Sunday, December 30, 2007
It's also not my favorite kind of news but, what are you gonna do? So the news today is bittersweet.
I'll start with the sweet. Baby "A" has a heartbeat. That is wonderful, exciting news that is cause for gratitude. Baby "A" measured 6 weeks, 4 days on Friday (the 28th). Yay! That means probably healthy baby. Now for the bitter. Baby "B" did not have an audible heartbeat. Baby "B"'s placenta is tucked directly behind Baby "A" so it is nearly impossible to get a visual of it at this stage but they're telling me that they should have heard a heartbeat. It is very unusual (not totally impossible) for one baby to have a heartbeat and not the other. So, in all likelihood, Baby "B" is not going to make it. I have another ultrasound next Friday just to be sure. I have two placentas which means twice the hormones, which means DOUBLE THE MORNING SICKNESS AND ACID REFLUX- but most likely, I will only have one baby. That is very sad. I am so grateful that Baby "A" has a chance but I still feel like I'm losing a baby. It's a very confusing emotion. Also, I'm scared to get excited about Baby "A" yet because for some reason, every woman who has gotten pregnant in my ward in the last two months has miscarried. (The last count was up to 6 women I think.) I'm avoiding drinking the tap water in case it's environmental but who knows.
Anyway, I appreciate all your prayers. Keep sending them my way. I'll try to post a little sooner next time. What with all the puking and laying around, I haven't felt like sitting at the computer.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
All my preoccupation with the possibilities would not matter in the least if it were not for the baby born in Bethlehem.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Yup. That's right. Husband looked at me and now I'm pregnant. Again. It's a good thing and I have been excited (between the bouts of nausea and exhaustion). Until yesterday.
Husband and I thought it would be a fun joke not to tell our families about the baby. We thought that it would be hilarious to just show up next time we see them either with me all huge and say that WW is not working for me, or with an extra kid in tow and say, "What are you talking about? We've always had this many." Besides the fact that it would be funny, it would spare me an extra 10 months of disparraging remarks from my grandparents, and the general strain-to-approve from the rest of the family. Don't get me wrong. A lot of them try really hard to be supportive. It's just that having a big family goes against everything the media has been telling them their whole lives. (For those of you who think having many children is irresponsible, I refer you to this article. We have never needed financial assistance from either our church or the government and our kids are all happy and well adjusted.)
So getting to yesterday. I went in for my ultrasound to find out my due date. Being a person not blessed with a regular cycle, I never know how far along I am. By normal indicators, I should have been 8 weeks, 4 days. The babies actually measured 6 weeks, 1 day. Yes. I said "Babies". Well, yay! That's so exciting in a terrifying roller coaster-ish sort of way. Except that the ultrasound did not have good news. There actually weren't any "babies" at all. I had two beautiful gestational sacs which appeared to be empty. This means that although they COULD be ok, there is a higher probability that I am going to lose them both. I have another ultrasound on the 28th to check for babies. We decided last night that our plan to keep the pregnancy under wraps was not going to work, given the circumstances. Even if the babies end up being fine next week, there are so many things that can go wrong with twin pregnancies that we felt our families needed to know. That way, we won't be calling them up when I am 6 months along and saying, "Baby B is dying from Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome." or some other horrid thing like that out of the blue.
My whole life I've wanted 8 children and I hate being pregnant so much that having these babies be healthy, normal twins would be the perfect ending to our family. I want them and I am hoping that they will be ok. I am afraid to be excited. I would appreciate any prayers on our behalf. Whatever happens, "His eye is on the sparrow[s] and I know He's watching over me".
