the diary of mrs x

Wanted: One Super-strength Roll of Duct Tape

2008-09-30T22:54:00.000-07:00

Everyday David and I go through a pants routine. I consider it a good day if I only have to go through this routine 3 times. It is usually not a good day. It goes something like this:

"David, please put your pants on."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"They're too pantsy for me."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Well, I can't say it again."

"David, put your pants on."

"I don't know where they are."

"They're right there beside your feet."

"Uuhhhhh."

"David...."

"Fffiiiiinnnneeee......"

"..... Daddy wouldn't make me wear pants."

Repeat with various completely insane reasons for why he cannot wear his too pantsy pants. They're too blue, they're too long, he can't fly in them (because he can totally fly without them and I'm destroying his precious ability to fly, pantsless, around the world), he wore pants yesterday, and so on.
Sometimes, if we're not going anyway and no one is coming over, I'm all 'eh, whatever' because I think there are worse things then walking around in your underwear.
When we switched to high def cable and had to get boxes, I was totally impressed because David, after 10 minutes in the company of the installer, decided to put on pants without my having to beg, plead and bribe. I wanted to beg the guy to just stop by everyday in order to get David to willingly wear pants but it didn't come out right and I think I sort of propositioned him because he slowly backed away while telling me of his lovely fiance and I'm all "Dude whatever, just come over and let's talk about pants" but it didn't work.
And so on went the battle over David and his pants.
And then today I lost it.
See, we've had this discussion many times. The one about wearing pants in public. And I thought we understood each other.
We do not.

I pulled up to Bre's private Catholic school, waiting to pick her up. I got David out of the car and told him to wait on the sidewalk while I got Josie. I barely had one buckle undone before I heard a woman say "Uh-oh mom, I think someone lost something." I turned in time to see my son not only taking off his pants in front of her school.

But also his underwear.

My son stood naked between the Church and the school in full public view and I cried.

Out of Hiding

2008-09-24T23:14:00.000-07:00

Me too kid, Me too. Also?

NOM NOM!!

So, I'm fine. Um. I'm alive anyway. I've had a lot going on but most of it I can't talk about. Some of it because I don't want to get kicked out of this religious education class that I've been taking but let's just leave it at you should probably not ever ask someone talking about purgatory and sin why it's ok to take birth control to keep yourself from ripping your husband's balls off and carrying them around in your purse once a month but if you take it to keep from getting pregnant you're going to hell.

You should also just eat the damn cookie when they tell you to and not make references to any 'kool-aid'.

Anyway, there are other things we can talk about.

Josie has decided that walking is LAME. She took a few steps and she will still take a few steps if we make her but she sighs and rolls her eyes like she's doing us this big favor and she can't believe how LAME we are for thinking this is cool when it's so much more awesome to make her sister and brother get everything for her- and they do- but whatever, she'll amuse us if we bribe her with a cookie and she'll clap when we do but she will NOT ENJOY THE WALKING FOR THE WALKING IS LAME. She doesn't talk either. Mama, Dada, *SHRIEK* but not talk. And I am not at all worried. Nope. Not even a little tiny bit.

Liar.

I was tucking David into bed one night- he was watching Madagascar. His favorite part of the movie came on. The part where they all start singing "I like to move it move it". I was dancing and making him laugh. I went to whip around and stand up and my forehead decided that it wanted to meet David's bedpost and I heard this loud *CRACK* and realized that it was my skull. When I could see clearly and hear again, I turned to look at David who was sitting up, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Are you ok?"

"Um, yeah. That hurt."

"Well then you shouldn't hit yourself like that Mommy."

Gee, thanks buddy. Hadn't thought of that.

Fuck Cancer

2008-09-04T21:05:00.000-07:00

Denial. I like denial. It's my occasional survival mechanism. I use it in desperate times. I've been using it for several months now.
But it won't work anymore.
In the face of truth, I must admit, the person I feel most sorry for is not her friends or her family. It's not a single person that loved her or was loved by her. In fact, the person I most feel sorry for?
It's you.

It's you because you never got to meet her. You never got to hear her many funny one-liners, or be comforted by her gentle words and her warm heart. She could be your greates source of support, or the kick in the ass you needed when you were out of line. She was encouraging and thoughtful and brave. She had a wicked sense of humor that never failed her. She had a cat named Coochie who took a boudoir picture- with a stuffed crab. The very obvious joke that goes with it has always stayed with me.

She was a Republican. But I couldn't have respected her, or loved her, more.

When she told us she had cancer, she brushed it off, insisting that it was 'no big deal'. That was just her way.

But it was a big deal.

September 3, 2008 my dear friend passed away.

I didn't cry until today. It didn't become real until today.

Today I started looking back at some of the things that she had written to her many friends. One minute I was laughing, and the next..... I can't stop crying.

I cannot do her justice with my words. There is not enough to be said about her that can express how deeply she will be missed, how great a hole she has left in the lives of her friends and family.

I'm going to miss hearing:

"It's about as useful as a bull with tits."

"Take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut."

"He can get glad in the same pants he got mad."

"Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons; because you're crunchy and taste good with ketchup."

"I am an alien. My belly button is the human equivalent of an anus.
Wanna kiss my belly button?"

"He can kiss the south end of a north-bound horse."

My dear friend, I will never forget your kind words, your humor or your sage advice. I am heartbroken that you are gone.

The Thing That Almost Killed Me

2008-08-26T22:57:00.000-07:00

It was almost Christmas. It was The Very Bad, No Good Year. I was wrapping presents and wondering if the teeth on the tape roll would be sharp enough to slit my wrists.
I spent a lot of that year convincing myself of a lot of things. We would be OK, I would survive, there would someday be another baby in our home, I would not for the love of all that is good NOT miscarry again, I could make it through the day without trying to drown myself in the sink.
And then the phone rang.
It was our Doctor.
It was 8 pm.

Doctors don't call at 8 pm with good news.

That night began a rather hellish up and down journey with my husband's health. One that could have been prevented if he'd had the vaccine available to him as a child.

Suddenly, it was blood tests and a biopsy and a specialist and very expensive medicine and more blood tests.

And soul crushing worry.

Now, after spending hours crying on my bathroom floor, I would crawl into bed, exhausted and unable to sleep, thinking about what I would do if I lost him too.
I functioned on auto pilot.
I smiled and carried on with family and friends because that's just what I did.
More blood tests, more medicine.

Whispered, fervent prayers in the quiet of the night.

Smiling happy wife during the day.

David was born and the anxiety that followed me through my pregnancy, the same anxiety that crowded every corner of my being, left.

And soon Husband Anxiety moved in.

That pesky bitch has been following me for almost 5 years.

I stopped crying on the bathroom floor- but I didn't stop laying awake most of the night wondering what was next.

More blood tests, new medicine.

He started talking about a cure, hollistic medicine.

I started pacing the halls at night.

More blood tests.

He came home from his doctor's appointment convinced that he would be dead in less then 10 years because this medicine, this miracle drug wasn't working.

Inside I crumbled, ouside I called his Doctor. Miracle drug is maybe not working. Not working as fast as he'd like. We'll see. Wait 3 months.

And everything was on hold. Our plans for another child, our plans for vacation. Instead we waited and worried.

I wondered if it was possible to simply die over the worry.

More blood tests.

Miracle drug seems to be working after all. Give it time.

Time. Time is a funny thing. When things are going well and there is much to look forward too, it seems that there is never enough of it. When you are waiting to find out whether the medicine your husband is taking will save his life, or ...well... not, it is endless.

So we waited.

We went on with the business of living. We were occasionally successful in our ability to ignore the giant elephant in the room. Mostly we were not. Or more accurately, I was not.

I am a champion at the job of Worry. If Worry was an Olympic sport I could totally kick Michael Phelps ass (I cannot, however, swim worth a damn so, um, yea).

More blood tests.

He came home with a smile.

"It's gone."

It is.

All of it.

I can finally close the lid on The No Good, Very Bad Year.

And it's good.

Send Help. Or Tequila. Tequila would be nice.

2008-08-21T18:41:00.000-07:00

I hate it when my husband has to go out of town. Everytime he does, my kids choose this moment to apeshit bananas. They're all sweet and 'Aww.. We'll miss you Daddy" and then the door closes and they turn to me and.... stare. They've been working out their little plan and now it is time to rain Hell upon the Mom unit.
Sure it starts out innocently enough..
"Mom, David and I are going to go play outside.... nicely. I'll watch him."

What she means is, they are going to go outside where she will dump sand on his head and he will fling dog poo at her until I come outside and tell them to stop screaming. I will then be forced to hose them both down before they can come into the house and then lecture them about how we do not throw sand or poo at people and I cannot believewearehavingthisconversationwhatthehelliswrongwithyoupeople????

This will also be the time that David decides that he cannot eat anything that is not goldfish or poptarts and that he has NEVER liked grilled cheese because grilled cheese is yucky. Yes, I could refuse to give him anything else but then he just won't eat. At all. He will just occasionally yell that he's hungry and would please to very much liking his goldfish now PLEASE WOMAN???? And then he will continue the not eating and his ribs will stick out even further and I have a no ribs sticking out policy people.

And then there is the screaming. The endless screaming. Often for no other reason then to hear themselves screaming. I've considered running away but I think they'd follow me.

Bedtime has been earlier then usual because... do I really need to explain?

But the worst offender in the Hell on Mom plan?

The baby.

Josie is generally an easy going baby. She likes to sit back and watch the older two go at it, clapping her hands as if they're putting on a play for her when they start ramming each other in the stomach with their heads or otherwise trying to maim the other.
But when Daddy is away, Super-clingy NEEDNEEDNEED Mode begins. She doesn't care what I'm doing, so long as she has direct skin to skin contact AT ALL TIMES. All moms know how to use the bathroom while holding on to a baby. We are masters at buttoning and zipping one-handed. With a baby. A small baby. Maybe one who can't wiggle, scream, climb over you and jam her thumb in your eye while you try not to pee all over yourself.
Josie has always loved playing with her older siblings. Mostly because they can be pretty entertaining when they're trying to occupy the exact same space at the exact same time. Also because they'll both give her anything she wants. But there is no substituting once in Super-clingy NEEDNEEDNEED Mode.
I tried playing one of her favorite games- So Big.
We clap and then I say "Josie is soooo big" and she raises her arms and starts laughing. Her arms always go up when I say "Josie is....". So I thought I'd just add "sooo crazy" instead of her usual fair. No big deal right?

She went from smiling to the STARE.

Her arms stayed up, waiting for me to say the right thing.

I didn't.

She started growling. Growling! My sweet baby growled!

I still didn't say it.

She sighed... Gawd mom quit being such an asshole!

I gave in.

She laughed and started clapping.

My baby is a tyrant.

5 more days until my husband comes home.

I don't think I'm going to make it.

I Don't Get Out Much

2008-08-18T21:48:00.000-07:00

Saturday was 'date night'. You know, I really hate that term 'date night' Let's call it what it is: "Get the hell away from the kids for a few hours night", "Get drunk and relive your teenage years in the backseat of the car night" (which I no longer think is so like awesome! Because one of us (not me) who I will not name (still not me) is old (not me) and cannot bend that way without hurting his old back (my back is totally fine, thanks). We don't get away very often, certainly not often enough because I'm still a pretty cheap drunk and if we did get out more often I think either I wouldn't be or maybe I'd end up getting arrested because I get loud and say stupid things when I'm drunk.
Of course, I get loud and say stupid things when I'm sober too so maybe the only difference is I when I'm drunk I don't really care about the stupid things that fall out of my mouth.
After dinner and some very potent and yummy strawberry margaritas, we headed off to our movie where Random Thought Number One Popped up and I felt compelled to share with my husband just how stupid I really am.
When I was a kid, I'd go to the dentist and he'd ask me if I'd brushed my teeth every day. I'd say 'yes'. He'd tell me that he had a tablet that would show if I'd been brushing my teeth every day or if I'd only brushed before coming in. We went through this routine at every cleaning. Sometimes the tablet showed that I'd been lying and sometimes not. I relay all this to my husband and he said "yes, I remember that! Our dentist did it too." Then I told him that it I had only recently realized that he was probably lying and there was no tablet that could magically tell if I'd actually been brushing my teeth all that time or just that day.
"When did you realize that?"
"Um... just now."
Once he finally stopped laughing, he noticed that I was staring at him.
"What?"
"So there really is no magic tablet?"
"Yes. Yes, there is."

I think he's lying.

Maybe.

Anyway, we head into the movie. Halfway through, I lean over and point out the one really big scary looking actor with the bit part and decide to let him in on Random Thought Number Two.
When I was pregnant with Bre I had all sorts of crazy dreams. Including one that led me to sleepwalk into my closet because I had to find a shirt for my brother and fast because we were in a hurry for a very important meeting with Bullwinkle and it had to be a nice shirt. I woke up standing in my closet chosing between a minty green polo and the sweater grandma had gotten for me. The one with the pink kittens playing with yarn on the front and their furry little butts on the back. I think that one would have been the perfect thing for my brother to wear when meeting Bullwinkle. But that's kind of not the point. No. I was pointing out this actor because he was in another dream I had. We were playing basketball (and I was wearing a maternity dress while we were playing. Also, I don't play basketball.) and I body-checked Big Scary-looking actor with my big pregnant belly. I knocked him on his big scary-looking ass and he cried. I once made Erik Estrada cry in my dreams too. I'm not really sure what that says about me.
So I relay this little tidbit to my dearest darling husband and he turns to me with this look on his face and oh yes, I know this look. I have been on the receiving end of this look many many times. From many many people. It's the look that says "you are out of your mind!"
"WHAT??"
"I just thought you should know that I made him cry."
"Um. Thanks."

It was still early and the kids were fine or at least the babysitter was still alive and not threatening to sue us for mental anguish or anything so we decided to go shoot pool.

I have not done this in about 6 years.

I was not very good at it before.

First bar: Only pool table is taken. Guy at the corner table is prepared to mount his date right there. I am rushed back out the door because apparently I said this out loud. And um... loudly. And, ok, so I pointed.

Second bar: Only pool table is on it's sides with the legs, unattached, on a chair. Very drunk blonde outside is soooo going to give it up to that guy with the butter face. Am asked to please, not tell the guy he has a butter face. Again.

Third bar: Jackpot! We order our drinks and I rack 'em up. Ask husband if he's jealous that I'm playing with balls and they aren't his. Guy at next table laughs. Husband pretends not to hear.
We play a few rounds but I can't stop laughing and staring. He asks me what's going on. So I tell him. Loudly. The girl at the other table isn't wearing any underwear. He asks how I know and I want to kiss him because I can't believe he didn't notice that her pants were totally see-through and I wonder how she didn't notice but then again maybe she did know. Her date didn't seem to mind since he was constantly trying to stand behind her. Husband decides it's time to go before I tell her.

Yeah. I'm a lot of fun at parties.

One Year

2008-08-13T23:18:00.001-07:00

Dear Baby Girl,

2008-08-10T14:53:00.000-07:00

One year. It hardly seems like a long time. But here we are. One year has passed and it seems as though this is, as it was with your siblings, just how it has always been. I've been trying to think of what I would say to you and I realized that it's what I've been saying to you all year.

Your brother and sister were pretty easy-going babies (minus a few sleep issues with your brother). You? You are the most laid-back baby ever. You will eat anything, you fall asleep with no fuss and sleep through the night, you are content to just be. I know that this may very well be the calm before the f'n 3's, but I'll take it.

You adore your brother and sister- nearly as much as they adore you. I didn't know how your brother would react to you, but he has become your biggest fan.

You have the strangest fascination with ears. It doesn't matter who is holding you, you will reach for their ears and begin tugging, folding and poking. You used to do it just to fall asleep, now you do it for comfort. Our ears are your security blanket.

I've enjoyed watching you this year. Watching the wonder in your eyes at each new thing.

The night you were born, we were alone in the hospital room. It was late and I held you in my arms. You looked up at me, waiting for something. I promised you that night that you would never have to wonder if I loved you.
You have no idea how important that promise is to me. And for that I am glad.

If there was only one word that we could use to describe you it would be 'happy'. My ever-smiling Josie. I hope you will always be able to find the joy in life.

You love watching people, checking their reactions to you and things around them. You like to test people by smiling at them and if they smile back, you make your scrunchy face to see if they'll laugh. If they don't, you start 'talking' to them. You are determined to make those around you as happy as you are. That's a pretty awesome way to be.

I have spent 12 months counting the rolls on your legs and arms, kissing your chubby little cheeks, nibbling on your baby feet, deeply breathing in that sweet baby scent on the back of your neck and whispering in your ear as we rock to bed. I am not eager to give this up and I hope you don't mind.

Yesterday, you crawled away from me to play with your brother and sister. Squealing and clapping your hands because they included you. It made me smile, but I admit I felt a little pang at seeing you become more independent.

Then you turned and looked at me, crawled over to get a hug and returned to play.

I will always be here for hugs.

There is no doubt about where you belong. You look so much like your daddy. It's amazing to see your face just light up when he gets home from work, to see how your world is so centered in us.

For as much as we are going to teach you, I hope you know how much you have already taught us. About patience, about being positive, about the capacity to love.

Happy birthday my wonder baby. The first of many.

Love, Mommy.

Ready to do his duty for Rome

2008-08-06T21:26:00.000-07:00

When we were kids, we moved into this great old house in this sweet little town where my sister and I had to share a room (this was before we regularly went apeshit on each other) and our room shared a wall with my parents' room. Due to some serious lack of thought on their part, our room also shared a wall with the headboard of their bed.

At breakfast one morning after about a week of unpacking and adjusting things 'just so', my sister announced that we had ghosts.

My dad asked her why she thought we had ghosts and she explained that she heard them screaming 'Oh God' last night again and they must really want to get into heaven and maybe we should help them.

I'd never seen my dad's face turn that shade of red before.

It's inevitable when you have kids that at some point they will hear something. You can only hope that the lock is strong enough that they won't actually see anything.

One night, I opened our door to get some water only to find one of our niblets standing there. Just staring at me.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Um.... watching a movie."

"What movie?"

"Gladiator."

I'm not sure if this is a postive endorsement of our sex lives that the sound of it could be compared to 'Gladiator' or maybe just a little frightening.

But it still beats having ghosts.

Gym: 1 Me: -2,346

2008-08-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

I recently started working out... somewhere. At a gym. With other people.

Already I know you're saying, This is a very bad idea! Yes, I know. There is something about me that when I get around other people I end up making an ass of myself. It's a gift.

Anyway, I'm getting a tour of the gym and a little how-to on the equipment since I've never been to a gym before (see, I've always known it was a bad idea). The only machine I really know how to use is the treadmill (and I broke my toe on ours. Twice). One machine looked like it belonged in an OB/GYN office but upon encouragement, I gave it a try anyway.
Things were going well until I tried to get out of it.
It really should have been a simply thing, getting out of this contraption. Lift legs, stand, walk. All I can say in my defense is that the seat was deep and slanty and awkward. So when I got up, my leg got tangled in the machine and I fell flat on my face at my guide's feet.
I then, for inexpicable reasons, looked up and assured her that I did this kind of thing all the time. I think I made her nervous.

This is going to be fun. Really.

.........................................................

In other news of stupid things I did for unknown reasons- I bought heels. Really hot little shoes, I love them. Will probably end up breaking my leg but will look good doing it!

Vacation- in Brief

2008-07-28T22:03:00.000-07:00

We went to visit my parents for 2 and a half weeks and there are some um... stories (like my grandma's obsession with charlie sheen0 but instead of boring you with stories (like how we spent the night in bagagge claim or my son's newfound love of peeing on trees) I'll just bore you with some pictures and a little bit of detail. The only thing that could really make this fun is a bottle of tequila. And yet I feel compelled to share them anyway.
My parent's rented a bouncehouse for the kids thereby (hee!) ensuring their place in the Grandparent Hall of Fame.

Mini-early 1st birthday celebration.

Mmmmm.... Cake Good!!!!!!!!!

The neighbors fireworks display. David heard one boom and promptly began screaming. After I pried him from my leg and took him inside and played a Thomas movie at an insanely loud volume, all was well.

This is Farenheit. Was not drunk enough to ride Farenheit. Would possibly need to be a little bit of lot drunk before even contemplating this ride.

Daughter and husband went on. Sober. And I'm the crazy one?

Son is also afraid of water.

Also did not go fishing with kids, husband and grandfather. No tequila, no fishy-fishy.

Somewhere in the middle of our trip, Josie decided that every time she saw the camera she would make this face.

Not sure why.

In order to make up for this post, promise to tell of how easy it is to make an ass of yourself at a new gym. Er.... ok, make an ass of myself. It took a grand total of 2 minutes after walking through the door.

Random Meaningless Realization

2008-07-22T22:09:00.000-07:00

I LOVE the PCD new song for some strange reason. Everytime it comes on the radio, I start singing along. Today I realized I've been screwing up the lyrics a bit.

They want Groupies.

Not boobies.

But you know? Either way.......

Like I'm the First Person to Ask For It

2008-07-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Employee of unnamed delivery company: *Unnamed company* How can I help you?

Me: Hi, I'd like to order an arrangement. Is it possible to just do a whole arrangement of chocolate dipped bananas?

EUDC: We do have a box of dipped bananas.

Me: No, I'm talking about like, a bouquet. Those are just chunks in a box.

EUDC: OK.

Me: Is it possible to do whole bananas and not just chunks?

EUDC: (long pause) Um, I don't.... know. That may look a little... odd.

Me: But is it possible.

EUDC: It will look rather.... phallic.

Me: EXACTLY!!

EUDC:...........

Me: You know, it would be really just awesome if you could maybe shape them into penises (Peni? What is the plural of penis anyway?) before you dip them.

EUDC: ..........

Me: Who wouldn't want an arrangement of chocolate banana penises?

