 Dear Babies: Sorry after taking you on a road trip SOLO, during which you puked twice all up in the car seat Velcro straps and I cleaned it with wipes and toothpicks in 90 degree heat on I-95 and juggled you both in a new house, at the POOL with exploding diapers and not enough swim diapers and potty training and keeping you alive next to a body of water and OH MY GOD THE CRYING – after we got home all I could do was leave you with daddy and park my car in a strip mall. With my Kindle. And every time a person walked by looking at me like, "what's that lady doing in her car just sitting there?" wishing I had a bumper sticker: "Two Small Children at Home. This is My Vacation. Don't Ruin It."
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 As a type A perfectionist, I can be exacting about some (ok, a lot of) things. Like spelling, RSVP-ing (oh, thou ancient art!) and the proper way to load a dishwasher. Some might call these tendencies “freakish.” I prefer to think of myself as a “Control Maintenance Expert.”
You can imagine my dismay when my baby did not do one single thing I wanted her to. 
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