"Sparrow Twins" by e3000
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
At 7:00 I say, "Okay, guys. Go get ready for bed." They all run (shrieking at the top of their lungs) up the stairs like a pack of howler monkeys and proceed to do any- and every- thing. Except get ready for bed. They laugh and I yell, "Get ready for bed." They fight and I say, "Get your p.j.'s on!" Someone gets hurt and I yell, "It wouldn't have happened if you weren't screwing around. Get ready for bed." (Fill in the blank) comes downstairs and says, "I can't find my toothbrush." After about ten minutes of intermittent reminders from me to "GET READY FOR BED!", I call everyone downstairs for journals, etc. and send whichever two children who are still wearing their jeans and t-shirts back upstairs to get their jammies on. For real this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The kids who are in p.j.'s get sent back upstairs to really brush their teeth this time. ("GET READY FOR BED!") The child whose toothbrush is lost and (if by some miracle there IS a child who did what was expected) the child who is ready for bed get out their journals and write or draw about their day depending on the age of the child. ("GET READY FOR BED!") If Mr. Yuke(4) is one of these children, there is a predictable conversation about how our journals are not regular art paper and he needs to just use one page each day and if he wants to do some artwork while we read he needs to get some different paper. When everyone finally comes downstairs truly ready for bed, we are out of time for reading, writing, or singing. The children who didn't get to journal have a hissy fit to which I answer that they chose to use up their time acting like pygmies upstairs. We have a prayer and I send them to bed. And then one or the other of them inevitably asks me with an angel face and puppy dog eyes to "Tuck them in? Please?" (music to my ears) and once again my heart melts and I tuck everyone in (because of course one or the other of us is going to do that every night). And I sit down and sigh at my sweet little people and how much I love them. And then Little Mommy(9) comes out and says that (random body part) hurts. EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. And it's never the same one either. And it's never hurts until it's time to go to sleep. And Mr. Yuke(4) needs a drink. And then The Pinkiest(5) needs one too because it's NOT FAIR if Mr. Yuke(4) gets one and she doesn't. And then Monster Truck(2) doesn't WANT to be in bed and Little Mommy(9) has some other random pain. And she wants to know what exactly is going to be done about it?! And then I tell them that the next person out of bed is going to be dead meat and I better not hear one more peep out of anyone. And then it's quiet.
And then Monster Truck(2) gets out of bed again. For the 27th time.
Last night Husband called during this period of chaos and I really miss him so I kept him on the phone and conversed softly with him while all this was going on. The result was that after a few minutes he said, "It sounds like you have 'Go to bed!' Tourette's. Because of this, I started playing some Christmas music on the piano in an effort to drown them out while I talked to him as the kids were (NOT) getting ready for bed. One of the songbooks I have is a hand-me-down from my mom called "A Peanuts Christmas" (Snoopy). She went through a Peanuts phase in the 70's which she does not remember. Anyway, the book is just basically a bunch of easy Christmas carol arrangements with pictures of Peanuts characters on the tops of the pages. Being the token ready-for-bed-child, The Pinkiest(5) was sitting on the piano bench next to me, listening to the music. I stopped playing after a couple songs and Little Mommy(9) came bolting down the stairs and said, "Mommy, will you please play more Peanuts Christmas Songs?" The Pinkiest(5) got a funny look on her face, pulled her fingers out of her mouth and said, "Penis Christmas Songs?"
"Twinkle, twinkle little star, do you know how loved you are?"
Monday, December 10, 2007
(Before I get a bunch of comments from blog-surfers who don't know me, understand I am 100% against abortion/gender selection and I am not going to publish your politically "correct" comments either way, so don't bother.)
My Nephew, Slugger Jr.(3) wants an elephant for Christmas. A real one that goes, "(Insert sound effect here.)" When Cute Sister pointed out that an elephant might be too big and they would have no place to keep him, Little Slugger(3) generously conceded that, "it could be a baby." I thought that was pretty cute. I was telling Little Mommy(9) and Bubba(6) about this as we set the table the other night when The Pinkiest(5) overheard me. Her eyes got about as big as the dinner plates we were setting down and she exclaimed, "Well I want a GIRAFFE!!!"
This got me thinking about the kids' respective wish lists and I realized that no matter what Hillary Clinton and every other politically "correct" women's lib. advocate says, there are HUGE differences between boys and girls. Zoo animals seem to be the only common denominator (other than the elusive wii). My boys are all about cars and robots and things you can throw. My girls want barbies and ponies. You know. (The rhyme just started all by itself, I swear.) Anyway, none of my girls has ever asked for a fireman suit and none of my boys wants a "High School Musical" Sharpay doll. How there can be any confusion about this is beyond me.