EUDC: *click*

Color Me Beautiful

2008-06-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

It had been 2 years since I'd died my hair and it showed. I didn't have roots. I had two-tone hair. It was flat and boring and I'd had it. I got a new haircut. Still long, but with some layers to give my thick hair some lift. I'm on a bit of a budget and though I probably could have afforded to let my stylist dye my hair, I'd become a pro at it over the years.
As I let the dye set into my hair I could feel my spirit lift. Who says moms have to sacrifice everything, including great hair, in order to be good moms? I knew the color would be good; chestnut brown with hints of deep red tones. And after rinsing the color and drying my freshly clipped locks I could see that I was right. No drips, no stains on the scalp. Just perfect color.
I had gotten one of those boxes that included a complimenting shade of highlights. I'd never done highlights before but how hard could it be?
I carefully mixed the dye and followed the instructions, slathering on the blue-tinted dye in sections around my head. I waited the suggested 15 minutes for those subtle, natural highlights. I daydreamed about my husband's certain reaction.
He would come home after a long hard days work and marvel at this wondrous beauty he was so lucky to be married too. He would run his fingers through my hair and refer to me henceforth as 'My Hot Wife'.
I imagined my hair in it's soft waves bouncing gently as I walked around the neighborhood, redeemed in my neighbors' eyes for who but an angel could have such glorious hair? Surely not the same lady who nearly decapitated herself with a shovel running away from a mole!
I was excited to rinse my hair and see the lovely results of my effort. I brushed through it slowly, wondering if maybe it was so.... bright? because it was wet.
I began to blow it dry and my horror only grew.

It was orange.

Ronald Mc-freaking-Donald Orange!

Not only RMD Orange, but not in those sweet little sections I had laid out. No, it was in giant clumps around my head! It looks like someone dumped orange paint on my head and I haven't bothered to wash it out.

I said nothing when my husband came home. He stopped and looked at me. He started to open his mouth but thought better of it and quietly went into the bathroom to laugh.

I bought new hair dye today.

Name that Post....

2008-06-13T21:56:00.001-07:00

So I'm a month late in posting her 9 month shots but um.... I'm lazy.

After I moved to WA 8 years ago, I found this little blue dress with all my other stuff. I didn't realize exactly what it was until my sister sent me a bunch of my old pictures and I found one of me as a 1 year old in this little blue dress. Some day I may actually remember to scan and upload said picture but for now.. It looked something like this only more 70's-ish:

She blows raspberries into her arm and thinks the noise is just hysterical. She has no problem amusing herself!

She's still the easiest baby. I expect her to turn into the mother of all nightmares by the time she turns 3. It's just the way it works with us. For now though, I'm loving every moment. Even the poo-filled ones because it gives me a reason to laugh at myself (not that I really needed more of those).

*I want to be 10 again. Not for long. Just one day. I want to be 10 again so that I can go to Bre's school for carnival day and be brave enough to go down this slide. I want to slip into a bathing suit and get all soapy in the kiddy pool and take a running leap at that long wet stretch of plastic. I want to slide and spin my way to the bottom. I want to slam into the pooled water at the bottom and feel it spray out and over my head like a big fan. I want to fall into the arms of my bff laughing because she is just as soaked as I am and dude! That was awesome! And I want to run back up the hill laughing, dripping and slick, excited to do it again, talking strategy and whether it's better to go straight down and therefore faster, or to spin and get a little dizzy. I want to talk about how if you turn just so right before you get to the bottom you can hit that puddle and really send up a big splash.

But it's just as amazing to watch her instead. To wonder at how she can be mine but actually have the guts to do this and to catch it on camera. For a moment I got to see who she is when she isn't with me.

Next year Bre will be in 5th grade. It should be her last year of elementary school. Instead she'll be going to a private school. We had talked about sending her and for us it was an easy choice. It's more structured and strict, something she thrives on. There's a uniform and better discipline but also added cirriculum that she can't get anywhere else. We asked her what she wanted. We went on a tour of the school and she was quiet. She saw the computer lab, the classrooms, met some teachers, saw the science club's work (she loves science) and the sports they offer. When we left, she turned and said 'Yes.'

And now, as excited as I am for her, I'm also a little sad. She's leaving all of her friends. She's leaving the familiarity and safety of people who already know and like her for a whole new school. A smaller school. I don't think it really hit her until today when we left for the last time and she started to cry.

And I did too.

I remember her first day when she was too shy to speak. She used to sit away from everyone else (3 feet back) during storytime. This is where she struggled- and thrived. I'll miss it too. I'll miss being a part of it in the small way that I was.

*Today was the last day of school so I thought it would be nice if I picked Bre up at the end of the day. As the bell rang and the kids filed out to their busses, I noticed that about half of them (and every kid from my daughter's class because her teacher was just that amazing) were in tears. They didn't want to leave! I wanted to shake them and yell at them "You have 2 and half months of glorious freedom! Play! Swim! Eat lots of ice cream! It's summer!" Seriously kids, the only people who should be crying right now are your parents because they are staring down 2 and half months of no school and wondering how they are going to occupy your time so that you won't drive them ape-shit. Or maybe that's just me.

I found the Poo*

2008-06-10T22:56:00.000-07:00

There are some days where you wake up knowing that you should just not leave your bed. I have done this; staying in bed all day in order to avoid the inevitable hailstorm of shit that is lurking just outside my bedroom door. Now that I have kids I find the hiding in bed all day to be a bit more difficult. They are always demanding something; "I'm hungry!" (even though I swear I just fed them yesterday) or "I'm bored!" (Let's play a game of 'sleep'! That's always fun!). So, despite the bothersome feeling that this was going to be one of those stay-in-bed kind of days I did the resposible thing and got up.
I knew for certain it was going to be bad as soon as I hit the hallway. I could just smell it. This is what I get for letting Mishka eat those damn Gerber puffs Josie threw at her. I am also not so convinced that crating is so great. Sure it contained the shit to one small area, but now she was covered in it and the crate is too big to fit through our door in one piece. Plus our front door is down a flight of stairs.
It's 7 am and I am taking half a crate of runny poo down my front stairs chanting "please don't spill, please don't spill oh God *gag* please don't spill please don't spill David if you run your train through that I am throwing it away please don't spill....."
It's 7 am and I am spraying down a half a crate full of runny poo in the rain from 5 feet away because ew! poo splatters I'm still talking to myself and my neighbors just don't even wonder anymore.
I leave the crate outside and grab some towels so that Mishka can walk into the tub without her poo feet touching the ground and without me touching her. She was outside for a grand total of 20 minutes covered in poo and yet somehow managed to get even more dirty. She is definitely one of us.
Mishka is almost 2 years old. In the nearly two years that we have had her, we have never once been able to give her a bath without some sort of drama. For the first year of her life, she howled and cried and would frantically claw at us at the mere sight of the water. She would not even enter the bathroom willingly. She would run past every bathroom in the house even if we were not standing near it. In this last year the only thing that has changed is her howling and we can occasionally coax her into the shower.
This was not one of those times.
It's 7:30 in the morning, the kid's are complaining about the smell, I'm soaking wet and I'm trying to convince a shivering shit-covered dog into the shower.
This is not a good way to start the day. A good way to start a day like this is a strong margarita and hotel service.
After throwing an old towel (which will have to be burned now thank you) over the dog I was able to push her into the tub (all the while crying 'ewewewewewewewew!'). The very second the water hits her she begins her cry-dance routine. She whimpers and then lifts each paw, left to right front, right to left rear, lather rinse repeat. Her hatred of water is so ingrained she would rather be covered in shit then get clean. After about 10 minutes, she can't take it anymore, lays her head on the edge of the tub and covers her face with her paws and starts to whine.
And can I just ask why? Why can we not have just one 'normal' pet? Why do we always seem to end up with the neurotic, wanna-be human animals? Do we make them crazy (which may actually be true given who we are) or do we just have this special gift that enables us to pick out the most bat-shit crazy animals?
Auggie- loves to sing along to his favorite songs and commercials, though lately that singing is more like barely audible huffing. He's almost 16 and has decided that at his age there are no damn rules and he will eat out of the trash can any damn time he pleases thank you very much! When he farts, he will lift his head and bark. I'm not sure if he is just surprised that he did it and is saying "Dude! Did you hear that? Awesome." Or if he's warning us that he just let one rip- which he really doesn't need to do. Even the silent ones are evident within 2 seconds. He can wilt the flowers on the hydrangea bush by our front door from inside the house.
Mishka- eats anything. Slugs, wood, linoleum, moths, dirt, stones (will not whoever eat MIL's cooking. Says something, don't you think?)
Baxter- Once pissed on my husband's lunchbox for demanding that he perform some sort of trick in order to get his cat treat.
The birds- I almost miss them. But then I hear the theme song to the Andy Griffith (Griffith? Griffin? Bueller?) show on tv from time to time and remember why we no longer have birds.

Anyway, off point again yes? Yes. Where was I?
Right, Shit-covered scaredy-dog, 7:30 am. Finally get said dog cleaned and reasonable dry. Now must burn down bathroom and towels. Or clean it. Too bad we didn't have any matches.

I foolishly believe that my day cannot get any worse as I've already been up to my eyeballs in shit.

I hear Josie wake up from her nap and she's talking to herself a bit. I leave her be for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. She starts to fuss a bit but I'm almost done with the laundry.

Then she starts screaming bloody hell.

She never screams.

I didn't even make it to her door before the smell hit me.

Karma has made me her bitch people.

There was poop on the walls, the crib, the floor, my rocker and head to toe on my baby. She had whatever Mishka had and it was just.... *shiver*. I have never bathed a baby fully dressed before today but it was necessary this time. And to make it just that much more fun she was wearing the palest yellow pant set with a WHITE sweater.

David stood at the door in wonder, "I think she had an accident..."

poopity-poop.

*Remember a few months ago? My hunt for the mystery poop? See also: How Stupid I am.....

I've seen the inside of my husband, and it ain't pretty.

2008-05-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

I plead insanity. After 4 weeks of entirely too much togetherness (and after coming to the conclusion that my husband will never be able to retire because his instant boredom and irritating habits related to said boredom will cause me to force feed him copious amounts of bologna which would be far more torturous then pulling off his fingernails one by one) my husband was ready to return to work. Probably too soon for his doctor's preferences given that his ankle continued to swell after an hour standing but he couldn't stand it anymore. We celebrated over the weekend by discussing all the things we were looking forward to in the week ahead. He: getting up at 4:30 and spending 10 hours in hard physical labor and bull-shitting with the guys. Me: Not having to listen to his whining about not being at work or nagging him to put ice on his foot and maybe getting my baby girl back again (we'll get to that later).
Naturally Karma chose this moment to step in and say..... "Not so fast..."

By Sunday evening it was clear that Joe would be facing another surgery. This time it was the cyst on his back. It had swollen up to the size of a golf ball and he could barely move. I took him in the following Thursday to have it removed and promised myself I wouldn't think about the next 2 weeks with him home. We went over his care instructions with the nurse where she told me that I would have to change his dressing every 24 hours. This involved, and I quote "removing some gauze from his wound and replacing it with wet gauze, here's the instruction sheet. Bye!"
Some of you may read that and you know. You know exactly what's coming. I didn't.

The next night, my husband laid down and I removed his dressing. I slowly pulled the gauze that was laying there but had to kind of tug at it to get it off. And then I lost my mind.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT! THERE'S A FUCKING HOLE IN YOUR BACK!!"

If you ever want to freak your loved one out, this is exactly what you should say to them after they've had surgery- especially if it's somewhere they can't easily see.
It's about 1" long and 1 1/2 inches deep. It's a hole. A big fucking hole that I have to stuff gauze in every night and I'm not even sure that I'm doing it right. I told him I could easily fit 3 fingers in there and he felt the need to say "don't!" I said I could, not that I would.
He made me take a picture of it (and no, I'm not sharing it- ew!) which Bre asked if she could take to school (she also got a 'no' and that's why we're the worst parents ever).

But that's where I'm at. Stuffing gauze in the hole in my husband's back, trying not to go crazy, and trying not to be too sad that my baby went from adoring me and only wanting me to only wanting her daddy.

Apparently, pancakes are the way to my baby's love.

One Moment

2008-04-15T23:27:00.000-07:00

It's been rather hectic lately, dear baby. I know that this has disrupted your schedule a bit and since our lives are normally rather hectic, well, we have tested the very limits of your good nature and found them to be fairly far reaching. We have been running back and forth, place to place. Your car seat has certainly exceeded it's mileage and yet you've taken it all in stride. This week your father needed surgery and has been lounging about, unable to run you wild around the house ( something you previously rewarded him for with loud giggles) as crutches have turned out to be a bit prohibitive to his normal routine. The only form of stress we've seen from you is your sudden need to snuggle a bit more, your need to be held just a bit longer; something I've been happy to indulge.
You've been sleeping through the night since I realized that why yes! That crib we bought is an excellent place for you to sleep and of course that's what it's for! I've kicked myself quite a bit for not realizing it sooner.
So when you woke me up last night at 2 am, I was a bit surprised. And as we rocked in the quiet dark of your room, it struck me that these days are passing far too quickly for me. I remember being impatient with your brother and sister when they were smaller, wishing they would just go to sleep already because I was just so very tired. I don't know what it is that has changed; I was certainly tired last night when you woke me. Maybe it's that you are to be our last. Or maybe I've simply mellowed.
When you laid your head on my shoulder and reached your arm up around the other side of my neck, and all was right with my world. I could feel your breath on my neck as you settled into my arms. I knew you were falling asleep and I should just put you back in your crib so you could sleep.
Instead, I kept rocking.
I could smell the honey from your shampoo. I could feel how warm and secure you were. I could feel your heart beating it's little rhythm against mine. It felt so right to just be in that moment and scary to realize how soon you will refuse me those moments. I promise to take advantage of them each time they come.
The street light flickered outside your window and you shifted a bit in my arms. You sighed and I kept rocking.
I wondered if my own mother had ever spent a night like this with me. Your grandmother and I did not have the best of relationships, but I like to think that she loved me as much as she was capable of loving someone else. I hope, for her, that she did feel what I felt last night... what I feel for each of my children.... that undefinable love. It's what gives me hope when I watch the news and there is nothing but tales of the awful things people will do to each other.
I watched the minutes pass on the clock and knew, again, I should put you in your crib.
We rocked back and forth and I smiled.
I hope you wake me again tonight.

Wake me when he's 4

2008-03-24T23:09:00.000-07:00

Now that Hurricane David has decided that sleeping in his own bed is kind of fun, I'm actually getting some sleep at night. Actual sleep where no one is kicking me in the head or trying to measure my head by rolling their butt over it. It's just one more little victory I get to claim.
But, with every victory, there is a new challenge. And challenge?
Thy name is Food.
There are 6 things (non-candy related) my son will eat. Mac and cheese, crackers (but only orange crackers and it has to be the right shade of orange and they have to be square), pancakes, chicken nuggets (but only from McDonald's or if they're shaped like a dinosaur) and grilled cheese sandwiches. Even if I make one of these pre-approved food items, chances are pretty good that he won't eat. He's even picky about his candy.
He loves M&M's so I got him a little bag of blue M&M's for Easter.
He won't eat them because they are light blue and his M&M's have to be multi-colored.
Still, I didn't fully realize how deeply his issues with food ran until this afternoon when he asked for smarties (small pressed powder candy) and I said he had to wait until after dinner,
"But I juss did that lass night!!!"

"Did what?"

"Had dinner." (Oh Lord, I can already hear the desperation in his voice. This is not good.)

"Yes. You had dinner last night, but we have to eat dinner every night."

"YOU MEAN I HAVE TO DO THAT AGAIN???????????"

After dinner, which he grudgingly ate after learning that the smarties would not be forthcoming otherwise, he sighed, "That's the lass time I do that, right?"

The Boss

2008-02-21T21:37:00.000-08:00

6 months and already in command.....

Paparazzi friendly......

...Everybody was kung-fu fighting......

You may notice that any time David is close enough, she grabs at him or is holding on to some part of him. She does this every time he gets close, all day. Most of the time he lets her.

David refused to kiss her cheek. He agreed to kiss her head but did it so fast we couldn't get a picture.

How Stupid I am.....

2008-02-19T23:09:00.000-08:00

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS POOP! CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SMELL THE POOP.

It had been a long day and it was barely noon. David is sick again and was having a monster fit because he did. NOT. NEED. PANTS. WOMAN!!! And I was pretty insistent that he should at least wear underwear, but his spiderman underwear was in the wash and that was the pair he wanted. Like, the red spiderman underwear was just not going to cut it, you know? What the hell was I thinking? It's Tuesday, it can only be the black spiderman underwear and why the fark don't I know this already? He expressed his distaste for me by throwing himself dramatically across the bed (which he had to climb up on first) alternately wailing incoherrantly and whispering woefully for his "black spideyman undies". Meanwhile, Josie is in my arms smiling away because "Dude! Dinner theater! Awesome!"
And yes, it was sort of dinner theater because she was waiting ( with increasingly less patience) for me to give her lunch. "Yes! Lunch! Let's have some! Woo-hoo!" (I swear one day she's going to be one of those annoyingly perky women I see getting their starbucks early in the morning. You know the ones, hair and makeup perfectly done, all smiles and fast paces wishing you a good morning until you just want to punch them square in their shiny little noses.... what? Just me? I'm really not a morning person. Ok then, moving on.) Yes, she is perky and happy all the time and I don't how that happened except to say that eventually she will turn three and I will get what's coming to me because that's just how it works in this house.
Anyway, lunch. Right. I was getting ready to feed Jo-Jo some applesauce when I smelled it. It was pretty faint at first so I thought that maybe David, with all his wailing and drama queen-ness had farted. But then it got a little stronger as I stepped into the hall.
One of the dogs had pooped in the house. It was now my mission- before feeding the very hungry Josie- to find that poop!
"Yay! A game! I love.... wait. What? You're not going to feed me right now? But I want food! Now! This very second or I shall cry! Very well then, take this... WAAHHHHHH!!!!"
"Look Josie! Paper!"
"Woo-hoo! Paper! Let's party!"
Yes, my other family secret (aside from David's insistence that certain pairs of underwear are worn on certain days) is that my baby loves paper. Screw the playmat, the blocks and the exersaucer, she'll take the Wall Street Journal.
So, on to the poop finding mission.
I walked out into the dining room where Mishka's crate is and wondered how my dog managed to transmit her poop from the backyard (where she was at that moment) somewhere into our house. Hmmm... not likely right? Besides, she hadn't pooped in the house in a very long time.
No, the culprit had to be Auggie, the old man of the house who had very recently taken to letting his bowels loose as he pleased. The dining room was clear and I couldn't smell it as strongly there so I went back down the hallway to check the bedrooms.
I could definitely smell it stronger here but I wondered how our old dog had managed to get upstairs without me seeing or hearing him. Especially since he so rarely comes upstairs anymore. Despite being able to smell it really strong at this point, I couldn't find anything.
Then it hit me! The vents! Auggie must have pooped in one of the rooms downstairs and it was being carried upstairs through the vents! Yes! That's it!
"Paper is boring now. Want food! Want now! Waaahhhhhh!!!"
"Look Josie! A mirror!"
"Oohhhh! Pretty!"
"WANT BLACK SPIDEYMAN UNDIES!!!! AAAHHHHHH!!!!"
Right. There was that too. Fun!
So, Josie and I ran downstairs (or more accurately I ran downstairs with Josie in my arms playing with a little mirror and laughing at herself) to Find That Poop! Because it's such a fun game.
I start checking the rooms. I notice that I can smell it very clearly in the hallway, but not as much in the other rooms.
There is nothing there.
My nose says "POOP!"
My eyes say "NO POOP!"
It is all just to much for my poor little brain to handle.
I sit on the steps, smelling the poop, not seeing the poop, wondering.... Where is the poop??????
I see David's black spiderman undies waiting for the washer, but no poop. I see the sock Bre left on her desk because the 5 feet to the laundry room was just to much for her to walk, but no poop. I see the intricate display of trains that David set up before I asked him to wear pants thus beginning his spiderman-undies meltdown and having to revisit the lecture on what days he requires what colors, but no poop.
Maybe I'm going crazy? I'm smelling things that aren't really there. Isn't that a sign of dementia? Or maybe I'm having a stroke! Just instead of smelling copper, I'm smelling poop! I'm starting to panic. I don't want to smell poop for the rest of my life! I'll become that crazy lady who never leaves her house. She just sits by the window randomly yelling "POOP!" at people and the neighborhood kids will dare each other to ring my doorbell on Halloween because they heard that if you ring my doorbell I'll throw poop at you.
WHERE IS THE POOP?????

"Hey mom, do you think before you feed me, you could maybe change my diaper? My butt is gettin' good and squishy in there and it's really starting to stink. Ooh! That reminds me... Can I have sweet potatoes?"

Dumbass.

No pants and I'm an asshole

2008-02-12T22:23:00.000-08:00

After much searching and serious effort (read: thank God for Google), we have found David a preschool. There has been much excitement over his starting school (next week) and it's all he talks about (well that and going to a certain amusement park this summer where 'there will be rides and water and maybe you can come too!') day and night.
We wake up in the morning to the same one-sided conversation; "I'll go to school and make friends and learn and write my name and make letters and play and sing and it will be fun and I will not be scared because I am a big boy....." So very glad that he is confident and excited. However, there is a small problem that we have to somehow fix before then.

He has to wear pants.

The only time this boy wears pants is when we go out. To the store, the park, library... and once we are there he is asking how long it will be until he can take his pants off or would it be alright if he just took them off right now?

I give it a week before we're kicked out of preschool.

******************

When David was a baby, he required constant motion to sleep. I do not want to even consider revisiting his sleep issues (especially since they are still there), but I remember trying to put him in his crib to sleep and it just never worked.
So, when Josie was born, I just figured that it was more of the same. Into the swing she went and it worked for the first few months. Last month, it stopped working. I was averaging 3 hours a night and it showed.
Here's where I show you what I gigantic asshole I am.

