Lost A Sock

I've Moved!

2007-07-19T16:31:00.000-05:00

Please visit me at my new site, www.lostasock.com

See you there!!

And for the endorsement, Weight Watchers, you can make the check out to...me.

2006-10-05T20:23:00.000-05:00

For the longest time I have been making mental notes to write about my now nine month journey in weight loss. There are so many different parts to this journey I could write about though, that I have had no clue where to begin. So without a decided beginning, I have resolved to just start somewhere, even if it involves jumping around and losing you for three sentences in the middle.

In the eight weeks after Jack's birth I lost sixteen pounds. Four of those pounds were Jack himself, and I would guess that the majority of the other twelve would be water from all of the swelling I had from the pre-eclampsia.

Actually, let's go back a bit further.

My pregnancy with Jack was not easy, and it was certainly anything but healthy. Early on in the first trimester I had big progesterone issues, which had us teetering on the edge of losing him on a couple of occasions. Sometimes a mother needs a progesterone supplement to help keep the uterus lining healthy for that little baby to hang on to. And most times her doctor will have her take one pill daily. I had to take six pills daily. And then I had a blood test every other day for eleven weeks to be sure my levels stayed above dangerous. Besides that, I also had morning sickness all day long, for five months. Five. Months.

After morning sickness wore off around twenty weeks I was sure I was in the clear for at least a little while even though I vividly remembered pre-term labor, pre-eclampsia and bedrest while pregnant with KJ. And unfortunately, KJ's pregnancy would end up being the easier one.

By the time I was 26 weeks pregnant with Jack the contractions began. I could not walk the mall, or the grocery store, or anywhere without feeling like my baby was about to release himself through my pelvic floor. My entire abdomen would tighten up in the middle of anywhere and everywhere, and I would stop to breathe through contractions. Without really needing to think it over much (what was there to consider? My not-ready-to-survive-outside-my-body baby wanted out!) my doctor assigned me to bedrest.

By 28 weeks my blood pressure began to rise very slowly and very steadily. By 30 weeks my usual resting pressure of 120/70 had climbed to a consistent 140/90. At 31 weeks I began vomiting again, swelling like nobody's business, and seeing small lights float past my vision. From week 31 through week 35 I was hospitalized for days at a time on multiple occasions. I received two sets of steroid shots to speed up the development of Jack's lungs. I had several ultrasounds per week to check amniotic fluid and to see how the baby was tolerating life in a hostile body. My doctor wanted to hold me off from delivery until 32 weeks. And then 33. And then 33.5, and then 34. By 34 weeks my blood pressure was 165/110, I was throwing up every night, swollen like crazy, and massive headaches began. I was showing protein in my kidneys and my reflexes were not responding very well.

On the afternoon of New Year's Eve I came down with yet another massive headache, and my doctor thought it best to check in to the hospital again. I took Tylenol and let it wear down to more of a somewhat-lingering headache rather than a holy-crap-would-you-please-not-move-and-not-talk-and-not-breathe-anywhere-near-me headache. And then we visited Kevin's family for sandwiches, and checked in at the hospital just before midnight. My doctor ordered more meds, and more meds, and more meds, and then anti-seizure meds. And then we decided enough was enough.

From two biofetal profiles we knew that Jack's lungs were well on their way to breathing. Beyond all of the other problems for both Jack and myself, he was missing out on so many nutrients because my blood pressure was so high, which meant he was not really gaining any weight anyway. So on the first day of my 35th week, at 8am on New Year's Day 2006, I delivered my 4 lb 6 oz baby via c-section, the first of the new year at our hospital.

No comments on the picture, please. Given birth? Look glamorous afterwards? Somehow I if I had to guess, I would guess...not.

As I mentioned earlier, I lost sixteen pounds in those first eight weeks. Then I wanted to give something up for Lent, and I decided it would be my food addiction. I thought I might lose twenty pounds while I was at it.

Now, I had been on and off of Weight Watchers about 37 times in my life. I know the program like I know my address, so I decided to follow it, but without attending the meetings, and hence without paying $45 per month to have some overly-friendly and thinner-than-I lady tell me how much I weighed. I set some ground rules for myself, and I stuck to my goals. I found foods that satisfied my cravings for chocolate, and mashed potatoes, and all of the other wonderful non-diety foods. Keep in mind that in the beginning I was not very far from just having delivered a baby. My hormones were still quite whacko.

I follow the points system as best as I can, but not to the point of losing my fragile little mind. If I have only two points left at the end of the night, but am starving beyond all reason, I have something to eat. And once a week, I eat whatever I want and count nothing. I found that it helps keep my metabolism from bottoming out. And last but not least, I remind myself at least a handful of times per day that the smaller portion of food is enough to satisfy me.

During Lent I lost about twenty pounds, just as I had predicted. And then I kept going. I lost another 10, and another 10. And then I fell off the wagon for a good week, but got back on and slowly and steadily lost another 15. To date I have lost 55.5 pounds somewhat sticking to the Weight Watchers program. I have lost 71 pounds since I delivered Jack.

Those are crazy numbers, I know. I never thought I could do anything like this in my life. It is a big deal. A huge deal, and in the middle of all the hard work, I am not afraid to say so.

And the emotional aspect, and the motivations to keep moving, and the never-expected personal changes that I have not discussed here will wait for later, when your eyes go back to normal after staring at this computer screen for the three hours required to read this entry.

A day in my existence where Kevin works 30 hours in two days time

2006-10-03T15:40:00.000-05:00

It is the first week of the month, which at Kevin’s new company means working lots and lots of hours. Last night he arrived home at 10:20pm, and will do the same tonight. That leaves me in kiddie-land for two days without him. See where this is going?

When Jack woke up at 7:06 this morning I had no complaints, because for the first time in five months, he did not get up twice during the night. I have been working hard on getting him to sleep through the night, as I hear is the trend with many other nine-month-old babies. I decided last night that when he woke I would provide only a half of a bottle, with no diaper changes and no rocking back to sleep. Half of a bottle, while laying in bed. That’s all. I was hoping to remove some of the rewards for multiple wake-ups. And to that Jack must have thought, well then screw this. Because he slept through the night.

And now that I announced it to you, internet, he will never do it again.

So at 7:07am I made good use of time and stripped all of our beds and re-made them, and pulled my bedroom curtains off the wall to be washed (I see your mind straying off into June Cleaver-land, but let me reassure you, I only wash curtains when the dust on them becomes so heavy that the screws in the curtain rod brackets begin to pull from the walls.) By 8am I had blankets in the washer, the house vacuumed, and clean dishes put away. I was productive. You know, to kill time.

While changing sheets I noticed that our three year old pillows were getting quite nasty, so I took every bed pillow in the house, smashed them into a garbage bag, and ran them to the curb, thus forcing myself to replace them to-day, rather than putting it off for later.

How often do you buy new pillows? I believe somebody or other on Oprah advised every six months to prevent dust mites (gah gah gah) but I have not been so good about following that timeline.

So I showered and fed children and dressed children, and then zoomed off to departmentstoreland. And nearly two hours later I returned with pillows! And a baby gate even, for the love of all that is holy in dog food taste-testing.

Again I fed children and changed children since the weather on October third decided to top out at a sweaty sticky muggy mucky son-of-a-bitch-did-you-not-get-the-memo-it’s-fall eighty six degrees (three months from now I will curse myself for cursing that.) And then I cleaned up from lunch and switched over a load of laundry and picked up the house for the 43rd time and tucked my lovelies into their beds. After all, Kevin will not be home to save me until 7pm tomorrow night, so sleep, children, sleep. We have time to kill. It’s eighty six degrees, and there will be no walking today.

Jack rolled around and played and chatted it up for the first hour. KJ got up to poop, and then to pee, and then to blow his nose, and then to get a drink (to refuel for the next bodily elimination) and to reclaim his blanket and toys that had hit the floor, and to turn his night-light at the exact correct angle where he would best be able to sleep (play) for the next two hours. Then Jack slept for three minutes and decided he’d had enough of this crap, and woke and yelled and cursed my name, and pooped. As I changed him, KJ could hear the fun! that was going on two rooms over, and from his bed he leapt, shouting, “Here I come!”

That is when I threw my head back, looking up to the sky and begging God Himself to hear me as I shouted, “SOMEBODY IN THIS HOUSE IS GOING TO NAP TODAY” realizing fully that that somebody could possibly be me alone as my wide-eyed children drank poison and danced circles around my unconscious body in the middle of the living room floor.

KJ scurried back to his room, and Jack snickered at my raised voice, and then grabbed his butt for a little poopie-on-the-fingers sampling, just for good measure. I cleaned Jack up, plopped him in his swing, and shut the door. I reminded KJ to sleeeeeeeeeeep on his new pillow while it is still mite-free, and I collapsed into the computer chair, to complain to you about not knowing quite what to do on an eighty six degree fall day where thunderstorms are promised and husbands are locked away in a tower with only a computer.

I’ve killed nearly an hour.

Where my now four year old child zooms past my intelligence and leaves me coughing in a puffy cloud of smoke

2006-09-30T10:49:00.000-05:00

After we picked up KJ from school on his birthday, we headed to Chuck E Cheese for an afternoon of games (and mind-scrambling noise.) My ultra-competitive side always prompts him to play the games that spit out the most tickets, because oh how I looove the ultra-crappy prizes you can "buy" with your tickets at the end. Smarties and tootsie rolls and spider rings, oh my.

I have to give the place credit though, because every game is just one token (versus the mall, where a twelve-second ride can easily run you a buck.) They also have this neat little picture booth, where for just a quarter, Chuck E's little chicken buddy will draw your picture. So the kids and I crammed ourselves into one, and got a little black and white paper memento.

And this morning as he played with letters on the fridge, he asked how to spell love. And this is what I turned around to find.

And in case you are wondering, I will inform you as I was informed. This illustration was brought to you by GQN. I would assume that is Chuck E's chicken friend? GQN Chicken.

Is he sweet or what?

So he continued to play with letters, as his big thing for the last few months has been spelling everything imaginable. He played with the new Word Whammer, which was seriously one of the most fantastic gifts he received for his birthday. The three-letter device sounds out words for you, and tells you what letters you need to create words. It is right up his alley.

We applauded for him as he spelled words like Cat, Pet, Pen, Ten, and Ant. Then he wanted to spell Airplane, which didn't fit but he put up on the fridge anyway.

He continued to ask how to spell everything that popped into his four year old genius brain, so we spelled for quite a while.

And then he asked how to spell Machu Picchu. You know, the Lost City of the Incas. And I had to come here to look it up. So much for worrying how I will help him with Calculus. He already lost me.

Because obviously procrastination will win me no prizes

2006-09-28T00:36:00.000-05:00

So after nearly three hours of begging, pleading and beating the living hell out of blogger and my computer to load KJ's life in pictures for his birthday the other night, I moved on to frosting his birthday cupcakes for school.

I admit, I did not even turn the oven on to bake them until 10pm the night before. I wanted them to be incredibly moist and super fresh. Or, I procrastinated way too much. So as they cooled off, I blogged.

Then Jack woke up for the first of twelve nightly feedings. Kevin woke from two hours of dead sleep to find me at the computer beating my head off the desk and weeping, "Pleeeeeeeeeease Blogger I do not know how the child will be able to fully turn four without displaying his life in pictures to the interneeeeeeeeeet Waaaaaaaaaaahhh..." He made a bottle for me to feed Jack and planned to return to his peaceful slumber within no time flat, and while he did that I grabbed the container of chocolate frosting to get a quick head start on the next item on my late-night list.

I pulled off the cap, and wouldn't you guess, the silver seal was torn open. And my frosting was mostly hard. And likely poisoned.

At this point it was about 12:30am and from what I know about non-24-hour stores all located near my house, they do not stay open this late for idiots like myself.

So I rummaged through the bottom of my baking cabinet only to come up with green holiday frosting with candy chips, which Kevin insisted I use. While it is certainly true that my child does love green, I imagined the disapproving looks he would receive from teachers and staff as he offered them the extra green holiday-ness (make that, last holiday-ness,) and the head scratching that would occur as each parent picked up their green-faced child, wondering what the hell kind of mother sends in poisoned cupcakes with somewhere-between-moss-and-highlighter-green frosting (with hardened-over-time candy chips) for a September birthday.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I freaked out.

There was a birthday in KJ's class last week, and that child brought in cupcakes and those cute delicious little ice cream cups with flat wooden spoons to share. As it was, I was already completely missing the mark with exactly how much sugar each child's birthday party required. I could not possibly send in something green, and certainly nothing unfrosted. And, the thought of getting the three of us dressed and fed and to the store and home and cupcakes frosted and back out the door by 8:30 for school was more than impossible, so we had to devise a plan.

Notice I say we, because while I would like to imagine the plan coming from we, the plan was coming from crazy old freaking out me while my supportive husband sat back on the couch rolling his half-open eyes because he could not understand why Christmas-y green was just. not. good. enough.

And then he did the only thing he could do in that moment. He put shoes on his feet and a ball cap on his head and went to the 24-hour Walmart in the next town over. For chocolate frosting. At nearly 1am. Because he knew I was a loon when he married me. And he knew his kid needed chocolate frosted cupcakes.

Happy Birthday Baby

2006-09-28T00:17:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday KJ. I love you more than you will ever know.

Finito.

2006-09-26T09:34:00.000-05:00

I was determined to have this room finished by the time our friends and family arrived for Party Time, September Edition #7964. And I did pretty well, if I do say so myself.

The pictures were hung, the furniture reloaded.

I even organized their bookcase, remaining true to perfectionism a la OCD - Dr Seuss and The Berenstein Bears were thrilled beyond words to have their own sections, as were the Golden Books, sound-making books, and small floppy random soft-cover books. And I was thrilled too.

Our only snag was with the dresser (see how calmly I refer to it as a snag? Like, an itty bitty no problem issue? Or possibly, it could have been the near end of marital bliss and civilization as we know it. Decide for yourself.)

Not having a spare $500 laying around, I decided to go the less expensive route (read: cheap) and buy two little particle-board imitation dressers that would carry us through another couple years. As long as they could hold clothes and stay on their tracks, I would be happy as a cold pig in warm mud.

Kevin spent all Saturday morning and a good portion of the afternoon constructing el cheapo #1, and when he finished his masterpiece and put it in place, he called me to have a look. I pulled open the first drawer. No problem. Drawer 2? Great. Drawer three? Whamo! It got stuck in its track. Poor Kevin re-tightened all relevant screws, oiled the track, and chalked it up to being a small issue, but not a deal-breaker. When I opened drawer 4, however, and it fell completely off the track onto drawer 5, I knew for sure we had a problem. The middle of the exterior side board was warped, and would not hold the drawers.

I gently convinced (ahem) my husband to load his day's work, fully-assembled, back into the van along with its boxed counterpart, and return them to their original home for a refund. He was a little less than happy with that, but eventually went along with it. We were left with a refund and a giant heap of kid-clothes on the floor, less than 24 hours before the birthday party.

For the time being we will use the small dresser that my great-gramma kept her linens in, until either we have money coming out our ears, or I cannot handle another second of sharing my drawers with Jack while stuffing KJ's clothing into half the space needed. We shall see.

All in all, I'm glad we now have an actual "boys room."

Never write an entry in the middle of the night while having somewhat of a nervous breakdown

2006-09-25T04:38:00.000-05:00

Because this is what you get.

Last week I was so frustrated with myself because I had been staying up so late every night. Going to bed at 1am, and still doing two baby feedings per night plus answering the random wails of a 3.997 year old in need, and then waking with the kids at 7am is just too much. So as birthday season peaked over the weekend, I found myself crashing to the comforting lull of HGTV by 10pm. Which, believe me, is beyond insane for my never-give-up spirit. Ten o'clock slumber has also meant a fair amount of confusion for my body clock, which inevitably keeps me up after the 4am feeding, which is how you find me now. Blogging. At 4:32am.

When KJ was born in late September of 2002 I crashed and burned with post-partum depression. It was not something I shared with anyone beyond the confines of our four walls because I was so intent on showing everyone that I was really happy now that I had the beautiful baby I always wanted. At home, however, I was so very miserable, sobbing constantly and wondering what I had gotten myself into, and at times I felt, and I am positive Kevin felt as well, that I teetered on the edge of my sanity. I smiled for every picture, but on the inside I was a disaster. I was constantly soaked in baby puke, so much so that after a while I stopped changing my shirts and got used to its damp, smelly presence. I showered only occasionally, because the very idea of dragging my exhausted self and my new vomiting baby out of the house to anywhere in public overwhelmed me like nothing else. I no longer fit in any of my pre-pregnancy clothes, and I refused to buy a new size, which compounded the problem times ten, because I would then only go places that would accept me in pajama pants and oversized t-shirts.

I did not know at the time that KJ was a difficult infant (hindsight clears all of that up) with reflux disease times three hundred, sleep apnea complete with shrill-beeping-scare-the-life-out-of-you-because-your-baby-hasn't-taken-a-breath-in-twenty-seconds monitor, and the fact that he only slept in twenty to thirty minute increments around the clock. Beyond that, I had just lost my gramma the month before and Kevin was in law school, away from home from 6am until 11pm five days a week. It was a lot for a new mom to handle. I had a hard time asking for help though, as I always have, because I really hated to put friends and family out, or have them think I couldn't handle my new life. After all, we tried a good while for that baby, and we really wanted that baby. I gave up my career for that baby, and dammit, I was going to take care of that baby. Even if it killed me.

I was so worried that this would happen with Jack's birth as well. I didn't know what I would do with PPD and two kids. During my pregnancy last year I cannot count the times I told Kevin that if he saw me heading down that dark road he would need to call me out and have me medicated. I did not know it was PPD the first time around. But seriously contemplating ending it all at least a handful of times per week for the first five months of your baby's life? Yeah, totally depression. So when Jack was born my plan of action was to get up and get moving as quickly as possible, and not stop. Less than two weeks out of the operating room we were to Chicago for this and that, and I was taking the kids grocery shopping, and to walk the mall and anything that would prove to myself that I could handle two kids and not lose my mind over it. And I smashed my aching self back into my jeans, and made it a point to shower every day, and did anything and everything else that I thought would keep me on track.

It was also January. That really helped. As much as I love fall, and truly, I loooove the fall, I sink into goom-n-doom every year around this time. By January/February-ish, it is much easier to look forward to beautiful spring weather, and the slump is not so much there. Thankfully I pushed through with Jack's birth without issue. I kept moving and have not slowed down yet. The spring and summer were so very enjoyable, and having a diet to keep up with and losing more than fifty pounds has had me feeling better than ever.

Except for the last week or two. The fall blues have arrived, and I have caught myself here and there wondering if PPD can kick in around nine months post-pardum, because that guilty-aching-overwhelmed feeling has been coming through the cracks. I needed my house to be perfectly spotless for KJ's birthday party (if you saw a spot, it is best at this time to not tell me.) When people asked what they could bring, I told them to bring nothing, because I felt guilty that (good gravy, I am talking about my closest friends and family here) I should not be imposing in that way. I worried about inviting people I don't see often enough, not wanting them to feel like they had to bring a gift. Then as I was laying in bed starting at the ceiling just about two hours ago, I was hoping I sent enough food home with our guests, because what if I was stingy? I have this huge guilt-complex that only worsens with my fall blues, where I will walk for miles because I am so afraid of putting people out.

I had no intentions of blogging tonight. I was just going to sit and catch up on the lives of others, but then I read Stacy's latest entry, which sort of opened my eyes a bit about the whole depression/feeling-off thing. If I could accept my funk for what it is, instead of harping on myself for feeling this way, maybe I could do something about it. Like, if I had a doctor, who had a pad of prescription paper. Because I don't know why I am so fearful of admitting it when I'm down, fearful that someone would think of me as weak. Something within my brain tells me to keep pushing pushing pushing and to just get over it, every minute of every day. At this point I cannot imagine a less apprehensive or less socially awkward me. I can't imagine being laid-back, or not worrying about what kind of dope I look like as the next sentence rolls off my tongue. I can't imagine not beating myself up.

The birthday party was fine. I know beyond my nagging concerns that my house was too small and people may have been cramped, that I pulled it together enough to make sure my baby had a wonderful celebration with the people he adores. And for now, at 5:30am, that is enough for me, because I need to catch that last hour of sleep.

Because there's never enough to do during birthday season

2006-09-20T21:01:00.000-05:00

It is birthday season in our house. Within a quick ten days we celebrate my birthday, my sister's birthday, and KJ's birthday. That is, we have a little family gathering for Sant and I the Sunday before it all begins, then celebrate each person's actual day, then a party for KJ the following Sunday, and then a final fun blow-out to end the series of fiestas, in KJ's name. Generally speaking I cannot even look at birthday cake without scrunching up my nose and squeezing my eyes shut during the entire month of October. That, and I have to wear the September Jeans.

Twenty-eight was easily one of my best birthdays ever. And since receiving my new camera I have taken a few pictures. Ok, like, just over nine hundred few. I am telling you, it's love. (You can see a sampling of the picturey goodness here.) As I read through a few of the 67 manuals, I stumbled upon a guide for all of the accessories, extra flashes and high-power lenses that can be purchased to make my camera feel complete and whole and warm and fuzzy inside, and it was then that Kevin might have wondered how good of an idea this gift really was. (It was the best idea ever.)

And because there is truly not enough to do between celebrating and eating and celebrating and eating and taking 900+ pictures, last week I began painting the boys' bedroom. I finished the painting, moved everything back into the room, hung curtains, changed bedding, and told myself that I would hang wall decor the next day and be finished.

That night KJ tried a new trick, which can be best described as modern-day Tarzan trial and error. The trial was where he swung from his new curtains. The error was where they fell off the wall.

And then the bottom three drawers of their $80-Ikea-clearance-deal-of-a-lifetime dresser collapsed atop each other for the final time (make that, collapse number 9,987) before I threw a holy living fit and purchased two new ones. What more can I ask from particle board and cam locks, I suppose. Construction will begin on Saturday. What was that about this room being a quick, easy, inexpensive makeover?

Should we ever finish the construction and reconstruction and reconstruction again, I will grace the walls with the pictures that have taken over my buffet.

All this, and um, cook and clean and decorate in time for KJ's John Deere birthday bash on Sunday, which will be followed up by four-year and nine-month well doctor visits and eye appointment, a perfectly-timed portrait sitting, a preschool cupcake feast, and evening family celebration, which from here on out I will lovingly refer to as the closing ceremonies.

Oh what will I do with all the extra time?

They say it's your birthday (neh neh neh neh neh-neh) It's my birthday too - yeah (neh neh neh neh neh-neh)

2006-09-18T00:01:00.000-05:00

Twenty eight candles today. Having attended a musical on Saturday night, a little family gathering on Sunday, and an afternoon of window shopping planned for today, I would rank this up there with one of my most celebrated birthdays ever. Please, tell me how exciting you think I am. (Ha!)

And, aside from these guys, I received the best gift ever. Ever. I made out with the box. And then I took this most-cheesy-thankful-to-be-alive-if-only-to-shoot-pictures-with-this-blessed-device picture. But you can see, it's true love. TLF, baby.

My husband? Awarded a rubbermaid full of bonus points. Enough to carry him into at least the next century.

