I don’t have enough things to keep track of in my life.

No, seriously.

Right?

So I decided that I was going to photograph everything I ate this year.

Everything.

It’s a pain.

But here you go. I am taking a picture of every random thing I am putting into my mouth. Once you do that, you really see what you’re putting in your body.

And you know what?

Damn I eat a lot of noodles.

Poor Maxine.

She won’t remember the last two nights, and neither will we, in the scheme of things; but right now, right here, I’m telling ya so all of us won’t forget.

All Hail The Caffeine Overlords. I’m pretty sure they are parents too.

In fact, I just have no time to rant. Between two needy kiddos, work, the house, and our new goldfish, YES GOLDFISH, I have forgotten what free time looks like.

Next order of business: Sleep, then blog.

I’ll be back.

P/S Can fish give the evil eye? I believe I am being dissed by two three-inch aquatic organisms.

Apologies for the lag in posts.

Travelness, busyness, kidfulness, and illness have conspired to take me out of blogging commission.

Meanwhile, here are placeholder pictures to help you through your day.

Remember, kids, photos are forever. (Ruby and Maxine, your future dates will never see these.)

The reason I am not getting lost in Seattle is…

Luck. Pure dumb luck.

And maybe that map thingy on the iPhone.

You’d take direction from a baby in uniform, wouldn’t you?

Well, I would.

Chances are, if you had to pick between Maxine in a uniform, and Dot in anything, let me tell you a little secret: Don’t follow me.

I’ve been here 10 years and I still cannot get the North-South-East-West thing. Okay?

If you say, “Dot, meet me on the Southwest corner of Uwajimaya.”

I hear, “Wa wa wa wa wa wa Uwajimaya.”

Please tell me: Left, or right of Uwajimaya. (Also, let me know which way I’m facing.)

When you say, “Drive east on Madison and then south on MLK.”

I hear, “Wa wa wa wa Madison shooba shooba doo MLK.”

Please tell me: “When you leave your house, turn right on Madison and then turn left on MLK.”

Okay?

Sorry about that.

And while we’re at it, I still suck at pounds, yards, inches, and gallons.

(1) No is not an option.

(2) Negotiate, negotiate, negotiate. It ain’t over till the Frazzled Mom Caves.

(3) Always refuse the first offer.

(4) Dress to impress. Tulle is optional, but preferred.

(5) Those Jedi mind tricks your competition plays with Option A or Option B? Screw that. Stick to Option C.

(6) If you hold your breath long enough, you will get the cookie, I mean contract.

(7) If Mom says no, ask Dad.

(8) Put your money in a pink princess piggy bank. It’s probably safer than a bank.

(9) The parent company has a stash somewhere. If it’s not the Cayman Islands or Switzerland, it is the pantry in the kitchen. We all know there is always jelly beans if you reach in far enough.

(10) If all else fails, go boneless. You may not get what you want, but an executive prostrate in a conference room will either earn you a reputation or a firing. These days, you have nothing to lose.

Bonus Tip: Show up for the meeting with a carefully positioned band-aid or bandage on a prominent body part. It makes you look badass like you just stepped out of The Fight Club. No one’s going to mess with you.

Ah, the little kid birthday party.

I admit (and forever apologize to Ruby for) requesting there be NO PRESENTS at her 3rd birthday celebration earlier this year. I’d never heard of such a thing, but it seemed like every birthday invitation we received included the ominous warning “No presents, please.”

I figured it was either a) an American thing, b) a Seattle thing, or c) a modern eco-friendly parenting thing. I didn’t want to fail on all fronts.

So here’s where I’m at with this.

At a recent birthday party for twins, the invitation said No Presents. I painstakingly made Ruby “make” cards instead. BUT EVERY OTHER PARENT BROUGHT PRESENTS. I was so apologetic as I slipped our two homemade cards in the mix. Did I miss the memo or something?

Who is making up these rules?

Now I have a problem. I bought a birthday present for an upcoming birthday before I read the fine print of the invitation. Yup, you guessed it. No presents, please.