You know that large piece of furniture previously mentioned? The one with the matress and slats specially designed for babies to sleep in?

Turns out, Josie really enjoys sleeping in it.

Imagine that. A baby sleeping in her crib.

Such an asshole.

How To Give Medicine To A 3 Year Old

2008-02-03T22:30:00.000-08:00

Step One- Take note of crusty eyes, green snotty nose, barking cough, and Chewbacca-esque cries.

Step Two- Retrieve bottle of children's Motrin from bathroom along with medicine dropper.

Step Three- Properly load medicine dropper with precise amount of medicine.

Step Four- Lay sick, pouty 3 year old back on your pillow and place medicine dropper just inside mouth. Squeeze.

Step Five- Wipe medicine that child has spewed all over your face off with washcloth. Note that none actually made it past child's tongue.

Step Six- Reload Medicine dropper.

Step Seven- Pry child out from under the bed while yelling for back-up.

Step Eight- Have Husband pry child's hands from mouth while you attempt to push dropper past the teeth.

Step Nine- After wiping medicine off of face, hand towel to husband so he may do the same.

Step Ten- Reload medicine dropper while husband distracts child with goldfish crackers.

Step Eleven- Watch horrified as Husband yells 'NOW!' and then attempts to tackle three year old only to miss and land face first on the floor.

Step Twelve- Make lame attempt to not laugh and fail miserably.

Step Thirteen- Realize that in the midst of Husband's mad tackling skillz, child has run off.

Step Fourteen- Find child hiding under the table, coax him out with promises of cartoons and juice.

Step Fifteen- Wait until child starts to put goldfish in his mouth before popping in the dropper and squeezing, quickly close child's jaw shut and hold until he has no choice but to swallow.

Step Sixteen- Comfort angry, sick child as he screams bloody murder.

Step Seventeen- Take a victory shower to get all the motrin out of your hair.

Dear David,

2007-12-10T23:25:00.001-08:00

This year, despite your many objections, you turn 3. By many objections, I mean that every time we mention your new age, you scream and cry and demand to be 2. We finally gave up and decided that you could be 2 and 365 days. This seems to be a fair compromise to you. I'm not sure what this says for your future because if it's this hard for you to turn 3, I can't imagine what it will be like when you turn 30.

While you have been busy denying your age to everyone who asks, I have been busy trying to accept that the two's are over. I know that it's often referred to as the terrible two's, but that's just to keep parents distracted from what comes next. Let me give you a photo example.
This is the two's:

And this is what we refer to as the effin' three's:

It seems that overnight you have gone from a very sweet little boy to raving lunatic who loves to scream.

Still, I know it could be worse. Your sister used to throw shoes at our heads and as of yet, the only thing you have thrown is a feather.

It's not all screaming and fits though. If I'm to be completely honest, you are more of a ham than a handful. You are constantly on the go. It's just that you have decided that you want to be the one that says when we go, where we go and how we go and being told that you have to do it our way is just not something your little mind can handle. After all, you are 2 and 365 days and you know exactly what you want. How can we argue with that?

Above all, I think you should know that you are adored. Not just loved, but honestly adored. Your family, friends and a few people who have just been lucky enough to catch you when you feel like being charming. You love to make people laugh, you love to dance and you love attention. You still make your monster face.

This year you have become fascinated with everything to do with outer space. You like watching the Discovery channel with Daddy and talking about the planets. You told me that you are going to be an 'astanot'. I find this much more hopeful then when you told me you were going to be a kitty.

As many changes as we've had this year, the biggest has been the addition of your sister. I was fully prepared for you to be jealous.

I was not prepared for how much (and how quickly) you would come to love her. Everyday you ask to read to her, to play with her to hold her. When she's falling asleep during feedings you whisper in her ear. I don't know what you say and I don't need too. She smiles at the sight of you and if she's not in the room, you ask for her.

I know you love your big sister too, but I think it's easier for you to be with Josie because she's not playing with your toys, she's not telling you to get out of her room and she's not fighting with you. Someday, yes. But not now.

For now, you kiss her and hug her and you are gentle in a way I didn't know was possible from a boy who takes flying leaps off the coffee table at anyone walking by.

You are a handful, rambunctious, lively. You have a wild sense of humor and a need for physical play. You can be so very gentle and sweet. You are smart and surprise me all the time with the things you know.

You are 3. But don't worry, we'll keep that just between the two of us.

Happy Birthday crazy man.

Love,

Mom

The Return

2007-11-30T20:59:00.000-08:00

Why is it that when you return from vacation, you always feel as though you need to take a break to recover? Or is it just me? Of course, I think our situation was not helped by the absolute madness that has been our life for the last month with house guests. major school events, a birthday and then of course, our trip to Disneyland. And then there's the fact that we all ended up getting some nasty stomach bug that has left me about 6 pounds lighter and my abs aching. Thankfully, the kids didn't get it so bad though I felt awful for them when they were so miserable. Anyway, more on the trip another time. We're still recovering.
This morning we returned to our normal routine. David wakes up far too early and I pretend not to notice. He softly whispers 'tv', hopefully. When this doesn't work, he points to the TV ( in case I didn't know what he meant?) and repeats 'tv'. I pretend to snore. At this point he becomes almost manic in his desperation. He violently jabs his finger as bounces up and down, his eyes wide and pleading, 'teeeee veeeeee'! I smile and for the first time, decide to respond. "Yes, that is a TV." I think I broke him. He stopped bouncing, his jaw just dropped and he stared at me for a moment. Then he rolled onto his belly and went back to sleep.
Now I wonder, and am doubtful but still must wonder, if all this time he's just wanted me to agree that yes, that is a tv he's been pointing at and not actually wanted to watch whatever cartoons are normally on at 5 am?
Unfortunately, I think he's just a morning person as his father is.

Dear Bre,

2007-11-14T22:32:00.000-08:00

This year, you are turning 10. The big 1-0. You have been obnoxiously excited about hitting those double digits. I have been at a loss.
It's not that I haven't enjoyed these past 10 years. I have. Immensely. It's that I can't believe 10 years have passed already. When you're a kid everyone tells you to slow down, time passes so quickly. And you laugh because it seems like such a joke. Time is slow when you're young and want to get your driver's license, or be old enough to wear make-up and date. And then one day you are old enough to do all those things. Older, in fact. One day you have kids of your own and you realize that those people weren't kidding. It's too fast.
I've been thinking a lot about this birthday letter, wondering what I would say, if I would be able to put into words just what I want you to know. I don't know if it's possible. I've tried but I always seem to forget something and then I have to start all over because it's just not right.
But I think you said it best when, upon seeing the birthday cake I had made for you, you said you loved the way I made the CD and when I told you it was a record you asked me what a record was. Because that's it isn't it? The basics of it anyway. You are in an era where records don't exist and I am from one where they did.

This year has been a difficult one for us. You have been pushing for more independence while I've been trying to keep you from moving too fast. I think we're starting to find a balance that we're both comfortable with except when it comes to make-up. I say there is no way I'm letting you out of the house wearing it and you try to do it anyway.
This is also the year you finally got a little sister. You've spent much of this year dreaming of pink dresses and braiding hair. I can't tell you what it does to my heart to watch you with her, to watch both of your faces when you smile at each other, all the wonder of it, that bond that you have instantly. It's different then what you have with your brother. While I know you love him just as much, there is something in a sisterly bond that is just special.
You are doing much better in school this year than you have in the past and that gives me hope. I've said before and I've meant it that I want your hands to always be full .

We are coming close to a time when you and I will find it nearly impossible to understand each other. We will be speaking a different language, you of 'teenager' and me? I'll be speaking that dreaded 'mom'- speak. But I promise that despite this, I will never let you get lost in my shuffle as my mother did with me. I will never stop loving you. I will try to remember what it's like to be a tween-age girl.
Your dad has promised to remember what it's like to be a boy at your age and as you get older.
I'm afraid you'll never be allowed out of your room but I promise to push saltines under the crack of the door and maybe a hose for water.
I know you think that we are too often unfair because we don't let you on the phone past 7 pm and we don't let you watch r-rated movies but I'm ok with that because it's our job and as much as I hate saying it because it sounds so much like my father's voice coming out of my mouth (and if you ever tell him I said this I will torch your Hannah Montana CD's) but... when you have kids of your own, you'll understand.
After Josie was born, when I was still in the hospital and enjoying my vicodin, you asked me if I thought you'd make a good mom someday. I tried to picture you in that moment, staring at your nine year old daughter, holding your newborn, and I knew that you would.
But please, don't rush it. Time passes oh, so very quickly. And before you know it? Your ten year old will be asking you that same question and rolling her eyes when you get teary.
Happy 10th Birthday Bre......

Love, mom.

Little Boys

2007-11-05T23:42:00.000-08:00

You'd think that someone who does nothing but talk all day long would know the words 'be quiet'. He hears them often enough after all.
But I guess maybe not because as my sister and I were talking through an episode of 'Word World' he turned to me with that little frown on his face and asked me to please 'Stop your mouth mommy!'

Yeah. OK. Look who's talking buddy.
*********

It seems to be a thing about boys- or at least the little boys that I have known. And I should perhaps admit now that the only little boys I have ever really known are my brothers, my nephew and my son. Still, when I tell this thing about David, I notice that other moms nod their heads in agreement.
Gas. That great bodily function that is so fascinating to my little boy.
When the baby does it, David lays claim to it. When he hears someone else do it, he happily announces it to them....
"Ha! Ha! You farted! Good job!"
He thinks it's some great magic trick to make your "butt make music" (as he puts it).
************
Since his cousins have been here, I've actually gotten him to eat. He's been eating 3 meals a day for the first time in a very long time and not even fighting about it. I'm going to be very sad when his cousins leave and he returns to poking his chicken nuggets a few times before saying "This chicken is too brown for me. I can't eat it."
I've noticed that anytime there is something he doesn't want to do, eat or wear it's either too small, too big, too brown, or too whatever for him. He wasn't too thrilled with me when I told him his blocks were too wooden for me to give to him unless he cleaned up his other toys. I guess it only works one way.

How It Is............

2007-10-25T21:35:00.000-07:00

Fall has always been a busy season for us, not that I'm making excuses or anything......., I think this one has been the worst. Or the best, I suppose, depending on how you want to look at it. For someone like me who has spent so much effort to not be near people for so long... I'm not sure really how I should view it. I am enjoying being busy. I think I have a pretty good handle on the tasks I am responsible for (though I will admit my anxiety at having to do the taxes when I don't even do my own) and I think I'm even enjoying most of it. It's just meant that this blog, writing about my stresses and the stupid things I do, has had to take a backseat.
Bre is in that dangerous 'tween age range. I go from loving talking to this new version of my child to wanting to boot her mouthy little butt to military school. I know we'll get through this stage eventually but in the meantime I'm finding myself frequently counting to 100.
David will be 3 in just a few more weeks. I've so enjoyed his twos- never understood that 'terrible twos' nonsense. I think it's just to distract people who are thinking of kids from thinking about the f'ing threes. I'm already catching glimpses of it- the random screaming, the "I can't" whining, the motherload of tantrums.... Still, I can't really complain. He's a good kid, mostly minds me and loves Josie. He talks non stop from the moment he wakes to the moment he falls asleep. Lately, he's been talking in his sleep too.
"Mom look! A pinecone! See the pinecone? I like pinecones! Shhh! There's a bird in there, he's sleeping, can you see the bird mommy? I can see the bird he's blue and he goes like this (makes snoring noises) and we should be quiet so he doesn't wake up and fly away don't you think we should be quiet mommy I'm hungry can I have crackers I bet the bird likes crackers I'm going to show daddy the pinecone with the bird and maybe we can keep it and I like goldfish do you like goldfish do you want to eat some goldfish too does Josie want goldfish where's 'Branna' she likes goldfish I like playing with 'Branna' mom can I have choco milk I like choco milk wanna' see my funny dance it goes like this can you do it too can we watch word world I like word world let's build a word woo-hoo can you build a word let's build pinecone can you see the sleeping bird shhh I don't want to wake him let's play cars I like fast cars I like to crash cars can you build me a house here's my blocks build a big house I want to crash my car in it see like this wiirrrrrr boom! look it's the sun look it's a car look it's a dog who's that with the dog can we go to the park..........."
And that's my day. His stamina is amazing. Every time I think he's done, he's not.... he's just taking a breath.
The other day I caught him letting the dog lick his lollipop before sticking it back in his mouth. When I asked him about it he said the dog was "just cleaning it for me, see?" He is fantastic. I love my time with him, but he is also exhausting. There are times where I think my ears are going to start bleeding from the non-stop chatter. But then I worry on those rare moments when he's quiet.
And that's just the way it's supposed to be.

When all else fails........

2007-10-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

Be lazy and post baby pictures. Maybe no one will notice how much you suck.

Isn't this sweet? This is what it's like. She's totally a mama's girl.

Because when Daddy gets to hold her this is what happens.
He's trying not to take it personally but I feel for him. She can be happily 'talking' and smiling at me and all he has to do is say 'hi' to her and she starts to pout. If he smiles at her, she cries.
They have their good moments too, but I think it's taking her longer to be OK with her dad than it has for the other two. It's like those sitcoms where the dad picks up the baby and baby screams. Dad holds baby away from him and baby is fine and so on.
This is her 'I just farted' face. I can't always tell the difference between her cries, but the faces? Those I know.

This is her 'I'm going to scream if you don't pick me up you bitch' face.

She was sound asleep and then I set her down. She opened her eyes and they snapped the picture. She promptly snorted and flipped off the photographer. Obviously unintentional but funny anyway.
All that aside, she really is a sweet and happy baby.

Happy 2 months Josie!

The Things Babysitting Never Prepared Me For

2007-10-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen those talk shows where the really stupid girls are talking about how they want a baby even though they aren't old enough to drive because it's just like babysitting???
Have a good laugh with me on that one.
Then I thought about all the things that I learned in my rather brief foray into the wild world of babysitting and all the things that it could never have prepared me for.
Like the time that those two little darlings locked themselves in the bathroom and the 6 year old shaved off her 3 year old sister's beautiful blond curls. I learned that no matter how sweet they look, they are evil and never believe them when they say that their mommy loves a bald headed child.
So, my current top 10 list:

1) What to do when your child uses your very expensive facial cleanser wipes in place of the baby wipes.... Or worse. When they use the lysol wipes instead.

2) What to do when your husband teaches your daughter how to burp and now she can't seem to help showing off this talent to everyone.

3) What to do when your child announces to the airport bathroom that your behind is HUGE.

4) What to do when your child tells your grandparents to pass the fucking potatoes (at the age of 3) please.

5) What to do when you're in labor and the child who begged to be there is telling you it's 'too gross for words!'

6) What to do when one child takes advantage of the fact that you are nursing another and decides that it is the perfect moment to stick your shoes in the toilet to see if they'll float.

7) What to do when said child then flushes the toilet- with your shoes in it- to 'clean it up, see?'

8) What to do when your child asks to borrow your favorite shirt because she wants to be a hobo for Halloween.

9) What to do when your children decide to play hide and seek, but forget to tell you that you're supposed to find them until you and your husband are in a panic and decide that maybe it's time to call the police.

10) What to do when your child cleans the toilet with your perfume.

I don't know what it is about the toilet, but that is my kids' go-to place for all things naughty.

Blather

2007-09-23T22:17:00.000-07:00

Hey look! I remember this. This is that spot I used to regularly come to write down my every little obnoxious thought and deed. I think I even maybe enjoyed it from time to time. Of course, that was before I had a demanding chubby-cheeked infant attached to me expecting to be fed all. the. damn. time.
There is a reason that at 6 weeks she weighs 10 lbs and I think that despite what she may be telling the other babies it isn't that I don't feed her.
She's actually a pretty easy going baby. It's just that if she's awake she's hungry.
Lately she's been taking the occasional break to smile at me and coo a little. And spit up. Or fart.
Remember how much of a freak I was about strangers touching my pregnant belly? To my credit, I only tried to bite one person and touched 2 of them back. The rest just got snapped at.
See, I thought that was the worst thing that would happen. I thought that once I gave birth, the inappropriate touching would end. But then I'm an idiot and of course it didn't.
No, I sort of miss the belly touching phase because at least then there was a barrier between some stranger's germ-ridden hand and my baby.
In an effort to not have a coronary in public, I generally let it slide as long as they don't touch her face or hands. But I draw the line at the woman who tried to stick her finger in Josie's mouth. All I could keep picturing was that woman scratching her ass and now here she was trying to shove that ass-digger in my little baby's mouth!
Freak.
So. Lesson learned: As bad as it is to touch a pregnant woman's belly, sticking your ass-digging-finger anywhere near baby's mouth may result in the mom loudly telling you to keep said ass-finger to yourself and then having anyone within earshot give you bug-eyes.
********

Once upon a time I had a rather nice figure. I wasn't scary skinny. I had curves but was well within my healthy weight range. Even after my first baby, returning to said lovely shape was truly effortless. Such is the benefit of being terribly young and stupid.
Now....
It was only a few weeks ago that I was proudly displaying that baby bump. Even sharing that picture here. I loved that round full belly. I couldn't see my shoes, my back ached and I knocked things over. But I loved it. There is something about it that is simply beautiful.
Since she's been born? I won't even look at myself in the mirror unless I am fully clothed. And there is something really wrong with that. It doesn't help that none of my clothes fit anymore. It doesn't help that I know exactly how much I weigh and exactly how much more that is than when I had my first.
I try not to contemplate it too much as that is simply depressing. As is the realization that I can no longer buy a bra in a store because they don't stock them that big. No, I get to order mine on-line and hope that they'll maybe somehow shrink overnight. Like, maybe if I close my eyes, they'll return to a size more suitable for a human being. One who has not had a boob job. Yet.

Adjusting

2007-09-10T22:05:00.000-07:00

Josie is a month old today though it seems that she has always been here. But I think that's the way it is with kids. At least for me, once they are here it seems as though they have always been. As though who I was before, that life is so far from where we are as to not matter. And it doesn't. I'm sure I'm not explaining myself well.
This month has been hectic. Josie's birth, my parents visit, my grandfather died (it's ok, really. We'd been expecting it and he was ready. He missed my grandmother so very much), school started, Bre's cheerleading started (and someone please slap me because I somehow agreed to co-coach and I can't even blame it on Newborn Stupor since I agreed before she was even born) and my job as PTA treasurer has started to kick in.
In the midst of all this, our house has never been so peaceful. It seems that we have all found a softer side and even David, with his love of screaming, has taken to speaking in whispery tones around his baby sister.
This is not to say all is rosy in our world. Bre is still 9 going on 30 and is in serious need of an attitude transplant. David tried to give Josie away at the grocery store but the next day he pushed a little girl who got to close to her (in his opinion) and declared Josie to be his baby.
Josie has finally reached a point where I can put her down for an hour here and there to get things done. Her cheeks have filled out in that perfectly plump, begging to be squeezed way of an infant who loves to eat. And she certainly loves to eat. A lot.
She coos. She has for over a week now. Someone told us she wasn't supposed to do that yet but I don't think she really cares about time lines because she has been smiling at us too. She still snorts.
David is utterly fascinated by her one moment and absolutely bored with her the next.
Her toys, however, are a different matter.
We are adjusting. Always adjusting.
I am reveling in this period of quiet contentment.

A Birth Story (without the graphic details- you're welcome)

2007-08-29T22:36:00.000-07:00

I know, I suck. But I think I get a break since new baby +toddler+ 9-going-on-30-and-therefore-knows-everything= Whack-a-doodle with little time!

So... birth story. I think mine is more of a mild warning in listening to your instincts and not the nice nurse on the phone telling you that you are probably not in labor. Because when you listen to the nice nurse, it is only the fact that you have some neighbors that don't think you're totally nuts that saves you from having your baby on your bathroom floor or by the side of the road.

I couldn't even tell you when my contractions started because they didn't feel like contractions. Or at least not what I remembered contractions to feel like. It was all below my belly button and in my lower back. I tried to explain to the nurse that they were coming at regular intervals and that my labor with my first was less than 4 hours. She said I could come in but she didn't think it was necessary until they were 5 minutes apart.

That's where I went stupid and said ok.

Then I lost my damn mind and told my husband that he could go in to work. Work which was at least 45 minutes away but would likely take more than an hour by the time I needed him.

In fact, he had just reached his shop when I called and told him to come home. Fast.

At 5:30, I called my neighbors to see if they could watch David since our original people weren't home and our backup wasn't answering her phone.

When she came over to get him, she took one look at him and said she was taking me to the hospital.

I knew I was in labor by then, though the contractions were all still very low. I could feel her kicking my ribs through the contractions. And what was once 7-15 minutes apart, was suddenly 2 minutes apart.

We had to hurry.

Joe, naturally, went to the main hospital instead of the birth center (which is in the next building). The same birth center we had David at. I'll chalk it up to his nervousness. At least this time he didn't run up and down the hallway completely confused and asking me if I was sure that my water ruptured as he did with David (I was standing in a puddle and water was still coming in spurts- did he really need to ask?).

By the time he got there it was 6:15. The nurse checked me, and despite knowing I was in labor I still expected to be sent home.

"OK, you're at 8 cm!"

I think I started to cry. I knew that meant no epidural. No pain relief. I'd waited to long. I'd ignored my instincts and now I was going to pay.

I have to admit that this time was not as bad as it was with Bre. At least this time there was a break between contractions. With Bre it was just one on top of the other and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I used the labor ball and my darling husband decided that this was the perfect time to take a picture and there is not enough money in the world for me to be willing to share that picture with you Internet. I would sooner shave my head with a dull razor.

They tried to give my an IV- 3 times- but it didn't work. Instead I got large black bruises that lasted 2 weeks.

The doctor finally came in and decided to break my water. She warned me that once she did it, my contractions would get stronger. I tried to warn her that the second she did it, this baby would be out.