There may not be an I in Team but there is a Pain in Paint

2006-09-14T15:33:00.000-05:00

Slightly-lighter-than-planned cream colored ceiling and trim: Complete.

Slightly-darker-than-planned green colored walls: Wrapped up.

Aching shoulders and paint-fume headache: You better believe it.

There are a few reasons I wrote off painting forever a few years back. Similar to childbirth, amnesia sets in and all of the aches and pains and drippies on the floor begin to swirl away in a romantic whirlwind of bliss and pride for the final outcome of what could be. So in slow motion you skip joyously (hair blowing in the imaginary breeze and all) into Lowe's to find the warm colors and handy utensils that will transform your room from its tired state to a refreshing retreat. You prepare for your project by cleaning and moving furniture and dust bunnies, and telling yourself that it is a necessary evil prep step before indulging in creative progress. And then you climb to the top of the ladder, dunk your roller and reach up to begin. And a glop of paint drips in your hair, and you get dizzy from arching your back too long to look up, and you wonder what the hell you were thinking in the first place, completely forgetting that painting at eye-level while standing on the floor only lasts for about 1/74th of the project. Damn.

Here are a couple pictures from early this morning of the paint job completed. I am quite satisfied with it, even if the color dried more towards Gerber green beans rather than peas.

For whatever reason KJ insisted that the nightlight remain lit even though he is temporarily sleeping in the center of the dining room. (You can't argue with reason?)

Let the airplaning begin! Yet another pleasant surprise was how seriously easy the Wallies were to apply. I tossed each one into a bowl of lukewarm water for ten seconds and then slapped them up on the wall. Water splattered everywhere with the first couple I slapped up, so I decided to calm down a bit and simply place them on the wall as the instructions indicated, lightly patting the excess water off with a sponge. You know.

I painted little puffs of smoke behind each plane to make them a tad more interesting when my kids are laying in bed awake, which is what they do most of the time.

I am hoping Kevin will pull through with a curtain rod tonight and then I can re-load the gobs and gobs of kid stuff to where it belongs tomorrow. I swear we are jumping over toys, kid furniture and bedding with each and every move we make. That, and I'm worn out on eating dinner from KJ's bed.

Because a break for coffee, a granola bar and a blog update is every bit worth returning to a dried up paintbrush

2006-09-13T14:01:00.000-05:00

Project Big Boy Bedroom is going well. I am surprised how quickly I am tearing through each step, and not surprised with Jack napping in quick 27 minute intervals. Last night I removed the border near the top of the room and patched all nail holes. KJ woke me at 6:40am to be sure there would be something GREEN on those walls before lunch. It worked.

While I painted the ceiling and trim a warm creamy color, Jack faced off with the dog. Jack won, as always.

If I can say nothing else wonderful about that animal, he is at least the most docile thing ever with the kids. That, and he eats mushed up carrots off the floor.

KJ was banished to the bedroom doorway where he entertained himself for most of the morning, building lego airplanes and humming random songs that made me want to dive head first from the top of the eight-foot ladder (thirty seven rounds of the Noddy theme are more than any person can handle.)

After lunch he convinced me that being in the crib in the room was much better than hanging out in the doorway. I was quite surprised how entertained they were with watching paint dry.

The color can be best described as Gerber mashed peas, which is exactly what I was going for. KJ's favorite color forever and ever to infinity is green, so I cannot tell you what excitement he meets this bedroom makeover with, proclaiming, "Thank you Mama for my GREEN ROOM!" at least fifteen times today. I am so glad he is happy.

My one issue is the glue line that is actually coming through the paint. I used wallpaper stripper to get off what I could, but I am unpleasantly surprised that my high-functioning you'll-never-remove-me-not-in-a-trillion-years adhesive is holding strong. I hope the walls are not ruined forever.

Back to painting. I believe I hear Jack, awake in a record-setting 24 minutes this time. Way to go, Stinky Pants.

Whad'ya know? It's Tuesday. And it's raining.

2006-09-12T16:31:00.000-05:00

A little more than two years ago we took our house off the market. It had not sold in six months time and we were fed up with showings and cleaning and jumping every time some flaky realtor would call (if you're a realtor, I didn't mean you were flaky. I was referring to the person two cubes over from you. Yeah, her, with the puffy hair and excessive pink lipstick. Total flake.) In deciding to stay, Kevin signed an unwritten contract that locked him in to complete and total agreement without complaint to remodel this house, in its entirety. Almost. We did the living room, dining room, two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, toy room, landscaping, siding, trim and gutters, alleluia, amen.

Prior to this overhaul, I had sporadically painted rooms of the house as the mood struck me. I once did the bathroom on a rainy Tuesday night because there was yellow paint in the basement. I painted our bedroom some sort of too-dark Americana color scheme after 9/11. Seven months into my pregnancy with KJ I could stand my blue kitchen not a moment longer and painted it two days before fifty people came to celebrate Independence Day (bedrest what?) In the first four years we lived in this house, I painted nineteen times. There are six rooms on the first floor. You do the math.

I really like to paint.

Having done the entire house within a nine week span, I swore off paint brushes forever. And I have done well with that. But yesterday (you see what's coming, eh?) as I changed the sheets on KJ's bed I noticed how terribly dirty the walls are, and I thought about how when we most recently decorated this room we did not know whether KJ would share with a brother or sister, and so we compromised with a pastel Classic Pooh look. And then I thought about my boys, whose personalities are anything but pastel or Classic Pooh (more, Mack Truck meets Notre Dame defensive line, in mud.)

I called Kevin at work and left him a voicemail indicating that I had been thinking about some things that I wanted to run past him. He returned my call and meekly asked what I was planning. Thankfully, he was on board. (Really, the entire project requires him installing a new curtain rod.)

So! I have been busy! Begin,

MOLLY'S TRIUMPHANT RETURN TO PAINTING

This was their room as of yesterday morning. It is nine feet wide by eleven feet long, and contains everything from a crib and twin bed to a bookcase, dresser, rocking chair, walker, and gobs and gobs of toys. There is a two foot radius in the center of the room, for movement.

Unless KJ decides to tile the floor with books, in which case you enter at your own risk.

In an act of heroism and naive bravery, I took the boys with me in search of all things blue, green and airplane yesterday afternoon. Allllll afternoon. Behold, my palette!

I pulled together a collection of blue bedding and curtains, wall decor, and painting supplies. KJ was so excited that he begged me to paint last night, the minute we walked in the door. I made good progress today, cleaning toys and dog-hair-tumbleweed from under beds, behind dressers, and every other nook and cranny. I emptied the room, minus the crib. And of course, everything from the room had to go somewhere, which happened to be my dining room.

I present to you, my dining room, complete with bed and jumping boy, dresser, bookcase, and various toys and crap.

The bed fits very nicely between the dining table and high chair, no?

I took a few pictures of the room once it was emptied (There is an actual floor in there!) I also took this picture, planning to share in all sincerity that once the time comes to sell this house I will miss my pretty 1904 trim, doors and doorknobs. And then I was reminded of what I would not miss. Pictured out the window. The rear deck at the Knucklehead Smith residence. It includes one crumpled up two foot plastic swimming pool from the first warm day in May, balled up ever since, a gallon jug of weed killer (you know, to complete the theme of chemical decor throughout the property) and three pop cans for good measure.

On to painting!

---

As a side note: I initially removed, but now edited and re-posted yesterday's 9/11 entry (because many of your comments were so touching) as apparently the person who took one of the pictures I linked, claiming to be so fucking patriotic, doesn't really like it when you link his photo to honor nearly 3000 people who died innocently. You know, priorities. And rather than contacting me personally, he puts an insulting message in place of the photo. Asshole.

Excuses atop Excuses

2006-09-09T00:46:00.000-05:00

I know, I know, I have done less than well with keeping up lately. My entries have been sparse, at best. The weather has been perfectly perfect and we have found it near impossible to do anything that involves staying indoors.

Well, except for today. We were indoors for five minutes today, and a certain small someone decided to strut his stuff and STAND UP to dig through his toy container. So you know where I'll be this weekend?

Babyproofing.

Cooper

2006-09-06T12:35:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I talked about our god daughter Carson and the cranial surgery she had to undergo. She has come through it like a little champ. She's still healing, of course, but doing very well.

Today is her twin brother Cooper's day for the surgery. (And as if it is not enough on one's plate to have a healing baby 2 hours away at home and a baby in surgery, it is also big brother and sister Keegan and Riley's first day of preschool today.) At last update Cooper was doing well in surgery, and they were hoping to be done early this afternoon.

Please keep my friend Cindy, and Cooper, and their family in your prayers.

Let's count how many times I use the word Rubbermaid in this entry

2006-09-05T22:25:00.000-05:00

At 7am I woke to the completely familiar sound of Jack yelling at me. After the busy holiday weekend I had a to-do list a mile long, which included house cleaning, laundry and blogging. You were fairly sure I had abandoned the web, weren’t you?

I cleaned out dressers this morning. I had kid clothes piled far and wide throughout the house. There were piles for Goodwill, piles for Freecycle, piles for ebay, piles to be passed on to Jack after I store them among the Rubbermaid Mountain Range in the basement for three years, piles for you name it. In fact, if I knew you were about to deliver a bouncing baby boy, there would be piles for you, also.

I moved on to laundry. (I love to surprise you.) And then I moved on to cleaning. Amidst cleaning I began reflecting on the complete and utter hatred I hold in my heart for the high chair at my parent’s house, and how I would replace it to the tune of a bazillion dollars, if that were the only way. So I went with what I thought would be the cheap route, first. I called Once Upon A Child, which happens to be the only store of its kind in this great northwestern part of the state, and they were happy to announce that there were four high chairs in stock, so please scrap your to-do list and come buy one (for a bazillion dollars) right now! And also, we are taking children’s clothing! We will pay you for all those piles! Hurry!

I hurried. I neatly folded the collections of clothing and stuffed them into a gigantic Rubbermaid. I packed the diaper bag, woke the kids from their afternoon naps, and headed out the door. We drove nearly an hour in traffic to get there, and then as I parked three miles across the parking lot I wondered how I would get KJ, Jack, his carseat, the diaper bag and the Rubbermaid into the store. I left the carseat, plopped Jack and the diaper bag into the Rubbermaid, and dragged KJ behind me. We were a sight, I tell you.

I hauled my overflowing Rubbermaid to the counter, and before a price tag could be placed upon his head, I removed my small child from the container. Then the lady informed me that in the hour it took me to drive there and navigate the parking lot, twelve other people had also brought in clothing to be sold (though no other person was quite as cutesie-pie as I, having brought their items in only crinkled-up grocery bags and flopping over garbage bags.) She declared me number thirteen in line, and told me to come back in two and a half hours.

My timeslot two and a half hours away left me scratching my head as I had two easily-bored children with me, nearing dinnertime, in somewhat-uncharted territory. The only thing I know about this city is that their Old Navy is much larger than ours. And off we went.

We took our time, poking through each and every rack, playing with the please-don’t-play-with-these footballs in the aisles, and saving Jack from certain doom umpteen times as I yanked the sticky cart seatbelt from between his soft baby lips. KJ found a Halloween costume, and Jack found socks (babies don’t know enough about bribery and begging to leave the store with more than new socks, sometimes.) We then went out to dinner, which involved fast food, which involved every muscle in my head twitching after recently watching an eye-opening documentary about fast food. I knew for sure Jack shared my newly acquired views when he threw up half-digested Enfamil all over the counter as I paid. (And I apologized to the line behind me, for, you know, their loss of appetite for the next seventeen Burger King visits.)

Tired and bored, we finally trudged back into the kids’ store. While I waited for them to finish pricing the items they planned to buy from me, I checked out the used high chairs, priced approximately $2.67 below brand-new-at-Target retail. I grabbed a couple pairs of winter pajamas for Jack (again, similarly priced) and excitedly waited for my compensation for a wasted day. There were good clothes in that bin! Not a stain! Nothing faded! Everything folded so neatly! Would they give me $40? $50? $80? I couldn’t wait!

Then the lady pointed to a pile on the back counter. I saw seven pairs of pants. Then she pointed to my Rubbermaid, still nearing capacity. The store was now full, from the previous twelve people. They could not accept 90% of my clothing.

“$13.50 is your total. Would you like a store credit towards that cheap-ass high chair for $50?”

“No, thank you.”

Feeling defeated, I added my thirteen dollars worth of blanket sleepers to my Rubbermaid, stuffed the remaining two quarters in my pocket, and headed back to the car, where a man with the dirtiest fingernails I ever saw tried to defeat me permanently by running me over as I folded up our stubborn stroller in the parking space beside ours, which he was apparently entitled to upon returning to claim his $7 in children’s clothing.

On tomorrow’s list, selling all that crap on ebay. And never, never, ever going back to that store that shall now remain nameless, again.

Schooled

2006-08-31T12:44:00.000-05:00

At 7am I woke to the completely unfamiliar sound of an alarm clock beeping. This morning I gained my title as a "get up and get the kids out the door for school" mom. Crazy!

Last night I was quite sad as I prepared things for this enormous milestone. I packed his bag with every supply on the list, and his snack for snack time, laid out his clothes, and went in to pull his covers over him before I went to bed. Looking at him I thought about what a baby he still looks like to me. It is possible that I will always see him as my baby. I don't know. I tossed and turned all night, anxious for the morning.

KJ was thrilled when we woke him, bouncing off of the walls in fact, so very excited to start school. Kevin took the morning off of work so that we both could take him on his first day. Our dog, Daniel, could sense that something was going on and went into instant depression. I think he actually took it harder than I did. KJ got some last minute Potato Head building in, we took some pictures, and jumped in the car and sped off into the sunset. Or, four blocks from home.

Walking down the long hallway holding his hand, I really wanted to turn and go home. I wanted to try again next year, and let him be a baby for a little while longer. But really, I owe this to him. He is so intelligent and so ready for this, and he needs to have a little independence. And as we approached the classroom door I knew for sure he was ready. He greeted his teacher, and immediately sat down on the floor to play with a couple of other little boys. Kevin and I stood in the doorway watching him for quite a while, and he did not even look back at us. He was enjoying himself. I pulled him away for a kiss goodbye, and told him I would be there to pick him up.

Leaving was so much easier than I imagined. Had he cried or been nervous or asked me to stay, I think that I would have lost it, and stolen him, and taken him to Chuck E Cheese for pizza and games for the rest of the day. (Probably better that I didn't share that with him.) But he was so impressive that I could not feel anything but proud, and happy for him.

I cried, and threw up, and fainted exactly no times.

We arrived a bit early to pick him up, and watched the class singing and dancing, and my little monkey right in the middle of it having a ball. When he came out of the classroom I could see a bit of worry as he looked for me, but was fine once he knew I was there. He held my hand and told me he could not wait to go back tomorrow. He had painted, and played outside, and sang songs, and had a snack, and played with, God help us all, helicopters, cars and trains. (We chose the school based solely on the fact that they had a plethora of moving things.) (Well, not really.)

So, one day down, thousands more to go. Oh what will I do with all my extra time? (You know, all five hours per week...)

Answering the age-old question of whether or not I should be committed

2006-08-30T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow morning marks KJ's first day of school. I have thought about it eighty-seven times today, and every time it pops into my head I feel an ache in the pit of my stomach. I cannot believe we are here already.

I had this entry planned in my mind, where I would document his life and milestones and general adorableness in pictures, but then blogger went all premenstrual again and refused to upload pictures, and things around here got hectic.

Last night I noticed a little white envelope hiding in the corner of our bill box. It so subtly reminded me that if I do not open it and pay the amount which is being demanded, I will no longer be permitted to drive my car, and Kevin his, and we will receive tickets, and the boot, and our cars will be towed and impounded, and we will be imprisoned, with our licenses and children and pets revoked, and our ears will permanently ring and our noses forever itch - on the inside, so we have to pick them in front of our cell-mates. The envelope reads,

OPEN IMMEDIATELY!
IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED!

It is the bill for our annual license plate renewal. I did open it, when I received it back in April. Apparently they wanted to give us plenty of time to scrape the money together, or, to make plans for that less-than-generous tax return. In fact, the BMV was so elated to make a profit off me that they even sent a bill for the SUV we traded in nearly a year ago.

OPEN IMMEDIATELY!
EXTRA BILL INCLUDED!
WE HOPE YOU DON'T NOTICE!

Either way, I stuffed it in the bill box, positive that I would remember it later. So last night after Jack fussed and cried and expressed his general hatred of mother, home and country all freaking day, I sat down to review our finances, and found the bill, two days before the plates expire.

OPEN IMMEDIATELY!
THEN STASH IT AWAY!
WHEN IT IS OVERDUE WE WILL CHARGE YOU UNGODLY LATE FEES AND LAUGH ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK!

Normally I renew our plates online in order to avoid the License Branch, which inevitably contains an extended line of the slimiest Walmart clientele on the planet, times ten. But it was too late. Renewing online involves earliness, of which I had none. Beyond that, Kevin's car was required to pass an emissions test first.

HAHA SUCKER!

So after Jack, who is apparently working with the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles to make my life a living hell, was up at midnight, 2am, and 3:30-5am, I woke at 6am to drive Kevin to his train station. I returned home thirty minutes later to find my sister feeding the ever-wakeful Jack his thirteenth bottle of the night. I showered quickly and took Kevin's car to the Emissions Testing Site where I prayed like never before that the ten-year-old-majorly-abused-and-completely-neglected-clunking-piece-of-shit would pass the test. And it did. And the heavens opened up and a choir of angels sang hymns of joy.

I moved on to the BMV, where I joined the line that left the strip mall and winded to Kansas and back. When my turn came I was beyond happy that all went smoothly, my former vehicle was marked SOLD, they seized my money, and sent me on my way. I skipped back to the car, and headed home.

YOU MIGHT HAVE TRIUMPHED THIS TIME, BUT 2007 VOUCHERS WILL BE MAILED OUT EVEN EARLIER!
IN ENVELOPES MARKED 'JUNK MAIL'!
STUFFED IN MAGAZINES!
WITHIN NEWSPAPERS!
THAT ARE SOAKED WITH RAIN!
MWA HA HA HA!

Updates on the first day of school tomorrow. After I conduct a few conversations with Ralph, on the big porcelain telephone.

Excitement! Elation! Sheer Joy! Motivation! Immediately followed by the booming thud, where I dropped the blogging ball

2006-08-28T18:50:00.000-05:00

So I bought my own web space. My own little nook of the world wide web. I was so excited that I scaled the winding staircase all the way to the bell tower and shouted my news from the rooftops! And then what did I do with that little space, you ask? Why, nothing! Nothing at all!

Do the I-just-purchased-my-own-domain jitters exist? If not, consider me completely overwhelmed and intimidated by my blank slate, and my host. You will know that I encountered the eight trillion hours required for an amateur to pull it together, when hell freezes over. Or, when I announce otherwise. Until then, peek over there if you like, but it will be a work in progress. A messy, messy work in progress.

Onward!

Yesterday Kevin and I celebrated our ninth anniversary. Really, it isn’t scary to say, but when I typed it, it looked odd. Nine? Nine what? Years? Yes, years. See, scary? Anyway, we have now spent one third of my life together, and we marked the milestone by packing up the kids and spending the day at Notre Dame. It could not have been more appropriate. (Well, it could. Like, if I told you that I convinced him to stop at the Gigantic Gap Outlet on our way there. Which we did. And how appropriate. Happy anniversary to me.)

So are you noticing that the I-just-purchased-my-own-domain jitters have carried over here? I can’t get anything out past sporadic thoughts, sentence fragments and three hundred contractions. This may go down in history as the lamest blog entry ever. I will take my trophy gold plated, thanks.

But in a last-ditch effort to save myself from the shame and disappointment of loserdom, I will attempt to save this entry. Direct from my dying digital camera I invite you to enjoy an overly-dark video of Jack army-crawling across the living room floor.

The entry to which you pair Rocky running to the top of the stairs music, and hop up and down all sweaty and victorious with fists raised

2006-08-24T15:39:00.000-05:00

Do you think about things while you’re in the shower? I do all the time. While showering today, I remembered what it was like to be seventeen. It's odd, because I so rarely think about my days as a teenager, except for today. When I was seventeen I graduated from high school, and my family moved from the south side of Chicago to BFE Indiana. At seventeen, living in Chicago, I worked and went to school, and paid for my own fun and my own things. In working my part-time jobs I got along well with everyone. I had a great work ethic, and realized that I was capable of a lot more than I liked to let on. I decided to work hard that last year of high school (as opposed to working just hard enough to keep parents and teachers happy) and I earned perfect grades. I knew that I was capable of it but for whatever reason, was opposed to proving myself or dealing with what I saw as the bullshit of competition. At seventeen I felt different about myself. I felt more free, and more aware, like I was making strides. I had more self-esteem, and I was learning about myself.

My seventeen outlook lasted through college, where I applied myself all over the effing place and impressed even my overly-critical self. After that I worked as a teacher for a couple years, and then I started a family and became career-less by choice. Motherhood shocked the living hell out of my system, and having no idea how to define myself any longer, without a paycheck and fighting the June Cleaver title I hated to infinity (plus one,) I wore pajama pants and oversized tshirts and didn’t give two shits who I impressed because I was always covered in baby puke with my head demonically spinning from exhaustion, trying to figure out what the hell happened to all the people that appreciated my brains and hard work, instead of those who critiqued the cleanliness of my house and the quality of my dinners.

As being twenty-seven comes to a close (and don’t you dare snarl and snicker about how young I am, GAHHH) I am feeling seventeen again. I am feeling seventeen, plus ten (appropriate, right?) I re-encountered the notion that I do well when I apply myself, so I should probably do something with it. I don’t exactly know what that something is, but I know for sure that it means more than scrubbing laundry stains a bit harder. And though I am responsible for caring for three other lives, I am also responsible for doing something with my life. It has taken more than four years, but maybe I am finally learning to define myself, both as a stay-at-home-mom and an individual. (Apparently I am gifted in academic scenarios, but suck at adjusting to life.) I have been reading books – books that have nothing to do with positive discipline strategies or what to expect while expecting. This blog re-opened the door to writing, and to remembering that I have a brain that requires an occasional challenge, and inadvertently to my new interest in taking pictures.

Being ok with myself as a mom and an individual also means bucking the system a bit – the system that may only exist in my mind, or that may actually exist, where I define myself only by my duties as a wife and mother, and where going places and doing things for myself and having interests that do not involve my children, is to be frowned upon. I have no idea where the guilt comes from that American mothers put on themselves, but I am seriously going to work on it. Starting tomorrow. Because today I have to scrub stains out of laundry.

So as to not fall ass-first through the floor

2006-08-21T17:17:00.000-05:00

Really, we would like to move away. Some days I would like Away to be farther than others. Today, Away is anywhere that does not involve a quaint house built in 1904 sitting next to anything that rhymes with Bucklehead or Myth.

When it comes right down to it, we did not pay much for our house. We signed the papers knowing that it was a “fixer-upper” and thinking that we would live here for two years. More than six years later, it is still in fixer-upper process, and though it is much nicer than when we began, I sometimes wish we would have cut our losses and jumped when two years rolled around.

