom where I could lock the door. 6 o’clock would have been ushered in even more perfectly if someone had knocked on our front door to see if we wanted to buy replacement windows.

Any way, it was so bad that toward the end of the call, when the woman asked me if I had children under the age of 18, that we both started laughing.

As a woman of many words, I am very surprised to find myself searching for a term that describes the desire to tell the woman who walks into the ladies restroom just as you are washing your hands that the overwhelming aroma they’ve just been knocked over with was there when you walked in, too.

Now that we know she’s got a great sense of a humor, on a more serious note, actress Brooke Shields went to Capitol Hill this week, pushing Congress to pass the “Mother’s Act,” legislation introduced by Sen. Robert Menendez, D-N.J., that would provide funding for education, screening, treatment, and research for postpartum depression.

What do you think? Is it the government’s role to step in and help fund education about postpartum depression? If not, whose role is it? Why can’t the medical community focus as much on new parents’ mental health as they do newborn care? I mean sure, you’ll be the best parent on the block if you know how to operate one of those plastic bulb snot suckers they send home with, but what about advice for transitioning into your new role as a parent? What about some frank affirmation that you might not really love being a parent the first few weeks? I certainly don’t remember any child birth class material or nurses telling me to take all the help we could get and run with it like it was the last pack of newborn Pampers on the planet.

Thankfully I was advised during the final weeks of my first pregnancy that being a “mommy martyr” was a bad idea and that despite all the commercials I’d seen on TV through the years, babies weren’t all sunshine, lullabies, and cooing. There were long dark nights of marathon pacing and bouncing, making up incoherent lullabies because I’d run out of words, and serious critical analysis of bowel movements. Like so many mothers before me, I relied on the sage advice of my mother, my mother-in-law, my sisters, and girlfriends who were already mothers. But what about mothers who don’t have family or who are isolated from friends and family? Maybe they’re a single mom or maybe their spouse is in the military and stationed abroad? I realize how fortunate we are to have a support system and both sets of grandparents nearby.

I don’t really think I had true post-partum depression, but for someone who is a former anal retentive planner and perfectionist, motherhood slam dunked me into a guessing game that made me doubt my parenting abilities. You can have everything in your baby’s nursery color coordinated, but you can’t really anticipate what those early weeks of parenthood will really be like. Will your baby sleep all day and stay up all night? Will they chill out in their bouncy seat or freak out? Will they find soft classical music soothing, or will they prefer the white noise of the vacuum cleaner? Or, like Caitlin and Amelia, will they love the sound of the hair dryer? Yes, even as babies the girls loved anything remotely related to primping.

I had an unexpected emergency c-section with Caitlin. I was physically wiped out and was anemic due to losing so much blood, my incision was very painful the first two weeks or so, and my body was like a freak show game of hormone Russian Roulette. Things got easier and easier and before I knew it I’d mastered taking Caitlin to the grocery store all by myself. Oh sure, you can laugh, but if you’ve ever been a rookie parent, you know what I’m talking about. By the time Amelia came along I was more prepared, relaxed, and I didn’t pack a 20-pound diaper bag stocked with every infant remedy from our medicine cabinet every time we left the house.

Life in the motherhood is great, but don’t be afraid to ask for help. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent.

Brooke Shields spoofs an unlikely suburban soccer mom in this hilarious video clip I found via Back in Skinny Jeans (great blog…be sure to check it out).

OK, show of hands if you’ve ever cruised your local Walgreens drive thru with Nelly blaring and your kids jammin’ like junior gangstas in the back seat, doin’ the car seat boogie.

For a split second, you’re not just another mom behind the wheel of a well-loved SUV with a collection of kiddy CDs and empty fruit snack packets in the floorboard and dog nose prints on the back window.

And then…and then you realize the guy in the next lane is staring at you like you’re either nuts or he’s totally jealous he’s not having as much fun and you turn the music down and awkwardly ask your kids, “So, how was school today?”

Come on, I can’t be the only one! Peace out. Colt 45 take me away.

I’m in love with our shiny new neighborhood Publix. Not only am I always asked, with heartfelt sincerity, if I need help out with my groceries, but all the employees are friendly, unlike Kroger where everyone seems to be about 10 minutes overdue for their smoke break.

Yesterday when I was checking out and secretly praying that Amelia would stay in the cart for just 30 more seconds, the clerk asked to see my ID for the six pack of Blue Moon beer I was buying. He looked at my birth date on the front of my driver’s license and said, “Well, I would never guess that. I really thought you were under 30.” (I’ll be 38 in August.)