And I was right. I don't think that the water was done gushing before the baby's head crowned. I remember a lot of people talking and someone telling me to listen to the doctor, but then everything got muffled and all I could do was push. Her shoulders got stuck and I think that was probably the worst of it. Bre (did I forget to tell you she was in the room? Well, she was. By choice) couldn't look anymore. She later told me it was "the grossest thing I've ever seen in my entire life!". I think we've successfully deterred her from having children for a very long time. I've always said that a great way to lower teen pregnancy rates is to let teens witness a meds-free birth.

She came out screaming and I started to shake. Uncontrollably shake. This maybe wouldn't have been too big a deal, but I needed stitches. It's very unpleasant to get stitches. More so, I think, when you're shaking.

This is when the nurse lost her mind and asked if I'd like to hold my baby.

Hold my baby?

Lady, I can't hold myself!

But it passed, and so did worst of the pain (thanks to a little friend I'll call Vicodin) and nothing else mattered.

Josie was here. And I could finally hold her.

She scowls like her dad when he's thinking. She has impossibly long fingers and toes. She snorts.

This time I managed to not mix up my motrin with the bottle of colace they give you. With David I took 6 colace before I realized that it wasn't my motrin. The recovery was different. I had been told that recovery after the 3rd baby is harder, but I didn't really think about it until I realized that I couldn't walk. It was 2 weeks (and several Vicodin later) before I could walk without pain.

But it's all worth it.

At last.....

2007-08-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

And everything I ever thought I knew is forever changed..... again.

Miss Josephine Violet

August 10, 2007
7:20 am
7 lbs 12 oz 19 1/4"

Cha-ching!

2007-08-09T23:08:00.000-07:00

There have been many times during my tenure as 'mom' that I have wondered if maybe my kids are more than just a little.... insane.

Yes, maybe it's not me. It's them. There is no other explanation for the things that they do and say except that they are crazy and they are taking me with them.

Like when Bre decided that our cat wanted blue oatmeal. Which she made in my kitchen towel drawer with peach oatmeal mix and blues clues applesauce. So much fun to clean that up.

Or when she thought she'd make pancakes. On my floor.

Did you know that bisquick, juice and glue is really nasty?

So far, David's adventures in the manic arena have been pretty much limited to the odd comment or face.

Or... they had been.

The other morning, after being poked in the head for the millionth time, I turned on cartoons and drifted back to sleep. He still has not learned that 6 am is not a good time to poke mommy in the back of the head. He has learned that doing so will buy him an hour of early morning cartoons and the fun of stuffing things up my nose as I snore.

When I gave up for the morning an hour later he was just laying there, smiling and clearly pleased with himself.

Normally, this would have sent the alarm bells a-ringing but my brain is not firing on all cylinders lately.

I suggested a diaper change, normal routine.

And he said 'No'.

Huh? He never says no! Well, he says no but not to the first morning diaper change.

He continued to smile at me.

"Wanna' shake my booty!"

Um... oookkkaaayyy.

Go on and shake it then little dude.

And that's when I heard it.

That strange little noise clinking around as he shook as hard as he could, grinning like a fool and watching me.

The hell? What! Is! That!!???!!!

He shook his butt a little harder and started laughing like a lunatic.

I grabbed him to change his diaper and see just what he'd been up to and he dissolved into hysterical laughter.

I don't know what exactly I was expecting to find. There have been plenty of surprises in the diaper arena during the last 2 and half years- none of them particularly pleasant.

But never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to find the pile of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies that were pooled out of there.

Dude! My son poops money!! I have the human change machine!

Ok, so really he had just dumped the contents of a change jar in there but it was nice to dream for a moment. It's much nicer to think that he could poop money then what actually comes out of there.

And as I looked over at my darling son, still grinning like a fool, he informed me that "I have butt money mama!"

And I'm the crazy one??

Bitchy-pants

2007-08-07T23:02:00.000-07:00

Being pregnant for this long has given me a nasty and rather surprising case of Tourettes which, so much fun when you have a 2 year old who repeats everything he hears.
No one wants to be anywhere near me right now and I can't say that I blame them. I'm finding myself mouthing off to anyone who annoys me. Like the couple at the grocery store last week who felt it was their duty to comment on how awful it was that the woman who just left had 5 young children and how they hoped she ran a daycare. I suggested they run after her because I'm sure she would be happy to accept their opinions on her uterus and reproductive abilities. After all, that's every one's business. Right?
Or the clerk who couldn't believe that I didn't want to know if we were having a boy or a girl. And just wouldn't leave it the hell alone. Or the people who keep calling me to ask if I've 'popped' yet.
Popped?
What the hell? When did I become a balloon?
I hate being cranky. I hate that I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I hate that the slightest thing can set me off lately.
I hate feeling like I'm somebody else.

*******

On a lighter note......

When we were kids, my stepmom would always ask if we heard the ducks go by every time we passed gas. Recently, when David heard his dad rip one, he asked "Who's in your butt daddy?" with just the most shocked look on his face. So I told him it was just ducks and didn't think anything more of it.

Now every time he toots, he announces to every one that he has ducks in his butt.

It's gotten us some strange looks and a few laughs.

Freak.

2007-08-02T22:35:00.000-07:00

Today was such a beautiful day I couldn't wait to take the kids to the park. A few hours of reading and peace for me, a few hours of running and screaming for them. I settled into the nook of a big shady tree and cracked open my book, occasionally peeking over its' pages to check on the kids.

For awhile, it was all perfectly normal. They ran and chased each other and dug into the wood chips under the play equipment. They made up games and spun tales with other kids.

And then I heard the dialogue in my head and realized that as far as I've come from my hermit-like tendencies on the outside, I'm still that shy kid who fears rejection. Even if it's not me that faces exclusion.

I watched my 2 year old approach some boys who seemed to about 4 or 5. They were playing in the wood chips and David just sat right beside them and began digging with them and talking to them. At first they just stared at him and I found myself silently pleading with them to like him, to include him, please, please like him. In a few minutes they were smiling at him and going along with whatever game he had invented.

I realize that I do that a lot.
With David and Breanna. Silently pleading with the other kids to please like them, please include them, please want to be their friend! It's always silent (thankfully!), I don't want to be that mom. But I wonder if they know anyway. I wonder if they see my desperation for them to have friends, lots of friends, the thing I never had but always wanted and I wonder what it says to them.

I know that not everyone they meet will include them, will claim them as one of theirs. I hope that my desperation won't hurt them more when they are rejected.

I wonder what it's like to watch your kids play and just be kids and not worry about whether or not they'll turn out like you. And fervently hope that they'll be a far better version.

So what if it doesn't make sense?

2007-07-30T14:09:00.000-07:00

I'm at the point now where I just can't wait to have this baby. At the same time, I don't want this pregnancy to end. My husband says I'm completely off my rocker and perhaps medication would work (in his defense I was blubbering something about being out of Reese's peanut butter cups at the time and threatening to shave his eyebrows but still....). Yes, he's still breathing. For now.
And this led me to favorite past time:

The Pro/Con List.

Things I Will Not Miss About Pregnancy

1) Strangers touching my belly (Did you not hear me the first time I said that I bite? Well, you were warned).

2) Leg cramps (and foot cramps and not being able to walk without wincing)

3) The penguin waddle (yes, I do. Shut up)

4) How every time I laugh, sneeze, cough, or breath I end up peeing a little (and seriously? If that freaks you out, boy are you ever in for a surprise about some of the things that happen to you during pregnancy and birth).

5) Having to pee every 20 minutes.

6) Having to crawl to the bathroom because it's too painful and a little risky to actually stand up and let the baby put full-on pressure on my bladder.

7) Random contractions

8) The regular daily phone calls asking whether I've had the baby yet and why not

Things I Will Miss

1) Having an excuse for my random acts of insanity

2) having an excuse for this big belly and giant ass

3) having this baby all to myself

4) the movement (provided it's not a foot in my ribs or a fist in my bladder)

5) An excuse for my natural gracelessness

And probably a myriad of other little things for both lists that I'm suddenly blanking on.

But never mind my whining! I've been doing enough of that lately.
I promise that I will have a better post up later.

Role Models

2007-07-26T12:47:00.000-07:00

It's pretty much inescapable. At some point throughout the course of any given day, my daughter ends up hearing the names 'Lindsey Lohan', "Britney Spears', 'Paris Hilton' or any one of the other "celebrities" that I am trying really hard to steer her away from.

So can I just say that when she heard the name 'Britney Spears' her first reaction was to ask me, "Is she the crazy one who shaved her head?", I felt some measure of relief?

Because if at 9 years old she can recognize that there is something not quite right there, maybe there is hope that I can keep steering her away from these "role models". Even better, use them as role models of how not to be.

So now instead of cringing every time the news comes on, I've been pointing out the things that they are getting recognized for and talking to her about it.

Now she's asking (not in so many words) for girls it would be ok to look up to.
I've already mentioned Mylie Cyrus (she loves Hannah Montana) and a few others who seem to have their heads on straight with the understanding that while they do have qualities to be admired, she still must follow her own path.

What I'd really like to give her is a role model outside of Hollywood. Someone she can look up to who gives back to their community in some way. We need a website for that.

Stalked By Phone

2007-07-23T23:10:00.000-07:00

I hate my phone. In fact, I'm not answering it anymore unless I absolutely must. So go ahead, keep on calling me every day to see if I've had the baby yet. I'm not answering so you can't drive me crazy anymore!

Seriously? If you called yesterday and I didn't have the baby and you called today and I'm answering the phone.... do you really need to ask? Especially since I promised to call when this baby comes out?
Right.
So now you can sit there and keep pushing redial over and over again and keep leaving messages about how you're so sure I'm off having this kid Right! This! Very! Second! and I will sit here eating God's most perfect food (otherwise known as the corn dog) and imagining you losing your dialing finger.

Let's face it. This kid is not going to come out. I am going to have to go in after it. And you calling over and over again isn't going to help anything along. It's only going to make me want to come over and punch in the nose.

Carnage

2007-07-18T12:45:00.000-07:00

When I was little, my grandma used to treat us with animal crackers. I loved those little red circus boxes. I'd line them up and make the animals perform. Those were the Best. Cookies. Ever.
So when I handed some to the kids I was fully expecting the same reaction.

Instead I had Bre asking me where the sprinkles were and what about chocolate chips? Didn't I know the true value of a good chocolate chip cookie? With sprinkles? What was I thinking?
But she ate them and agreed that they weren't the worst thing I had ever made her try.

David was quiet. He sat and stared at the animals and just.... stared.
I was sure that he would soon be off and running leaving behind a pile of animal crackers, untouched and unwanted. I went back to cleaning the kitchen and was soon thrilled with the little growls of a toddler and his imagination.
In a few minutes he ran off to play with his big sister and I went to see what became of the animals.
It was then that I came to fully understand that yes, I had a boy. Not a toddler, certainly not a baby. A boy.

Poor headless animal crackers.

General Whining

2007-07-13T13:01:00.000-07:00

It started as every morning starts. A slight ache in my legs in feet. Normal. Something I had experienced in each of my previous pregnancies.
Then IT happened.
Spasms in both legs and into my feet that left me in tears and scared David (so he's not used to watching his mom roll on the floor hanging onto her legs, crying 'owowowowow' over and over again. What can I say?).
Several hours later and my legs and feet still hurt. All the nurse can tell me is to drink more water (I'm going to float away), take some Tylenol (riiiiiggghhhttt. Can't I just have my epidural now?) and rest (um. that's what I was doing before my legs exploded.)

I'm afraid to go to sleep now. I know what's going to happen. I know it's going to end up with me on the floor in tears.

Lazy

2007-07-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

I'm at the point now where time is dragging and I'm starting to believe that all my worry of ending up in premature labor has turned to absolute conviction that I am going to have to reach up there and yank this kid out myself. I'm still contracting but I've managed to convince myself that it doesn't mean anything. Because I'm still here, still pregnant by some good fortune.

I am running out of things that I can do with the kids and it's wearing on all of us.

Out of desperation, I took them to Build-A-Bear to make a present for their sibling. (see above photos as I am too lazy to move them around right now).

We go to the library every week. We skipped the playground this week because I was afraid I would melt into the wood chips and instead spent as much time as possible in front of the air conditioning. They've played in the sandbox and on our swing set and we've done crafts and baked endless cookies and gone here, there and everywhere that is free.

And I am humbled by the fact that there is still about 8 weeks left before school starts.

********

I've been neglectful (surprise!) of my e-mail lately so this is late but I wanted to thank Dee for the giraffe shirt ideas! I love a lot of them and am trying to convince David that he only needs one, not 6.

Since you are all so good at finding things.....

David is fascinated by outer space. Planets, stars, moons, the sun. He knows what meteorites are and knows which planet is Earth. I blame Joe and the habit of watching that one Universe program on the History channel.

The problem is, he wants a book. And I haven't been able to find one with ample pictures and simple explanations. Something suitable for a not-quite-pre-schooler.

Any takers?

*********

Taking a Risk

2007-07-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

The 10th (today for most of you) marks my 2 year blogging anniversary and I can honestly say that I don't know what the hell I've had to talk about for two years. I can't even believe that I'm still posting because I have a habit of saying 'Oh yeah, that sounds like fun!' and then promptly forgetting about it. Kind of like that time I thought I'd change this blog up and then I just.... forgot.
In that two years I've posted lots of pictures. Mostly of the kids, a few of Joe and the dogs, but never of myself. I haven't had a picture of myself that I liked in some time now.
But these.... well.... they're not so bad if you don't mind the double chin or the freaky little mole in my belly button.

My Least Favorite Holiday

2007-07-05T22:01:00.000-07:00

So we had this great idea that we'd watch the fireworks with the kids because, yes! Our kids, they love things that go Kaboom! and are not at all scared in anyway by loud noises and fire! Yee-haw!
We're out of our fucking minds.

Let's just start with the fact that where we live, it's just expected that all you have to do to see fireworks for the 4th (2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th too) is step out your front door because everyone and their brother went to Boom City and spent a paycheck to have the best display and see who could blow up their arm first. What? Your neighbors don't spend every fourth of July trying to blow up more body parts then the guy next to him?
Well.
Aren't you special.

Ours do.
Often at 2 am.
Right outside my fucking window (I'm sorry I'm so cranky. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the little bit of sleep I'm able to get each night is now being interrupted by the assholes behind us and their need to set our house on fire. Or you know, maybe a little about that).

So, fourth of July. Joe had bought a little box of not so noisy but oooh pretty colors! fireworks and we sat outside to watch him light them up and catch a glimpse at the neighbors spoils.
At first it was fine.
Bre hid behind the van and yelled out that she could see them much better from inside the house thank you very much until we finally convinced her that should any spark even glance in her general direction, Joe would throw himself on it to save her. She then sat in a chair in the driveway and cowered a bit. Yes. Just like last year only with fewer tears.
David was.... unsure at first. He sat in my lap and seemed ok. Even vaguely interested in the pretty pretty colors.
Then our neighbors set off one that was Really. Really. Loud.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After I pried his fingers from my eyes and calmed him down, he settled back into my lap and pressed his head as far into my chest as he could.

"Cober my ears! Cober my ears!"

And this is why I have no pictures of our fourth of July celebration as I spent the rest of the brief time he was willing to tolerate this with my hands over his ears and trying to interest him in the pretty pretty colors.

He simply looked at me and I'm fairly certain that if his vocabulary allowed he would've informed me that this whole fireworks business fucking sucked and I was nucking futs if I thought for one instant that he was going to actually enjoy this shit. And shove it for good measure.

After 3 roman candles, David was crawling up my head and ripping out my hair begging to be taken back in the house.

So I did.

Joe convinced Bre to stay outside with him if only because it meant that she got to stay up later. Later he told me that she actually held a sparkler for a whole 5 seconds and didn't scream.
And that is progress people.
David came in and went to sleep. I think it may have just been to much. Our dogs were happily sedated (Auggie couldn't even get off the floor) and I was..... jealous. I would love to be sedated right now. Perhaps then I wouldn't mind that our neighbors behind us and the ones across the street are attempting to blow each other up and my house stands in the middle of this fun little battle.

Happy Fucking 4th.

When In Doubt, Ask The Internets!

2007-07-02T22:17:00.000-07:00

I've been working on some new wall art for baby Gollum's room. I decided to go with my favorite classic children's books. The problem is, some of them aren't really what I want and I'm running out of ideas. I think I need one or two more pictures and then I'm set.

So far I have:

Yeah. I don't know how to move those pictures down to here. It's one of the things that pisses me off about blogger. But, you get the idea.

Better Than American Express

2007-06-27T22:01:00.000-07:00

If there is ever a time in your life when you think guys will not hit on you, it's when you are pregnant. Very obviously pregnant. So pregnant, in fact, that your belly button is no longer an innie and it's grossing you right the frick out. So pregnant that your ass could be used as a flotation device in the event of a flood. So pregnant that you can almost point to where you are pretty sure your ankles used to be and your 9 year old has to tie your shoes for you because you can no longer reach them without performing some intensive contortions that may or may not result in pulling several muscles and maybe cause you to use more swear words then you would normally use in front of your children and cause you to whimper piteously every time you have to move (what? just me?).
Unfortunately, this is not so.
There is a breed of a guy who will think nothing of coming up to you as you are wandering the aisles of your local grocery store with your 2 children and your baby bump and proceed to hit on you.
He may say things like:
"So you like kids?" No, I just really enjoy labor, back talk, and the smell of poopy diapers.
"Are you and your baby daddy still together or can I take you out to dinner?" Are you kidding?
"I really dig that pregnant look." I really dig in my purse for my stun gun when creepy guys won't go away.
"Can I touch your belly?" Do you value your life?

But fear not! All you really need is a 9 year old with an attitude and strong desire to eat her ice cream to tell the guy that her daddy is waiting for us and maybe he'd like to talk to him and then give him the patented Ticked Off Tween Stare.

I never leave home without it.

Waving a White Flag

2007-06-25T22:15:00.000-07:00

Summer Vacation Day 2:

Kids have taken over.
Am barricaded behind couch.
Must be quiet or they will find me and wrap in toilet paper.
Again.
I believe I heard my daughter discussing the benefits of duct tape though it may have been delirium after being stuck back here for a few hours.
Send help.

Fast!!

Dear Hurricane,

2007-06-19T23:17:00.000-07:00

The other day you skipped your nap and stayed up way past your bedtime. I had been anticipating a full-on meltdown at any moment but you surprised us all with your very happy self. You had fun playing with our friends and playing games.
At 10 that night we started to finally wind down. You had your spiderman jammies on and shot webs at our guests as they left. We were in the kitchen laughing when you decided that was just enough.
You took my hand and yawned.
"Come on Mom. Les' go seep now."
So we did.
You said goodnight to your sister.
We crawled into my bed and daddy said goodnight before running downstairs to watch a movie.
We whispered for a few minutes about how much fun we'd had.
"I need a hug now."
You rarely ask for hugs and I am never one to turn down the feel of your little arms reaching around my neck.
As we settled back against the pillows, you curled into me and rested your head on my shoulder.
Within seconds, you were snoring softly against my arm. I breathed in the scent of you as I kissed your head and soon, I was asleep too.
It was a perfect day.
It was a day I could not possibly appreciate more knowing that just down the street, a mother will never again get that chance.
Because of something very foolish, something so heartbreakingly stupid, her baby boy has died.
And it makes me appreciate even more that despite my blundering, you've made it this far.
So when I ask you for another kiss, or squeeze you just a little bit tighter, indulge me. I'm just reminding myself how lucky I am.

Mommy Needs A Maid

2007-06-18T22:53:00.000-07:00

I have a massive list of Things That Must Get Done, Like Yesterday You Fool. Which is exactly why while David took his nap, I played games on the computer. Because nothing says 'hard work' like a little goofing off.
Internet? I have issues.
Not the whole procrastination thing. Big deal. Stuff gets done eventually, usually. No, my issues came to light when at 2 pm this afternoon I had this overwhelming urge to punch a video game character.
I was playing NannyMania on MSN. At first it was ok. Granted it was a bit like real life and I wondered how this was goofing off since it was just reminding me of all the things I should be doing, but whatever. I played on.
Then I found myself calling the kids bitches and wondering where the sterilization button for the dad was. Because I could 'clean' something and 5 minutes later, I had to go back and do it again and OMG!! What. The. Fuck??? Have they been to my house lately? Because this is what I freaking do all day. Well, minus another adult woman following me around and shaking her head while the kids destroy the house. And by the time the kids were school age and drawing all over the bathroom while the dad watched tv and the mom just walked around in some valium-induced hazed, I found myself yelling "Ha Ha Motherfuckers!" every time I completed a level. And then that stupid nanny would say something moronic like "This is too easy, I could handle another baby!" and I'd begin wondering if these characters could feel pain.
"Well, why didn't you quit playing then?"

Because I had hoped (and fully expected) that at the end of the game, the nanny would be rewarded by being able to drop -kick that family into Sims Hell.

I think maybe it's time to tell my husband that it would be a good idea to put his clothes in the hamper all by himself. For my sake.

And his.

But I don't even like peppermint.........

2007-06-14T21:38:00.000-07:00

We were in a restaurant. A really nice restaurant. The kind with cloth napkins and people taking your order instead of the garbled voice of a teenager through a speaker at the drive-thru.
I was so looking forward to a nice thick steak (something I never would have touched before this pregnancy but is now a constant craving).
The waiter turned and asked me what I would like.
I opened my mouth and..........

nothing.

Or more specifically, a mouth so full that I could not speak.

My mouth was suddenly so full of gum that I could no longer close it.
No matter how much gum I pulled out of my mouth, more would quickly take it's place. I was starting to panic but everyone around me just watched as though this were all perfectly normal.

"I'll just bring you a nice plate of chicken parmesan."

NO!! I hate chicken parmesan! I want steak!

But all I managed to do was spit out more gum.

I'm not sure what it all means but at least it wasn't as bad as that ice cream truck dream.