What should I do with the gift? Bring it? Not bring it? Do I offend the parents either way? Are we supposed to bring a balloon or make a card when it’s “No Presents?”

I am totally failing to understand the subtext and innuendo of this request.

On another note, I forgot to bring cookies to Ruby’s preschool during her birthday week. Apparently I was supposed to do that.

I did miss that memo.

MaxineDokken
@rubydokken Mom said to share!
4 hours ago

MaxineDokken
Applesauce in Hair equals Epic Dinner yfrog.com/hsj5vqrj
23 Sept

MaxineDokken
No one likes to talk about it, but we babies have self-esteem issues too. How would you like it if someone called you chubby?
1 August

MaxineDokken
@dorothyho Hey you know you can dress me a little better sometimes.
29 July

MaxineDokken
Explosive poop. It’s so three months ago.
12 June

MaxineDokken
Car seats. Boo.
5 April

MaxineDokken
My diaper rash is back. #TMI
30 March

MaxineDokken
I didn’t get any sleep again today.
5 Feb

MaxineDokken
Give me the boob. Stat.
26 Jan

MaxineDokken
So that’s it? #birth #overrated
25 Jan

When it comes to food, I share everything with Ruby.

I can’t even pry open a box of cookies without Ruby running over and yelling that she wants some too. As a mother of two, I’ve pretty much given up eating any of my food (1) remotely warm, (2) not cut up into little pieces, and (3) all by myself.

Too often I’ve found myself sneaking off to have a snack, just so I don’t have to share with Ruby or explain to her why Mommy can have a chocolate-covered Pocky stick but she can’t. At 9 in the morning, or at night, or whenever, because those things rock and you can eat them all day. But that is a whole another rant.

Last night, as I started to prepare a post-dinner “dinner” of some instant noodles, I found myself saying, “Ruby, Mommy is not going to share this with you, okay? So don’t ask for any noodles.”

I felt horrid. Selfish. But damn those noodles tasted hot and I ate it all myself. AND IT FELT GOOD.

Then I started thinking about Ruby and how we as parents, always and to a point of ad nauseam, tell our kids to SHARE. With a younger sister, school, and play dates, the lesson of sharing is a daily one.

In the modern, passive aggressive, Dr Spock era of parenting, you are a terrible parent if you don’t do this, this, this, and that to make your child the most eco-friendly, politically aware, morally upright member of society, who shares.

I get that. Sure.

But seeing how I didn’t want to share sometimes, I totally get why Ruby doesn’t want to share sometimes.

How would you feel if someone CONSTANTLY told you to share EVERYTHING you had?

It’s human nature not to.

Because really, what if your friend popped by ALL THE TIME to “share” your car, “share” your clothes and electronic toys, “share” the contents of your alcohol cupboard?

Yah. See?

Last year today, we lived in this house.

This year today, we live in this house.

Yes, this house.

That has a living room.

That is large. Really large.

That has a section for toys.

That has a closet on the same floor you enter so that you can — gasp — put coats inside! Instead of, say, on the floor.

That has a SEPARATE dining area. I repeat. The table is for dining. The table does not hold anything resembling a computer.

That has a kitchen. With just a touch of counter space.

That has a garage in the back. Also a groovy green color.

That has a relatively new (mobile) resident under three feet tall.

Recap: We moved. We built a house (Jay spent months single-handedly putting in floors, cabinets, toilets, everything.) We had a baby (Dot spent too many nights single-handedly feeding, bathing, and putting two little girls to bed). We moved again. We are still married. We are still drinking heavily.

Confession: Does this house look suspiciously clean? Yes, Jay and Dot bust their asses cleaning the house for a Very Important Visitor and forbade Ruby from touching any of her toys for 12 hours.

Random Expression Of Feeling: Are we happy we took that leap of faith? Yes. Are we tired beyond belief? Yes. Are we hoping to (1) win the lottery, (2) meet a leprechaun at the end of a rainbow, or (3) trip over a 20-pound gold nugget? Yes, why not, and of course.

Key Takeaway: I do not recommend you try this at home.