And thus, my unabashed love for Publix was sealed. Forever.

UPDATED! OK…I have some winners!

Amelia just drew the names out of a cowboy hat…pretty appropriate for Nashville, huh? Kelly at Filtering Life (be sure to check out the gorgeous photos of her sweet baby girl) won the MetroMamma baby wrap; Liza at Liza’s Eyeview in beautiful Hawaii won the Days Ago digital counter; and Emily, mama to two little boys at A Little Divided, won the cookbook/kitchen guide. Congrats everyone! I will e-mail you later to get your mailing addresses. Thanks for playing along. (Read on …)

Yesterday was our annual company summer outing.

We had it a little early this year as my company is doing a lot of stuff this year. How’s that for vague? I have a rule about not blogging about work, even though I know one of my co-workers comments occasionally, but this is pretty harmless. I think.

We headed to a local park for a cookout. An afternoon softball game was scheduled and we had two croquet games set up for those of us weaker in constitution. That would be me! I love me some croquet in 80-plus degree weather! Especially since we were much, much closer to the coolers of bottled water and the beloved shade. At one point I just quit drinking water, dehydration and urinary tract infection be damned, because I was told to avoid the public restroom at all costs. I seriously considered heading to the woods and peeing behind a tree, but I decided that wouldn’t be a good move considering my boss as well as the president and CEO of our company were both present. But seriously, I would rather commune with Mother Nature’s porta potty than a nasty public park restroom with no soap and toilet paper.

Before the afternoon softball and croquet games kicked off we had a few relay type races. The second race was a potato relay race. We had to put a potato between our legs and run, walk, hobble, or jump as best we could to an appointed marker and then head back to the next person where we would hand off the potato. Immediately into the race we all figured out it was a much faster strategy to place the potato inbetween our upper things, pretty close to our crotches, and squeeze it while we hobbled the relay as best we could…none of this wimpy between the knee stuff.

I’m just glad I was off today because I’m sure there were a lot of hot potato jokes circulating around the office.

Operation Big Girl Bed has pretty much gone down without a hitch. Amelia has been sleeping in a twin bed going on three weeks and actually stays in her bed all night. However, and there always is a however, she has become quite skilled at prolonging bedtime. She’ll plead with me to “lay down mama, lay down!” and I usually find her serious little face and patting the pillow too hard to resist. We’ll read just one more book which then turns into three because she’ll then plead, “here go mama, here go!” and hand me another one.

We just won’t talk about her new take on naps, or lack thereof. Of course she naps like a pro at daycare. I needs me some daycare lady mojo!

Operation Big Girl Potty, however, has yet to launch. In fact, Amelia has pretty much ignored the potty since I brought it out on an overzealous whim during the holidays. Amelia hasn’t yet moved to the potty training booty camp classroom at daycare, which is where Caitlin really got the urge to potty train, so I’m hopeful that will be the motivation she needs.

I decided to check out the latest in potty technology because it dawned on me that our no frills potty might not do a thing for Amelia. Maybe she needs a 2007 pimped out potty, something with more bells and whistles. Something that makes the potty an event, not a destination.

It’s been nearly three years since we purchased a potty for Caitlin, so it was no surprise to me that there were several new swanky models on the market. We parents are prime targets for the latest gadgets.

Being the parenting cynic that I am, not to mention the fact that it’s very hard for me to stifle my inner crotchety old lady, I had an immediate “you’ve got to be kidding” reaction to just about every potty.

The Baby Bjorn Potty Chair
This just screams, “despite being parents, we are hip, we are cool, and we refuse to have anything but an uber chic sleek ultra modern potty!” We are neither chic or hip or modern so I moved on to the next one.

Fisher Price Laugh and Learn Potty
Any potty described as “whimsical” in design means you are desperate enough to be lured by unnecessary bells and whistles to get your kid out of diapers. Naturally, I kind of like this one. And hey, who doesn’t want to laugh and learn while using the potty? Multitasking at its finest! I have been known to hold a baby on my lap while peeing first thing in the morning.

Levels of Discovery Her Majesty’s Throne
If you buy this potty and wonder why your daughter is a mini Paris Hilton at age 7, remember, it was you who pushed the royalty thing when your little princess was still wearing diapers. Oh sure, we have lots of princess bling around the house, but I draw the line at a royal toilet.

Peter Potty Flushable Toddler Urinal
And this?

Just makes me glad I have girls.