The thing about a house that was built in 1904 and purchased as a fixer-upper is that the fixer-uppings just never end, especially when previous owners did not have the same mindset. Furthermore, you spend so much money on that which needs to be fixed that somehow your pockets are empty when the time comes to save for that newly remodeled gem in a nice neighborhood, where neighbors store chemicals in cabinets, in their garages. My ridiculous standards, I know.

We knew for a long time that our toilet, which happens to be the only one in the house, was having problems. If I was gunning to gross you out I would disclose that the catch phrase for our toilet was, “you can’t fart in it without needing the plunger.” (I was gunning.) The other minor issue with our toilet was that it was sinking through the bathroom floor, completely unsupported as the previous homeowners had cut through those unnecessary, in-the-way beams that keep the house from collapsing into the dark, cold dungeon that is the basement. When my dad came by to have a look last week, he advised that we not sit down hard. Hmm.

This weekend my husband and father joined forces to remove said toilet and replace the floor. I, with my children in tow, ran scared to my mom’s house for the weekend. But I called for updates every now and then.

“How’s it going?”

“We went to several different stores, and no one had the toilet you wanted in stock. This is going to cost more money.”

“No kidding.”

---

“How’s it going?”

“We took the old toilet off. It had sunk a full two inches below the rest of the room. It is now resting in the middle our back yard. The neighbors have finally accepted us into their clique.”

“Lovely.”

---

“How’s it going?”

“We removed the flooring. We removed the first sub-floor. And then the second. They were so rotted you could have dug to the basement with your fingernails.”

“Nice.”

---

The kids and I returned home on Sunday evening where the house was buzzing with excitement for a job well done (and in case I didn’t say it, they really did an impressive job.) No one fell through the floor, and yet another twelve square feet of our home was safe from eternal damnation. Except for the three-inch-thick layer of dust covering everything. They sanded down the new sub-floors without covering…anything. I spent the entire morning and much of the afternoon scrubbing every surface, every picture frame, every statue, and every toy in four rooms. And I followed that up with a thorough vacuuming of hardwood flooring, carpeting, and brand new furniture alike.

Away is still a place that is in the dreaming-of stages. Providing that nothing else collapses, shorts out, or explodes in the next year or two, we are soo getting out. The projects are nearing completion (so help me.)

Oh no! Ack! Ugh! No! Bah! Doh!

2006-08-18T18:01:00.000-05:00

So we had to run to Walmart this afternoon, the land of inexpensive diapers and hostile employees. We ran from the house to the car in the rain, and then half way across the parking lot in the rain, just as fast as my legs could drag my three year old while carrying my baby and cute but bulky microfiber diaper bag that is forever slipping off my shoulder. We were a sight.

Just recently I started sitting Jack in the cart because he is much too heavy to be carried in his baby carrier. He sits fairly well, though between the occasional topple or trying to suck on the nasty disgusting seatbelts I have to be very vigilant with him (I totally am buying one of these next time we are out.) So while I kept one eye and one hand on Jack, and the other eye on KJ as he ran circles around the cart, we buzzed through the store grabbing what we needed like Supermarket Sweep. We needed things like qtips, Lean Cuisines, oatmeal, dog food, batteries, and diapers, which meant trecking through the entire superstore, and by the time we reached the mile-long line, I was beat. I was powerless to combat the barrage of begging for cheetos and overpriced lemony bottled water, and when our turn finally rolled around to toss our stuff on the belt, I did so quickly, because the time to get the eff out of that store had come.

I worked fast, loading the belt, getting the bags back into the cart, lifting the case of bottled water for the clueless checker who simply does not know how to enter the item without putting it through the reader while trying to hang on to my kids. Every mom's favorite part of shopping, for sure. So as I did all of this my wonderful communicator of a three year old announces that, "Mom, My butt itches."

I ignore it, and hope it goes away.

I pull the nasty belt out of Jack's mouth, swipe my card and sign, and start towards the door. But as I look up to grab KJ, I hear the lady in the next line laughing. And then I look at KJ. His pants and underpants are at his ankles, and he is scratching his little white buns in the middle of the freakin store.

Holy crap!!

I grabbed him as fast as I could and yanked up his drawers, and flew out of the store and back into the rain. After loading the bags and buckling in the children, I began a conversation with KJ as we drove from the parking lot. I told him about private parts and how you shouldn't let the general public see them, and about how all people need privacy and there are certain things that we only do in private. I explained the negatives of scratching your tushie in the middle of any store, and I hoped he caught on.

And then he responded, "Mom, if Walmart ever catches on fire we need to run out right away."

Right.

Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, Here I am, Stuck in the middle with you

2006-08-17T15:41:00.000-05:00

On Saturday morning my dad drove up to pick up my kids for the weekend, as Kevin and I were heading to Milwaukee for Carson’s surgery. It was hectic as always, packing kids, bedding, formula & diapers, baby gear, medicines, and all that jazz. It did not bother me so much to leave KJ because has successfully slept over at my parents’ house before, and also because he is three years old, which means he is reeeeally good at voicing his opinion. It bothered me a bit more (or, a lot more) to part with Jack for the weekend, at all of seven months old. He is a little more particular about things, and a lot more impatient, and he is highly attached to me. But knowing that my parents successfully raised four children and lived to tell about it gives me the confidence that yes, surely they will handle my two for 36 hours.

So we loaded them into the car, along with their 57 tons of crap, and kissed them goodbye. As I walked back into the house the quiet was almost eerie. Being a stay-at-home-mom I am very rarely home without children, so naturally the house seemed very still, and very empty, and very sad.

I showered quick, we threw our stuff in the car, and we headed north. By the time we had gotten on the expressway with the a/c blasting and the radio blaring I was feeling pretty good, and pretty free, and a little responsibility-less. We talked the entire four hour drive which may not seem unusual to the average Joe, but anyone with multiple young children knows that four hours of uninterrupted adult conversation is a hot commodity. We also had adult conversations with our friends while the baby slept, and we went out to dinner and got a table for four, rather than for four adults and six children, and only the wait staff noticed our presence. We stayed in a hotel room with only one bed, and forced ourselves to sleep in to the wasted-day hour of 9am. It was nice, and enjoyable, and fun, and it reminded me of the “we” that we were before having kids, and for some reason allowing those thoughts to run through my head made me feel so damn guilty.

Leaving your children in the care of your parents for the weekend is not the most horrible thing to do, I know. And enjoying yourself? Not a bad thing either. But somehow in my mind, permitting myself to wonder what life would be like had we decided to wait to have kids, brought on the guilt, big. I love them, of course! I love them with every fiber of my being, and I am one hundred percent dedicated to them, around the clock, to a fault. But we also had them while we were pretty young by today’s standards, so in some ways they are growing up with us. And we have quite a few friends who have not taken the kid plunge yet, so as we enjoyed the long drive I did contemplate what we would do with all that time, and all that money. Ha!

What would we be like? Surely we would be financially secure. Can you imagine just TWO people living on TWO incomes? Insanity! We might go to movies, or out to dinner, or drink more wine. We would have more stuff, of that I am sure. Our cars would be more fun and not involve the word “van,” and our out-of-town trips would be more frequent. We would be more selfish, and less flexible. We would not value our alone time like we do now, and we would not have learned to work as a team so well. Christmas would bring more expensive gifts, but nowhere near the happiness it brings to play Santa for our kids. Going on trips and taking outings to new places would somehow not be as exciting. And I remember well what it was like to come home from work everyday to an empty house, and to want so badly to reach my ultimate goal of being a mom. I would more than likely still wish for that, daily, because I know for sure this is who I was cut out to be. And, if our infertility was something that got progressively worse, waiting to start a family might have meant being just the two of us forever.

Simply by being themselves, our kids push us to be better. As they get older and we better understand what parental responsibilities mean (because truly, parenting a six month old and parenting a 3½ year old with a full vocabulary and memory are two entirely different ball games,) we are learning to hold ourselves to higher standards. We keep up with our house not only because we should, but because we are setting an example. We have changed our eating habits, as well as theirs, and we are more purposeful in everything from what we read and watch on tv to how we choose to spend our Saturday afternoons. We have become very goal-oriented, and we are working to create the best possible life for all for of us.

I don’t know how I could be this happy without starting our family when we did.

So on Sunday we headed back to pick up the kids, hauled all of their crap back to the car, drove home quietly as they slept, hauled all that stuff back into the house, and finally put them to bed, only then to start unpacking, I was really happy with the way things are. Even when I dragged my tired ass into bed way too late without making a peep so as not to wake our little seven month old roommate, who woke on his own for a bottle an hour later, and stayed up an additional hour to make up for lost time. Could not be happier.

First night of working late to which I say waah waah waah, and other random thoughts

2006-08-15T17:48:00.000-05:00

Kevin called. He will be staying a bit late tonight. And I am a bit spoiled.

For the first three years of our marriage Kevin nearly always worked late. He worked late so often I don't know why we did not refer to 9pm as the norm and 7pm as early. When he changed companies a couple years ago, though, working late came to a screeching halt, and we entered into the glorious era of eating dinner before dark.

But this job requires a bit more from time to time.

Which, really, I am cool with.

Except for when it really happens.

Because it should not fail that when he calls to say he will be late, it is when I have just returned a sweaty mess from a walk across town pushing a double stroller in the name of excessive exercise. I really should save that walk only for when I am dared by someone.

And he would call when the house looks like this, and when Jack looks like this, telling me to kiss his little white buns if I think an evening nap is in his future, swing or no swing, so prop me on your hip and sing a happy tune while you cook, woman.

And also, when my muscles are just too achy and fatigued from pushing sixty pounds of kids across town to even dream of pulling dinner together. And, oddly enough, that sixty extra pounds was actually part of my body eight months ago.

And, too many ands. And.

It's a black fly...in your chardonnay. It's a death row pardon...two minutes two late. And isn't it ironic? Don't ya think? He should be home just as the last child closes his eyes for the night and I lay near-lifeless in the middle of the cluttered living room floor. I will hope he does not trip on me while wondering aloud what is for dinner.

---

Really, it isn't all that bad. I will feed them ice cream and green beans for a balanced dinner, and shovel the toys towards the door. And when the authorities show up I will gladly hand the children over, warning that neither the baby nor the child consistently sleep through the night and I will pick them up perky as all rested get-out in the morning, thanks.

---

On to the other random thoughts, separated creatively by little ---s. Flow, creativity, flow.

---

I have sixty four blog entries swirling in my head, waiting to be written. They include such topics as my shoes, my dog and what his life could come to if he continues to nose through his dish for all of the chewy pieces of food while knocking all of the crunchy leftovers across the kitchen floor, what the drive to Wisconsin was like this weekend and my thoughts on what life might be like had we no children yet, why a peculiar number of weeds resembling those I once ate in a gourmet salad have suddenly taken residence across my entire front lawn, but only on one side, and the story of our friend Matt, who consumed more shrimp linguine than any human or animal should be permitted, and followed it up with ice cream.

---

It bothers me that the Knucklehead Smith children next door play with weed killer. It bothers me more that a can of mineral spirits has been sitting in the direct center of their front porch for six weeks now. It bothers me the most that for the last three days a half full, open container of gasoline lays in what was once their landscaping, now weed patch, near my driveway. Don't believe me? Stop by.

---

Jack slept in his crib for the last two nights (read: in the same room as his brother.)

I slept very little during the last two nights.

Jack has returned to our bedroom.

---

Though I have not found the time to sit and watch faithfully, my love for Big Brother has taken me to an all new low. Or high, if you are a fan and cheering for me in my desperation to know what is going on in the house. I bought the live feed. And it is fun!

When you stop by to view my neighbors' chemical collection, we will drink cold coffee and watch that live feed for as long as my children remain quiet, out of trouble, and entertain themselves. Heh.
---

I do not have as many random thoughts as I originally imagined.

---

Finally, random, but informative... Thanks so much for your thoughts and prayers for Carson. She is home, and very happy to be there. She seems to be doing much better now that she is home, eating again and getting back to her old self. She still has a long way to go, but is making good progress.

Carson

2006-08-10T12:37:00.000-05:00

Our god-daughter Carson and her twin brother Cooper were born last November, nine weeks premature. They are the younger of two sets of twins in their house (and they keep their mother verrry busy!) Carson weighed only three pounds and spent just under a month in the neonatal intensive care unit at her hospital. She is a little fighter, coming off of her ventilator and feeding tube quickly, and getting home just as fast as she could. She is the sweetest little girl you can imagine, with a smile that is contagious. Her bubbly, sunny personality is amazing.

Carson is now eight months old and doing great - rolling, playing, holding her own bottle, and doing all of the other adorable things babies do. But she also has a condition called craniosynostosis that has to be treated. And as I mentioned last week, she will be having her surgery tomorrow.

Though we have talked through the whole process, I cannot imagine what it would be like to walk in Cindy's shoes. To be the mother of this sweet baby that has to go through a surgery of this magnitude. The road getting here, being diagnosed, driving two hours to see specialists again and again, cat scans, xrays, preparing for this surgery for months, mentally and otherwise, has been so very stressful for their whole family. The surgery tomorrow should take about six hours, and then the road to recovery will begin. And unfortunately for them, Cooper's surgery for the same problem, though more complicated, will take place a little more than three weeks from now.

Please keep Carson in your thoughts and prayers tomorrow, and through the weekend as she goes through all of this. You can look at Carson's page here for updates throughout the weekend, and I will update here when we return home.

For a moment like this...

2006-08-08T21:49:00.000-05:00

...Some people wait a lifetime,

For a loveseat like this

Some people search forever,

For that one special couch,

Oh, I can't believe it's happening to meee

Some people wait a lifetime,

For a lamp-set like thiiiissssss

Oh. Yes. I. Did. I just went all Kelly Clarkson on your ass. Remember this entry? The one with the pictures of my horribly beat up furniture, full of holes and tears and torn out batting and stains and stains on top of stains? Well, look what showed up at my house today! Ding ding ding! I was the lucky winner!

I realize that the pictures are not as bright as they should be for you to get the full effect, but I just could not wait to share this wondrous news with my friends in my computer. This furniture is neeewwww. The cushions are fluffy and bounce back after you sit on them. They even have velcro on the underside so that they do not slide off as you stand up (or as your child plays slip-n-slide, whatever.) The pillows are puffy and fluffy and it all smells so nice and new. It is also huge. So huge, in fact, that they damn near could not get it into my house. The delivery guys decided to use the back door since my 1904 house was not built with such wonderful luxuries in mind, 102 years down the road. They managed to get the couch up the back stairs, and then had to get it through the kitchen. Now, if you have ever stepped foot in my 12x5 kitchen (I soo wish I was exaggerating) you know that this feat should be impossible. Luckily, as I was grinding my teeth and offering to help (Mr Wish-I-Was-Macho Delivery Guy says, "Lady, I've been doing this for 11 years") they moved the stove far enough over to not cram the couch through the ceiling or cabinets.

So there it sits.

And tonight we popped for new lamps, real lamps, that did not involve Ikea or $9.99. Originally I really wanted the matching end tables, but we decided that another several hundred dollars for tables we really did not need might teeter on the edge of frivolous. So I worked in the lamps.

You can see a few more pictures here on flickr. I am sure that I will somehow update you tomorrow with all new look how killer it looks in the daylight pictures. But for now, I must go look things over, for as I wrote this very entry my husband enjoyed himself some beer and pizza on it.

Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

2006-08-06T19:04:00.000-05:00

The early part of the weekend was eventful. It involved things like collecting worldy possessions (desk junk) from jobville-no-longer while hoping to not be towed from beneath a teensy little sign that alluded to NO PARKING, NOT NOW NOT EVER, the foot of a large man (that I happen to be lawfully associated with) crashing through a floor vent in the Sears Tower, baby puke splattered in various areas of said high-rise, and crumpling my front bumper on the aluminum siding of a mobile home. Talk amongst yourselves.

After all that we decided to have a laid back Sunday. We dreamed of watching movies and being named the lucky recipients of foot rubs from our dedicated children...of taking walks, and sipping drinks and eating massive quantities of chocolate by the end of the night. (Ok the chocolate part was my dream.) But when it came right down to it, there was yardwork, and housework, and laundry, oh my!

Some of us wondered why we were not going anywhere, because chores are for the birds.

Eventually we moved on to actual fun, like playing with our new kitchen set. On Saturday we went to the town-wide garage sales south of here, and I grabbed this baby with all the food and dishes two little boys could want for just $2.00!

We thoroughly tested out the food, to make sure that it was really pretend.

Ack! Blech! What is this rubberized immitation of wholesome goodness? Are you telling me there is such a thing as fake food?

By the end of the evening we managed to grill some steaks and play some backyard football. Half of us (the older, male two, who happen to have higher metabolism than a certain dieting, deprived, starving young mother) even took a walk to the local DQ for a treat.

Turned out well except for the chocolate. But I made up for the lack of chocolate. By buying these. And eating this. Whee!

Two weeks notice, completed.

2006-08-03T23:34:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is Kevin’s last day at work. Well, not forever, because of course he will go to work again on Monday. But Monday will bring new work.

Tomorrow I will pick him up across the street from the Sears Tower for the last time, and he will quickly hurl his boxes into our car and dive into the front seat, and we will speed away. Cars will beep and people will wave. A parade, in his honor for his most recent accomplishment? No. Just picking him up at 5pm on a Friday in the normal cut-throat Loop traffic. Those beeps and waves will be gentle reminders for us and our boxes to get the hell out of the way before they run our motherfreakin asses over.

I know that in the past I have griped about not having enough money for things, and about being in debt, and this job is really going to help us along. I feel like we are steadily creeping towards our goals, learning huge lessons along the way. Since we got married, and especially since having kids I have found myself frustrated with sacrifices such as switching from the expensive and trendy haircut girl to the thank-you-for-the-six-minute-$12-trim-and-if-I-return-next-month-might-you-remember-my-name? lady. I have learned over the years, though, that clearance clothes are every bit as new as full price, the haircut will inevitably grow out in less than 30 days anyway, and will spend at least 23 of those 30 hiding in a pony-tail, and to appreciate the fact that we can afford it at all, because many people can’t.

Crawling before learning to walk makes you appreciative. And when you finally are on your feet, you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you need to bless others with what you have been given.

We are experiencing good times right now. We are in a place that I just did not think possible for us. We did not win the lottery, and we were not gifted some inheritance. We have worked and prayed. And when your prayers begin to be answered you know that you must be damn lucky, because there are lots and lots of people with the same prayers and the same work ethic. And you have to keep yourself in check, and go above and beyond your norm to pay it forward, because experiencing good times comes with the responsibility of sharing.

We have family and friends that are going through very difficult times right now. My aunt, who is someone I really looked up to as a little girl, will undergo her second breast cancer surgery tomorrow. She is young, and vibrant, and the matriarch of her family, and no one could have seen this coming for her. We know that she has the strength and determination to fight through this battle, but the fact that this battle is hers at all makes me shake my head and use my full vocabulary of profanities to describe how this shit is totally not fair. In addition, our eight month old god-daughter Carson will undergo surgery next week for craniosynostosis, which was caused by the premature fusion of the sutures in her skull. In a four to eight hour operation, surgeons will go in and remove a large portion of her skull, ear to ear over the top of her head, and then close it up with plates and screws. She is the most adorable little girl with the sweetest personality, and again, I cannot come up with words to describe how badly this sucks.

So thank God that tomorrow closes a chapter in our life, but more importantly, we are praying for our family and friends.

Oh the places you'll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored! There are games to be won!

2006-08-01T18:19:00.000-05:00

Landing a new job is exciting. It gives you a change of scenery and a bump in salary. It gives you a new outlook for the future and a new foundation on which to plot and plan your upcoming trips, automobile purchases, home furnishings, further schooling, and new home. Being the one guy that worked hard enough and spoke persuasively enough to beat out all the others for the position makes you feel like a million bucks. Being that guy’s wife makes you feel at least like 897,635 bucks, which is much more than that dollar you had in your pocket the day before.

But if you’re a nit-wit, landing a new job also involves buying new furniture, new clothing, new clothing, and more new clothing, and going out to dinner twelve times more than you can currently afford. Because, dummy, they do not pay you at that new place until, um, you actually work there.

So after getting caught up in all the excitement and living like the Queen I am not (married to the man who’s been living like the King he is not, mothering the children who have been accumulating toys and clothing like the Princes they are not) I had to pay bills yesterday. And whaddya know, when I opened the credit card bill a pair of big red lips leapt from the envelope and gave me the biggest, wettest kiss ever, and said thank you, stupid woman, for giving our company your money, now pay us a very small percentage of what you owe, and then continue to do so and we will charge you interest on that pair of Gap jeans that really was the ultimate bargain, for the rest of your natural life.

I knew I never should have thrown all that money out the windows.

Of course, the first thing we will do is pay it all off (using the first seventeen and a half paychecks.) We’ve paid for the sofas, we’ll pay for the Gap jeans, we’ll pay for the spending extravaganza in Tommy Hilfiger. We’ll pay for every meal eaten at every restaurant in the three neighboring towns. And then we will say it was fun while it lasted, and hunker down and save for a new house.

I have always been a planner, and I am terribly over-analytical. I like to know what is next on the agenda and how quickly I can get there. I don’t know why that is, but if you observe the timeline of my adult life, it is painfully evident: graduate from college, get job, buy house, get married, quit job, have baby, have another baby, sell baby stuff, plan for new house. If I thought you could read it, I would have removed the punctuation in between those milestones and squished the words together to create a blur, because sometimes when I look back that is how fast it has all happened. I have only been out of school for six years, but have been moving at breakneck speed ever since. Sometimes it is a blessing, in the instance of the kids, and other times it is a curse, like with duh-ebt. I had visions for myself, once Jack was born and we were finished adding to our family, that I would calm down and be normal. Heh. That lasted for about as long as the c-section stitches.

I can only hope that all of this analyzing, planning and hard work pays off in the end – that we come out of all this with great memories and no regrets, and no debt. And if not, there is always Plan B.

Yard sale success, mostly

2006-07-30T10:09:00.000-05:00

So we had a yard sale. It was 101 degrees with what felt like 89% humidity, and we hauled everything from couches to clothing out to the front lawn, and then sat on the porch for six hours while people gave us money for our crap. It wasn't a bad gig.

We eventually set some ground rules for KJ (stay on the porch and keep quiet!) little Mr. Sociable mingling with the would-be customers. He gave a sales pitch for whatever our shoppers looked at, "That's Jack's swing," and "That's our old couch. We are bought a nice new one." Without knowing it, he also harassed the people that moved on without buying (using his announcement-type voice,) "What Daddy, that man doesn't have any money??"

I tried to make things as simple as possible. I priced all of the clothing one price, and then smacked little sticky price tags on the rest. Our baby clothes went pretty well, with one of our first shoppers buying $31 worth at fifty cents apiece. I was ok with selling the baby swing. The changing table sold for the same price that we originally paid for it (how's that for four years of free?) I was still uneasy with selling our bassinet, as well as somewhat relieved that by noon it was still ours. Still our pretty white little baby bed, still as new-looking as the day my sister bought it for us, still only slept in by my sweet little babies, still holding the memories of the newness and excitement and dreams for my precious, tiny babies. And as I had these blissful thoughts I was blindsided by a woman in a beat-up van asking, "Hey will you take $25 for this?"