As Promised..........

2007-06-13T21:53:00.000-07:00

Yes, I threw that shirt Joe is wearing in the trash just as soon as he took it off.

Why My House Will Be Getting Egged

2007-06-11T14:33:00.001-07:00

When we were kids, we would hang out well after curfew talking, running, just being kids. But we did manage to keep the volume down, if only because our parents would have taped our mouths shut if we got out of line.

Which may partially explain why I've become the Old Bitch Woman Down The Street.

It's Friday night and the kids are asleep. Joe has to work in the morning so he went to bed a few hours ago. I'm sitting in my living room watching a movie and trying to ignore the screaming teenagers hanging out in the street in front of my house.
It's only 10:30.
I see my neighbor come out and know that she's asking them to keep it down.
I turn the volume on the tv up just a little bit more.
They continue screaming.
It's 11:00 and I'm contemplating whether or not it's worth it to go out and tell them to shut up.
That's when one of them decides it would be fun to run down our street yelling 'fuck' at full volume.

Fuck indeed. How about 'fuck this, now I'm pissed'?

I went outside but held my temper in check.

"Hey guys, it's 11. Can you please stop screaming?"

That's when one of those asshats lost their mind and came back with "My curfew isn't until 1."

Time-out for a moment before I tell you about the bloodshed that followed that idiotic statement.

1) He was (clearly) underage. Not for a minute do I believe that the curfew here for minors is 1 am. Maybe his parents don't care how late he is out, but the cops do.

2) He was not a neighborhood kid. In fact, only one kid out of the 14 that were outside actually lived here and she belonged to the people who think it's ok for their 15 year old daughter to dress like a hooker (half shirt with thin straps, mini-skirt, make-up by Tammy Fay?) so clearly, they weren't going to care that their daughter and her friends were annoying the piss out of their neighbors.

3) That poor fool apparently doesn't understand that when you mess with a tired hormonal pregnant woman you will lose a limb. Possibly one that you really need.

On to the bloodshed.... (ok, not literally but given the fact that they all left immediately after, rather quickly in fact, I think I may have scared them a little).

"I don't give a shit when your curfew is you half-wit! It's 11 at night, my kids are sleeping and if I have to hear another one of you little assholes yelling in front of my house we're going to have a problem! Now, your choice is to shut the hell up or shut the hell up. Which is going to be?"

"yes, ma'am. Sorry."

Yes, that's kind of what I thought.

Doesn't sound to bad, except I have a very loud voice and I spit acid.

Joe asked me why I didn't just call the cops.
Answer?

I'm scarier.

Hot- and not the good kind.

2007-06-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

I can no longer trust my own ability to judge temperature. This is especially bad for David since I'm the one who gets him dressed every morning. Lately, he is just as likely to end up in sweatpants and his winter coat on a warm day as he is shorts and a t-shirt when it's cold and wet.
Usually, it's the cold I can't feel.
I sleep with the window open, and if I can get away with it the fan is on, even though it's 40 degrees out at night. If I don't, I wake up several times a night in a sweat after dreaming that I'm being suffocated by mutant moles (those things just freak me the hell out).
It's not that I didn't expect this, I knew it was coming. When I had Bre (in November in PA where it actually gets cold) I was running my air conditioning all. the. time. So what if it was snowing? All the better actually because then I could go sit in the snow and cool down.
No, the problem isn't me.
The problem is my husband.
Because despite having been through this before, despite clearly remembering all the nights he slept in the guest room because our room was too cold for his poor delicate skin (freakin' wear pajamas and sleep under the covers then!), he just didn't think we'd have to go through this again.
Because I'm pregnant in the summer and therefore it cancels out that whole over-heated thing?
I had the air conditioning on for about 30 minutes just to cool down while I was making dinner.
He chose this moment to tell me that he had turned the heat back on.
I threatened to run naked down on our street.
I think I got my point across because the heat is now off.

He Just Doesn't Understand.

2007-06-05T22:33:00.000-07:00

"My new maternity clothes came today and I think I'm in love."

"Delivery guy that cute?"

"I've never had a more comfortable pair of pants. My ass is completely covered no matter how much I dance and they feel so good!"

"They look like sweat pants."

"No they don't. They're yoga pants. I'm never taking them off."

"Well, eventually you're going to have that baby and they'll have to come off."

"Nope. Never. In fact, if you ever want to have sex again, you're going to have to find a way to get around these pants. My ass is permanently encased in these pants."

"Our neighbors can only hope."

"In Pants. Cannot hear you. Lalalala......"

She's At It Again!!

2007-05-31T22:36:00.000-07:00

Remember my oh-so-fun adventure with the moles and how well that day I decided to be rid of them turned out?
My head aches just thinking of it.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was tonight when our neighbor came over, right after we ate dinner, to show us what he caught (barehanded) in his garden.

A mole.

In a bucket.

Except he didn't tell me it was a mole. He just held out the bucket and said "look what I found". So, like any moron, I looked.

And then I did my perfectly naturally 'icky' dance.
You know, the one where your whole body looks like you're convulsing and you shake.
Except that I was wearing non-maternity pants that are just hanging on there (I hadn't planned on going anywhere).
Thankfully I was mostly behind the door when my pants fell down so he didn't see anything except my very red face and my husband laughing.

Taboo

2007-05-31T12:59:00.000-07:00

I started to read another book yesterday. I thought I could drag this one out for a few days since I had other projects that really needed my attention.
Within the first few chapters I knew I wasn't going to be able to go to sleep until I got to the end. There wasn't going to be a perfect ending. Happy. Maybe, but not the clean happily ever after that most books seem to have. Hope. Yes.
The Kindness of Strangers is... I don't even know how to describe it. It just brought up so many feelings, thoughts, gut reactions... and I think that's what it was supposed to do.
Because it is taboo. One of those Things Not Spoken Of.
It's about a child's sexual abuse at the hands of his parents and the turmoil it caused in his life, in the life of his best friend's family who soon became his family, and in a community.
It's fiction.
It's true.
It left me with unanswered questions that made sleep difficult even after the last page had been turned.

Too Tired To Care Right Now

2007-05-29T22:34:00.001-07:00

First... I passed my GD test. Dr B said that though the baby seems small, numbers are perfect and given that both previous tots have been small, well.... Yes. Bre was my largest at a whopping 6 lbs 13 oz (and two weeks late). He (Dr B) seems certain that this one will be my smallest yet thereby assuring that I will be giving birth to a 15 lb screaming sumo wrestler.
I plan on kicking the Dr at birth.

I am eagerly searching for a photographer and not at all cringing at the money this little indulgence will cost us (at least not outwardly cringing. limping does not count).

I am attempting optimism. Or at least my version of it.

Which I believe means I am reverting to previous form of pretending. Something has to work.
*********

In the 'Ew, how the hell?' department of my life......
Bre has a fungus. On her head.
At first we thought it was dandruff. My stepmom suggested a build-up since she doesn't always properly rinse her hair. And I know this will sound odd, but she suggested Listerine to help remove the patches of dry flakes we were finding.
Though the patches didn't quite fit what the description of what we thought it was, we tried the listerine.
Bad idea.
As I combed out her hair, it started to bleed. And then I looked closer. Those patches were round (ish) and scattered. All over her head.

Her Dr insisted that it couldn't be fungal because, um, it's her head. But she tested some flakes anyway.

Two days later and.... it's a fungus. "How did she get a fungus on her head?" Well, gee, I don't know. I thought that was why I was paying you medical type people.
She is currently taking 6 weeks of a very strong antibiotic under much protest.
Of course everything she does lately is under protest. And eye-rolling. Because she's 9 going on 30 and knows everything.
Honestly? She's making me crazy. I don't say a lot about the things we're going through with her and I won't. I think it's enough to say that I love her, I'm glad she's here, but there are days where even the thought of having to listen to my pre-teen complaining in that whiny snotty tone makes me want to jam a dull knife in each ear in hopes of going deaf.
And there is a very long summer stretching out before me.
*********
I do have a very lovely picture of the family at disco night which I will share just as soon as I can get my camera dock connected properly again.
*******
One thing I hadn't expected this time around was my constant need to nap. I've never been so damn tired. I thought for sure that it would end once the 2nd trimester hit but it didn't. Now that I'm in the 3rd, I'm thinking it never will. I must find some way of not being so damn tired all the time. There are things that I have to get done and falling asleep in the middle of washing windows is not one of them.

Random

2007-05-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant with Bre, they made me drink this thick syrupy orange goo for my GD test. I remember having to squeeze the stuff out of the tube because it didn't drip. It oozed.
I also remember throwing up all over the nurse's shoes right before I passed out.
Even though the stuff is less road paving material now, it still fills me with dread to have it done. Still, I know that I have too. Gestational diabetes doesn't seem like a grand party to me.
When I was pregnant with David, they had this stuff that just tasted like really cheap cola. Gross, and fuzzy, but it worked.
This time I was offered fruit punch or......
orange.
I wasn't tempting fate again so I chose 'fruit punch'. It tasted like someone had mixed cheap cough syrup with an otter pop.
While I didn't throw up on anyone or pass out, I did actually feel sick this time. With David I was craving cheeseburgers within 2 minutes.
I'm not sure what this says for the results. I'm not going to worry about it. No really, stop laughing. I'm not. I have enough other stuff I can send myself into a tizzy about.
I think if we do this baby thing again (stop laughing), I'm going to get frisky and ask for a combo of orange and fruit punch. Maybe I'll get to puke in technicolor.
***************
I did something today that never ends well and always leaves me feeling a little sick.
I bought clothes.
I have one pair of maternity pants that fit so comfortably (the rest either show off entirely too much ass-crack and though lovely it may be, it's not for public viewing or are so loose that I have to staple them closed. And it's just awkward to carry a stapler in your purse for when you have to use the bathroom.) and I wear them all the time. I also have no shorts. Something I think I may actually need this summer (I freeze Joe out every night with the window open even though it's like 30 degrees at night).
Today my comfy jeans sprouted a hole in the knee and I cried. Mostly because I already knew that every pair of jeans I saw lately had 'low-rise' in the name and do we really need to discuss how much I loathe low-rise?
But I did it. I found a pair of non-low-rise (aka- ass-crack revealing), non-embroidered (????? on that fashion statement) denim maternity pants that would not cause me to take out a loan. I also found a pretty shirt and capris. I'm pretending not to notice how much I spent.
***************
David has this really great habit of pointing out the obvious.
To the lady in front of us at the store when she foolishly smiled at him:
"Dis is my butt. See?" (and yes, he pointed to it)

To the teacher who just wanted to get her mail when I was putting in flyers at Bre's school:
"I farting" (I could hear her laughing down the hall. I so hope he has her when he starts school)

To me, though thankfully not in public this time, as I was bending over to pick up his giraffe:
"Is BIG"
And then he poked me in the butt.
This kid is killing me.

Blah, blah asshat.

2007-05-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

When I was 16 my shrink put me on Zoloft. Yes, my shrink. The one my parents made me see because I was 'rebellious'. More like I had pretty much had enough of my mother's nonsense and had been left to my own devices one too many times but really, was cutting school and refusing to speak to my mother shrink worthy? Anyway, Zoloft.
Yes, that stuff that is now a big no-no for teens.
I was on a really low dosage. 25 mg. Within 2 days I was taking a quarter of that 25 mg pill because of the effect it was having on me. I was foggy all the time. Dizzy. It's fun to drive while you're seeing two of the road. I couldn't eat. Everything made me nauseous. I stayed on Zoloft for a month and nothing changed as far as the side effects went. In fact, I was so miserable from the way it was making me feel physically, that I have no idea what it could have done for me emotionally. Especially since I don't think I was actually depressed. Or at least I wasn't before I started taking it. And I definitely wasn't depressed the day I flushed those pills and told my dad I'd sooner shove a steak knife through my eye than swallow another one of those pills.
All this to say that I try to avoid taking any sort of medication. It wasn't just the Zoloft. Even any pain medication I've ever taken has had an intense effect on me. I'm a cheap drunk. I think maybe it's genetic. And while it never stopped my mother, she of the favored boxes of wine and Prozac, it has stopped me.
I've tried other means of controlling what I now know is anxiety attacks. Sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.
They got worse after Bre was born and I was given a prescription for it. But I was always too afraid to take it so I never bothered getting it filled.
I know my anxiety is high right now. I've been trying to distract myself with other things. It works, sometimes. But then I have to stop and all the things I've been trying not to admit hit me like a ton of bricks.
I worry that I haven't gained much during this pregnancy. It's not that I haven't tried (mmm! cheeseburger!), it could be the 4 months of constantly throwing up.... or it could be the 'what if's'. And that's where my trouble starts. That's how I end up thinking that I don't deserve this and I've done something so horrible that everything I love will be taken from me. It's stupid and ridiculous but it's real.
I am trying to not freak out. I am trying to concentrate on other things. Better things. Things like, Disneyland is only 6 months away and to make it even more awesome our friends (who I love like family) are coming with us. Things like the look on David's face when he felt the baby move and the amazed little 'o' his mouth made. Things like Bre coming up to me during her first school dance to tell me that a boy just danced with her (fast dance, no touching but....) and her malicious little smile (that I know she gets from me) as she ran off to tell her dad (not because dancing with a boy is such a big deal but because she knew he would act like it was). Things like walking into my room to go to bed and finding David curled over Joe and the two of them just snoring, content. And then waking up in the morning to David's little hand on my cheek and his stinky breath whispering "mornin' Mama", the sleep still in his eyes.
Little moments to carry me through.

Slow steps.

Deep breaths.

Wimp

2007-05-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

I like denial. It's a game I play and I am good. Like, Olympic gold kind of good.
In my defense, it's gotten me through these past months of pregnancy in one piece. It's kept me off my bathroom floor at 3 am crying. It's kept me from spending every waking moment of these pregnancy not asking about the 'what ifs?'
But it's also made me a very unfair kind of person. It's made me someone I don't particularly like very much.
It's the hermit in me. It's my inability to trust my own judgement and to believe that my friends do actually care about me and won't think I'm an idiot for being scared.
It's made me avoid people and make excuses for why I'm not around or why I can't go out when really.... I totally could.
But if I'm perfectly honest with myself, and to be frank I'm not a very good liar in even my best moments, I'm petrified.
I'm in my Black Year again just waiting for things to go wrong. Because I know that they can. They have before.
And because there is still a part of me that doesn't believe I deserve to be a mother. That I've done too many bad things to have the right to any bit of happiness. And, aside from this insane fear, I am happy.
I have the one thing I always wanted but my mother was certain I couldn't. I have a family. I have a husband who loves me and would do anything to make me happy. I have beautiful, happy kids who never have to wonder if they're loved.
So why am I so sure that it's going to be taken from me?
I do my best to remember that my Dr is unconcerned, for the moment, with my contractions. I do my best to remember that I am feeling the baby move (constantly) and stretch (why yes, that is a rib). That alone should give me some piece of mind.
Instead I rely heavily on denial.
Something that I cannot do if I have to talk regularly to the people who know me best and are outside the worry.
I joke about my husband's concern because to admit that I share it means that there isn't anyone who can assure us, and that would leave me on my bathroom floor again and I can't do it.
I count down the days and just hope it goes quickly and pray that it will be alright.
And I hope that the people I've neglected won't hate me when it's over.

On Animal Anatomy

2007-05-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

David has been fascinated by giraffe's lately. He asks for a giraffe shirt every day (and of course I can't find one). He talks about his pet giraffe and how it's afraid of his pee-pee (I didn't understand why until... well... you'll see).
For Mother's Day, I decided that we should go to the zoo (because nothing says 'taking it easy to prevent further contractions' like a trip to the zoo! It was fine. I sat a lot.) It was perfect (and crazy busy). The bear was in the water and David came face to face with him. It was slightly unnerving to realize that the only thing separating my child from this very large brown bear was a piece of plexi-glass. His fur was matted to the glass right by David's hand. He whispered, "Whoa" and I think that pretty much summed it up perfectly.
The hippos were playing 'tag' and goosing each other so that it was a chorus of snorts, grunts, and growls. One elephant actually reached out and ripped down some branches from a nearby tree for a little treat. The monkeys (please don't ask me which ones) watched us watching them.
But the best par of the day was when we came to the giraffes and David imploded because he Could. Not. Contain. His. Excitement! Oh! Look! Giraffes!! Whoa!!
We bought him a stuffed giraffe (even they didn't have any t-shirts!) and Bre an orangutan and went home. Tired, happy and together.
This morning after Bre went to school, David and I went through our usual routine of 'Name That Animal' (he still insists that monkeys are Daddy). He picked up his stuffed giraffe and gasped.
"Mama? Where giraffe's pee-pee?"

"Oh. Um. I guess he doesn't have one."

He looks in closer to see if maybe he just missed it. He sadly shakes his head.

"Giraffe scared of pee-pee."

Indeed.

Disco Fever

2007-05-10T21:15:00.000-07:00

"It's research."

That was my husband's excuse and why I found myself quietly renting Saturday Night Fever and wishing the glittery-faced (seriously? What the hell is up with the glitter at 11 am on a Thursday?) clerk would stop looking at me like that. I wanted to point out that I was not the one with glitter all over my face, but.... Saturday Night Fever?

Bre's school is having a Disco party soon. During this party there will be a John Travolta look-alike contest.

A contest my husband is determined to win.

Determined enough that I am renting freaking Saturday Night Fever.

I spent a total of 15 minutes with Joe and and the kids while this movie played. Just long enough to determine that my kids are doomed to be very bad dancers.
Just long enough to hear my husband tell my daughter that he was getting some great dance movies out of this.
Just long enough to see me son attempt that finger-hip move and fall backwards over his own butt.

Joe says that there are few times where you get to truly embarrass your kids and he is taking this responsibility very seriously.

All I can promise is that there will be photos.

Conversations

2007-05-09T23:14:00.000-07:00

"Are you being a bug, David?"

"No, not a bug. I'm a Dapid."

"Yes, and David is a bug."

"No, Dapid is a handsome boy."

**********************
"Do you want some mac 'n' cheese?"

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

"Sandwich?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"Cookie."

"No cookie until after dinner."

"Samich."

"What kind of sandwich?"

"Cookie samich."

******************
"Where's mommy's keys?"

"In there."

"Where is there?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know where mommy's keys are?"

"In there."

"Can you point to where 'there' is?"

"No."

"I think you don't know where mommy's keys are. I think you don't know where your butt is wise guy."

"My butt right here. Your butt there, there, there....."

"That's enough of that wise guy."

"No, I'm Dapid."

"You win."

"Yeah."

********************
You know it's going to be a bad day when you're being outsmarted by a 2 year old.

Think of Your Own Damn Title. I'm tired.

2007-05-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

Do you know what I haven't done in awhile?
How about embarrass myself publicly and then tell you about it?
Right.
See, it's not that I haven't done or said really stupid things in public lately, it's just that I've been in enough of a funk to not find the humor in it.
But not now.
No, I think after the day I had it is a requirement to share.

I had a regular check-up (which I just.... urg! More later.....) and, as always, managed to pee all over my hand instead of in that stupid cup.
Seriously? Who's ingenious idea was it that a pregnant woman who can barely tie her shoes should pee into a tiny cup? Because I'd like to beat them. Preferably with something heavier than that stupid cup.
After that frustrating appointment I thought I'd take David to the library.
He has a runny nose. Not sick, just runny. I really thought we'd be ok. This should have been my first clue.
I was standing there talking to the librarian about the book I'd just read (she asked- The House of Scorta) and about some other recent books when I felt something rubbing my leg.
I didn't think anything of it, just figured it was David trying to get my attention, until the librarian got this really grossed out look on her face and suggested that the library wasn't the place for sick kids.
I looked down to see that David hadn't been trying to get my attention. No, he had just used my pants to wipe his nose and now I had a giant snot trail down my leg and my little monster was standing there staring at a booger on the end of his finger.
He offered it up to me with a very pointed "ew".
Yes.
Thanks.
Need I point out that this is the same library where he pulled up my shirt and flashed the patrons my boobs?
Right.
I think the library is just a very bad place for me.
I tried to clean the snot trail, but it was pretty... ew. And despite my best efforts with the tissue I had in my purse, I think I only made it worse. And to make it really awesome, it was shiny.
And nothing says 'great time to run into people you avoid at all costs' like a giant shiny snot trail on your pants. And it was.
*****
I didn't get to see my Dr this time. No, I got to meet with the nightmare that lectured me about how I was gaining to much weight with David (even though by the end of my pregnancy I had only gained 30 lbs) and that I was going to end up getting GD if I didn't listen to her. I didn't listen to her and I was fine.
This time she commented on how I wasn't gaining enough weight and wanted to know exactly what I was eating.
"The faces of bitches who piss me off and I'm feeling a bit hungry lady."
I ignored the question because I've decided she's insane. And possibly a little obsessed with weight. My weight is fine, thank you. If you don't believe me, just ask my son who insists on using my ass as a bumper.
I'm also contracting. Nothing to worry about at this point. It's inconsistent. I may have 3 one hour and then go another 2 before another one comes on. As long as it stays that way, it's nothing to be concerned with.
Of course, telling Joe was a mistake because now he's completely convinced that this kid is going to fall out of me if I sneeze.
I've been fake sneezing all night just to mess with his head.

The Volume of Silence

2007-04-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

I think about the mornings I wake up and the kids are already fighting over whether to watch SpongeBob or Scooby Doo. I think about their afternoon games of 'Scream' where they, literally, try to out scream the other as they run back and forth around the hallway and living room. I think about David's full throttle, unabashed laughter as his sister makes silly faces at him and hers in return as he attempts to mimic her.
The sounds of my daily life. Sometimes it makes me crazy and I find myself wishing for a moment of peace. Sometimes it fills that leftover spot I missed from my own childhood. Mostly it just bleeds from one day into the next; an unalterable course of being. A simply matter of fact.
Now the house is quiet and I am unnerved by it.
Joe took the kids to a friend's house. I am supposed to be using this time to finish up some projects that never quite seem to get done; projects often interrupted by the noise of daily life.
Instead, it feels too hollow.
The radio can't quite drown out the absence of their laughter.
So I watch the clock and hope that they'll return soon.
I find it a little funny, but not in the ha-ha sort of way, that the very thing I've found myself wishing for is making me sad. A little peace. A moment to myself. I seem to have more of that with them here, not occupying my thoughts but simply here. Without the regular hum of their voices, the motion of their play, I feel off-balance.
I've grown accustomed to chaos and without it I am out of place.