Friday, December 7, 2007
"Wii endcaps are up @ Target!" by Adam Melancon, found on Flickr.com
It is one of four things:
- I've lost all my readers, proving that I don't have enough stuff to keep an audience entertained sufficiently for me to write a book.
- The "Blog Poll" has lost it's novelty but people are still coming here.
- The Edward vs. Jacob question is a far more powerful phenomenon than even I thought and neither the hair situation- (which I really needed some feedback on) nor the current question is inspiring enough to cause anyone to click an answer.
- It's December and everyone is far too busy to blog surf.
I'm hoping it's the last one. I would make it into a poll, but I don't think it would do much good.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Hey, if anyone noticed, I changed the name of the blog. I'm tossing this one around with it's close cousin, "A Life Without Alice". Something about that seems a little doomsayer-ish so I'll probably just stick with the one that's up there now. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that the address won't change no matter what I call it.
I don't think I handle rejection very well.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
One of the parts she told me about was when Rory became friends with Art People. Art Girl is always talking about "Boyfriend"- this and "Boyfriend"- that and "Boyfriend" has such beautiful eyes, etc. As My Beautiful was telling me this the thought came to me that perhaps my blog habit of refering Husband as "Husband" might be taken by some as a Gilmore Girls reference (and while, if you're going to rip off a show you really can't do much better,) I honestly didn't know about Art Girl calling Marty "Boyfriend" and now that I think of it, the only person fictional or otherwise I know of that is more sarcastic than me is Lorelei Gilmore and people must think I am such a hack! And it's a good thing Rory's writing is so much more original and fresh than mine obviously is not, or she wouldn't have been able to be so successful all those years at Chilton and then Yale, and she would have wound up married to Dean doing demeaning jobs for Taylor alongside Kirk for the rest of her life. And somewhere right about here in the thought process I realized that I was being obsessive and totally overthinking the situation and I thought,
"That is SO Paris Geller."
Photos from http://www.dragonflyinn.org
Also, did you know that you can buy the entire series of Gilmore Girls at Costco for around $175.00? Some say, "Ripoff." I say, "Birthday."
Monday, December 3, 2007
"Oh, you and me- in our sport utility vehicles.
Cruisin' to Dunkin' Donuts- for a BAG of steamin' joe."
It's the best visual ever. I can just see it sloshing around in a plastic takeout bag.
Last Friday, I finally had a morning cup of coffee. It was so amazing I had to blog about it.
No. I guess that won't do. Of course I didn't have a cup of coffee. I don't drink coffee. It's bad for you, it makes your breath stink, and I have made a covenant not to drink it. I guess I should go back a ways and explain.
I have this friend- actually a friend of a friend, Ti- who refers to taking a shower when she wakes up as "her morning cup of coffee." Ti says she absolutely cannot function without her "morning cup of coffee". I can see her point really. I hate missing my morning shower. For the last couple of years though, I have remembered Ti adamantly telling me about how much her "morning cup of coffee " centers her. Without it she just can't face the day. And as I have remembered this conversation, I have thought that her morning shower must be a lot different from mine.
We have rules in our house. I have mentioned some of them before. The rule that applies here is:
DO NOT COME INTO THE BATHROOM WHEN MOMMY IS IN THE SHOWER UNLESS IT IS AN EMERGENCY!!!!
The following constitute an energency:
- Someone is bleeding.
- Someone is choking or turning blue.
- Someone has swallowed something poisonous.
- The house is on fire.
(My kids realize that there are, of course, obvious exceptions to this rule. Things such as,
- "Can I go play with Jace?"
- "I got yogurt on my shirt."
- "I need you to velcro the back of my Batman suit."
- "Have you seen my shoe?" -Always the shoes...
- "Here's your cell phone, mommy. Someone maked you a phone call."
- "[Bubba(6)] PUT IN STAR WARS WHEN YOU SAID I COULD WATCH 12 Dancing Princesses WHEN MY CHORES WERE DONE!!!!!!!!!"