What, are you crazy?

The sticker says $30. We can bargain til the day is done on the nasty ass couch or the blow-up baby pool, but that beautiful white bassinet is $30. Hopes and dreams, lady. Myyyyy memories and dreams. For my conceived-in-spite-of-infertility and born-prematurely-under-the-awfulness-of-preeclampsia babies.

She was good with the $30.

She brought the money up to the porch, and instead of throwing up right there in the middle of my own created mini-market, I turned on my heels and went in the house. I let Kevin take the money, and load it in her car, and I hid in the basement until she was gone. I want to think that she, visibly not pregnant, knows someone with similar dreams and excitement for a sweet little baby (though not possibly as sweet as mine.) I hope that mama spends as many hours gazing over the side of that bed at her most precious baby, and I hope that baby keeps her up all. friggin. night.

We also put our living room furniture out in the sale, since the new stuff will arrive next week. We figured that we could manage for a week on just the loveseat in order to make a buck on the couch and chair. After all, we would just kick it to the curb free of charge a week later. We got a few lookers, and then our buyer came through ---- Mr. Knucklehead Smith himself. We learned that he moves furniture for a living, for a rent-to-own store, and by the way he bear-hugged our couch and carried it home (holy freaking shit!) Kevin learned to never physically tango with that man. Goodbye couch and chair! You will no doubt be covered in kool-aid by morning.

As the afternoon heat peaked we closed up our sale, feeling quite satisfied. There was lots less clutter in our house, and a little more money in our pockets. And late last night as we got the kids to bed and settled down for a little tv time, I realized that we would have to share. the. loveseat. Kevin scooted over from his sprawled out state (as much as a 6'4 man can sprawl on a mini-couch) and said, "Come on, it'll be like the old days in college when we were happy to sit together on the loveseat in my dorm room."

Then I picked up the remote, which was smeared with jelly from my husband's late night snack, and mumbled something about the college loveseat days and not knowing about his sticky habits back then. (Hurry, multiple pieces of new furniture, hurry!)

Where I go all Lion King on ya'll and sing about the Circle of Life. And brag a lot, too.

2006-07-28T08:59:00.000-05:00

Not that I haven't been working on it with him for over a year now, but I was shocked when I suggested KJ write his name, and he did. Just like that. Unassisted, people!

For some reason every time my children hit another milestone lately (which seems to be happening like crazy,) I feel so very proud, and also a twinge sad. My little preemie baby who is barely seven months out of my womb, born at a mere four pounds and taking 1/4 ounce at feedings in his first days of life, can speak, and sit, and roll, and peruse an entire room at his own discretion, just by maneuvering his body in what we shall call pre-crawling. My big boy, also born a preemie and seemingly just yesterday was hitting his brother's milestones, recognizes all of his letters and even a handful of words in print, is now writing on his own, can give you all the information you ever wanted to know about the jet engine of a B2 Stealth Bomber or 747, is turning four soon and for heaven's sake is going to school in a few weeks.

The bottom line is, they're wonderful, intelligent kids. And they're going to grow up and leave me someday. And every day they get a little closer to doing that.

**Edited to add: Could this sadness also be linked with my putting little sticky yard sale price tags on things like our baby swing, bassinet, and changing table over the last few days, and having the are you sure talks with my husband as I did so more because maybe I am not so sure (because infertility treatments and pre-eclampsia are da bomb, baby) and also, maybe I'm a bit young for being done having kids, no?

BlogWho?

2006-07-26T23:47:00.000-05:00

This weekend there is a big hoopla taking place in the blogging world: it's the BlogHer conference. I? In attendance? No. It's being held in California. And I really don't know that I am dedicated enough to my blog at present to travel across the country to A) learn how to better craft it, or B) meet my favorite, most worshipped blogging icons in the world. In fact, more than likely, I would leave my young family for the weekend, spend more money than we possess (as if that takes much) to cover plane tickets, hotel costs, conference fees, and, my God, shopping in California, only to arrive and bump into the totally cool and somewhat famous, and then revert to the shy awkward twelve-year-old that lurks within my person; then stupidly grin, then grunt, then drool, then die. See? Not going. I can't wait to read what they all have to say, though. And maybe someday, after I practice like holy living hell with writing and defining my style, and writing, and um, writing, and get my own URL (like fremanitis.com) I will attend BlogHer (in 2056, approximately.)

So what shall I do this weekend, other than stalk blogs far and wide to read the great happenings on the west coast? Well, I will finish up my root canal! (Slap my ass and call me Suzy...Fun! No?) Ok, well, I am also listing ebay. And having a yard sale. And then we are taking all that fresh dough and heading out to a little slice of heaven for some let's-pretend-he-landed-a-new-managerial-position-at-a-bajillion-dollar-company-and-should-dress-like-it shopping. What's that? He did? Oh yes! He did!

So yes, there's our weekend. (I tell you this as if I will not be back tomorrow.) The work has begun as I tore through our closets today, filling rubbermaid after rubbermaid to the brim, hoping to make big bucks on that which no longer fits. I have been organizing, and sorting, and soon will come the pricing. I have been doing laundry, and cleaning the basement, and (do not) look forward to attacking the attic. (Now why would anyone want to leave all this for a conference full of blogging wonders and booze? Pshaw.)

But alas! I have help! And cute help, at that.

Hi ho Hi ho, it's off to work I go...

Have some cheese with this whine

2006-07-24T20:10:00.000-05:00

Before I had kids I figured that being a stay at home mom would be no walk in the park. I had kids, and guess what? It's not. Well, sometimes it is. Sometimes we play and they sleep and they eat and they sleep again. And then I feel good about things.

Today would qualify as a "no walk in the park" day. I forgot the baby swing at my mom's house (60 miles away) on Saturday, and have longed for its helpfulness ever since. Usually when Jack is fussy to an extreme, or tries to rip my eyes and hair out simultaneously while I lovingly rock him to sleep, I use the swing as an alternative. I plop him in there with a paci and blanket and he is usually out like a light within moments. I miss the swing so badly.

Jack has adapted to a nap schedule. Every two hours (slightly less, actually) he gets fussy and is ready to go. He naps for a couple hours in both the morning and afternoon, and then again in the evening. I remember with not so much fondness that at this age KJ was big on his schedule as well. If you have all the time in the world to devote to the perfect nap schedule at home, never having to grocery shop, run errands, or God forbid, leave the house just to spend a day away, this works out wonderfully. However, head to the store to stock up on moo juice and diapers and then swing by the post office and it makes for a pleasant afternoon of tearing my hair out (and eyes too, sometimes simultaneously.) I usually try to leave as soon as he wakes from a nap, giving me the max hour and a half (picture KJ and I standing at the front door with bags packed and shoes on waiting for Jack to wake.) If there is a drive involved in the middle of things, sometimes I can get him to nap in the car (that is, when KJ is not poking him in the face or telling him it's not time to sleep.) Because if it is not difficult enough to juggle feeding schedules with changing diapers with reflux baby puking on your shirt and down your arm dripping on your shoes in the middle of the mall, add screeeeeeeeeeeeeaching at the top of baby lungs to that, because dammit, it's been an hour and 47 minutes and the kid is just ready for sleep.

We did lunch and the mall last week, as well as a playdate, worked at my grandfather's house, furniture shopped, and went out to dinner. We also ran miscellaneous errands. I did not make it through one of these events without at some point closing my eyes and sighing. Calgon take me away, is right. I pull it together as much as possible (which, from time to time, isn't a whole lot) and chant my mantra that this too shall pass. They are just going to get older, which will make things easier. Jack will understand (more of) the English language and skipping naps will actually seem like a fun thing to do. KJ will not always throw temper tantrums over packs of Cars underpants (because someday he will throw them over $100 pairs of jeans instead.)

What I am grappling with now, however, having experienced headache after headache in leaving the house over the last few weeks, is how I can justify not leaving again until, say, October. There are grocery delivery services, right?

I suppose that some day we will have to come down from cloud nine. Today was not that day.

2006-07-23T22:36:00.000-05:00

You could say there is excitement in the air in regards to the new job.

1. We purchased new living room furniture today.

2. We went to Target for fun things like school shoes, new underwear and socks, and things that you don't buy for a family of four without batting an eyelash, on a normal day.

3. We went out for steak tonight.

4. I walked past Kevin at the computer a while ago. He was listening to Kanye West, "Touch the Sky" and looking at this:

(House, Kevin, house. We need a new house.)

Thank God for the new job. For furniture, comfy new socks, and for the dreams we would not have dared to dream last week. Even if they (specifically, gold Mercedes Benzes) will not come true any time soon.

Talk to me, baby

2006-07-22T22:33:00.000-05:00

Child prodigy, following in the footsteps of his prodigy brother if I do say so myself. :0)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

2006-07-20T19:00:00.000-05:00

There was to be a gloom-n-doom entry written today. Gloom And Doom. Things were just falling apart. Bad news today followed bad news yesterday, plus a crabby baby, a three hour power outage, a flooded basement, and please don't leave out the flat tire, laundry and messy house.

But tonight? I have to write about something different.

In the month prior to Kevin turning thirty, I was very restless. Thirty? Really? Thirty? We said that we would do so many things by the time we were thirty. In fact, any cool thing we imagined we would ever do in our lives at age 21, we said, "Yeah, we'll do that by the time we're thirty. Oh, and that? Yeah, definitely, we will do that by the time we're thirty." So with thirty right around the corner I scratched my head (for days and weeks, incessant scratching) and thought, Wow, what have we done by thirty? I am a stay-at-home-mom, which is wonderful, but that gives me no points on career advances by thirty, we are living in the same little house in the same little town, and we hadn't done things like vacation all over the seven continents and visit the moon twice, or make money big enough to drive down the street tossing the surplus out of car windows.

Thirty arrived while we were on our mini-vacation last month. It was smooth and relaxing and not saddening or frustrating. Because at that time, in the works was a big, huge, thing that I was sworn to not discuss with the world wide web, but had all of my hopes teetering upon like a Mack truck half-hanging from a steep mountain cliff. That thing was the possibility of a career move - a career hike, jump, boost, explosion. You see, all the talk of thirty and where we were in life and where we were going sparked a brief love affair between my husband and internet job hunting. His current job was not cutting it, and it was clearer than clear that movin on up was not something we would be doing if he remained with his current company.

So interview one was well over one month ago. The recruiter made the mistake of calling our house before Kevin arrived home from the interview, asking me to pass on the news that, they loved him. Ok, cool.

It was not until he got home and explained to me what a career bump this would be - in position and salary, and especially benefits, that I flipped. I re-planned budgets for the next year and family dinners at the local steakhouse for after he was hired. Oh yeah, and we went on vacation, too. (Nothing like jumping the gun, eh?) But hey! Holy shit! Something big! You're thirty!

Interview two (of three) was four days later. Yet another success! We were shitting ourselves trying to plan how to get the guy out of work for interviews. The schemes we were cooking up had to involve something a bit more sneaky than a note to his bosses:

Dear Bosses,
Your company sounded great before I worked here. But then I realized that you will never pay me what I am worth. And, you don't like when I eat lunch in the building. I am taking the day off (again) for a job interview with a company that just might have been invented by Jesus Christ himself. Please don't catch on and fire me while I'm gone.
Signed,
Your loyal Investment Analyst

Interview three, planned. Rescheduled. Called in sick. Rescheduled again. Shit myself. Rescheduled again. Holy crap! Kevin is shopping for a new car for God's sakes - we need to lock in that little detail where he gets the job.

Interview three happened at 7am, the day after the 4th of July (that would make it the 5th. Yes.) Kevin stopped drinking beer early the night before. We warned our guests that we would be closing down early and starching dress shirts for the big deal that would take place early the next morning. We. Told. Everyone. "Interview three! Tomorrow! Meet us in our driveway if you'd like to ride along with us to throw money out the car windows!"

Interview three. Good. Fine. "We will get back to you with a thanks, but no thanks or an offer, either today or tomorrow."

That was two and a half weeks ago. Things were in talks. We have been going nuts. Nuts! (Mostly, because without this job we had only peanuts to toss from car windows. Well, peanut shells, actually.)

Finally, an offer. Not enough money. Another five days of anticipation. Do you know what five days of anticipation are like? They are like the length of this email, times twelve, each day, if you believe that.

So today? After the start of this crazy day so...crazy, he received another offer. It was not a nuclear explosion great, but easily a half dozen gigantic fireworks great, and certainly great in this little house for this little family.

And tomorrow morning my husband will resign from his current job, and put a million new plans in motion for this family and our quest for the best. I can hardly believe it is real.

Thirty is not so bad after all.

Money-tossing party at my house, tomorrow morning, meet in my driveway.

Who let the dogs out?

2006-07-18T22:33:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry. Is it a full moon? Things have been a bit off balance.

I had KJ at the eye doctor again today. He was finally diagnosed with amblyopia, and started wearing a patch over his good eye. The doctor said that he has to wear this all day every day, or within no time the eye will lose whatever sight it has left. This, as you might guess, comes much to KJ's sorrow (and mine as well.) The patches they gave us at the office (two of them, you generous little boogers you) would be best described as eye-shaped bandaids. KJ is terrified - ter-ri-fied-d-d - of bandaids. It didn't go over well. I got that one on him before we left the office and about cried myself all the way down the hall. Then he walked into the door frame as we exited. I carried him to the car.

He has really strong glasses for his bad eye, but somehow is still seriously blind without the use of this good eye. Coloring even close to within the lines was out of the question today. He could not see the keys to type (yes, my three-year-old types.) He could not see the numbers on the phone or the smaller pictures on the computer screen. He has run into every bookcase and door frame, and had to forego using his fork at dinner because his depth perception was so off he could not poke his food.

I allowed him to take a break from the patch at lunchtime, and then during nap. After talking sweet, talking tough, promising ice cream, popsicles, Chuck E. Cheese and airplane movies, I practically had to sit on him as he screamed at the top of his lungs to get it back on. It's like an eye bandaid. We hate bandaids here. Finally we went online and ordered two cloth eye patches (to the tune of $40) that go over his glasses rather than sticking to his eye.

I feel horrible for him.

I know that for the sake of the rest of his life, this has to happen. If he ever wants to hit a baseball, safely drive a car, or do one of the million other things boys love to do, he needs to not go blind in one eye. But this is not something that can be explained to him at age three. He can't see, and he is sad, and mad, and frustrated. I know this isn't the worst thing to ever happen to a person, but vision is something so taken for granted, and when you're functioning on about 25%, it just isn't fun.

Beyond that, Kevin golfed Sunday, which also included intoxication and minor heat stroke, which also included him spouting off things he didn't mean (or, things he meant, but normally would not have said) to his family, which in turn somehow ended with me on the shit list. Moreover, he stained his favorite, most expensive, whitest, Notre Dame coach's shirt. Monday brought no news for us (five weeks, folks,) but lots of talk and planning and irritation. And record heat. Monday brought record heat. And also me driving around with my sister for 10 of the most hell's inferno related miserable hours of my life in a 1995-119,000 miles-Sunfire-falling apart as we drove down the damn road-with broken effing air conditioning. Success, at least. We were damn close to popping microwave popcorn in the back seat. (Why the hell do you have microwave popcorn in your purse?) (Let's make a deal?) Today a close family member had breast cancer surgery, which still does not cease to blow my mind.

What the hell else?

As I sit here sipping (gulping) black coffee (apparently almost as black as my heart) and finishing off the days points in teddy grahams (anxiously awaiting the old kiss my ass on the scale tomorrow morning) I am left with laundry. Nine loads. And ebay to pack. And ship. Twenty five auctions. Two kids in tow. And a house to clean. Because this is the the baby to the carpet. And a partridge in a pear tree.

Better luck tomorrow.

(On a good note, I did pop in at Old Navy with my 20% off bag and bought my stuff. It had gone on clearance. And was cheaper than I could have asked for. Ha!)

100, baby

2006-07-17T01:40:00.000-05:00

Creating my 100 Things list has been on my to do list (list much?) since this blog was created. I thought my 100th entry would be an appropriate time to share.

100 Things about me

1. I am one of four children, the oldest.
2. My sister is three years and four days younger, and is my closest ally.
3. Growing up I secretly loved sharing things with her.
4. It is no longer a secret. My sister and I often share my house and children.
5. I am afraid to kill bugs.
6. I love Microsoft Excel, and obsessing over budgets and spreadsheets of all kinds.
7. My favorite ice cream is cookie dough. No chocolate chips needed.
8. I always wanted to have seven children.
9. Now I have two, and I am happy, and complete.
10. I used to skip college math classes at least once or twice weekly to veg out and watch The American President with my girlfriends.
11. Fall is my favorite season so much so that I sometimes daydream about it.
12. I love wearing comfortable jeans and oversized sweatshirts.
13. I have always wanted to be a stay at home mom.
14. I am addicted to TiVo, which has allowed me to watch all of my shows without the agony of anticipation during commercial breaks.
15. KJ is also addicted to TiVo.
16. He makes me rewind funny things 5,000 times. And sometimes he gets confused and wants me to replay real life.
17. My middle name is Jean.
18. It is my mom’s middle name, also, and my gramma’s first name.
19. I will always miss her, and imagine what she would have looked like holding my son, four weeks later.
20. I hate gum, and mint.
21. I give a certain smile when I disagree with someone and am too uncomfortable to say so.
22. I am sometimes shy, but working to get over it.
23. I was born in 1978, at the hospital next door to my future high school.
24. The high school I attended was all-female and Catholic, which my husband thinks is weird, but I thought it was wonderful, and I’d send our children to one if the opportunity presented itself.
25. I hate when people tell lies.
26. It is always pretty obvious, and I use that certain smile then, too.
27. Oprah inspires me.
28. Sitting in the children’s book section of Barnes and Noble sometimes makes me tear up.
29. I love my children in ways I didn’t know existed.
30. And I think they’re cute, too.
31. I would send my children to an all-male high school, not female.
32. I did not drink coffee until my second pregnancy. Now I live on it.
33. My sister Sant calls me Low, which is pronounced more like Laow, than Low.
34. I love to take pictures.
35. I am so blessed to have the wonderful friends that I do.
36. My favorite foods include pizza, and fresh vegetables in dill dip.
37. I knew within only a few weeks of meeting him, that I would spend the rest of my life with Kevin.
38. My favorite color is dark blue.
39. I love black, also.
40. I am extremely observant, and overly analytical.
41. I have dropped 56 pounds since the day Jack was born, and I hope to keep it off forever and ever. Amen.
42. My favorite movies include You’ve Got Mail and Something’s Gotta Give because of the wonderful color schemes and atmospheres used throughout them.
43. I almost died on my way home from a Dixie Chicks concert in Indianapolis. Twice.
44. Consuming large amounts of soft bread always makes me feel better.
45. I am a planner.
46. My favorite perfume is Lovely, by Sarah Jessica Parker.
47. Sometimes I play dumb, though I am very sure that I am not.
48. I have a temper, and have learned to control it.
49. Mostly.
50. I have a mild, undiagnosed form of OCD.
51. It runs in my family, on my dad’s side.
52. I love clean lines and proper arrangement of items, to a fault.
53. I am a go-getter and a people pleaser, which is sometimes a bad combination.
54. I have no tattoos.
55. I have never tried drugs.
56. My favorite charities include Project Heifer, Bosom Buddies, and anything that provides relief for the people suffering in Darfur, Sudan.
57. I have a very special place in my heart for the poor in Africa.
58. I plan to travel there someday, to help.
59. And I would love to bring my husband and sons with me.
60. My first car was a 1993 Ford Tempo, named Ed Sullivan (I totaled it.)
61. I am a perfectionist, and cringe when I find my own tpyos.
62. I am a total chicken shit, and cannot watch scary movies.
63. I try to make the most of life, and want to teach my children to do the same.
64. I am in process of consciously refining myself into who I really want to become.
65. It’s fun, and scary.
66. When I get comfortable, I talk too much.
67. I would be friends with myself.
68. Blasting music and singing at the top of my lungs is something I did incessantly as a teenager, but is now something I save for when I am alone in the car.
69. Good grades came pretty easy to me.
70. It’s a damn shame I didn’t really try.
71. I love water, particularly the ocean, and plan with my husband to live near a body of it someday.
72. Sometimes I let people walk all over me.
73. But I am learning to get better about it.
74. We bought a minivan thinking we’d fill it with children.
75. Now I want my SUV back.
76. As a child my family vacationed (by car) all over the continental US.
77. Those were the best times.
78. I love the book To Kill A Mockingbird.
79. Kevin and I are on a kick with brussel sprouts. We eat them at least four nights a week.
80. I was a teacher before my children were born.
81. It kept me around children and their wonderful storybooks until I could have my own.
82. I am allergic to chalk (occupational hazard.)
83. I worry too much.
84. I am terrible with names.
85. I went through a mega-religious phase in high school, but have since have blended nicely with the rest of civilization.
86. I still pray more than I let on.
87. I don’t attend church as much as I should.
88. But that’s my own damn business.
89. I was somehow sure long before KJ was born that I would give birth via c-section.
90. Infertility was a total curve ball.
91. I have no desire to become a runner, or a biker.
92. But brisk walks to the nearby lake are wonderful.
93. Sometimes I say really mean things for a laugh.
94. And laugh at my own jokes.
95. I don’t really mean those mean things. It’s all for effect.
96. Also, I swear too damn much.
97. I am a very fast reader.
98. My kids and husband are my life.
99. I always stay up way too late, and curse myself in the morning.
100. Like now.

Miscellaneous Blogging

2006-07-13T21:06:00.000-05:00

Come on, real content, please! Right? I know. I know. How could your day be complete without hearing how much sleep I managed last night, or who's butt needs to be wiped next?

But until then, I uploaded a few new pictures, and documented the brilliance of my child today.

Next post, #100. I'll try to make it good. (I did not say life altering. Just good.)

The possibilities are endless

2006-07-13T12:43:00.000-05:00

Babies cry for all sorts of reasons, right?

When Jack woke from his nap he was not happy. I could not pick him up immediately, and in the couple minute interim where Jack continued to cry, KJ discussed (with anyone who may or may not be listening) some reasons for his crying:

"Maybe he is crying because he just doesn't believe in himself."

"Maybe he doesn't believe in Santa. Santa will never bring him toys now."

Way to think outside the box, eh?

You've got questions. We've got answers.

2006-07-12T19:17:00.000-05:00

Er, um, that's Radio Shack. Anyway, the homework has been graded, and the scores are out for Name that Tune! I must say it was more fun writing the entry, while drinking wine with Kevin and debating to the death about the eligibility of the late great NKOTB to make the list. Score, Molly.