What does that say about me?

Old-Fashioned

2007-04-25T22:02:00.000-07:00

It started at 8:30 in the evening. Bre was sitting at the table and the phone rang. I checked the caller ID, and then ignored it.
It's not that I don't think Bre should be allowed to talk on the phone, I really don't care. But 8:30 on a school night? No.
Her friend hung up.
5 minutes later, she called back.
I told Bre to let her friend know tomorrow that she couldn't get phone calls after 7:30 on a school night. Her friend left a message and I thought that was that.
Bre went to bed and I settled in to finish House of Scorta (very good, by the way).
It's 10 pm and the phone rings again.

Are you kidding me?

I answer it thinking I can simply explain to her friend that it isn't ok to call this late.

She said ok.

And then asked to speak to Bre.

At 10 pm on a school night.

Did I mention she's 9?

Am I crazy here? Am I just old-fashioned and doomed to be the 'uncool' mom?

I remember as a kid always telling my parents how my kids would be allowed to do whatever it was they were forbidding my from at that moment. Whether it be talking on the phone at 10 pm, or having an unsupervised party.
Now I see the neighborhood kids playing flashlight tag in the middle of the street at 11 at night and I shiver.
I see the 13 year old across the street in a mini-skirt, high heels and make-up done by Tammy Faye and I cringe.

I like to think that I haven't become my parents, but maybe I have.

So Not Like Me

2007-04-24T22:33:00.000-07:00

Remember when it was Easter? And maybe there were like, pictures or something?
Remember how I'm always, um..... procrastinating?
Right. So...............

Hey! Look! Easter pictures! Because I'm not at all lazy and forgetful. No, not me!

Clearly impressed by the chicken that hatched the pink sparkly egg!
(Not to self: Do not buy the glittery egg dye ever again. Much hate. Really.)

And proof of my child's OCD. He wiped off every single egg he found before he would put it back in the egg tray (and yes, I actually have an egg-shaped tray just for Easter eggs for I am lame and I do not even know where I got the thing from but I keep it).
(Further Note to Self: Glittery egg dye= DEATH!! HATE!!!)

This concludes another lame ass, lazy person post.

Ranting

2007-04-19T23:27:00.000-07:00

Blank. Blank. Blank.
While I can think of a million things to blog about, I can't seem to get them down on... um... keyboard.
Pregnancy brain has taken over.
It started slowly.
Forgetting a check or a meeting. Things I had even made note of but then lost the note, or my day planner and then I got lost in a fog of pickles and grapes (a fine substitute for olives which I still refuse to eat because, ew).
But it's getting worse. And I know that it will continue to go downhill from here.
And then the dreams will come.
I'd search my archives and make a link but I'm afraid of getting distracted and then probably not remembering to come back, but I've mentioned the dream with the ice cream truck and the police before. And then there was the one where Dog the Bounty Hunter was chasing my husband because he farted in downtown Seattle and set off a panic that we'd been gassed by terrorists (it did get him to stop eating tacos before bed during the rest of that pregnancy so it wasn't all bad).
There have been dreams where the baby was more snake than human and was swallowing me from my toes up. Or the one where I gave birth to a 7 year old child (that was my first pregnancy and to be fair, she was nearly 2 weeks late by then).
Those dreams are so real. Real enough that I had to wake my husband after the ice cream dream just to be sure that it was a dream.
I wonder what hormone in the human body accounts for the insanity brought on by pregnancy?
*******

Right up there with strangers trying to touch my belly (and I am so getting to that in a minute), is the moron who asks me how much I weigh now.
Seriously? I barely know you enough to say hello and in case you didn't notice I totally coughed when I said your name because I couldn't remember you. I think that means that asking me how much I weigh is grounds for having a cantaloupe shoved up your nose.
You're just lucky you can run faster than me right now.
Even my husband, the man who has to sleep next to me and pretend not to notice that my ass has expanded to the size of a small walrus, knows better than to ask me that.
While I realize that my husband can be mildly intimidating, he is a big teddy bear. Nicest guy you'll ever meet. Also the guy who will protect your hand from being bitten off should you decide to be stupid enough to reach that dirty paw on over to my belly. Because while he may be a big old teddy bear, I'm a fucking grizzly. Don't touch me.
Last time, I simply told people that I bite. Or I'd reach over and start touching their belly.
Now I'm just a bitch. Keep your mitts to yourself.
*****
Can you tell I'm pissy?
I think it may be part lack of sleep. Or the middle of the night nausea. Or hormones (I love having those hormones to lay some blame to). Or this never-ending rain is starting to make me crazy. Or whatever.
I don't usually swear this much.
Really.
*****

Gratitude

2007-04-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

It's an odd little ritual of mine; hardly worth noting. But I find great comfort in the sound of those little white pills sliding around in the bottle as he takes one every night. I picture that pill as a little soldier; off to kill the very thing I fear and let my husband's liver repair itself a bit.
Every pill is another day away from That Thing We Don't Talk About, even if it is always there in the back of my mind.
It seems almost ridiculous to worry. At his last Dr's appointment there was almost no trace of what's been slowly killing him since he was a child.
But I do anyway. I know, worry is something I'm very good at. But it's more than that.
This is temporary. We don't know how long this medication, new and improved though it may be, will work. We don't even know what the long term effects will be, new and improved as it is. All we have is this hope. All we have is a little relief from the worry we faced last year.
I'll take it.
We've had so many downs that even a temporary respite is a high.
We have so much to look forward to that I try not to dwell on what will come.
We have now. Then is out of our control. My gratitude is for now.
My gratitude is for whatever time those tiny white pills are buying us.
His skin looks good. No bit of yellow to make me wonder.
And I am grateful.
He snores when he sleeps so that the only way I can get him to stop is to poke a rib or pluck some chest hair (subtlety is not in my nature).
And I am grateful.
We argue over something stupid but I find it hard to be angry with him because I am just so damn grateful to be able to argue with him.

Blather

2007-04-17T13:52:00.000-07:00

His head is nestled under my chin, his body is molded to mine. Every time I breath in, I can smell the sweet fruity scent of his shampoo, still cool from his bedtime bath. His little hand is curled around my finger to ensure that I am there. His steady breathing, his sleepy sigh. I smile and kiss the soft curve of his cheek which holds the last bit of his baby-hood in it's delicious fullness.
It wasn't so long ago that he was a newborn, his every need dependent upon me.
Too soon, I won't even be able to hold him when he sleeps.
Too soon, there will be a morning that I wake up and his butt won't be in my face.
Too soon, he won't poke me in the eye and whisper "ake up mama, ake up!"

Maybe that's why I haven't pushed so hard to get him into his own bed (even if I still am not getting up with him in the middle of the night).

******
I thought we had escaped the separation anxiety stage. Or maybe I'm forgetting it.
Whatever the case, it's here now.
When Joe left for work yesterday morning, I could see it in David's face. He crumbled and cried. It may not have been so bad had it not been 4:30 am and had he maybe gone back to sleep.
Anytime we go anywhere, he wants us all to go. Even if it's a quick trip to the store.
If we need to run outside for the mail, one of us has to distract him while the other makes a mad dash.
He is anxious, nose pressed to the window, watching for our return.
It has begun to happen even with his sister.
I'm not entirely convinced that some blow-up look-a-likes would be a bad idea.

Old Friends

2007-04-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, books were my escape. I was the pesky little sister and often got left behind so I wrapped myself in words and got lost. I read everywhere.
In the shower, at dinner (drove my parents crazy until they finally gave up trying to have a conversation with me), walking to school (boy those busy intersections were fun!), nothing stopped me.
I loved those 'choose your own ending' books and The babysitter's club (I was 6!). I even read Sweet Valley High's series (I bet a few of you did too). Then I found Nancy Drew, and a variety of books I no longer remember the name of but it doesn't matter. I remember getting lost and that was amazing.
I loved John Grisham and Dean Koontz when I was 13.
My dad would take me to the book store so that I could load up and it made him slightly crazy (and a little pleased) to know that I'd be finished with my hefty stack of books by the end of the week. I knew every corner of our library and which boards creaked.
Those books were my lifeline. Each character would stay with me long after I closed to back cover and started a new one. I loved those creased spines and worn pages of my favorite books; ones I read over and over until they simply fell apart.
I've missed them. I hate that as I've gotten older I've made less and less time for something that so shaped who I am.
It seems that something always needs my attention. Laundry, dishes, clothes need mending, children need my help or to simply play, and so on. Just ordinary life.
So when my sister sent me a gift card for Barnes and Noble I had a horrible time choosing but couldn't help but to feel so excited.
In three days, I've finished two of the 3 books I ordered.
Maybe there is time after all.

Random Bits

2007-04-11T23:25:00.000-07:00

When we got married we said traditional vows. All that blather about love, honor and cherish in sickness and in health, blah blah blah. I wish now that I had had the foresight to insist that we right our own vows.
The first thing on my list would be that it is an offense punishable by your wife being allowed to wax any body part she wishes for the next year would be to diet while said wife is pregnant.
Yes, there's nothing more comforting than watching your ever-expanding waistline, hoping that no one notices that your pants aren't buttoned, as your husband talks about the 5 pounds he lost last week.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against fitness and being healthy and so forth. But I have no desire to play Hardy to his Laurel (and yes, I do regularly view our marriage as a comedy routine and am perfectly happy this way).
*******
I took another huge step (for me) in becoming less hermit-like. I am now treasurer for next year's PTA board. I'm not entirely sure how it started but I'm kind of happy about it. At least this way I know I will have to leave me house once a week to do related duties and twice a month for meetings. Is that enough to draw me away from hermit status?
******
I meant to post more this week, really. But then the books I ordered for me birthday showed up and........
I've missed reading. Even now I'm thinking of my current selection (started just this afternoon and a bit more than half way through) and wanting to read more but knowing I should just go to bed.
I finished The Memory Keeper's Daughter rather quickly (isn't that always the trouble with books? You get so lost in them, savoring each word and then it's over. Too quickly, the story ends and I find myself still thinking of these characters who had just been so alive to me).
Now I'm engrossed in The Secret Life of Bees.
Both are must-reads though I think The Secret Life of Bees is a more... fluid?
Anyway, both very good.
*****
David has felt it rather important to point out where things belong lately. Or even where things have been.
After Joe changed his diaper (Shut up about potty-training) the other night I asked him if he had been stinky.
"Yup. In dare!" and he happily pointed at his bottom.
Well. Yes. I would hope so my dear boy.

He will open his mouth and point before telling you that that is where he put his crackers.

He points to his shoes and smiles. "Tay go here. On my beet!"

This morning he informed me that I had his chocolate Easter candy in the wrong spot. Since it was on the high shelf where it had been since Sunday I asked where he felt it belonged.
"In dare." and he pointed into his mouth.

I believe this is smoother that his previous attempt which was to 'answer' the phone and have a conversation with his dad. After he hung up his sister's (not connected) pink lips phone, he informed me that Daddy said I was supposed to give David chocolate.

I don't remember Breanna being so... devious?... at this age. I do remember catching her with chocolate chip cookie smeared across her face and she still denied it.
She only 'fessed up when I peered into her belly button and claimed to see the cookies swimming around in her belly.
That belly button thing worked for 2 more years.

The Routine

2007-04-09T23:17:00.000-07:00

Every night at bedtime, David likes to play hide and seek. It's become part of our routine and he insists that I hide with him. The whole thing would probably be more effective if he didn't hide in the same spot every time but he's 2. And the only acceptable place for a 2 year old to hide, in his humble opinion, is in the space between the wall and his headboard.
We duck down into this little space and puts his finger to his teeth and "shh's" me and smiles in anticipation of what's to come. Because while his hiding space is always the same, daddy's method of finding him is always different. Sometimes it's Mickey Mouse who finds us by hanging his head over the side and squeaking in that high pitched voice (and this explains why every time one of David's stuffed animals speaks to me it comes from a very squeaky, whispery voice that only a 2 year old boy could produce). Sometimes Daddy hides and David has to go find him. Sometimes I lift him up to the top of the headboard to surprise his dad.
Whatever the case, it's become his routine.
Once found, he climbs into his bed and waits for his prayers and kisses.
A few months ago, Joe stopped leaving David's room until long after he had fallen asleep.
Apparently Joe forgot the months and months I spent trying to get that kid back to sleep every night for hours on end until I completely lost my shit because guess what!!
Every damn night.
1, 2, 3 am.
Only this time? I'm not getting up with him.
I know it's kind of mean because Joe does have to actually leave the house for his job but whatever.
It's his fault and he doesn't want to do anything to change it. And I refuse to be waking up with 2 kids all night long. The thought of that alone is enough to make me want to stick my hand in the blender.
I figure a few more months of this (and the added benefit of having to get up with an infant as well by the end of the summer) and maybe he'll change his mind.

The Later Regrets

2007-04-04T23:37:00.000-07:00

It struck me today as I felt this baby drop kick my bladder. This year you will have been gone for 8 years. I'd like to say that I don't miss you, but if I were honest, I'd say I've been missing you my whole life.
I don't think of you very much anymore. While I know that there were some good times in there, they are tainted by the memory of your words, of your careless disregard. But sometimes......
I catch a glimpse of you in the way my son absentmindedly plucks at his pillow; or in the way that my daughter smiles to herself at some happy thought. Sometimes I find a picture of you and it's always the same. No matter your hair color, your clothes, your age. It's that same half smile and no eye contact. The same face I remember through most of my life. Unreadable. Unreachable.
I was organizing photos when I came across a picture of you holding my daughter in the hospital. Even then, you held yourself apart. I wonder what you were so afraid of? What was it in that tiny pink blanket that made you so reserved you couldn't just let go with your own grandchild?
Maybe I shouldn't be surprised at your reservation. You couldn't let yourself love your own daughter, how could you love someone that came from her?
Oh I know you occasionally said the words, usually after a lecture on what I'd done wrong or how I was dressed wrong or shouldn't I lose weight?, but it was always so..... robotic.
And I wonder if I'm giving you too much credit when I feel like you knew what you were doing. Like you knew how much you were hurting me and didn't care. Or worse, enjoyed it.
But then I think of those 'family' vacations. You know the ones. All those times you took my older siblings and my younger siblings on vacation but never me. I was 'too young' and when you found out that I knew my younger siblings were going, you knew I was 'busy'.
Busy.
Yes.
Because suddenly I was.
Did it shock you when at 16 I stopped talking to you? Were you surprised that I refused to come to your home anymore? Did you even notice?
I noticed that it took 6 months before you even called me to see what was going on. And then all you asked me about was gloves. That was also the year you got me underwear for Christmas. Underwear that was 4 sizes too big.
I smiled.
But we did start talking again. It may have taken 3 years and me making that first move, but we did.
I had hoped that my pregnancy would have softened things between us.
I was a fool.
You were just as manipulative as ever.
Except now you were drunk, on Prozac and manipulative.
You caused a major blow out between my brother and I because of your very cruel lie.
Still. I wanted so badly for it to work.
I wanted so badly to have a mother that I willingly subjected myself to your criticism. I never really measured up and yes, I felt it.
And then you died.
And I never got to tell you all the things that I want so desperately to tell you now.
In those first months following your death, I think I was in shock.
In my mind you were the mother I had always wanted and not the person you really were. I grieved for you. But really, I think, I was grieving for what I wanted you to be.
Many times over the years I have thought that I'd forgiven you.
Now I'm not sure that I ever will. I don't know if I can. Maybe I have to be OK with that. I don't hate you. Most of the time, I don't hate you. I'm not really sure why you were the way you were. I'm not sure what I did in my birth to make you resent me so much. But at least now I know that it was your issue. That there isn't something broken in me. Whatever was broken? It was about you.
I was fortunate to have my father and stepmother.
Because now I know that I can love and be loved. I'm not that monster you made me feel like.
You once told me that I was turning out just like you. I think you meant it as a compliment and it was probably the nicest thing you had ever said to me.
But it scared the hell out of me.
I remember looking at my daughter and thinking "hell no."
I have made it my purpose to not be you.
I tell my kids every day that I love them. I make eye contact. I hold them, I kiss them, I tuck them in at night and come running when they have nightmares. I care for them when they are sick.
And I protect them.
Sometimes I wonder how things would be had you lived.
Oh, I know how you would be. The same. Incapable of ever being wrong, or ever feeling compassion for your own offspring.
What I wonder is......
What would I have done?
Would I have continued to allow you to damage me and my daughter?
Or would I have finally had the courage to give you the big kiss off and leave you to your later regrets?
I'd like to think you were capable of regret. At least then, you'd still be human.
Of course, I'm stronger now. It's easier to walk away from something you've always wanted but can never have when you have something so amazing to go home too. Having Joe and my kids..... I almost feel sorry for you because you never had that. But then, I remember that you could have had it all.
I wonder why you didn't want it.

On Turning 30

2007-04-03T13:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my 30th birthday. For months I've been hearing tales from friends who, upon reaching this 'dreaded' age, went a little nuts or became depressed. In sympathy, they would tell me it would pass but it sucked.

I'm still waiting for the insanity to kick in.

I don't feel any different than I have on any other birthday (except for maybe my 21st when I was so hungover I couldn't remove my forehead from the cool tile of my bathroom floor).

Maybe it's naive for me to believe that it's not such a big deal, but that's where I sit right now.
*******

While the whole turning 30 thing didn't bother me, certain other lack of things did. A lack of things which I've vented to friends about but am refraining from mentioning here in an effort to spare myself the head ache and you the eye-rolling.

A very dear friend who occasionally comments here (Hi ~M~!) surprised me last night with cake and balloons and the sweetest gift and a very dirty card (really! Your mother would be shocked!) which meant the world to me. I am very fortunate to have such great people in my life.
********

In other news.......

I need to go buy some maternity clothes. I am frightened. You may remember the last time I went shopping and how well that turned out.
Now I will be attempting to shop with a belly. But unless I want to spend the rest of this pregnancy naked or in the one overly floral maternity night shirt that survived my pregnancy with Bre, a-shopping I must go.
Mannequins beware.

5 years

2007-03-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

5 years ago today we stood on that ugly patterned carpet and promised to love each other for as long as we lived.
It seemed like a joke. You, the eternal bachelor and me, the odd ball mother of one odd ball daughter.
And yet, somehow, it worked.

I'll never forget seeing you by the minister looking like a statue. I don't think you blinked once. That's ok though. According to the video I blinked for both of us. In fact, my blinking on that tape has made for a great get-drunk-quick drinking game.
We both had so much to learn about what it really meant to be married and I don't think either of us can deny that the first year was awful. But we got through it and the second year tested our ability to really be there for each other.
And we were. And still.

There are days where I want to rip all my hair out because of something you've said or done that makes me bonkers.
And then you lean in to smell my hair, or you touch my hand as you pass me in the hallway, or you reach over to rub my expanding belly and somehow, I forget what I was annoyed with you about.
Because those sweet moments far outweigh the ones where you've left your wet towel on my side of the bed. Again.

When I'm upset with my sister you listen but never attack her even though I know that she's not your favorite person. You have no idea how much that means to me. Because even though we have a difficult (at best) relationship, I would feel the need to defend her if you said something awful about her. I love that you get that absolutely ridiculous side of me.

The night we met, when my sister married your brother, I knew there was something.
At that time, Breanna was wary of every man she saw (with the exception of my brother and father), but she loved you on sight. And when you spent half the reception playing on the floor with her and a bucket of ice, I knew she was right.
There was something very good and so right about you.

The best part of marrying you has been watching you be a father. It doesn't surprise me that I can't put into words here what this means to me. You already know because we've spent long nights talking about it. You already know what it has meant for Bre.

You knew the first time she called you 'Daddy'.

Happy Anniversary Joe!

I love you.

Boundaries Shmoundaries

2007-03-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

While I am rediscovering boundaries all the time, I realize that the ones I have in regards to my MIL lessen with each ever so brief contact.
I try to hold my disdain in check for my husband's sake but sometimes I find it impossible.
Example.......
We went out for dinner on Sunday to celebrate my FIL's birthday. We were to meet at the restaurant at 5. We naturally assumed they would be late as it is physically impossible for my MIL to be on time for anything. We were surprised to see FIL's car pull in right as we were heading inside.
Or we were until we realized that my MIL was not with him.
She had gone to mass instead.
For the 3rd time that day.
Yes folks, she followed typical fashion of bailing out on family to put in an appearance at church (where, given my admittedly limited experience with her at church, I am fairly certain her time was well spent sleeping/ talking on her cell phone/ writing letters home). My MIL attends every mass given and confession every day. If there is no mass or confession, she has been known to simply sit there and wait for it.
This is far more important than her husband's birthday, a visit with her grandchildren, making sure that her husband got to his very important cardiologist appointment (in her defense, she did have to give a ride to a complete stranger to church instead) and so forth.
It was no surprise at all though that she called just minutes before our dinners were served and guilted someone into picking her up (because driving herself would have meant that none of us cared about her. After all, this dinner was all about her).
I know that I shouldn't be like this towards her. But it's hard not to bitter towards someone who has said and done some very cruel things to me and my family.
I've said before, I've stopped caring so much when she calls me fat (Gee, being 5 months pregnant might have an effect on my body but I could be wrong), mentioned that she didn't want her son to marry me, called me sloppy seconds, discounted my daughter and insulted my parents. But I do. Partly because I always imagined my kids having grandparents they could do things with and we're stuck. My parents would be those grandparents if they didn't live on the other side of the country and I resent that instead, they get ignored. MIL only comes over for birthday parties and holidays. They live just 20 minutes away. We don't go over there because we value the health and safety of our kids and... well.... I don't know how to explain to my MIL that penicillin has already been discovered so it would be OK to clean up now.
But it also bothers me because of how it effects my husband and my relationship with him.
Because as I heard my SIL agreeing to come and pick up my MIL I couldn't help but roll my eyes and my husband gave me that pleading look. That one that says "Please, she's my mother. Please, just accept her".
Yes. Just accept her.
No matter how much she hurts you.
I'm trying.