In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea... Yellow Submarine, The Beatles
Trying hard to control my heart, I walk over to where you are, eye to eye we need no words at all... Crazy for You, Madonna
This time when he swung a bat, and I found myself layin flat I wondered... Truth No. 2, Dixie Chicks
Poor old Johnny Ray, sounded sad upon the radio, he moved a million hearts in mono... Come On Eileen, Dexy's Midnight Runners
You know that's a game I hate to lose, I'm feeling the strain, ain't it a shame... Drift Away, Dobie Gray
Flash the message, "Something's out there in the summer sky"... 99 Red Balloons, Nena
If our lives were that simple, we'd live in the past... If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me, Jimmy Buffett
30-pack of Stroh's, 30-pack of hoes... American Badass, Kid Rock
So put me on a highway, and show me a sign... Take It To The Limit, The Eagles
I'll take my chances, I forgot how nice romance is... The Longest Time, Billy Joel
Stop right there! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further... Paradise By The Dashboard Light, Meatloaf
18 years, 18 years, She got one of yo kids got you for 18 years, I know somebody payin child support for one of his kids... Golddigger, Kanye West
Oh and every time I’m close to you, There’s too much I can’t say, And you just walk away... I Love You, Sarah McLachlan
Don't try to tell me that you're not aware, Of what you're doing and that you don't care, You say that it's easy, just a natural thing, Like playing music that you've never seen... Jackie Blue, Ozark Mountain Daredevils
I can see it in your walk, Tell ’em when you talk, See it in everything you do, Even in your thoughts... You Got The Right Stuff, New Kids On The Block

Ahem, Drumroll Please.......

The winner is.... Frema! (hands clapping) (And as a little side note, I wondered what you were puffin when you answered Puff The Magic Dragon to a picture clue of a Yellow Submarine. Ha!) So as the winner you and a guest will fly round trip for five days and six nights to the beautiful does this look like The Price Is Right? You win a way cool, really really fun, cutting edge and current, or at least way fun, cd, created by yours truly, to enjoy, and share with your posterity. I will try my best to write neatly.

Use this to pass the long hours...

2006-07-11T23:11:00.000-05:00

...while you await the answers to Name That Tune (all three of you!)

Sometimes being the little brother is not so fun. And other times, it is the cat's pajamas.

(Disclaimer: Yes, I totally realize that this video clip is as dark as night. But that's because it was night when I randomly took it. With only my dining room ceiling light on. Which is currently functioning on only one bulb. Steven Spielberg I never clamed to be, nor did I claim to know anything, even on the most basic, practical, common-sensical level, about shooting video clips on a digital camera.)

Retail therapy. Or, why I need therapy.

2006-07-10T18:54:00.000-05:00

I have been shopping.

On Sunday I was on a hunt for new jeans for Kevin and myself, so I went to Old Navy, where the prices are reasonable for quality that-can-be-iffy-but-as-long-as-they-last-a-year-or-two, they're fine. The pair I am currently wearing is five years old, and has an inch-long hole in the ass (sewn closed, with all of my June Cleaver-ness.) (I am picturing dear ol June talking to Ward, "Honey, get your own damn beverage - I'm sewing the hole in the ass of my jeans.") (Oh. Right. That's me.)

I shopped Old Navy for quite a while. I tried on seventeen pairs of jeans in two different sizes and fifteen different color and cut variations, and in the end decided that they either looked too big, too small or I did not like that they looked like jeans I would wear to scrub my nasty concrete basement floor, right after I cleaned up the dog poop in my back yard and painted the house, white. Rips, ok. I can deal with little rips in jeans for fashion's sake (maybe I need to tear that hole back open?) But paint? Ripped to high hell and freakin paint? I need to be selling my crappy jeans and score $30 a pair. (I'm sorry, am I sounding old? Those damn kids...they also play their devil rock music too loud...) So I gave up on finding myself the perfect pair and headed into shirt-land, where the heavens opened up and the angels sang and I picked out six shirts in a brand new size. Ok, not a totally brand new size. I have been here before, but it's been a while. Finally, I shopped for Kevin's jeans, like this: go to jeans section, locate anything labeled relaxed and boot cut, grab jeans in correct size, happy husband. (That version is quite drawn out from how he would shop for them if left on his own.)

After 45 minutes of mood swings that included total elation, complete frustration and everything in-between, I made my way to check out. As the teeny-bopper (you can still call a teenager a teeny-bopper, right?) scanned my items, he made some small talk, "So, you, like, have an Old Navy card, right?" "Yes." "Cool. You know our stuff-n-save sale starts Friday?" "You're kidding." "No, it's cool, ya know?" "Ummm, so the $100+ I am going to spend today will cost me $80 five days from now?" "Uh-huh," as he continues to scan the pile. "Can I bring this stuff back on Friday for a price adjustment?" "No, it doesn't work that way."

Are you following where this is going?

Oh yes I did. I totally did. "Ok, actually, I am going to leave this stuff. I'll see you Friday."
___

So I shopped again today. This time I had the kids with me, at the mall, searching for a new outfit for Jack's 6 month pictures. It went as well as can be expected, finding nothing in twelve of the thirteen stores we hit, and with JC Penney's elevator being broken and something about no you most certainly may not drag that stroller full of children down the escalator, I had to haul people, bags, and their sleigh all the way back to the center of the mall and then back once more to Penney's again if I would like to peruse the children's section located downstairs. Ack. But overall, fine.

While strolling we passed the back to school section, which had a killer display of popular backpacks... You, little boy, in seat number one of my stroller, why are you flailing your arms and pointing and shouting and causing such a ruckus? You what? Plan to attend what? School? Sporting a Cars backpack? Why, oh my goodness, here's one now.

Gulp.

I had not planned on buying his backpack yet. It is a big step, to buy your little baby who just emerged from your womb yesterday, screaming and kicking and relying on you to meet his every need and looking at you like you are God's gift to the universe, a backpack so that he can attend school, like, a big kid. He was so excited though, because, the car kid, with his favorite movie, on a backpack. He leapt from the stroller and had to try it on at once. And he looked so big and so ready to leave me (for two hours twice a week) and I teared up right there in the middle of JC Penney, and had a heart attack, and died. The end.

Well, mostly true. He got his backpack. And I did cry. And even though I comfort myself in the hopes that I am not the only mother to ever become emotional in the middle of a backpack display, I am thankful that no one saw us. Heh.

Name that tune!

2006-07-08T21:56:00.000-05:00

Let's try something new today.

Here's a little game to play.

Read the lyrics from each song,

And name that tune- don't take too long!

Cause if you're quick and get them right,

The prize is yours on Wednesday night.

But don't you cheat, not even a bit,

Cause that's just wrong you sneaky shit.

Have some fun and don't be lazy,

You know you know them, you're not crazy.

There might be a clue for one or two,

You look like a monkey and you smell like one too.

The songs are varied from country to rock,

Pop and rap, but probably no Bach.

A poet I never claimed to be,

A blogger, yes, and a fun one, see?

Good luck to you and your mom too,

I hope you win the grand prize, foo.

In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea...
Trying hard to control my heart, I walk over to where you are, eye to eye we need no words at all...
This time when he swung a bat, and I found myself layin flat I wondered...
Poor old Johnny Ray, sounded sad upon the radio, he moved a million hearts in mono...
You know that's a game I hate to lose, I'm feeling the strain, ain't it a shame...
Flash the message, "Something's out there in the summer sky"...
If our lives were that simple, we'd live in the past...
30-pack of Stroh's, 30-pack of hoes...
So put me on a highway, and show me a sign...
I'll take my chances, I forgot how nice romance is...
Stop right there! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further...
18 years, 18 years, She got one of yo kids got you for 18 years, I know somebody payin child support for one of his kids...
Oh and every time I’m close to you, There’s too much I can’t say, And you just walk away...
Don't try to tell me that you're not aware, Of what you're doing and that you don't care, You say that it's easy, just a natural thing, Like playing music that you've never seen...
I can see it in your walk, Tell ’em when you talk, See it in everything you do, Even in your thoughts...

Have fun!

Advice, should you find yourself in this situation

2006-07-07T20:03:00.000-05:00

If you wake up with your kids way too early, feed and dress them, re-dress one of two who has thrown up all over himself, sneak in a shower for yourself, fight with #2 for 45 minutes to go down for a nap, only to finally have him fall asleep for a whopping 28 minutes and wake up as happy as a hungry crocodile, covered in puke again, then drive 45 minutes to paint at your grandfather's house all afternoon, hoping to God that #1 can stay out of the boxes for five minutes (no, he can't. Lose the high hopes already) and that #2 will nap (in the swing, for all of 22 minutes,) clean up, drive 45 minutes home thanking God that #1 slept the whole way and cursing anyone who enters your mind because can you friggin believe that #2 didn't even sleep half the way?? Arrive home, combat a total meltdown because #1 really wanted McDonalds for dinner but I failed him, miserably, then cook dinner, receive no news on whatever you might be dying for news on, wash up children and attempt to put them to bed, but both are still very much awake now almost an hour past when you started - one screaming his little brains out because he has slept for only an hour (in three pieces, mind you) out of the last 13, and the other demanding that someone come wipe him, and you know that plans for tomorrow are identical to those of today, plus more napping from America's youth, hopefully.

If this happens to you, give the eff up, make a pot of coffee, and buy yourself something online.

Where we hit the wall of excitement for summer & great weather, and scale the wall all hot, sweaty & tired, moving toward the finish line that is Fall

2006-07-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

I have no idea whether or not the Fourth of July is the mid-point of the summer, but in my mind it always has been. (So go with it, mkay?) Something changes after Independence Day. It gets hotter for the most part, which allows for less fresh air as we hang out in the air conditioning so we don't, um, die, in the heat; the flowers die and the grass begins to brown (or, is that just my flowers and my grass? Hose? Water? What?) In fact, my two flower boxes did not even make it to the Fourth this year. They were dead, and dumped out back so that my partygoers would not realize what an awful gardener (waterer) I am.

Welcome, the fifth of July. And then the sixth. It could very well be the party we have every year. The cleaning, preparing, the whole nine yards wears us out, and then we are left with a feeling of exhaustion afterwards. (Or, it could be that I decided to recover from the Fourth festivities the next day by pushing a 60+ pound double stroller packed with two children and all of their crap for a four mile walk in hopes of somewhat atoning for the 47 brownies I consumed the day before, whatever.) Either way, my red, white and blue decorations now sit in a heap on the dining room table, with the leftover plasticwear and flag-inspired napkins on top. Having returned to my diet (like the prodigal son who spent all his money - every last penny, baby) a small plate of brownies and chocolate cake sit on my counter begging to be finished off, and a stack of clean dishes from donations of wonderful food sit on the stove. The party is over, and we are left to make up our own plans and adventures all while trying to beat the heat, until the next big deal rolls around.

Normally that next big deal would be the start of the Notre Dame football season. Fall practice usually begins during the first week of August, with the first game following several weeks later. And being the crazy dedicated fans we are, bringing both children home from the hospital wrapped snugly in fleece blankets that read, "Future Domer," we totally gear up for upcoming months of Saturday afternoons spent in front of the television, noshing on fried foods, freshly baked bread, and veggies and dips, all washed down with cold brew, while the wind blows in through the open windows making that crisp rustling sound as it stirs the warm, colorful leaves on the trees. Aah, fall.

But I digress, because while normally it is Notre Dame football that changes the sweltery summer tone, this year it will be SCHOOL! August 31st, friends, I become a school parent. (I'm sorry, did I just age ten years with that label?) School clothes and backpacks and field trips, oh my! So hot or not, I cannot decide if I will welcome fall with open arms or with red, puffy eyes and a handful (more, let's not kid ourselves) of grey hair.

And if, someday by a miracle of God, that other big stuff comes to fruition, surely you will know. But until then, go do something, like water my grass.

Giving Independence Day a whole new meaning

2006-07-05T13:30:00.000-05:00

He sits!

Part two of his blockbuster mega-plan

to take over the house: Complete.

Hi, Jackson Gregory.

Here to overturn all in-place rules and rulers. Nice to meet ya.

And you knew this could not be a one-man show.

If wishes came true, my darling son would be laying on the floor, covered in chocolate, in a sugar-induced coma right now

2006-07-03T21:07:00.000-05:00

A conversation between KJ and myself as we finished baking our fifth dozen cookies this evening:

Wow buddy, you did a really good job!

Mmmhhhmmm (as he continues licking the cookie dough bowl with the speed, excitement and agility of a racehorse making its way down the track towards the blue ribbon for the very first time.)

You'll have to tell everyone at the party tomorrow that you baked these!

Yeah, and I'll tell them that I ate them all too!

Fourth and Festivities

2006-07-03T17:55:00.000-05:00

When we bought our house back in 2000, the advertisement read, "Parade Route!!!!!!!!" (Just like that - completely over-punctuated, which both irritated and bewildered me.) I had never been to the parade here, nor did I even know what parade was being referred to. When we closed on the house, every realtor we talked to smiled and said excitedly, "Ooh you bought a house on the parade route!" (Thankfully, as I processed the words in my mind they did not include fifty-seven exclamation points.)

So the first Independence Day we lived here, we threw a party and invited all of our friends and family. Kevin had obviously seen the parade in the past, having grown up nearby, but I had no idea what to expect beyond the burgers and dogs.

It was awesome. Not awesome because two million people and gobs of fireworks were set to music beside the Lakefront, but awesome that much of the town lined the streets to watch the rest of the town, with its firetrucks and police cars, local school bands, and every church that owned a pick-up truck and trailer, parade through in red, white and blue to celebrate our country. I grew up in a huge city that could not provide anything so intimate or community-oriented, and I have a blast at our parades every year. And the fact that it went right past our house was just icing on the cake.

So last year when we heard the parade was being re-routed to turn down a couple blocks ahead of us, we signed the petition to leave it as is (and wrote nooooooooo after our names.) They did re-route it, and we lost our morning fun. We could still walk a few blocks up to participate in the parade watching and candy catching, but it somehow wasn't the same as watching it from our front lawn with friends and family.

So it is the Third of July again. The house is clean (ok, not yet, but it will be,) the menu is planned, and the red, white and blue is everywhere. And tomorrow morning we will wake up to enjoy our traditional Dunkin Donuts, and then take a stroll down to see the parade.

(See the sillies peeking out the window?)

Happy Birthday USA. How blessed we are to live here.

When being the little brother is not as much fun as it could be

2006-06-30T10:36:00.000-05:00

No, there is never any toy stealing in this house...

Budget gone awry

2006-06-28T15:53:00.000-05:00

We went on vacation this month. We celebrated Kevin’s 30th birthday. We visited the doctor 8 times, the dentist twice, and the emergency room once. We attended two birthday parties, one wedding and one graduation party, celebrated Father’s Day, and took a day trip to Michigan.

I normally check our financial accounts on a daily basis. But since we returned from Wisconsin, I have been dodging them like all get out. After three days of hiding, I peeked in on one of them.

It’s funny. Up in the top corner there are options for what you can do. It reads, “I’d like to…” and then lists things like, make a payment, see payment history, see statement, pay off my account, and so on. They need to add an option.

I’d like to…

…kill myself.

Proof that the Knucklehead Smiths are now less likely than ever to invite us over for a barbecue

2006-06-28T08:25:00.000-05:00

I was so tired last night. I wanted to go to bed. I did! And then I started playing with my new favorite site. I sent emails far and wide, until 1am, long after I should have been in bed. Send me an email with it, would ya? I swear I'll crack up.

So when my idiot mind could finally take no more, I headed to bed and was dreaming in no time. Somehow into my dream fit the sound of pounding. Gee, that actually sounds like someone pounding on the front door, I thought. And I started to wake myself up a bit more. It was 2:30am. Kevin had fallen asleep on the couch and was still there, and everything was quiet. I stood in our living room entryway, wondering where I came up with the sound of pounding in my dream. Until I heard the storm door swing open and BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM with a fist.

Holy shit! I ducked back into our bedroom.

My heart jumped through my throat, but I mustered a, Kevinnnnnnnn (as I died on the freakin floor.) You may recall that I am seriously the World's Biggest Chicken about...everything.

He jumped up totally asleep and looked out the glass in the door. He announced, "It's the police!" EEK! It makes you think for a split second, that although you are probably one of the worlds non-existent threats to law enforcement, the drug arena, and crime in general - what did I do?? He opened the front door and the cop said, "Are you gonna do something about that dog? Your neighbor called us."

Crap.

Coming down from my adrenaline rush I could hear Danny in the back yard, losing his I-can't-believe-you-forgot-me-out-here-for-half-the-night-so-I'm-keeping-the-neighbors-up mind. In a stroke of genius, with the cop at the door, Kevin decided that he was not taking the blame, and therefore if there was the possibility of any dog owner being dragged away in handcuffs, that owner would not be him (as if.) He looked at me so accusingly and said, "It's 2:30 in the morning. Why didn't you tell me to let him in?"

Huh what? I'm sorry? Have I been sitting here sipping a margarita to the sound of incessant barking? I was asleep! (I swear, officer!)

Now being the Worlds Biggest Chicken has also its benefits. In the six years that we have lived here, I have never let our dog out back after dark because our yard is wooded and leads down to a creek, which is the perfect setting for a Molly-gets-murdered Scream sequel. The dog barking half the night? Not my fault. I could not have possibly let him out, and surely would not have let him in. Barking or not. Law enforcement or not. But apparently reminding the letter-outter to be the letter-inner should be added to the list of my responsibilities.

I hope the Knucklehead Smiths got some sleep after that. Their day promises to be a busy one, filled with sloppily guzzling kool aid, loading beebee guns, and chasing each other around with spray weed killer. It would also be nice if they took the Christmas tree stand off their front porch. It's almost the Fourth of July.

Not making a liar of myself

2006-06-27T22:23:00.000-05:00

What a silly thing to do, to promise to flood the big big internet with blog entries galore. To have a blogapalooza. A blogorama. I should know better than to make wild claims, because then I feel the need to follow through. (Silly me.) So, I promised posts and posts I'll post. I promised you would wish that I would shut up, and here I am, making good. So just tell me dammit, so I can go to bed.

We landscaped at my grandparents' house all day. It is getting ready to go up on the market, which is a tale for a later time. 'Landscaped' is my fancy way of saying, pulled two years of weeds from the overgrown and completely neglected flower beds, climbing around hostas the size of christmas trees, and using the weed whip on anything that reached knee-height and might be categorized as a weed (or, plant, maybe.) Overall, it was a success, though not so much for my aching back.

Upon calling it quits on The Great Landscape Fake It and Sell It project, I dragged my heavier-than-six-hours-ago children, and all their crap, back to the car, wishing, praying, dying for nothing more than a shower and a couch to collapse onto. But as things go with being the mom, these little dependents require ridiculous things of me like dinner, baths and pajamas. The nerve. KJ ate his weight in mostaccoli, and Jack zonked out mid-mashed green beans. While bathing, my poor overly-dramatic son noticed a blister on his baby toe, which made 90% of the saints cry with him. Sobbing with a capital S, because for God's sake, what if I force a band-aid onto it, knowing full well that the child is terrified of bandaids. The sticky, padded, healing qualities of bandaids are more than my worn-out child can bear, so please, Keep. Away.

So here I am, beat as beat can be, blogging for you. All for you. (This is where you say thank you, and shut up, so I can go to bed.)

Thank you.

All my love, and promises for real content. At some point.

Well, hello!

2006-06-26T22:36:00.000-05:00

Hmph. So, I'm back!

And look! An entirely new layout. Again. Take a look around - and especially, take a peek at my new flickr pictures. I set up flickr when I started my blog back in January, but hadn't done anything with it until I was inspired.

We had a great time in the Dells. I still have no news for you. And now, I promise, more blogging. All the time. You will read so much you'll wonder why I just don't shut up. Why doesn't she shut up, you'll think. Well, I won't. So keep reading.

More! Coming soon! (See how excited I am?)

Every Limbo boy and girl, all around the Limbo world, gonna do the Limbo rock, all around the Limbo clock...

2006-06-21T12:39:00.000-05:00

Jack be Limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda Limbo stick
All around the Limbo clock
Hey let's do the Limbo rock

Ok guys, It's not me holding things up here. I am still totally in limbo, waiting for a green flag to write about upcoming celebrations in this house. It is being dragged out like I have never seen dragged out, all the while we are biting our fingernails and subconsciously living a little like it already has. Ahem. I thought that in the heat of my obsessing over big things, that taking a break from blogging would be the only answer because, what else was there to talk about??

Well, I will tell you.

First and foremost, (and I totally love that phrase because my sister always told one of my college friends that she'd amount to nothing more than a hooker on the corner of 1st and Foremost.) (My friend would be the hooker. Not my sister.) (My friend is an athletic trainer. My sister is a training coordinator. No one hooks.) (They both train, come to think of it.) (I don't know if that corner exists. But if it did, it would be funny to hook on it.) On to the breaking news story.

There is movement in the house! The child? He rolls! He rolls everywhere! Put him beneath his gymni, find him exploring the nearby stereo speaker. Put his head at the top of his bed, find him flipped completely the other way. Fun, and frightening.

Up until now Jack has slept in the bassinet beside our bed. But now that we have a rolling Jack, he has definitely outgrown it (that, and, his head and toes touch the top and bottom, but who's counting?) Last weekend I had Kevin take down the crib so that we could move it into our bedroom. I know, you're thinking, just put the kid in his own room. Heh. KJ slept with us for 13 months. Granted, he was a sick baby, wired to a monitor that would screech louder than a smoke alarm at 3am when he hadn't taken a breath for 20 seconds, so I had more of a reason to keep him with me. My concern this time was more with the three-year-old-who-still-doesn't-really-sleep-through-the-night waking the five-month-old-who-has-recently-learned-to. Sometimes. So 3/4 way through the disassembly I tell my go-with-the-flow husband to hold on, because really, I should probably measure the space in our room where this crib will go. Oh, not big enough? Shit. Put the crib back together.

Jack's first night sharing a room with KJ was ok. (Who knew you could turn a baby monitor loud enough to hear every breath?) I figured KJ would wake him in the morning, and at 7:04am, he did. Not terrible, though. Jack rolled around all night, got up once for a feeding without waking his brother, and was ok with going back to the crib to sleep.

The next night, we'll call it last night, the night from holy freaking hell, was not as successful. KJ didn't give in to exhaustion until 10pm. Jack woke to eat at 12. KJ woke at 2. Jack woke at 2. KJ woke at 4. Jack woke at 4, and ate. KJ woke at 4:45. Jack woke at 4:45. By 5:15am KJ was discussing life's ponderables at the foot of our bed, while Jack babbled cheerfully over the monitor. And did I mention I was to get up for stage three of root canal hell at 6:30am? Did. not. happen.

So. I am now exploring other means of keeping these boys separated but in appropriate beds, while both still on the first floor. Stay tuned. (How do other mothers do this??)

Second and not quite as foremost, (yes, there's more!) the big THREE-OHHH happens this weekend. I cannot (at this moment, anyway) tell you the crazy irony that will accompany this birthday and the not-so-small frizzeak-out I had regarding it. However, I can tell you that I should be frickin packing right now cause baby, we're goin to Disneyworld! Ok, not that big. We're going to Wisconsin Dells! I was afraid to discuss it early on, worried that things would not work out (that, and I worried that any internet stalker I might have would know that now is the best time to rob my house, although, no, because the house will actually be occupied, so ha, I foiled your plans!) But yes, a trip for four, in a hotel suite large enough for us to not have to sit in the same dark room as our kids once they fall asleep, twiddling our thumbs. A trip to a place close enough to (hopefully) avoid suffering and chaos during the five hour drive, but far enough and fun enough to be called a trip.

So keep your fingers crossed for us, that I can finally beat the living hell out of the good news pinata next week, spilling happy candy everywhere (now doesn't that sound like narcotics??) And I will think of you as I enjoy a giant soft serve yippee-we're-on-vacation ice cream cone. Mmmm.

Ok, seriously, taking a break is harder than I thought

2006-06-15T17:27:00.000-05:00

Howdy folks! Thanks for stoppin by while we're taking a break. Can I offer you a finger? Or maybe a toe?

My mom, she just can't resist my cuteness, so she had to share me with the internet.

I am learning to do so many things lately. In fact, I am learning so much that I insist upon getting up fifteen times a night just to practice them. My mother is so kind to raspberry right back at me at 3am, 5am, and again at 7.

Seriously, though, get me out of this chair.

Much better. Hey look! I'm learning to roll! Any day now, this house, and every toy and every picture frame, and every item not locked tightly in a cabinet will be mine. Alllll mine.

See me practicing? Don't you dare tell my brother I was chewing on his toys. It'll be our little secret...

Holy shit! She rolled me! Put me back! Put me back!

This is seriously the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

Help me, Jesus. Roll me back. Please.

Talk to ya'll soon (now I'm country, right?) You knew I'd never last... XO

The good part about not knowing and not being able to talk about what you don't know even though you can speculate to high hell, is nothing.

2006-06-14T22:45:00.000-05:00

Big things. Big things going on over here. Maybe not huge big, but big enough. Unfortunately, I am completely unable to share with the internet at this moment. I will be coming at ya with either complete elation or total devastation fairly soon, though.

I grocery shopped late last night, like, until 2am, leaving myself in a state of exhaustion by this morning. Jack was in a state of misery from the time he woke up right through the 2.5 hours it took me to finally get him to go to bed tonight. Two and a half hours of I-curse-your-name-Mama kicking and screaming, and you just watch me wake up each and every time you lay me down asleep. KJ was in a state of complete and total hyperactivity all day, despite the fact that I have almost completely eliminated sugar from his diet. The day? Was not fun. That has nothing to do with the big things going on, but more to do with what I am about to say.

There is change in the air right now, with quite a few of my favorite reads getting a facelift. And also, a couple of my other favorite reads taking breaks (so, so sad.) I am going to do something in between. I am going do some thinking, as well as give this place a once-over, while taking a short break. Short. Don't go away and never check back again. Short. And hopefully, by next week things will be a bit less up in the air than they are at this moment, and I can break news. It has been hard to write lately because I have to keep quiet about the very thing that I am so. effing. obsessing. over.

Next week should be big. Or, could be. Or, who knows because sometimes that's just the way things go. But whatever, I will be free to speak.

So please, do me a favor and come back soon.

Letter from Mama

2006-06-13T12:07:00.000-05:00

Dear KJ and Jack,

You are 3 1/2 and 5 months old, respectively. And you are the best things since sliced bread. When Daddy and I decided to have kids, we had no idea what we were in for - the good and the bad. There was morning sickness and pre-eclampsia, baby acid reflux and many, many sleepless nights. But there have also been hours and hours of sitting in our rocking chair studying your baby cheeks and baby fingers, knowing that they are the most perfect things I will ever lay eyes on; teaching you to talk, and walk, and to give kisses and wave bye-bye. We have taken day trips to museums, beaches, zoos, played endlessly at every park in eyeshot, and taken a couple family vacations. Every night the four of us settle in after having dinner together, and we read stories, play in the tub, and give family hugs.

As I sat with you at the Dolphin Show last weekend at the zoo, I watched your eyes - KJ studying the dolphins and what the trainers were doing, and Jack noticing the water, lights and colors. Especially in moments like that, I know for sure how very blessed I am to be your mom. Going out places as a family is wonderful for learning experiences and time spent together, and also, because when I walk down the street or through a mall with Daddy and the two of you, I could not be more proud that you are my family. My perfect, amazing family.

Daddy and I have huge dreams for us - as a couple, as a family, and for the two of you. We would give you the world twice over if we could. We have every intention of raising you within the solid confines of our relationship, buying a house in a quiet neighborhood where you can ride your bikes and play basketball in the driveway, and providing you with the best education available. We will push you so that you learn, and we will comfort you when things do not happen as you hoped.

There will be bumps in the road, and things that surprise us, and I am sure this will not be the last time we stop at the toy store on the way home from the doctor, your mother racked with guilt over your worsening vision, to indulge you with something you totally want and are shocked that I am totally willing to buy for you. Because really, I would buy you every motorized, talking, child-sized vehicle I walked past if I thought it would make you feel better.

(And of course, you can't buy for one and not the other!) (Even if the other doesn't get to break his new toys in because one is doing it for him while he naps.)

KJ, you amaze me and make me so proud, being my big boy. Everyone says - family, friends, and strangers alike, what a smart kid you are, and they are so right. I think it and say it ten times a day. The way you are learning your letters and numbers, and can identify aircraft by name and type - some that I can barely pronounce.

Jackie Blue you are becoming cuter and sweeter by the day. Your personality matched with your chubby cheeks and baby voice are the complete recipe for adorable. You now recognize your family, play with your feet like they are Fisher Price's best invention yet, and smile and "talk" from morning to night. Sometimes in your mumbling I swear I hear you say Mama, though I try to convince myself otherwise.

Your raspberries are one of the cutest things you've mastered yet. Even when you have carrots in your mouth.

Things that have surprised me in motherhood are the way that writing a blog entry like this, or taking a mid-afternoon walk with the two of you as I struggle to steer the tank that is our stroller, make all of the work and all of the difficult times totally, undeniably, more than worth it. I am amazed at the way I love each of you as an individual, and so completely as if you were my only. And how you have taught me to stop and smell the roses (and the diapers) and to cherish the time I have with you.

Love,
Mama

What I am doing versus What I should be doing

2006-06-10T16:12:00.000-05:00

Ohhhh, so Blogger, you have decided to behave for five minutes? Maybe for just enough time for me to post some pictures and then get dressed and curl my hair in record time for the wedding tonight. (Things I'm supposed to be doing right this minute, but you know...)

I had another 1/3 of a root canal done today, and I did not die. After shot number four of lidocane, I was jumping out of the chair and out of my skin as Dr. Death instructed me to bear with him because I have four roots that have to be hacked instead of the standard three, and I wanted to die. He drilled on and off for three hours, and sent me home again, with another temporary filling. "Sometimes root canals don't take," he explained, "and if this tooth doesn't start feeling better before your appointment next week it will have to come out." After all of this?? I arrived home at 3pm, an hour after the graduation party started, so Kevin and KJ attended while I stayed home to enjoy the effects of Vicodin, drink obscene amounts of coffee, and drool on myself.

I am also congratulating myself (a bold move, eh?) As I threw on my jeans and sweatshirt this morning, I found that my jeans are, again, too big and baggy and had to be cinched with a belt, and the sweatshirt that I could not dream of fitting half of myself into in six months ago is now hanging on me like a potato sack. I think maybe I am starting not to look like Sumo-Cartman anymore.

But for real, I took a picture of my saggy baggies, just for you. And no, you do not get a smile out of my numb, swollen, chubby cheek, fool.
My mantra continues to be that I still have a long way to go. Because I do. I have lost 49 pounds since the day I delivered Jack; 33 since I started this diet back in March. I feel comfortable in how I have taught myself to eat, and cook, and exercise. I really think that this is more of a life change than a diet fad that happens to be working. This is the longest I have ever stuck to it, and the most I have ever lost. The scary thing, however, as I morph down into a new size, is that this time around I have to buy clothing because there is nothing in the back of my closet to pull from. Fat clothes are in the back of my closet. Ha!

And with all of that, I close. My dear darling husband just called on his way from the party to check that I am ready to go (see above picture.) (No.)

Love you, you big procrastination-enhancing internet, you.

Where writers block meets run-on sentences

2006-06-09T21:29:00.000-05:00

I have not been writing very often, I know. I really like to write every day, or minimally, every other day. When I think of something that could be bloggable, I find myself too busy at the moment to sit down and write, and then it is gone (something about keeping up with two kids...you know...)

So here I am, blogging about not blogging.

What does one talk about in an entry about not writing an entry? Well, maybe random things that do not really concern my readers, such as my cleaning the entire house and conquering all of the laundry today, and still fitting in a walk to the lake and library. That we joined the summer reading program which makes a big deal out of reading five books, which we do almost daily anyway. And that, if you are in the market for good books for a three year old, stay away from the commercialized ones such as Hot Wheels, Garfield, Finding Nemo, Thomas the Tank, and so on. The writing? Sucks.

Maybe, in this entry of random run-on gibberish you would like to know that my temporary filling is falling out of my half-root-canalled tooth, and after calling four different dental offices and realizing that no dentist wants to complete the work that another started (something about possible botched work and lawsuits, whatever) I called Dr. Death back and scheduled another round of Survivor, Root Canal Edition for tomorrow morning at 10am. May I also mention that this appointment is just four hours before we will attend my sister-in-law's graduation party, followed by a wedding? I should be great drooling conversation. (If I live.)

There are also issues to deal with that I cannot blog about. Oh the sassy things I would say about Kevin's 30th birthday celebration turned vacation. Or the secrets I would leak about the timeline set and area decided upon to move to, in project get-the-hell-out-of-this-shitty-neighborhood. I would hate to tell you that we are planning a trip to Wisconsin Dells or that we have been once again obsessing over properties that sit very near a certain state line that would cut my husband's commute in half and would add a grin to our definition of home, and schools. Or that a possible job shift is in the works. The problem is that money has a funny way of stomping our plans into a bloody, crying pulp, and then I would have to update you again to say that the trip is off, and we also decided it best to stay here between the friendly confines of the Knucklehead Smiths and the rental house on the other side where last year the guys did not pay their electric bill but instead ran a generator in their basement which filled the house with carbon monoxide and killed them, and thus the reason an insurance adjuster has now called me three times in the last two days, curious if I can add to this story, only to learn that I never spoke to them because I make it a point to not. speak. to. any. redneck. neighbors.

Finally, in this quest to publish something, even if it has no real point or makes little sense, I would have liked to give you pictures. Glorious pictures of Jack playing in his walker with carrots not completely cleaned off of his face and shirt, and KJ following suit, also in the walker, but with cheese popcorn smeared all over his face because he would not be caught within a fifty mile radius of a carrot. However, those pictures will not be seen. Because blogger is acting up, which has become the norm, and will not allow me to post pictures.

Please be sure to follow suit, and write a run-on comment, eh?

This is your brain (egg.) This is your brain on drugs (egg sizzling in a pan.) Any questions?

2006-06-07T23:11:00.000-05:00

I had no plans for the week. The calendar was a giant, open slate. On Monday we made the best of the awesome weather, and spent the day at the zoo. Then yesterday, I got up the courage to call for a dentist appointment. Scoff if you must, it has been nearly 8 years since I had a dental exam. The reason for finally going? My tooth was killing me and I needed either a root canal or extraction. (Nothing like hard core pain to get one motivated.)

I called, thinking I would have at least a few days before the appointment to gather my courage (or, totally freak myself out) but at 11am as I spoke with the receptionist, she offered in her most cheeriest I-laugh-at-your-upcoming-root-canal-hell voice ever, "I have a two o'clock available!!" Gulp.

Uhhhh, let me see if I can find a sitter that quickly.

I did. And at 1:52pm I walked meekly into the office to face more doom than I thought possible. The dentist came in, and with one look at the xray offered to either remove the tooth and put in a bridge, or do a root canal. I opted for the root canal. He gave me a shot of lidocane, and began to drill. I felt it, so he gave me another shot. Then a third. Then a fourth. After an hour of sitting with four shots of lidocane settling in my gums, would you believe that as the drilling began again I could still feel that pain shoot straight down through my jaw? I could tell he was growing more agitated as he instructed his assistant to "just get the gas."

I'm sorry? The gas?

Nitrous oxide, aka laughing gas. They strapped the cup over my nose and around my ears and told me to take deep breaths. The nurse said, "Enjoy this. You've got two kids at home." (And was proud of her funny, funny, hillarious advice because I heard her relay it to her nurse-friend in the hall.) It had a funky-sweet smell to it as I began to breathe it. Before I knew it I was doing everything I could to keep from jumping out of the chair while laughing my ass off.

Aha. Ha. Haha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Life is wonderful, and the fact that my body is vibrating from head to toe, on its own, is wonderful too.

Hahaha. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha.

I even thought, I have GOT to blog about this.

Hahahaha!

Holy shit you should have put me on this before you told me that a root canal costs $512!

Ahahahahahahahaha!

In marches the dentist and asks if I am feeling ok.

Mmmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm.

They get down to business drilling and suctioning away, and it does not bother me one bit. I close my eyes.

Things go dark. A circle of white lights begin swirling in the darkness. And I feel like I am falling deeper into the darkness. Then I am on a carousel, still in the dark. I realize that I cannot breathe, and tell myself that the carousel is just in a stuffy room. Black.

The next thing I knew, the assistant was feverishly calling my name and slapping my face. I had passed out and could not come to. The doctor was gone, and the tools put away. "Oh good, are we done?" I asked. She yelled at me that I scared her, and said that we were only half way done, and to not talk for God's sake because I have rods in my mouth.

I passed out again.

And again.

Finally I woke for the third time, with ice cold wet paper towels dribbling down my face, and found that I could not move my arms, legs, head, or even fingers off the chair. I could barely speak, but was able to mutter a few words. Nauseus, I said over and over. My body felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds, I was dizzier than I have ever been, and I wanted to throw up. I stayed that way as the aggravated dentist continually tried to force me to pick up my hands, feet, head, anything. He said over and over that he had never seen anything like this. Right buddy, I think it is a great act to pull - half way through a root canal let's pretend we are paralyzed!

I was completely with it mentally, and tried as hard as I could to will myself out of the chair. I talked to my dad as the nurse held the phone to my face. I told him to come get me. As time passed, I found myself still unable to move, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. I was totally in control of my mind, but not of my body. At all. My chest was so heavy that I could only muster very shallow breaths, and for some reason I had the very strange thought that, if I do not do something I am going to end up on a ventilator. Quite an odd thought to have, but it made me realize that I needed help. They called an ambulance.

The paramedics arrived at the same time as my dad. They immediately started an IV, and added a steroid and benadryl. They also gave me a shot of adrenaline in the underneath of my arm (felt great.) They threw me on the stretcher and whisked me away to the ambulance. The paramedic, who I grew so fond of (for, ahem, saving my life) looked exactly like Bobby Bacala.

To make the longest dental story you've ever read just a little shorter, I was finally released from the hospital at 10pm, with prescriptions for steroids, pain killers, antibiotics, and whatever else the totally inexperienced and slightly dumb twenty-one year old doctor could think of. (He also advised me to eat lots of yogurt if I ever get a yeast infection, because his wife is totally into Chinese Medicine and knows it works. And thanks, I am breathing just fine.)

And, I have half of a root canal done, and a temporary filling in my tooth, that will crumble and fall out, exposing my nerves, in the next seven days. Can't wait to do it again!

Thank God for the man who defends my house against all evil creatures

2006-06-04T23:10:00.000-05:00

I might have mentioned that I am a total chicken when it comes to killing...anything.

This is the tale of a ginormous spider that posed a very serious threat to myself, my husband, my beautiful, innocent children, and even my dog and cat. It caused me to wake my husband in the middle of the night with extreme urgency --- like this,

"Kevin?...Kevin!...KE-VIN!!"

"Huh? What's wrong? What is it?" as he bounds out of bed to rescue whichever one of us is in immediate danger.

"Oh my GOD there is a huge spider! YOU HAVE TO KILL IT!!"

He rolls his eyes.

"Ok, I'll kill it." (And how nice of him not to offer to kill me next, for waking him, all ridiculous.)

WHAM!

He then lifts the rolled up newspaper to examine the blood and guts mess he created, only to find this,

It was dark, people! Middle of the night! His response, as he rests his hands on my shoulders,

"I want you to know that if you ever need me to bat fuzz around for you in the middle of the night again, I am totally here for you."

Chillin, Chillin, Mindin my business...

2006-06-03T00:38:00.000-05:00

Name that song, anyone?

So I post pictures of my friend covered in baby puke, and then abandon the internet. Could be worse, no? I could have photographed the poop on my couch yesterday. Thank you God, for an old couch and SHEETS! The sheets saved us.

The last few days have included walks, laundry, playgrounds, two cancelled zoo trips, an Office marathon, more walks, more laundry, and colds. KJ started with his cold on Wednesday, and Jack and I followed him. Thankfully, not the end of the world colds. Just, dammitIhavetoblowmynoseeverytwominutes colds. Nothing that would keep me from donating two hours of my precious week to reliving the budding romance of Jim and Pam via rerun.

And the zoo? Wednesday, the forcast predicted rain. Cancelled trip. No rain. Friday, sick. No way. Sunday? Made plans for Sunday. Definitely, Sunday. The zoo on Sunday. Or no. Because BETTER THAN THAT is that the Museum of Science and Industry and the Shedd Aquarium are offering five days of free admission!

Freeeeeeee!

So, the Museum it is! I cannot wait to see the look on my child's face when we locate the airplane, trains, and submarine.

And, heh, this guy has a new toy. See what big things five months brings about?

Where friendships go to be tested

2006-05-31T20:40:00.000-05:00

My long time friend came over for a visit today. My children welcomed her with open arms. Then Jack opened his mouth.

This is possibly why moms of reflux babies have less friends (whether there is an ounce of truth to that statement, I do not know.) I was not in the room at the moment, but suddenly heard, "Um, can I have a towel or something?"

With that I thought, oh, a little spit-up. Or, he's drooling again. Surely not, holy crap, my child lost the entire contents of his stomach on your shirt.

She was so cool about it, though. As I handed her a washcloth (you know, to remove six ounces of partially-digested Enfamil from her person) I asked cautiously, "Can I take your picture? This is good blogging material."

People, the girl even smiled for it.

And then she washed and dryed herself.

And wised up to the possibility of repeat antics from my child.

Here I quickly shift subjects, trying to get a lead-in from blogging about a friend, but not really succeeding. (Catch that bridge? Award-winning writing, folks.)

I realized this morning that I am back to normal, whatever normal is. Or, I have created a new normal. Either way, after having baby number two, who will celebrate five amazing months tomorrow, I have learned to successfully manage my house and my children again. Once again I am having success in keeping a relatively clean house, cooking real dinners that involve things like steamed vegetables and freshly chopped garlic on the ingredient list, taking the kids grocery shopping with me, as well as to the zoo, and I still sit down to relax with my husband each evening.

At three months post-pardum, I recall thinking that I needed to stop using the phrase, "I just had a baby," because it just was not covering the multitude of motherly sins any longer. My incision was still hurting, I was wearing almost all of my baby weight, and my emotions were still all over the place. But just two months later, I feel so much better. I no longer need dinners cooked or laundry done for me, and I have regained my emotional wits (for the most part) and don't need the serious support I did just a couple months back.

It is so hard to believe that you can go from such a personal low, needing next to everything done for you just after childbirth (and for those of you who have spent the first lonely night in the hospital after a c-section, smiling at every nurse who stops by with pain medication and clean washcloths when you are unable to pee in a toilet, or even, um, move for fear of splitting the six inch line of tape down your belly - you know it is a low) and bounce back in what is really a short amount of time. It amazes me.

I know that there are many different kinds of difficult that I have not encountered, and also that people with seven children might hear me say that I am adjusting to life with two and snicker, but each step is a hurdle. And I've jumped this one. Or, I am in mid-air hoping not to land flat on my face after I publish this entry. A three-year-old and infant combination is a handful when you had never done it before. And now I have.

The weekend, it was good to us.

2006-05-30T17:12:00.000-05:00

Our Memorial Day weekend was fantastic. It involved just the right mix of time spent with our families, housework and yardwork, hitting up a yard sale or two, and to top it all off, a wonderful day away. We went up to St. Joe, Michigan (which, if you have not been there, it is the perfect place for a day trip.)

We started out with a picnic lunch at the Lakefront.

And though he looks delicious enough to eat, I resisted.

We visited the Curious Kids Museum.

We played with blocks and painted our faces,

Rode on Dinosaurs,

Fought some fires,

And did some fishing.

But then the boat was attacked by pirates!

We got outta there quick.

We had some ice cream at our favorite corner shop, and napped. (Next best thing to a giant home-made waffle cone filled with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, I suppose.)

We took a walk on the beach,

And though we tried to keep the kiddo out of the chilly May water,

We failed.

He's turning 30, hear me roar

2006-05-26T18:10:00.000-05:00

Think, Think, Think.

I have been driving myself crazy (as well as my husband, and a few friends and relatives who shall remain nameless) analyzing everything from life in general right down to the poor couch I plop down on in the evenings. I have been thinking about the things we are doing versus what we should or shouldn't be doing (ie still living in this house in this town, going to church, eating properly, etc). I have wondered if I am making a dent on this big blue and green earth, wondered if being a SAHM challenges me enough, and if not how to remedy that and at whose expense. As a family we have changed our eating habits, our exercise habits, our spending habits, our saving habits, and we have crossed the finish line for birthing babies. I have become more firm regarding the amount of tv KJ is allowed to watch in a day versus time spent playing, reading and using his imagination, and I have been very mindful of the time I spend working with Jack on things such as rolling, grasping objects, etc. Over the last few months I have slowly been making serious progress in meeting the mark for where I thought we would be, could be, should be, at 30.

I met Kevin at age 18. It did not take long for us to start making plans for our future. Until a couple nights ago, I never really realized that one of my favorite phrases has been, "Yeah, we will definitely do that by the time we're 30." I have been saying it for a long, long time. And a little bit consciously, and a lot subconsciously, I have broken our life down into little pieces to see exactly what we are doing by 30. Old furniture and spending my precious brain power cleaning the house be damned, we have to do something!! Quick!! But what?? I don't know!! And why am I overpunctuating?? Because I am going through this crazy, ridiculous phase in life sparked by what should be a relatively insignificant number and it calls for overpunctuation (and run on sentences) that's why!!!! (One of my pet peeves is when people overpunctuate, to be honest. So hear me grind my teeth as I type this for effect.)

As Kevin and I have progressed through this over the last few days, revisiting the past and planning the future, I suggested that maybe it's time for a change. Being the ocean loving somewhat-free spirit that he is, he immediately proposed that we sell the house and move to an apartment in the city, or better yet, to Florida. Warm, sunny, what's-a-snow-shovel Florida. (Which sounds much better than hot, sticky, hurricane-prone Florida. It loses some of its zing when you say it that way.) Aah, Florida. Worth a thought, but not much more than that.

I used to think that people who had difficulty jumping from one insignificant age to the next were, silly. Just a number, right? How much worse is it that I am going through this and it's not even me turning thirty? Hopefully my going through this reflection/let's do something new/we need to get our asses in gear/can you believe we aren't college kids anymore (oh shit college ended eight and six years ago) phase means that I will bypass it when my turn comes.