Boundaries

2007-03-22T21:32:00.000-07:00

When the nurse handed Breanna to me for the first time, I was overwhelmed with the not only with the love I felt for this tiny pink bundle of girl, but by the responsibility I suddenly had to another human being.
Sometimes I still am.
I wonder if I'm telling her enough, if I'm teaching her enough. Will she remember all the things I've taught her? Will she remember to run and scream if a stranger tries to grab her? Will she remember to wrap herself to the stranger's legs if they should get a hold of her? Will she remember to be wary of strangers and forget the manners I've instilled in her? Will she remember the talks we've had about smoking? Alcohol? Drugs? Peer pressure and bullying? What about the little bit I've told about sex and waiting?
Mostly I wonder if I can tell her everything she needs to know while still letting her have some of that beautiful childhood naivete. It's such a fine, thin balance but I think it's important to maintain some semblance of that line for as long as I can.
******
I'm always aware of what I share here about her and I there are certainly plenty of things that I've wanted to talk about, but can't because it wouldn't be fair to her.
Having a family that constantly throws mistakes I made as a child back at me now, years later, I don't want these days to haunt her as an adult. It sucks and there are only so many times you can apologize for that time you left a few cubes of cheese in your room until it smelled so bad every one thought they were going to die. I was 7.
There are things going on now that I so desperately need to talk about and get feedback on but I can't.
So instead, we continue on as we are. Trying to find new solutions, new ways to deal with it.
I question my boundaries in regards to her every day. Even as I type this I am wary of the things I say. I've deleted several paragraphs because it's just too much.
Do you ever wonder if you've crossed a line when it comes to sharing either with or about your child? Even if it's not on your blog. What about with your friends or family? (And hell no, I'm not sharing any of this with my family because I'll be damned if they do to her what they do to me!)

Um.... Hi?

2007-03-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

Right. So I had this blog that I was sort of trying to keep up and then I got distracted by something bright and shiny and hey! Hi! How are you?
I'm still easily distracted, with or without the bright and shiny but um... that's not really that new. Anyone who has been reading this for any length of time (and holy crap! It just took me 5 minutes to type 'length of time' because I can't hit the right friggin' keys! Hey! What's that bright and shiny thing at my feet?) knows that I tend to get off track and ramble.
It's a gift. (no I can't return it, I lost the receipt)

I had my 'big' ultrasound today. The one where you can find out if there is or is not a penis.
Of all the parenting things there are to fight about, all the issues to stick your nose in and disagree with a person about, I had thought that maybe finding out the gender wouldn't be one of them.
I was so very, very wrong.
We don't want to know.
Or, more accurately, I don't want to know. Joe wants to know but he has a big blabbery mouth and would instantly tell his mother who is the World's Greatest National Broadcaster. It's as good as having flashed on the scoreboard at the Superbowl.
So we didn't find out.
The problem comes in when people (co-workers, family, friends, people I don't really know but come up to me in the supermarket and start demanding answers) ask what we're having.
And I reply, "Well, I'm hoping for a small chinchilla because they are just adorable but I think my husband wants a Packer's linebacker."
For some reason this answer just doesn't seem to satisfy them, but the thought of having to say (for the hundred millionth time) that we don't want to know and then hearing the inevitable gasps of horror? Meh. Not so appealing.
I've heard all the "Don't you want to be prepared?", "How can you stand not knowing", and "But it makes it so much easier for us!" that I can handle, thanks.
And what do you mean it makes it easier for you? Last time I checked, it was my ass expanding and bladder being pounded. I am also fairly certain you weren't there when this baby was made so please, why am I making this easier for you?
Preparation. OK. I guess it matters to some, but I don't really need any extra prep time. We have some neutral outfits and can easily pick up those gender specific things when we need to.
I just don't see what the big deal is. I like not knowing. Maybe that makes me strange, I don't care. I don't care if you find out what you're having. Whatever floats your boat. But please, leave my uterus and baby of unknown gender alone.
There. I almost feel better.
Maybe to be safe I should wear a warning sign, because the next person that says anything is getting kicked.
On the upside of things, the baby looks great and is here by named Java-baby. Despite my abhorrence of coffee, this kid seems to be on a permanent caffeine high. He or she couldn't hold still for 10 seconds and at one point, bared butt to the tech. I think I detected a little 'kiss this' in there but kept my mouth shut.

With the eyes over the face, playing peek-a-boo....

Mid-flip.......

And totally pissed off. Note the legs kicking straight up. And sorry kid, but I hate olives, it just ain't happenin'.

******************

I went with the watch. I know, it was the safer bet but what ever. I had it engraved so he can't return it which means he's just going to have to suck it up and pretend to love it!

Shopping For The Difficult

2007-03-13T22:36:00.000-07:00

Our 5th wedding anniversary is coming up on March 30th and I still haven't actually bought Joe anything. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal because we don't normally make a big deal out of anniversaries. My birthday is 3 days later so usually we just have a nice dinner, no gifts, no fuss. I like it that way.
Joe is the most difficult person to buy for.
At Christmas, he returned one gift I bought because 'it wasn't as cool as he thought it would be'.
I thought I had him one year. He had been really into watching this mini-series but had to miss several of the shows because we were on vacation. So for Christmas I went to several different stores and finally found the last copy of the series. I was so excited because finally, I knew I had something he would love.
2 years later it's sitting on the shelf still in the wrapper.
This time though, I really want to get him something he'll love.
I already got my sewing machine, which I wasn't expecting and now absolutely couldn't live without. I know he has something else up his sleeve.
So I'm going to share with you some of the ideas I've come up with and then when he opens whatever I pick and smiles politely we can all pull out our hair. Or maybe just me but you'll sympathize.... right?
First up......
Harley Davidson! He loves motorcycles and has always said he wanted a Harley. Which, obviously, I can't afford but a one day rental? Maybe?
Ok, so he gave his brother his motorcycle because he never had time to ride it anymore but still. It's a Harley Davidson.
There is also this PGA Golf lessons style package that I know would be a hit. Too bad it's way out of my price range!
I think this could work because he could just pick what he wants to do, but they don't tell you what any of the options are. And what if the options suck?
With this I could possibly get him to stop doing the robot in public (it is the only dance he knows) but since we never go dancing? I'm thinking it wouldn't really be worth it. But man would I ever love to try it!
I've automatically skipped over any ideas that involve jumping out of planes or being up in the clouds for any reason. I fear he may want me to come with him and you know how I feel about planes. I think it's fairly obvious how I feel about jumping out of them, hang-gliding, or hot air suicide missions. Right.
I do have a few more practical ideas.
Like this from the Packers Pro shop. I did get him a Packer's watch at Christmas but it was more of a sports watch. One which is currently amid the Great Pile O' Packer's Things He Has Been Given But Refuses To Open. Like the mouse pad and the key chain or the light switch plate. I know. I've said it a million times, he's nuts. He knows it. But he still won't open that stuff up. But this watch? It's nice enough that he might wear it. Sometimes. Like 2 or 3 times a year?
I could buy him a few rounds of golf at his favorite course and wrap it up with a simple bag of tees, balls (golf, not his) and some other golf related item that will be completely foreign to me.
Or.... you could totally save me here and give me some ideas.
I'd rather not beg but................

HELP!

Bang Head Slowly

2007-03-08T23:01:00.000-08:00

Today was my meeting with the People at Bre's school. We went over her tests and talked and........
*sigh*
Is it bad that I'm disappointed that there is nothing they can do for her?
I mean, it's good news. Really. Sort of.
No, it really is.
Because she's smart. Which I knew, but she's smart in the way that she really doesn't need any help. She's actually on the high end of average on many things that surprised me (like vocabulary comprehension and memory). She knew things that I think even surprised them (like that fish can fart). She only fell below the level on one thing but it all averaged out to the fact that she's fine.
I could see her teacher's shoulders drop and hear the frustration and shock in her voice when she asked what else she could do. And I felt it too.
Something is clearly getting lost in the translation for Breanna. She does so well one-on-one but she gets in that classroom and she's just.... lost.
There is very little that we can do for her now that we aren't already doing. I guess we have to just wait and hope that she catches up. That something in her will snap in place and she'll be able to perform on paper in class the way she does at home.
In the meantime I have to make an appointment with her neurologist just to make sure that she isn't having seizures again. I haven't noticed anything but some of her fogginess could be attributed to seizures or even some residual left over from her medication. It's only been a little over a year since we stopped all meds.
It's frustrating to have hope that something will change for her and to then have it yanked away. It's not that I wanted her to have a learning disability and it's not that I'm not grateful that she's OK. It's that I am now at a loss for where to go. It's that I am now more worried than ever about what happens to her next.

*******
When I was pregnant with Bre, we referred to her as The Lump Unknown.
She had been rather unexpected and being young and stupid, I didn't know when my LMP (last period) was. On an ultrasound I had, up in the one corner was a little notation, 'lmp umknown'.
My mother, in a rare friendly moment, laughed because she knew that I hadn't wanted to find out the gender. She pointed to that little notation and declared her future grandchild The Lump Unknown. It stuck.
With David, he was the sprout, Houdini (for his uncanny ability to run and hide every time they wanted to listen to his heartbeat- even during labor), spud, or muppet.
With this one, it has been The Worry.
I want to change that. I think this one deserves some better reference then that.

Baby's heart rate- 152
Blood pressure- normal

Answer for the vertigo and such- "Dehydration and could you please for the love of.... just stop worrying so much. Find some way to de-stress. Please."

Right. And I thought he knew me.

Defect Queen

2007-03-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

Right before the Superbowl Joe decided to buy a new TV. We needed another TV almost as much as we need our own space shuttle, but he insisted that it was something we couldn't live without because this wasn't your everyday TV, oh no, this was an LCD HD TV. Is that enough letters for you? Because as soon as he said it I asked if that included the t-e-q-u-i-l-a that would be needed for him to explain this to me and that was clearly going to have to wait a few months.
He sighed and ordered his new alphabet-happy TV.
After chasing down the UPS guy to get our new TV, he was more than eager to hook 'the girl' up in our room. After 4 hours, he had it mounted, the old TV stored very conveniently in the middle of the living room (he had wanted to set down in the bathroom 'for a few minutes') and was ready to set up our new TV.
He turned it on and after 5 seconds it shut itself off.
For an hour he sat there and turned it on and watched it shut itself off.
He looked like someone just kicked his puppy.
We now, finally, have a new working alphabet-happy TV.
I recently bought David one of those Leap Frog Alphabet refrigerator thingies. When we got home he was so excited to play with his 'lebbers' that I immediately took it out of the box.
It was rather disappointing when 'D' said 'F', 'L' said 'Z', and so on.
David looked at me and just said 'No'.
We tested the next one in the store to make sure it worked. I was tempted to keep the broken one because I thought it was pretty damn funny but then I thought about David's first day of kindergarten and thought.... maybe not so much.
In 3 years we've been through 4 treadmills. It's not like they get hard use or that they are some cheap model, it's just that we seem to be magnets for the defective and broken.
I know that when we go to rent movies, we'll get at least one out of the 3 we always rent that will be scratched and end up skipping over the good parts.
I think it's just a given for us that we will know every crack in the counter at the customer service desks of many stores.
It never bothered me until I realized that I was doing it with my pregnancies too.
Because even though things have been going well enough (OK, by the standards of my last successful pregnancy which is to say, freaky but hanging in there), even though there is a heartbeat, even though I know I can feel this baby move? I don't trust it.
Even as he or she is doing flips on my bladder and pressing it's little body against my abdomen so that there is no doubt that they are alright, I don't believe it. I list all the other things it could be. Gas. Wishful thinking. A mental breakdown. Alien possession.
And I hate that. I wish I could believe it. I wish I could picture us a family of 5 and know that that is what we will be in a few months.
But I can't.

Briefly

2007-03-06T12:56:00.000-08:00

Several years ago I came across this site and have wasted many an hour laughing and groaning at every update. In the current update, though I will not tell you which one, is my own brief tale. One that is further cause for why my sister and I have such difficulty in getting along.

My appointment was cancelled this morning so I have to wait until Thursday to discuss the vertigo/migraines/maddeningly itchy legs. In the meantime, I can feel this little spawn moving and rolling.
David has taken to kissing my belly and talking to the baby. He has offered to take my belly skating and the baby can come too if she wants. He has also requested a sister, not a brother, though I believe that his older sister may have put him up to it.

Thursday morning I will be meeting with a team at Bre's school to get the results of her testing. It seems an odd thing but, I am praying that there is something. Because if there is nothing wrong with her, then what will happen to her? At the rate she's going in her education, I am afraid to contemplate that thought much further.

Blerg

2007-03-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling where you are just absolutely certain that there is something very, very wrong with you? OK, I know there's something wrong with me but that's not what I'm talking about.
I'm referring to my desperate need to scratch the skin off my legs every night because the itching is just that intense. Or the massive throbbing headaches that come on with no warning. And mostly the vertigo.
Dizzy is nothing. Dizzy is a really fast teacup ride and if you just lay down and close your eyes it will all go away.
Vertigo is finding yourself curled into a ball on your bathroom floor because you think if you could just make the room stop long enough to pick your head up off the floor you may throw up. Vertigo is closing your eyes and free-falling ass over ears; spinning completely out of control and there is no end in sight.
And when it passes?
I long for morning sickness.
Doctor's appointment Tuesday if I can hang in that long.

Stitch Happy

2007-02-27T13:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Joe finished work early and was home by 11. I can count on one hand how many times this has happened during the last 7 years. And considering that he will be out of town for the rest of this week and next, it was very much needed.
Whenever he has to work out of town the kids join forces and find new ways to destroy my flimsy grip on my sanity. It is these days that lead me to wonder how smart it is for us to continue adding to our family. If our kids are anything like we were, the youngest will be the mastermind and pure evil (I was the youngest). We're so screwed.
Joe knows how crazy those long days make me which probably explains his willingness to let me buy a new sewing machine yesterday.
It's been 7 years since I've had a working sewing machine which explains my excitement (and possibly Joe's horror at the amount we just spent on this thing for me to get excited over such a little thing) when I managed to thread it right the first time.
Tomorrow I hope to find the on/off switch.
In the meantime I am going to pretend we didn't spend as much as we did on this machine. Instead I am going to pretend that it can magically sew all the clothes we will need for the next 10 years making the expense well worth it.

Who's The Boss?

2007-02-22T22:27:00.000-08:00

"OK Davey, it's time to go to the grocery store!"

"No."

"What? Boy, get your shoes on. We're going."

"No Mamas, I watch Dora."

"Uh-huh. Let's go to the store and you can get a cookie."

"Watch Dora first."

"David."

"Mamas. Shhh!"

"David. We're leaving."

......

"David?"

......

So. Um. Dora was pretty good today I guess.

Customer Service At It's Best

2007-02-20T21:26:00.000-08:00

I've spent the last few hours roaming the house, kicking the walls and mumbling obscenities to myself. I have scared the dogs, dented my toes and sort of damaged the door to the pantry.
Note: Yelling random things about people being idiots and 'hello! Identity fraud you dill hole' at no one in particular may be fine while in your own home, but doing so while standing on your front porch waiting for your dog to get done doing his business makes your neighbors run away.
I got a letter today. A letter from a credit card company to a certain unnamed store (twits!) about my credit card with them.
A credit card that I don't have.
One that I never applied for.
Sufficiently concerned, and slightly suspicious since the name of the store (dingus!) was not on the letter, I called the number that was microscopically printed on the bottom (bastards!).
Have I ever mentioned how much I hate talking to robots? Those stupid automated answering services that wait for you to say a certain thing and then come back with a 'Sorry, I did not understand that. Could you repeat your request?' when all you said was that you wanted to talk to a real live person and not be lost on the phone with a robot for 45 minutes. I do. Hate them I mean. It's rather difficult to ask questions and get real answers as to what is going on when you can't talk to an actual person. UPS does it too. It's one of the many reasons I hate UPS. Well, that and the fact that our UPS guy refuses to ring our bell when we need to sign for a package. He sticks a note on the door and then runs away even as you are chasing after him yelling 'wait'. I once sat on my porch for 4 hours waiting for him because I knew it was the only way I was getting my package. He looked pissed when he saw me sitting there and didn't even notice when I signed 'bite me' instead of my name.
Anyway, I sat on the phone with the robot for long enough to start crying and begging to speak to a real person and I don't know why, but it worked. Unless, maybe as I've often wondered, that robot was an actual person totally screwing with my head.
So real 'person' (tomato brain) comes on and says 'what'.
What?
How about 'what the hell?'
I explain that I got this letter about a credit card that I never applied for and I don't even know who they are and could she tell me what's going on?
*SIGH*
Oh. Yes. This should be fun.
In the most I'm-bored-and-you're-stupid tone she could muster, she said the name of the store and suggested that I had a credit card with a different store in the past. How having a card with a different store (which I didn't) would translate to this card now I don't know but that was my first indication that this was going to be way more difficult than was necessary.
She insisted upon the date that I opened this account, I insisted that I had not opened this account and could she please close it.
She demanded my social security number. I assured her she didn't need the full number.
This is where she began to YELL AT ME.
Ho.ly. Shit.
I offered her the last half just to confirm that she had it and she offered to hang up on me.
Joe came in the room at which point I told him "Dude, this lady is yelling at me and I'm not really sure why."
Meanwhile she's screaming "Ma'am" in my ear until I think I'm going to go deaf and I started to shake because I was getting pissed.
She finally let me confirm my information without giving her the full number (seriously? was that really such a big deal to just take the last 4 digits and then verify it with the rest of the info?).
After which, she smugly reported that if I didn't open an account with them then how did she have that information?
Hello dumb ass, welcome to this century. Have you ever read a newspaper, watch TV, or maybe listened when any one has ever mentioned the words 'identity theft' to you?
But, still wanting to maintain some level of decency here, I told her to please stop yelling at me and consider that someone else may have opened the account with my information. At any rate it didn't matter, the account needed to be closed.
She continued to yell in my ear (I'm holding the phone away from my head and Joe can hear her from across the room. It was like talking to my MIL only more pleasant) about how I opened an account and no one else could have given them that information but whatever because she was closing the account.
And then she hung up on me and I didn't even have the opportunity to tell her that the sticky side of that maxi was supposed to go down. So, sorry. I may have been able to save the next person's eardrums but she was way too fast on that hang-up for me.

Hairapy

2007-02-19T12:16:00.000-08:00

When I was a teen I changed my hair every month. From cutting it, to the unfortunate perm to coloring it, it was the one thing in my life at that time that I had control over.
And it always seemed to cause problems for someone else in my family. Funny how my hair could cause so much grief for someone whose head it did not sit on.
The unfortunate perm, as it will always be remembered by me, started with my very odd desire to have spiral curls. Like Shirley Temple. Because when you were a teen didn't you want to look like Shirley Temple? Wait... no? Well what's wrong with you then? Whatever. I did want them and I bugged the hell out of my dad for weeks about it. Having a step mom who owned her own beauty salon would make one think that this would be an easy enough request to fulfill. Except that I was a teenager and we didn't like each other very much back then.
Then my mom decided to take me to her stylist and give me the perm as a birthday present. This was a huge deal and should have sent the alarm bells ringing in my head. Especially since my birthday had passed several months before and I had thought that the phone call was my birthday present. But my desire to have those curls outweighed my natural suspicion of anything involving my mother so I agreed.
I had really long hair at the time (which the stylist managed to burn quite a bit of it off as she was burning my neck with those damn chemicals) and my mother repeatedly mentioned how this was costing her a fortune and I had better appreciate it. Other than that, nothing was said in regards to my hair. Not even a roll of the eyes or a snort from my stepmother when she saw it.
A few weeks passed and I grew annoyed with the constant poof in the back and I began to get that itch to do something odd to my hair. I thought that I had better show restraint though since my mother had spent a 'damn fortune and a little appreciation would be nice'. So I only shaved off the lower half of the back. Something that would not be noticeable to anyone unless I wore my hair up and that was something I only did when my best friend and I were sneaking off to a club an hour away where all the other little freaks hung out.
Except that I did wear my hair in a ponytail one day when I was painting. I paused to get a drink and my stepbrother saw my hair.
It took exactly 2 days for him to rat me out (bastard).
My mother waited for Thanksgiving to pounce.
As soon as I walked in her door and went to give her a hug, I knew. She crossed her arms and took a step back. She demanded to see what her ungrateful daughter had done and then proceeded to chew me out for 20 minutes for ruining the gift she had given me. Then she decided that we wouldn't discuss it further because she didn't want her holiday ruined. Naturally the rest of dinner was spent discussing my hair and how ungrateful I was.
I think it was 6 months before we started speaking again.
I started coloring my hair when I was 13. I always did it myself, never made a mess and as long as I wasn't wrecking the house I guess my dad figured it wasn't the worst thing in the world. I was blond for about a week once (I look terrible as a blond), varying shades of red or brunette. Black hair a few times but it was such a pain to get rid of that I stopped using the permanent color for that one. When I was 17, I died my hair pink.
My dad had a bit of a meltdown over that one. Not really because it was pink but because it was right before we were to go over to my aunt's house and she already had a rather low opinion of me. He kept asking 'why?' over and over again.
My answer of 'they were out of blue' didn't seem to satisfy.
Through all those years of hair damage, the one thing I learned was that black hair dye is bad. Very bad. Especially when you are as white as me. I earned the nickname 'snow white' during that time which was then a compliment but not so much now. My hair held that black dye like it was it's true love. The last time, I had to have my hair stripped and even then it clung to my hair in patches.
3 years later the black was finally all gone and I felt certain that that was the last I had seen of it.