So our twenties. Overall, we've gotten some things accomplished in our twenties. We graduated with bachelors degrees, got married, and bought our first house. We bought new cars, and traded them, and bought new cars, again. We had babies! Beautiful, perfect, amazing babies. Miracle babies. Kevin earned his CPA, and I discontinued my career to take on what is the most wonderful and sometimes the most difficult job of my life. We dreamed big and put our house on the market, and then we took it off. We remodeled, and realized happiness. We learned to listen more closely to God. We stood by each other, we fought, and we have grown stronger as a couple. We vacationed, we spent money, and we saved money. We learned to listen more closely to each other.

During the 1300 times I saved this entry as a draft today so that I could change diapers, make dinner, and feed children and give baths (oh, and then when my ISP stopped f*ing responding just as I uploaded my final picture and I lost this entire entry, you SOB you,) I considered creating a list of things I would like to accomplish by 40. 40. For-ty. I cannot even imagine forty at this point. (Kids, 15 and 12.) If our twenties were about getting started, then our thirties just might be about getting moving. Of course, only one of us is hitting the big 3-0 this year. I still have two years and change to go. I would love, two years from now, to not go through this phase again, but instead, to sit down and write a blog entry about how back in 2006 we re-evaluated everything from our direction in life to the color of our socks, and how we made progress. Because isn't that what life should really be about? Learning, and moving forward?

I love you, big beautiful internet, for listening to me. And for not typing anything that can be categorized as criticism. (Resist the urge. I am fragile at this moment.) (And I will continue to love you.)

Switching gears for a moment

2006-05-25T00:05:00.000-05:00

I planned earlier to blog about my day, with a list of some things I did that helped to pull me out of the rut I’ve been in. I even took a few pictures. The list began with showering and getting back into my pajamas, included me running six blocks through a thunderstorm with my kids, and was planned to end with my lighting a Yankee candle and relaxing in front of the television. But it is what I watched on tv that blew my list away.

Kevin and I sat down to watch the Oprah show we had taped. It was a special with Elie Wiesel, a Pulitzer Prize winning author and Holocaust survivor. It was the most unsettling, somber experience I have had in a long time. We had each read the book Night in college, and I remember being stirred by it then. And I cannot believe that I moved on after reading this book, and that it did not impact my life the way it could have back then, or how I am sure that it has now. Kevin and I watched together, and from time to time would pause our Tivo to discuss facts about the war, or share our feelings about what happened at Auschwitz.

The filming actually took place at the concentration camp. It was very basic, with Oprah and Elie Wiesel walking together through the snow from place to place in the camp as he ever so quietly described what happened at certain places. How people would come in, from a ten day train ride, crammed like cattle in a dark box car with no food, no water and no bathroom, to this camp, completely unsure of what was going to take place – what they were walking towards. They entered in the gates and were separated – men who looked like they could work as slaves - beyond what we could imagine slave labor being - and were given one thin set of black and white striped clothing to wear year-round, never to be washed. Their homes were taken from them, their belongings, their families, their hair, their names, their identities. Each person was a number, who could die at any moment. The women and children and the elderly, mothers and their babies, grandfathers and their daughters and granddaughters, brothers and little sisters, were sent in the other direction, headed for what they were told were showers, but were actually gas chambers.

One of the most shocking and horrifying things for me to hear, as the mother of two young children, was how so many of the babies were ripped from the arms of their mothers and thrown – thrown, alive, into fiery pits. My God how I could not shake the image or feeling of my two children being torn away from me, and watching the soldiers throw them into a pit to be burned alive. This happened to millions of mothers, exactly like me. How did they go on? Many of them did not. In the program Elie Wiesel explained that many times the mothers were killed right there with their babies because they would not let go of them. I would have been one of them.

Those who were sent to the gas chambers were told they were going for showers, and I imagine that they must have been relieved to hear this after such a long, atrocious journey. They were stripped naked and packed into large chambers. They walked in calmly, and peacefully. They had did not know what was coming, and if they did, could they allow themselves to believe it? Put yourself in their shoes, having been taken from your home to this camp, where everyone you know and everything you understand to be your world, coming to an end. Your husband taken as a slave and you and your children killed just like livestock, and then burned. Could you wrap your mind around it if you found out? I am sure they figured it out at some point, and it was too late. I am sure that there was an unimaginable sense of panic and chaos that went through those rooms when the gas came down. People held on to their entire families. What goes through your head? It took about fifteen minutes for them to die. That must have seemed like an eternity. It is so normal to think of the Holocaust as a historical event, but to put yourself in the shoes of one of these individuals completely changes your thinking.

The men that were pulled aside were forced into labor. They were fed stale bread and meatless soup broth, forced to build, work, and remove bodies from the chambers. They were tortured and starved, and killed at any given moment. Elie Wiesel’s account of what it was like to live, as he said, to “live in death,” is horrifying and unimaginable.

After watching this, about the genocide of 6 million – 6 million – Jews, Pols, Hungarians, Slovaks and more, people, and to know what is going on in places like Darfur, Sudan right now, I cannot bring to words how lucky I feel. Simply being born an American makes me lucky. But the fact that we were born in this particular time and place in the world seriously makes me thank God.

When I think about it, I imagine that I cannot be nearly as strong as the people who have lived and are currently living through their personal hell on Earth. Was I spared from this because I could not have handled it? Not only was I born an American in the relatively peaceful decade of the 1970’s, but I was raised in a peaceful household and had an “uneventful” childhood. How much better could it get? And yet comparably to so many others, I have the audacity to get wrapped up in things such as needing a vacation, and wanting new furniture.

I also believe that more than anyone, we have a huge responsibility. We were put here in this place and time for a reason, and with obligation…to remember the people that have suffered – in Auschwitz, in Darfur, and all over the world where running their kids to soccer and sending them to college has never entered their minds, because feeding their children and protecting them from being murdered before they reach the age of seven, day in and day out, is the constant weight on their shoulders. We are here to speak up for those that are facing the worst kinds of injustice, and to pray for them. How God must feel, standing beside each and every person who suffers and dies in such misery.

I realize that I am putting all of this out there for you to read just as you’ve clicked over from Yahoo entertainment or any given recipe website, and having not necessarily watched the show or read the book, this all seems out in left field. But I have this blog that thirty or forty people keep up with, and while it is at the forefront of my mind, I am answering the obligation to both pray for those less fortunate than I, and to let you know how lucky you are, also.

Hidden Talent

2006-05-24T10:20:00.000-05:00

This rainy spring day falls perfect timing for some wonderful pictures. Also, I have serious writers block.

All of the pictures below were taken by my dad. He and I trade digital folders from our computers as backups, and as I looked through his files one evening, I realized that he has serious talent in taking pictures. It is not the camera. I believe his camera is five years old and something like a 2.1 megapixel, with no zoom. Just talent.

Enjoy!

One of those days when eating an entire loaf of super-soft french bread might be the only consolation

2006-05-22T21:42:00.000-05:00

Comfort foods, anyone? I totally would love to go there tonight, but after being off my diet for five days after Frema's wedding, I'm back in full ww dedication mode.

Much of how I categorize my day, good or bad or somewhere in between, is directly linked to my children's sleep. I know, quite a crazy thing to do since these two are the most unpredictable, somewhat awful sleepers ever. E-ver. (I had to throw in the word somewhat just in case they read this in the morning, get offended and decide to never ever ever close their eyes again. It could happen, right?)

So today KJ woke up at 6:45am, joined immediately by his brother. Jack napped for approximately 22 minutes out of eight hours. I am wondering if all of the drool, fist-chewing and sleeplessness has to do with the beginning of teething. Holy dreaded terrible teething.

Today? A nightmare.

I have been stuck in this awful rut for the last couple weeks, unhappy with everything from our furniture to our finances to my (non-existent) career. Today the topic of my misery dealt with my hatred of cleaning up after people, every minute of every day, only for it to look as trashed two hours later. And my husband, naive enough to ask what's wrong after I had just finished cleaning up his seventeenth mess. He didn't see that train coming. I cannot put my finger on what the real problem is, or how to make myself get over it. Post-pardum depression, four months later? Not possible, is it? I do know that whatever this is, it is linked directly with being a stay-at-home-mom with little money and little stimulation, and being lonely. (Hence tomorrow being my second trip in four days to the zoo, just. to. get. out. of. this. house.) I cannot possibly be the only mom in the world to ever feel this way. In fact, this evening while wallowing in my misery I found a few sources of comfort.

I talked to a couple different people concerning my frustrations, and have gotten a wide range of responses - everything from Oh my God I so know what you mean, to, suck it up, to, I knew you wouldn't last as a SAHM. In case I did not speak this loudly enough in a recent entry, I am not going back to work. Complain? Yes. Quit? Never. I wanted to be a full-time mom since I was a little girl. This is really a dream come true for me, and also, I love my children with a ferocity I did not know existed - one that ensures I will always be here for them. All of that somehow mixed with a phase of restlessness, and forever fighting prospects of being tagged the little woman. (Not by my husband, of course. Little imaginary hunched-over old women, lurking around corners of brick buildings waiting to smack me in the forehead with a sticker that reads, "HOUSEWIFE." Gah!)

I would like to think that something big is just around the corner, and I am subconsciously gearing up for it. Like, a large sum of money is going to come our way that will allow me to purchase nearby mom-friends online that will want to hang out with me and my wonderful kids at my every whim and also help me keep my house clean. Or, we could buy new living room furniture, and in some odd and twisted way it could change my outlook on life.

I know that I am all over the place with this entry. It is a good reflection of the swirlings in my mind. Everyone goes through phases, right? This too shall pass, right? Here's hoping restlessness passes soon.

I am off to gain some much-needed sleep.

When animals attack (your living room) (And, the entry of a thousand parenthesis)

2006-05-20T22:10:00.000-05:00

I have the ugliest furniture, ever. Ever. I admit it. I confess. Out of the closet with it. (And might I add that when I looked up the term "confess" in the thesaurus, one of many suggestions was "make a clean breast." Look it up. Go ahead. You'll giggle too.) So, yes, ugly. You've been by for coffee, right? It didn't start out ugly, but we are so there. Let's take a trip through time, shall we?

We bought our furniture in the summer of 2000, nearly six years ago, and thought that a cream color would be great, you know, to match anything.

And within the first three years the pillows became misshapen (I love that word - misshapen, misshapen, misshapen) and lots of stains appeared (stain repellent sprayed my ass.) (Not really my ass; the couch was sprayed, just my ass that it worked. No, my ass didn't work. But neither did the $50 Scotchguard job, fool.)

And two years ago when I repainted the house we opted to not buy new furniture. Because we hate all things new? No. Because we hate looking like we give a crap about our home? Nay. Because in giving a face lift to each and every room, plus siding, gutters and landscaping, the scrilla was just not there. (And, the thesaurus didn't recognize scrilla. Gimme a break on the language folks, I live ten minutes from GI.) So anyway, notice the beat up couches with sheets on the cushions. A bit ghetto, I'll admit, but money not spent, eh? (Give me a little credit...the sheets match the color scheme...)

But the couch is our friend! It is there, so kind and absorbent when certain little boys spill their milk, or when certain other little boys vomit peaches and rice cereal, and also serves so well as a pretend movie theater for Littlefoot (times three) and Bambi (times two.) (And no, I do not know why the second Bambi appears to be mating with Timon from the Lion King. I could say something super-cheesy like Deercat, but that's really pushing us into bad joke category. Let's just leave it at this...Timon seems ok with it.)

And how nicely the furniture has comforted us when we refuse to nap all afternoon and finally pass out just before dinner...

Or when the arm of no three-year-old in particular is chilly, so badly needing to be warmed, the gaping hole in the couch is there...(I have entered the room to find him up to his armpit in the couch cushion.) (And also when he was a much smaller tyke he enjoyed filling his toy school bus to the brim with fluffy white couch batting.)

So this entry could be it. This could be the closure I've needed to make yet another mega-purchase, pushing us ever closer to the brim of bankruptcy. (Well, not quite that bad. But if I said pushing us to the brink of spending another large chunk of change it would not have the effect of bankruptcy. Dun dun dunnnnn) (Shit, look at how in love those bankrupt Brits look...maybe we should try it?)

One day, and one day soon (since I have spent hours upon hours scouring furniture websites,) we will have new furniture. And then I will invite you all over for coffee. But not on the damn new couch!

And, PS, to make this entry worth something to me - really worth something - advise me as to which fabric is the most kid and 45-pound-Shepherd-mix friendly, ok? I have always wanted leather, but have heard good things about Microfiber. Help me, you furniture gurus, you. (I know you have it in ya.)

Scattered pictures....of the smiles we left behind...

2006-05-18T20:12:00.000-05:00

Took some pictures this afternoon, and thought I'd share. A pretty good afternoon, for being orchestrated by the worst mom ever...

Fingerpaints! (Also taking applications for counter de-clutterer.)

Read the look on Jack's face... "Brother, you are seriously going to brain damage me."

Fisher Price would be so proud of the baby parking lot that is my dining room.

We went for a walk, and caught a few innings of the local high school baseball game. The players, I'm sure, were ready to come over and beat KJ with their aluminum bats (as we stood directly behind home plate) for his awesomely loud comments such as, "AWW HE MISSED A-GAIN!"

Jackie Blue in the Bjorn.

And we spent some time at our new playground

This is the ladder they installed to give mothers of three-year-olds coronary problems.

Later!

I.O.U.

2006-05-18T14:08:00.000-05:00

Today is probably the worst day to attack this topic. Jack has been awake for nearly seven hours, napping every couple hours in twenty minute increments, and KJ called me the worst mom ever. Twice.

Since Jack was born and we decided to stop having kids (well, keeping these two of course...just not adding any more into the mix) it has been nice to know that we as a family are complete. There will be no more guesswork about how to fit another child into this cramped little house, or when to return to the wonderful world of fertility doctors. That's all over. I feel like we can move forward, on with our lives, just the four of us. And it's a good feeling.

However, the birth of my last child has also brought up some new and totally unexpected feelings. I'm here with these kids around the clock, giving them whatever they need to grow into well-adjusted human beings - feeding, changing, bathing, reading to, playing with - everything I'm "supposed to" do as a stay at home mom. I also make sure that we have a respectable house (I use the term respectable to cover those days when clean doesn't apply,) that we sit down every night to a meal as a family, go out places on the weekends as a family, and then all of the other stuff that counts for nothing unless you're the one in charge of it (financial planning, painting the walls, laundry, grocery shopping, letting the dog in and out countless times a day, coupon clipping, picking up torn up kleenexes off the floor, dusting, sorting mail - a wide range of "stuff".)

I'm at home with our kids because I refuse to put them in daycare. I feel I owe them more than that because I brought them into this world. And I'm dead set on raising them the way Kevin and I want them to be raised (or, if anyone is going to screw them up, it might as well be me.) But now that we are done having kids, when does my career sabbatical come to an end? When Jack is two? Five? Seven? That's the big question, I guess. But further than that, when do I get to do something for just me again? I feel so guilty typing those words it makes my eyes water. Because, mom, that means I'm not supposed to do things for myself, right? Don't take credit for too much, and don't be selfish. At all. Even if your sanity is at stake.

In doing something alone, or for me, I'm not referring to running to the post office and then to Walmart for bread and diapers. Sure I'm alone if I leave the kids home with Kevin, and as I head for the door he always tells me to "Have fun!" as if buying stamps and comparing the price of Pampers to Huggies is my well-deserved reward. (He's trying to be supportive, I understand. I'm just saying...) Better than that, since Jack's birth I've gone to an outlet mall once, a wedding shower, and a jewelry party. Oh shit, I went tanning three times, twelve minutes apeice. Mind-blowing time away that didn't involve errands for my family. (I can literally count the six times I've gone out by myself in the last 4.5 months. And you wonder how I could get so excited about Tide?)

I owe it to myself to use my brain for something. I enjoy blogging. I write about stupidity half the time, but forming actual sentences on the screen before my face is quite therapeutic to my mental state. And, I totally obsess over our financial situation with my umteen (or um-hundred, if that's a word) Excel spreadsheets. That's about as much as I push myself these days. Four years at home have been both wonderful and exhausting. And as frustrated as I am with things at this moment, I won't change them. I love my kids more than anything in the world, and simply stated I have to sacrifice my career right now in order to provide what my kids need from me. And I'm totally willing to do it. I just didn't say I'd never bitch about it.

Maybe this has to do with Kevin's 30th birthday creeping around the corner, wondering if we are where we should be by this age, or maybe, like I said, simply that we are finished having kids. But whatever it is, I'm stuck in this place right now, glad to do what I'm doing - blessed to be doing what I'm doing, but still wondering if there isn't something more that will challenge me. I would love to bring something to this family other than my maid services, and with that also gain some respect from the rest of the world (which is not very stay-at-home-mom friendly or supportive.)

I need this entry to not come off as me suddenly changing my mind on being a full time mom, or especially that I am not dedicated to my kids. Because I know for sure that there will not be any paychecks rolling my way for a handful of years to come, and I also know that if throwing myself in front of a truck to save my child actually means sacrificing personal gratification for five, seven or ten more years, I'm so there. I am grateful that I have a handle on things at home. I don't get home at 6pm every night and rush to make dinner, give baths and get them in bed all in two hours time. In between picking up empty juice boxes off the floor and trying to get someone to nap for the fourteenth time, I enjoy the hell out of taking afternoon walks by the lake and playing on the floor with my babies. In a perfect world, there's some kind of guilt-free balance, right?

Hooked, baby

2006-05-17T14:54:00.000-05:00

No, not hooking, hooked. Here I begin what could possibly be regarded as the stupidest, most out-in-left-field entry I've ever written, and the reason you all stopped reading (also proving to myself that I will write about anything.)

It's nearly 3pm on a Wednesday afternoon. I have the usual amount of mommy guilt on my brain as it has started to rain (pour) and I know for sure we are not making it to the promised land. I told him we would go right after lunch, and then Jack zonked out. So as I laid KJ down for his nap I told him, for sure, we would go play at the park when he woke up, because Jerry Taft promised that the rain would hold off until early evening. (Damn you!)

So ten minutes ago I was standing in my dining room folding clothes, seriously reaching a high as I plopped each neatly folded article of clothing on its respective pile. I have always used Purex laundry detergent. It's cheap, and it gets the job done. But the other day, I hit the laundry detergent lottery. Let me take you back for a second...

In 1997 I dated this guy who used an amazing smelling laundry detergent. I loved the way he smelled. I married him. I had his babies, and discontinued my salary. We bought Purex because it fit the budget. I never gave it a second thought. Laundry soap? Why spend more on laundry soap than you have to?

Return to the lottery winnings. As I walked through Target's parking lot a few days ago, I noticed that one of the carts in the corral had a brand new 300 ounce bottle of Tide sitting on the bottom. Whatever poor soul spent $16 on a bottle of laundry soap, and then left it there...for me to find. I knew that if I left it there in hopes the person would remember and return for it, the next poor fool walking through the lot would grab it (so why shouldn't that poor fool be me??) And, if I returned it to the store, more than likely they would plop it back on the shelf. So, I grabbed it and ran with it (sprinted, really) back to my car.

I was thrilled. Ohhh the excitement involved in attaining free laundry soap. Laundry is a big deal to me - it consumes a good chunk of my week, either by nagging me as I stuff my foot into the chute to fit just one more dirty towel, or with the (not) gentle reminding buzz of the dryer, or in the way it takes over my dining room table constantly. So I brought my prized possession home and let it sit on the dining room table for two days.

And I told everybody that would listen. "Hey you won't believe what I scored at Target the other day...." And, ahem, Itookapictureofitwithmycameraphoneandmadeitmywallpaper. Excitement like that. (I don't get out much, clearly.)

So today I finally decided to start the laundry after a four day hiatus. (Know what that's like in a house of five people?) I sorted 10 loads, and started the washer. I looked at my $5 200oz bottle of Purex, and then my $16 300oz bottle of Tide. No contest. Let's give it a whirl.

People, my God, ugh.

By the time that load spent ten minutes in the dryer I could smell the deliciously fresh scent creeping in my open kitchen window from the dryer vent. I damn near ran out my front door, calling the neighbors to COME. SMELL. MY. HOUSE.

Now I know what you're thinking, you Tide regulars you, "Yeah, I'm cool like that. And I've been a lot cooler than you for a lot longer like that." I have only one question for you....What kind of friend are you for not sharing this knowledge? Huh.

And now, an increase in my grocery budget. Thank God I don't buy fine jewelry or vacation, huh?

(And also, since I posted twice today, look below and see that I am not the only crazy one in the family. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)

Where the union of his parents' genes create insanity, perfected

2006-05-17T12:20:00.000-05:00

And, the video clip KJ will pray we don't show to his prom date.

Notice the white stool beneath his feet. A *must* in any great performance such as this.

Mother's Day

2006-05-15T14:29:00.000-05:00

I'm sure what I am posting as my "Here's what we did for Mother's Day" entry is going to be a little different. It is something I have wanted to write about for a while now but just did not have the words for. Hell, I still do not know that I have the words, so bear with me as I mutter some sort of jumbled too-many-thoughts-without-the-right-words message about it.

For a few weeks now, you have seen the Help Darfur (Dar-for) tag on my sidebar. I put it up there with every intention of explaining why it was there and asking you to click it and sign the petition, to educate you a bit about what's going on there, and to even ask you to donate. It is something that I have not been able to get off my mind for a couple months now.

Darfur is a place in Sudan, Africa where genocide is taking place as you read this. There are women being raped as they walk for firewood every night (and it has to be women that go for the firewood, because the men will be killed,) children are being kidnapped and forced into slavery by the rebel militia, Janjaweed, and at present more than 400,000 people have been murdered. It is no longer safe for people to sleep, or live, in their villages. Many have migrated into camps set up to help protect them. There are very limited resources - even shelter is something that is so badly lacking.

In other areas, children leave their families every night, as young as two and three years old, and walk miles and miles - three or more hours one way - to cages - chain link fences with locks on them, so that they are not killed as they sleep in their villages. There are no beds. They sleep on the dirt.

I cannot get images such as these out of my mind. And every time I let myself think about it, I can't help but feel a responsibility to do something. I heard about genocide and the situation over there quite a while back, and felt bad for those people, but did not personalize it until a couple months ago. It is going on this minute, just on the other side of the world, to people just like me and my kids - while I sit here in my comfy jeans and gym shoes planning our dinner. It's happening to people, who need help, now.

I am a mother. When my kids are hungry I pull something out of the fridge and feed them. I carry them to their warm, soft beds every night, kiss them and tuck them in, knowing that for the most part I can protect them, or if need be, our government-funded law enforcement will protect them. I educate my kids, and I have enormous dreams for my kids and for what their futures will be like. I love them to no end. A mother in Darfur is no different. She loves her children to no end. How it must tear her apart when her child cries for food for the second or third day in a row and there is nothing she can give him. The fear that must clench her heart as she sends her child away to walk hours and hours each night to sleep in no kind of warm bed, hoping that he lives until morning. What good-night kisses must mean to her. What kind of hopes does a mother in Darfur have for her children? What can she hope for, when even the very most basic question of survival is up in the air? Her children have to make it through the mass-killings that are happening everywhere around them, they have to survive disease, rape and kidnapping, malnutrition, and lack of education. She can't protect her children, and it is her government who is behind the genocide. The only difference between that mother and I, and her children and mine, is where we were born.

So yesterday morning as I woke up, with Jack excitedly kicking and cooing beside me, KJ and Kevin came in with my Mother's Day present. Kevin has been listening so well (major points here!) and made a donation in my name to Catholic Relief Services to help people in Darfur. It's seriously one of the best gifts I have ever gotten.

And then we went on to enjoy the rest of the day, having both sides of our family over for dinner as we do every year. And I seriously counted my blessings.

Yeah, Its Like That

2006-05-12T23:13:00.000-05:00

Our friends? Ended up married today. What a fun thing! Poor guys, 49 degrees and rain for their outdoor ceremony, but still oh so nice and oh so married them. How great are they??

And when I blogged for her earlier today, I meant to put up this picture (or did I?) that the girl had some fine fine toenails. All red like that.

So I brought my best date, and we danced our asses off. Man, fun times. Fun times. We had fun times. We danced and danced and danced.

And fun times with Sant. She's fun, guys. Fun.

But the little bubble boy didn't come. He stayed home with his gramma and papa, and brother too!

So the mom in this picture had a little more fun. A littlemore of a different kind. See what's happening?

Going.

Gone.

And the centerpeices? Fan-friggin-tastic.

We love you Bree and Luke. But for now, I've done all I can do in this state. And my fingers are like jello (jello-mold, you know the variety made with ice cream and cool whip. mmmmmmm) aand if I had something more to type, it could only be this. aetha;dsfnadsgba;kljga. Jibberish for have a great honeymoon.

Weapons of Mass Destruction

2006-05-09T15:31:00.000-05:00

As I sat at the computer this afternoon, while both children were (not) asleep, I noticed the biggest freakin yellow jacket ever. Could have been the queen, maybe, cause folks, she was HUGE. And I know for sure, she wanted to kick my ass.

And also, I have this fear of bees. It's a crazy fear, like, adrenaline-pumping-sweaty-palms-oh-shit-that-little-bee-could-possibly-kill-me fear. Allergic? Nope. Just a wee bit frightened (said in your best Scottish accent.) And also, I passed this fear on to my son, who shreiks at the top of his ever-so-slightly-girly-lungs and runs at high three-year-old rates of speed.

So as the bee buzzed two feet away from my head, I quickly looked to my left, and my right, for anything to kill it. A fly swatter? Where is a fly swatter?? No fly swatter in sight. But, A-HA! KJ's red plastic baseball bat! My only line of defense. I backed up into the doorway, because this bee was widening her territory - sure to make room for herself to go in for the kill. Ack! The kill is me! Nervous as all hell, I made threatening statements under my breath, "I'll get you, you crazy intimidating son of a bitch." (But she's a girl bee, so I don't know why I called her a son.)

As I stood there with a death grip on my red plastic bat, she moved towards an open window. "Yes! Go sit on the screen so I can slam the window shut and trap your sorry buzzing self!" But no. She was on to me. Back and forth, back and forth she went, and each time she neared me I jumped back to save myself. And you would think, with my cat right there in the window, that he would be all over killing something, cause normally, he's the fiercest bug-killing fat-cat on the block (or so I assume.)

Thanks Rassy, I knew I could count on you.

Finally, the bee landed. She landed on the one closed window in the room. Right on the glass. As I lifted the ball bat in my hand, common sense creeped in (but only for a moment) and helped me imagine calling my husband at work to explain why I put a bat through our window, "Honey there was this bee! No, not just a bee. A big one!" Couldn't do that.

Again, looked to the left, and the right, and found...the Gymboree Baby Play book! Flat, and large enough to compensate for my horrible-when-scared aim. (May I also mention I just had Jenny list this on Amazon.com to sell for me? In excellent, brand-new condition!) So I creeped ever closer, red bat in one hand, Gymboree Baby Play book in the other, trembling. I didn't want her to move! I slowly lifted the book, and, WHAM!

Holy shit! I missed! I missed! I retreated to the kichen as fast as my legs could carry me, to, you know, regroup.

I pulled it together and went back in. I knew if I didn't get her, my kids could be her next target. (Not my kids!!) So there she sat, still on the window, laughing. I tiptoed back, and before I could even think, I swung the Gymboree Baby Play book (and the music played!) and I. GOT. HER. Her lifeless bee body fell to the floor, just next to the toy box. I nervously checked her pulse (or, looked at her) to make sure she was dead. And dead she was. And the world (namely, my toy/computer room) is now a safer place to live.

Tooting my own horn

2006-05-08T14:07:00.000-05:00

So, more with the pictures. Earlier today I posted a video clip of Jack eating rice cereal, which shot my sidebar down to the bottom of the page after a gajillion hours of work to get this page to look as I wanted it. But I digress (and hope the sidebar comes back up. Here's the formal invitation: Get the hell back up here, sidebar!)

Anyway, Jack is definitely figuring this food thing out, even opening his mouth for it! Great strides from day one, just over a week ago, when he cried each time the spoon touched his lips. Now I have to figure out which fruit or vegetable to start with. I had always believed the old wives tale that said giving fruits before veggies will make the baby hate the veggies (and in all truth, KJ had veggies before fruits, and for the most part, refuses both.) As I talked to our pediatrician the other day, she informed me that the American Academy of Pediatrics advises that it makes no difference which one you start with. And I'm so very tempted to sweeten up that nasty-ass rice cereal with some mmm-mmm nanners. Or peaches. Or maple syrup, at this point, just to show the child that when I put a spoonful of "nummies" in his mouth, he has no idea that they're about as un-nummy as it gets.

And now to continue wasting the afternoon, and instead of showering/doing laundry/cleaning up from lunch, I bring you pictures! More glorious pictures! And I do it in honor of myself. Ha! This morning my wonderful scale spoke kindly to me, and pointed out that I've lost 27 pounds in the last 10 weeks. Good, no? Granted, I still have a long way to go, but progress is my motivator. So here are a couple pictures. And no, I'm not showing off pictures of my big ass now slimmed down to somewhat-big ass. I think my face will give you a decent idea of what living on 25% less sugar peanut butter chocolate chip granola bars will do to a person.

Jack's baptism, February 2006 - 5 weeks post delivery

Last Saturday, May 2006 - 18 weeks post delivery

Oddly enough, I can't say that I'm totally feeling it yet. I've moved five spots on my belt, and almost two jeans sizes, but as far as day-to-day feeling almost 30 pounds lighter...not quite. And thirty pounds? That's just under losing all of my three-year-old from my body, so I realize in theory that things are going well. So I'm waiting now, for weight watchers to come knocking on my door so that I can be the next spokesperson with the little "results not typical" beneath my picture. (Oh, you probably have attend meetings or something for them to notice you. Ha!) And thank GOD I didn't do this one. ACK, and also, GAH, that woman... Oh, and him too.

I'm off, internet friends. Poop calls! (And not my poop, thank you.) (The poop of one much younger than me.) (My offspring.)

Testing, 1 - 2, Ahem, Testing

2006-05-08T11:42:00.000-05:00

Trying to see if this will work?
It's a video I took of Jack chowing on cereal. :0)

Actually, and, Instead of

2006-05-06T10:13:00.001-05:00

So while I started an entry detailing our latest plans for switching gears...to move to a new house...in a new town...with kick-ass schools...all while paying off debt...finishing this house...and, um, saving money, I started messing around with some of the pictures I've taken recently. It happens, right? So here ya go.

KJ at Notre Dame

I love this house the most at the beginning of Spring, when it's so freshly cleaned up and the new flowers are planted.

If you're trying to take the bridge in this morning, there's a serious back-up you should know about.

Lake George

Nothing like a three-ring circus to make one feel better

2006-05-03T16:38:00.000-05:00

Today? Crazy. It's been a theme, no? I've been kinda in the dumps over the last few days. And I know I've been making it worse by staying up too late at night in hopes of reuniting with two old friends, peace and quiet.

Today was a different kind of crazy. It was loud crazy, and non-stop crazy. Yesterday was clean the house, clean the attic, do the laundry, do something with the children I gave life to, crazy. My mom came up this morning to run some errands with us. We started out at dear old Lens Crafters to figure out what to do about KJ's glasses. More on the outcome later, though. During the visit, my children tag-teamed us. Jack screamed and cried with pure hatred for his stroller (how could I ruin his life by, uh, putting him down,) and refused to take a bottle. KJ ranted and raved about being hungry and wanting to get out of the stroller (when really, it's better to contain a bull in a $200-a-pair glasses shop.)

We finally made it out of Lens Crafters, and decided to stay at the mall to get a few things we needed. I carried Jack (imagine please, me bouncing (hopping, no, skipping, actually) and shhhshing as we walked the entire mall, to contain the roaring beast) and my mom experienced the joys of steering a tandem stroller with a 40-pound kid in the front. It was a sight, I tell you. We decided on Subway for lunch, where Jack made it known that he hated everything about mothers who try to eat, or sit down. While my mom and KJ ate lunch, I did more jumping and shhshing out in the main area. Finally, Jack slept and I scarfed my sandwich, dropping little breadcrumbs all over him. Therapy will help him get over this later in life, I'm sure.

We were lured into a couple kids' stores by their giant 50% OFF ALREADY CLEARANCED ITEMS signs. Aah the beauty of baby pants for $1.75 and boys jeans and khakis for $5 - and shirts! Shirts for $2.50! Does it get better than that?? Well, yes. Just as my right arm was about to fall off, I gently placed Jack in the stroller and softly covered him with a blanket so he could continue his peaceful slumber, and, you guessed it... Scream city, baby. And if you think about what it's like to listen to a screaming infant from afar, say, while you eat or while you shop, you'll come up with that old familiar feeling of agitation. Multiply that feeling by 100, people, when it's in your ear and when it's solely your responsibility to quiet him.

Moving right along, KJ had to pee mid-way through the Disney Store - and I'm talking the typical little boy wait-to-the-last-minute, already-doing-the-pee-pee-dance, time to pee. So I tossed him up on my hip and we sprinted across the mall to the bathroom (cause why would a shop geared towards kids allow you to use their facilities when its urgent? Silly...) The whole way there I chanted to him in a whisper, "Just try to hold it. Don't pee on Mommy." And then, he found humor in it after the thousandth round, because he exclaimed, "It would be funny if I peed on you!!" Most people looked away, but a few continued to stare in horror. Heh.

So then Jack shat and got a change in the play area, still refused a bottle, my mom gave up her dreams of stopping at the Hallmark store, and we headed home with an over-tired three year old and an I-changed-my-mind-on-the-bottle four month old.

As my mom left, I apologized for us holding her up (weighing her down, killing her day off, hampering her ability to get more than two things done in six hours, whatever.) She was nice enough, and so pc, to simply respond that it was fine, she's just used to moving along a bit more quickly. (Only a girl's mom could take screaming babies, running to bathrooms, diaper duty, and the sport of child-corralling and chalk it up to, it was fine.)

The end.

"But wait, oh blogging wonder, you said you felt better? And the glasses?"

I knew I could count on you. I do feel better. My children are finally napping. In fact it's 6:15pm and I don't really care to wake them. I also weighed in today 1.5 pounds less than last week, bought lots of kid clothes at amazing discounts, and scored an incredible recipe for low-cal cheesy soup. And I read this hysterical blog entry, and also, two of my friends said nice things about me, and I love them for it.

And the glasses? Well... I managed to upgrade to better lenses (claiming to be more scratch resistant and give off less reflection, with Scotchguard (the hell?)) and we ordered new frames - frames that should, you know, keep the lenses from falling out every 12 minutes. They also happen to be the frames of KJ's dreams, ones I talked him out of last week because of their royal blue and lime green-ness (yeah you heard me) but you know... So when I went to the desk to pay the additional $117, it somehow came up $22. $22? We went over the itemized list, making sure it was all there, and yes, and mysteriously, just $22. I'll take it.

Much better.

Requesting your sympathies

2006-05-02T21:41:00.000-05:00

You may recall that we spent over $200 on glasses for our son just seven days ago. You may also recall that I bragged (though quickly and quietly) that my other son slept through the night. And now, I will tell you, in plain class-less English, that all that shit's gone to pot.

We decided to take a walk tonight after dinner. We walked to Lake George with day-old hot dog buns in tow to feed the ducks and seagulls. (Actually, notice the Seagull King digging in the bread bag before we even left.)

It was a nice walk. We walked down the cobblestone path that lines the lake, watched the sun set, fed the birds, and continued walking.

KJ decided to run. He ran so fast that he tripped and fell. He scraped the bridge of his nose, and, you guessed it, broke his glasses. One lens popped out, and the other is completely scratched. (I'm sorry, I paid how much for scratch coating??) The good news is we have a warranty. The bad news is we have to pay 50%, sans insurance. Better luck next week, no?

And then the other little doodlebop... Kevin and I have worked really hard over the last two or three weeks to establish a concrete bedtime routine that can accomodate two little boys. Up until this week, it worked well. Around 7:30 I start Jack's bath while Kevin and KJ play quietly (read: watch Notre Dame football clips on the computer, with little sound.) Once Jack is out of the bathtub, Kevin bathes KJ while I feed Jack. While I rock Jack to sleep, Kevin and KJ read books in bed. Once I put Jack down we kiss KJ good night (and then proceed to clean up from dinner, fold laundry, wash dishes, pick up toys, etc.) KJ has been ok with it. He gets more one-on-one time with Kevin, and really, his bedtime routine hasn't changed much, other than moving story time into his room. Jack did really well at first, but over the past few nights has totally given up on the idea. (See the look? "I have no idea why this woman wants me to sleep.")

Saturday night he'd had enough of sleeping through the night (those two nights in a row were pa-lenty.) He got up at 4:30 to eat. Still, manageable. Sunday night he moved it up to 2:30, to accommodate two feedings. Last night, a little of the same. And also, the 8pm bedtime, forgetaboutit. I can get him to sleep at that time, but then five minutes after I lay him down he's back up. Begin another 30 minutes of rocking. And then? Right back up. The last two nights by 11pm we resorted to putting him in the swing to finally fall asleep. Tonight, by some miracle of God, he's been sleeping since 9:45. Don't bother knocking on wood. Tomorrow will be back to the same old same old.

I really hate to rush Jack's infancy because I watched it go so fast with KJ, never to be reclaimed. But some of this infancy stuff, sucks. I successfully rocked KJ to sleep every night and for every nap until he was nine months old (read: until he could physically overpower me with his brute baby strength and willfulness.) I have no intentions on giving up on Jack at just four months. But man, he is a kid on a mission, determined to conquer all who would prevent him from sucking on his fists and speaking in languages unknown around the clock.

I guess what I am getting at here is, I know that many of you have successfully mothered two (and more!) children. Have some pity on me. Remember the hard times. And come help me, one to five hours per day. House cleaning, laundry, and squirmy-baby feeding skills required. I will pay you many times over, with undying gratitude.

Where babies actually don't come from.

2006-05-01T22:42:00.000-05:00

As I paged through the sales yesterday, I noticed that Kmart had KJ's booster seat on sale, so off we went this morning, in the name of saving money. As we drove to the blue light in the sky (or, cheap superstore in the next town over) I couldn't get the damn catch tune out of my head. Using my best twang, I sang over and over, "I found love...at a Kmart store!"

Eventually I got tired of that and started changing up the words. One of my favorites was, "I bought Jack...at a Kmart store!" I was corrected however, by the all-knowing force-to-be-reckoned-with KJ,

"You did NOT buy Jack at a Kmart store."

"I didn't?"

"No! He grew in your belly!"

"Aah that's right..."

"How did he get in there?"

(Needle scratches across the record.)

(Silence.)

"Uhhh, how do you think he got in there?"

"Father Murphy put him in there."

"I found love...at a Kmart store!!"

Hodge Podge, Wake Me When It's Over edition

2006-04-27T21:10:00.000-05:00

Forget the intro. I am too tired for such formalities. Here's the skinny...

1. This week KJ got glasses. Two days later I still feel awful for him having to wear them. He looks cute enough to eat, and I think they actually add a little to his personality, but still, I wish he didn't have to deal with it. I also feel guilty that I did not carry him to term while pregnant. I wonder if that has something to do with it. Enter my guilt and worry for Jack. Will he, too, need glasses by age three? It's not uncommon for babies born prematurely.

2. The furnace guys were here today. In just six hours they installed the furnace, closed up and re-attached cold air returns, installed some new duct work, and changed the pitch on the water heater pipe (a bit like a furnace pit crew, no?) As they were finishing up, one of the guys came upstairs and turned our thermostat on to test-run the heat. Minutes later the main floor began filling with smoke and all of our smoke detectors were beeping. And my kids were napping (past tense.) I raced to the basement to find out what was going on, and he says ever so calmly, "Oh, that always happens when we start it up for the first time. Maybe I should have warned you." Ya think?

3. Walmart raised the price of our formula. It went from $17 a can to almost $23. Are they f&%$#!@ crazy? Monthly formula budget goes up by $25. I know that the tension in Iran has nothing to do with formula prices, Sam Walton you greedy (dead) bastard.

4. Add up the cost of the above three and you come up with $2200. Over the last three days. I know, that's how life goes. But I can still gripe, dammit.

5. The Knucklehead Smith Children chased each other around with spray bottles of weed killer today.

6. Having dieted for just shy of two months now, I actually think I'm making some serious headway in changing our habits. That being said, I cannot figure out what to do with all of the Easter candy. As things go, our families collectively provided my son with enough candy for an entire classroom (school, actually) of children. I'm not big on loading the child up on sugar, so he's only had a couple peices in the nearly two weeks it has been sitting in the kitchen. Kevin and I are eating healthy, so we have not picked through it either. I feel bad throwing it away. You want it?

7. Before you say yes, I should tell you that the count on the giant chocolate bunny alone is 1100 calories and 65 grams of fat. Why not have a double whopper instead?

8. I'm going to say this, and then you must all find wood to knock on right away, and pretend that you never heard. Jack has gone to bed around 9pm for over a week now. Andlastnighthesleptthroughthenight.

9. KNOCK, DAMMIT, KNOCK!

10. I provided you with no intro...why bother pulling things together at the end? I cannot, however, end with number 9. It will leave you feeling incomplete. It leaves too many loose ends. But what can I end with? Howabout something random, but likeable?

11. Now I'm leaving you hungry. And on a weird number. And I'm not even going back to proofread.

From Hell

2006-04-25T16:09:00.000-05:00

The title? An accurate description of my day.

I'll begin with this: Kevin is in New York on business. That means, my help that appears around 7pm each night, to play with the children while I finish dinner, or hold one while I get the other ready for bed, or the help that routinely does the dishes and takes out the garbage; he won't be here for three days. Not that it's the only reason we miss him, because well, it sucks to not have my friend to sit down with and veg out in front of the tv once the offspring are finally a-s-leep, and KJ is really missing him this time, because mom just can't handle the full force tackles like dad can.

So by the end of last night I was so exhausted. I couldn't wait to go to bed. And this morning, I got up to the same rat race to get everything done again, because as of yesterday afternoon there were seriously eight loads of laundry in the basement - now in progress, dishes and bottles to be washed, a house in need of my maid skills, and kids who, you know, want my attention, constantly. And today KJ had an eye doctor appointment.

I raced around all morning to get everything done at home, and we even arrived a half hour early (mark it down in your books people!) to make sure that we would be out of there in time for my sister to go to work (she was home with Jack.) But as things go, just shy of an hour later we had gone through the "preliminaries" but were still waiting to see the doctor. So I called everyone else I could think of to go sit with the baby for an hour, and no luck. We had to leave, mid appointment, to go home and get Jack. I raced home, dressed the baby, threw the stroller in the car, gave KJ a granola bar for lunch, and within 45 minutes we were back at the optometrist. (Extremely out of breath.)

KJ did well, being bribed through the entire visit that there was a basket on the reception desk full of green suckers, IF he behaved. Jack couldn't have a sucker, so the behavior, sucked. I had no idea that an eye exam takes as long as it did, and let me tell you, when they say "Glasses in about an hour," that's for them to make the glasses. It doesn't include the hour wait in the waiting room, the hour exam, and then the hour you wait for them to adjust them. Truthfully, glasses from 11am thru 4pm, was our deal. In between we had lunch and fed Jack, during which KJ announced to the entire food court that he had to poop, and then when I took a moment to sit down and pee, Jack immediately spewed milk from his nose and mouth like something from the exorcist, and KJ opened the stall door. We did manage fifteen minutes of time at the play-area, because I needed to add other people's crazy screaming kids to my day so I could pull those few remaining hairs out of my head.

The point of KJ's eye exam was to figure out why his left eye is starting to pull inward. I've noticed it over the last six months or so. It turns out that he has terrible vision in that eye, and ok vision in the other. The doctor explained that the right eye does all of the work, so the left eye is shutting itself down, in a sense, and that is why it's turning inward. The doc said that the eye will fix its position over time with the help of the glasses.

This is really bothering me. You want your kids to be as care-free and healthy as possible, and we've hit a few bumps - the mega-reflux through the first year of his life, hip-to-ankle leg braces over the second year, asthma, and now glasses. I just feel like he's too young for glasses. Three? It's a lifetime of pain-in-the-ass for him, started early. Not that any of this is big huge traumatic stuff, but like I said, bumps. And he starts school in a few months, so hopefully glasses won't be his first cross to bear.

So on with the day... After a 20 minute I've-missed-my-nap meltdown from KJ, and screaming competition from Jack (the usual, I hate my car seat bit,) we are home from the eye doctor. I pumped $52 into my gas tank as one last stop, just in case I didn't spend enough money today. Yikes. And now, dishes are in the sink (and I hope they're comfortable, because that's where they'll stay until approximately 20 minutes before we head to the airport to pick up Kevin,) there are still four loads of laundry in the basement, the dog is dancing to go out, the empty garbage cans out front are waiting to be carried in, I'm wondering what could possibly be the easiest-ever healthy dinner to make, and the children are, thank you GOD, asleep.

(And if anyone has pointers for me, using Paintshop Pro, how to get the glare off of glasses, please share!!) (He looks cute, yes?)

Fly, Pelican, Fly

2006-04-24T22:51:00.000-05:00

I intended to post today about the heartache and triumph of overhauling the atmosphere of my entire blog. But instead, I will share this story, in pictures, with you.

When we took our walk to Lake George this afternoon KJ suggested we bring bread for the birds. I pulled an older bag of hot dog buns from the freezer, and away we went. I held the camera, and he held the bag of bread. And, well, you'll see...

Here we are, ready to feed the birds!

Aww, what a nice boy. Look at how they love him for feeding them!

Yes, thank you King KJ for the hot dog bun feast. We will line up on the fence here, waiting for you to graciously give more!

I wonder if the birds mind if I try a bite?

Bo-ring...can we please get my brother back in the stroller and start up the motion again?

These hot dog buns are delicious! What was I thinking, sharing them with these stupid birds?

Oh my God, the stingy little boy ate all our damn food! We must take action!

Yes, we MUST take action! I know! Let's swarm his MOTHER!

Holy Shit! I HATE BIRDS!! Find a happy place, find a happy place.

Hey look, mom, ducks! (Can we feed em?)