And then I decided to dye my hair this weekend. A perfectly harmless dark brown.

It's black.

Food For Thought

2007-02-15T22:41:00.000-08:00

The one part about pregnancy that I am never ready for is the food cravings. I know it's pretty normal and whatever but I still just don't get it.
There are times where I'm craving something so bad that the thought of eating anything else makes me nauseous. There was the week where all I could eat were BLT's. Then it was cinnamon Life cereal. Baked potatoes. The 2 days where I ate nothing but apples and cheese. I can deal with all that.
What I can't handle are the other odd food cravings.

*Pickles- They're OK on burgers but I've never been the kind of person to suddenly decide to just eat one. What really makes me bonkers is that it's never sour enough. Do they make extra sour pretzels?

*Olives- I hate olives. They are revolting and I've admitted more than once that they freak me out. Those little red pimentos in the center make them look like eyeballs. Disgusting, free-floating eyeballs staring back at me every time I open the refrigerator.

*Steak- OK, I know. It's not disgusting. I've just always preferred chicken. Except now I can't eat chicken.

*Gummy worms- again, not disgusting but I haven't eaten a gummy worm since I was a kid. Last week? I ate the whole bag. And then told Bre we must have lost them.

*The jar of mystery in the back of the fridge- I have no idea what it is. They look like little white flower buds. I don't know where they came from but the urge to eat them is there. Which totally explains why I put it on Joe's car seat the other night after he went to bed. I don't know what he did with it once he got to work but they are gone.
When I was pregnant with David, I woke up at 2 am craving a pumpkin pie so badly I made one. At 2 am.
And then ate the whole thing.

With Bre I ate an entire jar of applesauce without even realizing it.

I don't know. Maybe it's genetic.

When my mom was pregnant with me she ate a jar of cold sauerkraut every day (and she hated sauerkraut). She also blamed me for feeling so horribly sick for her entire pregnancy (yes, the sauerkraut had nothing to do with it).

Biting Off More Than I Can Chew

2007-02-14T12:28:00.000-08:00

In the time that my husband and I have been together we have celebrated Valentine's Day exactly once. It was the first year together and it just happened to fall on the weekend that I flew out here to see him (I still lived in PA) so I'm not sure that it really counts since we would have done all the things we did whether it was Valentine's Day or not.
I have nothing against celebrating. I mean, whatever tops your taco. We just... don't.
But we do have a ritual.
About 2 weeks before Valentine's, Joe will start mentioning a funny card he saw for me or talking about flowers, etc. Then I roll my eyes and tell him to please don't.
It's not that I don't appreciate the thought. It's just that I add up the total that he or I would spend on cards, flowers, candy or whatever and I think about all the other things we could use that money for, like going to the movies, or applying it to a credit card, and I just don't see the point. We tell each other we love each other every day. We do nice things for each other all the time. If we're out and we see something that the other person would love or could really use, we usually get it.
But this year? This is a little different. Because there is something I want for Valentine's Day this year.

This year, I want him to help dig me out of the big pile of volunteer work I managed to get myself into. This year, I want him to help me make the 300 scrapbooks I accidentally volunteered myself for. Or maybe just teach me to say no.

I Think I Remember My Name

2007-02-12T22:31:00.000-08:00

The nice thing about blogging is that right now? I can talk to you and breathe at the same time. And you can possibly understand just what the hell I'm saying. Because really? I sound like Mushmouth.
If I turn my head to the right, I can breathe out of my left nostril. If it I turn the the left, I can breathe out of my right nostril. If I look straight ahead, I can't breathe. If I stand up, I can breathe again.
It's a really fun game and my husband has been enjoying my nightly sleep routine because he always enjoys not being able to sleep.
I tell you all this so I can also tell you that I am not allowed to be sick right now. I have tried to explain this to my sinus' (bite me grammar people. Or get me some decongestant so I can think), but they told me to suck snot.
I am not allowed to be sick right now because it is Monday. Which means it's no longer the weekend. And you know that rule right? The one that says moms can't be sick except on weekends when someone else (in my case, Joe) is home to take care of the kids, nothing major needs to get done, the kids don't have some activity and you don't have important plans (like getting roasted to death in your friend's very beautiful new Durango on your way to dinner because she doesn't have blood in her veins. No, she has ice cubes floating around in there which force her to freeze even if it is like 90 degrees. But since she didn't yell at you for taking a goofy picture of her with your camera phone and she doesn't laugh at the stupid things you say, you put the window down and pretend to be a dog. Did I mention I had fun?).
Right. So, it's Monday. I am not allowed to be sick anymore. I just wish this rule also applied to children. Because there is nothing more pathetic than a sick little boy who can't sleep. Or, more accurately, can only sleep in 10 minute increments before he coughs which then makes him cry because it just hurts. And you can't even hold him to comfort him because it hurts to be touched.
His eyes are all red, his nose just keeps dripping, he's had a fever and he sounds like he swallowed a seal whole.
We sat around at the walk-in clinic for 3 hours just to be told that he had a 'flu-like' illness that was not the flu. Which makes me feel even worse that I let them do that test to see if it was the flu. Have you ever had that test? David highly recommends it. They take this thin wire (it looks like the under wire from a bra) and shove it up each nostril. As the Dr put it, "Not all the way back to brain but... well he's not going to like it."
Well, duh.
He screamed for 20 minutes after it was over and when the Dr came back in the room he ran and hid behind the table with his hands over his nose.

And for all that time and pain?

He was rewarded with cough syrup with codeine.
Or maybe I was rewarded.
I guess it depends on how you look at it.
I look at it like he was asleep 15 minutes after taking it and he's been asleep for 3 whole uninterrupted hours.
I'm sure we are horrible parents and whatever but the best part was when we were getting him in his jammies and his eyes were closed and he was talking. "Piggies... oink, oink, mooo... stinky.... NO MINE!... haha...."
He was snoring when we laid him down.

I hope that after this round of illness, we get a break. We need it. We need 7 days where no one is sick.

Language Arts

2007-02-08T12:46:00.000-08:00

It wasn't that many posts ago that I admitted that I couldn't understand most of what my Hurricane said to me. There were a few very clear words: cookie, juice, no, stinky. Simple, basic words needed to get through your average day. Everything else seemed to be a different language. Something spoken only in those jungle tribes featured on the Discovery Channel.
Recently a new child has taken the place of that foreigner I pretended to understand. Someone who says things like "mommy wake up" and "open ta gate peas" and "no mommy no. no boccli, no rice. I want pop-tar."
Someone who speaks complete sentences. Someone I can understand.
Most of the time.
There is still the matter of the "Nahg a dopito don don ok?"

I have not one clue as to what he is referring to but I know it's important because even if I'm in the middle of explaining to the cashier that she can't put my milk on top of my bread, he will grab my face and pull me into him, his head tilted into mine so that he is peering down at me for a change. We are eye to eye as he very sternly tells me, "Nahg a dopito don don ok?"
But the part that kills me is that he leans back and pats my cheek as if to say "that's my girl."

I'm not sure what it is I'm supposed to do but I'm clearly not doing it if his disappointed sigh and head shaking is any indication.
***********************

Despite her many objections, Bre is getting the new vaccine Gardisil.
We went back and forth for all of 5 seconds on whether or not we should. I don't know if our insurance will cover it or not and quite frankly we don't care. It's worth it.

*****************
My husband is dragging me into this century and forcing me to get a cell phone.
Yes, my dirty little secret is that I don't have a cell phone. The 5th grader down the street has one but not me and he thinks that there is something wrong with that.

It's Never Going To Be Different

2007-02-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

I had a regular check-up with my OB today. Just your average once a month check. Weight, questions, heart beat.
Except that when I was laying there waiting for the nurse practitioner to find the little thumpy-thumpy, she didn't.
It felt like forever, laying there while she moved the Doppler around searching for my baby. Each second that passed made me feel heavier, as though the absence of that sound was pushing me through the table.
"Well, it's still early so I wouldn't worry."
Of course you wouldn't. But I would. I'm 14 weeks. I've heard and seen the heartbeat. I've had several miscarriages before. Those patronizing words did nothing to alleviate my worry.
She suggested an ultrasound and asked me to wait while she went to get someone else who could do it.
I lay there on the table listening to my son crinkle the paper at my legs. My already swelling belly was covered in gel.
And it had been a long time since I had felt that alone.
Please God please please, not again.
She came back with a nurse who took my hand and said she'd try the Doppler once before the ultrasound.
And she found it immediately.
I was surprised to realize that I was crying.
I know it was partly in relief. My baby is OK. I am still pregnant and moving ahead.
But I think I was also crying because I know that I am never going to be as naive as I was with Bre. I am never going to be that relaxed. I am never going to be able to look at my ever swelling abdomen and not wonder if everything is really OK, or if it's all going to go horribly wrong. Again.
I thought I was doing alright. I hadn't freaked out once in the past few weeks since I heard the heartbeat. I ignored the headaches I was getting and my stiff neck and considered a new pillow. I never thought about how my muscles react to stress.
And I know that I'm doing it again. I'm bottling up that fear, that anxiety about this baby because I don't know how to express that to the people who care about me. I am afraid of them telling me that I'm crazy or worse, that I need to 'relax'. That is the sort of thing that makes me feel justified in punching them in the nose.

Before they found the heartbeat, David was tickling my feet. My feet. Anyone who knows me knows that this is a huge deal for me. I can't even stand the thought of anyone touching my feet. I have never had a pedicure because I can't refrain from kicking people who touch my feet.
But he tickled them. After we left I realized that I never even reacted. Not even a little bit.
I need to do something, find some way of handling this better.

My Husband's Dirty Little Secret

2007-01-31T22:29:00.000-08:00

I can't believe that after nearly 5 years of marriage I have discovered that my husband has been keeping a secret from me. Huge, massive secret with deep, deep repercussions here people! 5 years! Massive Secret! When I think of all he had to do to keep this from me.... I just... I... mind. Boggled.
I was cleaning out our closets, dragging out my maternity wear (why do I have a flowered maternity shirt made for someone carrying triplets? I don't even like flowery stuff. The hell?) when I found it. A little metal lock box.
Sure, I had seen it before but never really thought to much of it. It used to be in with his fire safe and everything in there is designed to put me instantly to sleep so I ignored it. But now? Now it was in the closet. And as anyone with any sense of snoopy-ness knows, things found in closets are always more interesting than things found in fire safes.
He uses the same 'super-secret' code for everything so it was easy to open.
And I did. And before I hear all about how "Invasion of Privacy!", "Boundaries", "Trust!" just shut up and consider that if I hadn't you would not now be privy to this very interesting fact about my husband that was heretofore unknown and it is good. Plus, if he really wanted to keep it a secret, he should have left it in the safe because I... *snore*.....
And he knew I was cleaning out the closet. So.... pppbbffffttt!
Where was I?
Oh yes, Mind. Boggled!
Because there in that little cold gray metal box was a bag. Of hair.

A. Bag. Of. Hair.

People! I live in a house where there is a bag of hair in a lock box!

And then it all sort of started to make sense. At least as much as a bag of hair in a lock box can make sense.
See, my husband has often fondly recalled his early 20's when he had really long hair. Down to his ass long. And how he missed it.
What makes this even better? My husband was a big fan of that unfortunate 80's fashion phenomena known as......
The Mullet.
Business in Front,
Party in the Back Dude.
Yes. The long (down to the ass) hair in the back and the short and spiky on top.
Judging by the length of the hair in this bag, it could be only one thing.
It was held together at the top with a thick hair tie and then carefully wound into this Ziploc bag.
This thing is 15 years old. He has been carrying around a bag of hair for 15 years.
He's moved so many times, twice with me, and everywhere he has gone, so has this bag of hair.
I am completely..... Boggled!
And one hundred percent convinced that it is my duty, my obligation as his wife to mess with his head.
So here's what I'm thinking. I'm going to get my very long hair cut this weekend (please, I've been wanting to do this for awhile and I just have to now!). I am going to ask them to cut it just above a thick hair tie. I am going to place it in a Ziploc bag.
Then I am going to put it in that little metal lock box and not say one damn word.
I will wait until I know that he has checked on his box of hair. I will wait to see if it has been moved.
I wonder if he will freak out. Maybe he'll think his hair has cloned itself? Maybe he will think that perhaps he had another bag of hair that he forgot at some point?
Whatever.
In a few months, I will make a baby ponytail. One tied with a little pink ribbon and put in a sandwich baggie.
One that will maybe make him think that his bags of hair have mated and made baby hair.
Unless you can think of a better way to mess with the mind of a man who has been saving his mullet hair for 15 years.

Being Someone Else

2007-01-30T22:17:00.000-08:00

I'm such a freak. I hate that I worry I so much. I hate that I think about all the stupid things that could (or did) fall out of my mouth. I hate being awkward.
That meeting today? Totally fine. Because the person I was meeting with was obviously not going to squish me like a bug or lock me in my gym locker or something equally stupid. She wasn't some very cool untouchable. She was just a normal person. A mom, like me. We took care of business and talked about our kids. I told her I was pregnant again. She remembered David's Humpty Dumpty costume from last year. We talked about how our kids were doing in school and their struggles and it was comforting to know that Bre wasn't the only one have some sort of trouble. And I know it sounds totally stupid but it was just one more step in the right direction for me. Because I got through an hour in the company of someone I didn't know very well and I didn't implode.
Someone asked me once why I volunteer for these things, why I put myself in the position to feel so uncomfortable.
Really simple. I don't want to end up being crazy cat lady. I don't want to be a hermit. I don't want to be awkward. I put myself in situations where I have to step outside of my shell because I hope that someday, I won't have that shell.
It was easy when I lived in the same state I grew up in. I had friends who had always known that I could get shy, even around them, but didn't hold it against me. Since moving here I haven't met a lot of people. It's not that I haven't tried, though I could certainly try harder. It's just that I suck at this. I'm better when I'm able to write down my thoughts and then go back and erase it when it's really stupid. Or in pig latin. But I'm working on that. And someday I won't be someone else. That someone else will be me.

* Did I mention that this someone else has to actually go to businesses and ask for discounts and possibly donated stuff? Know anyone who has an extra Wii sitting around? Heh.

Speaking of Inevitable...........

2007-01-29T22:27:00.000-08:00

One of the following statements is true. Can you pick out the right one?

1) Our VCR finally revolted by throwing up after one too many showings of Elmo and his Number 5 rap.

2) The toys are in on the plot with my laundry room to destroy what remains of my sanity.

3) Hurricane has returned and moved on from soggy cheerios to blocks. Because blocks go in a lot further than soggy cheerios.

And just for useless trivia's sake..........

Our VCR can hold 5 blocks (3 long, 1 triangle and one half circle), a police wall from his train set and a motorcycle puzzle piece and still be able to play that freakin' Elmo tape.

I wonder if tomorrow I can convince him to shove in a few more and possibly do a little damage.

Random Bits

2007-01-29T15:08:00.000-08:00

*Friday, Joe came home with the stomach flu. He was sufficiently miserable and just wanted to go to bed. After listening to him complain and moan for awhile, I mentioned that this is what morning sickness feels like and this is what I've felt like for the past 2 months.
"I don't know how you could handle it. This sucks!"
Commence arm-pumping in victory!! Woo-freakin'-hoo! A little empathy just brightened my whole week. I congratulated myself on being able to convey my misery of the past two months to my husband and sent him off the bed.
Karma kicked me in the ass for my pride because by the time I got up, the stomach flu had found me. The only way I could tell the difference between this and the normal morning blahs was the dizziness and other things which I will not mention because. ew. really.
I spent the entire day in bed trying not to die. By evening I was down to dry heaves and able to keep ginger ale down.
I celebrated last night by eating pancakes.
*I have lost 10 lbs. Not particularly surprising, nor worrisome, since I went through this with David too and quickly caught up (and then some) by the end of my second trimester.

*My dog smells like Fritos.

*I was cleaning out my closet and found a bunch of overalls (what the hell was I thinking?) to toss. Among them a pair I have never worn and just do not understand what the hell my husband was thinking in buying them for me. They have piglet on the front pocket.
Do I look like I'm 5?

*I have a meeting tomorrow morning at Breanna's school. I'm supposed to chair Family Fun Nights for the PTA (I've never 'chaired' anything before. What the hell was I thinking?) and I'm feeling anxious about it which I know is completely ridiculous because frick! It's just bingo and maybe a movie night a few months from now! But I am. Anxious I am. I always feel just outside of the loop with these people. Like they've all known each other since grade school and there is no room for me. And the woman I'm meeting tomorrow is completely intimidating to me. It's not her, it's me. It's just my naturally socially awkward, uncomfortable self. I'm always afraid I'll end up speaking pig latin or something stupid like that.

*Lately David has been having these... um... screaming matches? With himself? He is completely inconsolable. One minute he's fine, the next he's screaming in agony. I have no idea how to make it stop but I think I've found the source of my migraines.

The Potty Has It

2007-01-25T22:23:00.000-08:00

Everywhere I turn lately people are talking about potty-training. What's the right age? What's the best method? Or 'geez, that kid is 3 and still not potty-trained?' as though it's going to prevent them from some day attending Harvard.
With Breanna, the cat sort of trained her and she also trained the cat.
When we thought maybe it was time to start potty training her we bought one that played music every time she peed. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world! I mean, what kid wouldn't want music to announce their amazing mastery of the potty? Right?
The first time she did it and that music played she ran out of the bathroom crying, still peeing and then refused to go anywhere near it.
I thought we were never going to get her out of diapers. Someday she would be telling her therapist that she would love to use the potty but she was afraid of the orchestra.
Then she saw the cat in the litter box.
I spent the next few weeks pulling her out of the litter box and trying to explain why people don't pee in boxes filled with dirt.
Finally, I moved the litter box into the bathroom, next to the now broken musical toilet. Anytime the cat would go in, so would she.
And then one day I walked in on the cat sitting on the toilet. Peeing. In the toilet.
He sat and looked at me. I stood and stared at him.
He sniffed and I think that if he could have he would have slammed the door in my face. Who did I think I was invading his privacy like that?
With David it's different.
We thought that he was ready. He gave all the cues that he was. He tells us when he's peed or poo-ed, talks about the potty, knows how to flush, and will go into the bathroom to do his thing.
We bought him a non-musical potty (though they had that musical one and I was so tempted because how awesome! except that didn't work out so well last time) and showed it to him. We sat him on it and he happily kicked his feet and sang 'potty, potty, potty'.
But, nothing.
Weeks have passed and still nothing.
The other day when I suggested the potty he agreed, but refused to take off his diaper. He sat and smiled, kicked his feet and talked away as though we were best friends having coffee. Then he did the one thing that can only be blamed on his father and makes me so very glad that we have 3 bathrooms.

"Mamas, I need book!"

Quit With The Big Sad Puppy Eyes Already!

2007-01-24T13:06:00.000-08:00

After months of thinking that Hurricane was never going to sleep, that we were going to spend the rest of our lives returning him to bed and begging him to sleep, he finally seemed to get it. He loved his bed time routine (in which I must kiss puppy 4 times and him 5 and puppy must have it's own cup of water) and would generally sleep until 7:30 am when he would crawl into bed with me and watch cartoons. Occasionally he would get up in the middle of the night, usually if he'd lost his cup of water, but he would happily go right back to sleep once I tucked him in. Nap time has been a breeze. He gets his pediasure and a back rub and that's that.
And then there was last night.
Something told me when he got up at 11:30 that this was different, that it was going to be a long night. He fussed when I put him back in bed.
Midnight: He's crying for daddy who is loudly snoring and pretending that he doesn't hear his son screaming or me begging his son to go back to sleep. I tuck Hurricane back into bed and gently knee husband in the side. He rolls over and stops snoring.
12:45- I am just falling back to sleep when Hurricane is again at his door crying. I feel annoyed, frustrated and exhausted. Husband looks at me as I stomp out of the room. I tell Hurricane it's night-night time and let's go back to sleep. He reaches for me and I sigh.
And then I smell it.
I turn on the lights and he is covered in puke. His pitiful little whimpering and the tears in his eyes are enough to undo me.
I gag as I undress him (can't help it, weak gag reflex) and then begin trying to clean up his carpet.
He sits, moaning softly, watching me.
I feel guilty. Poor baby was sick and there I was not listening to his cues.
I get a clean pair of pajamas out and start to dress him.
"mamas? Tummy, huuuurrrtt."
I know baby. I know. And I'm so sorry!
I tuck him back into bed and kiss his sweet head.
"love you boo-bear."
"Oo-kay mamas."

1:30- Once again cleaning up puke and removing his pajamas. I lay towels out on his bed and crawl in next to him but he doesn't want to sleep.

2:00- I'm being taught a lesson in patience. He has decided that he doesn't want me to leave but I shouldn't lay down either.
Suddenly he sits up, moaning. I know what's coming and hold out the towel. He throws up a little more and finally seems tired.
I tuck him back into bed and leave.

2:30- It's going to be a long night. I let him put on his Nemo jammies and I sit on the floor by his bed, waiting for him to fall asleep.

3:15- I sneak back into my own bed.

3:45- Husband let's Hurricane into our bed where he promptly throws up on him, just a little (I managed to not laugh out loud. I am vindictive and mean).

4:15- Everyone is cleaned up and Hurricane is sleeping on Husband's shoulder. I drift off to sleep.

4:30- Husband's alarm clock goes off and I am once again awake. And frustrated.

5:15- drift off to sleep again.

6:00- Hurricane crying in his sleep.

7:30- He is up for good and there is poop all over the bed. Woo-hoo! It's time to party!

I need a nap. And a maid. And a Get Out of Guilt Free card.