- "______ hit me!!!")
Any time these exceptions come up, I refer the child to the rules. "Are you bleeding? Is anyone choking? Is the house on fire? Has [Monster Truck(2)] gotten out into the street?.... Then GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM while I am TAKING A SHOWER!!!!!"
So, although I do love my morning shower, I do not generally find it that Nirvana everyone in the Northwest claims to experience whilst chugging stewed, burned beans. I am usually far more tense, irritated, and stressed when I get out of the shower than when I rolled out of the nice warm covers that morning. That is, until last Friday.
I showered. It was hot. It was steamy. It was good to the last drop. NO ONE came in. I could scarcely believe it. I realized that I was done and I had not yet been interrupted- so I admit it. I stayed in there a little longer. I savored every second. And Ti was right. I was centered. I was warm. I was both relaxed and invigorated. I didn't have to get tanked up on caffeine and carcinogens, and I was ready to face my day.
And guess what? My breath didn't even stink.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Here's another number that's a big deal in our house:
That's the number for poison control. We have it on speed dial on my cell phone but sometimes, (more often than not, actually) a dead battery requires the manual dialing of it on the home phone.
We call that number a lot these days. It seems that Monster Truck(2) loves detergents. Anything with any sort of cleanser in it. In the last week and a half, he has drunk Little Mommy's(9) facial toner and eaten ten of the little center soap pellets of the electrasol power tabs for the dishwasher. We are not careless about dangerous things, but he has learned to open the child safety locks on the cupboards, the baby gate, and the front door. Really, the minivan is the final frontier and when that happens- well.... Be afraid. Be very afraid. Anyway, you would think that after the say, third or fourth dish detergent ball he would think to himself, Ewww. This is not so delicious. I think I'll go ransack the cereal cupboard once again. Yes, that would be much more yummy. But no. He just keeps eating them, presumably thinking that they'll start tasting better real soon. Maybe it's an aquired taste, like strained peas. And swingset chains. So we've called Poison Control so many times for that boy that the last couple times I have started to worry that CPS must have started building a case against us. He has gotten into more poisonous things than all his other siblings combined. There are only so many up high places we have in the house and right now they are reserved for things like percocet and transmission fluid. Fortunately, he was fine. The detergents didn't make him sick. We did not have to take him to the hospital, and we still had enough of them left to do the dishes. I guess no harm, no foul. He has gotten off extremely lucky, come to think of it. He has never had to go to the hospital. Not with the toothpaste (yes, it is extremely poisonous- we were at the hospital for 15 hours with the The Pinkiest for that), not with the Balmex, and not with the rubbing alcohol. That's why he's Monster Truck. Indestructable. Thank goodness.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
- The OBVIOUS: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (although I thought the Epilogue was stupid.) Forgive me, but I thought the link unnecessary. Everyone in the free world (and probably quite a few in the unfree world too-) knows about the Harry Potter books.
- The Twilight Series- Juvenille but so enjoyable
- America the Beautiful- it's a picture book with the words of the song and beautiful watercolors throughout. The cover-art is terrible but don't let it put you off opening it if you ever get the chance.
Blogs this year that were a cut above the rest:
- The Blog of Unnecessary Quotation Marks- totally funny if you have a fundamental working knowledge of punctuation.
- The Pokemon Card Lady- I sent a lot of you the link to her post on ebay. Turns out she has a blog which is also pretty funny.
Movies this year that were a cut above the rest:
- Hairspray- Loved it, can't say enough about it. Way better than the first one (which was ok).
- Live Free or Die Hard- Surprised? A cut above all the other Die Hards and a very pleasant surprise. Incidentally, if you go to rent it, you will only find the "unrated" edition. This is ok because once you put it in you get to select whether you watch it rated PG-13 or the unrated way.
- The Lake House- I really liked this one too but it's not one you can scrapbook to. It requires your undivided attention. Also, this is not a good one for watching over and over again.
Events this year that were a cut above the rest:
- Amish Work Day
- Husband's promotion
- Monster Trucks
- Family Reunion in Milltown
Hairdos this year that were cut above the rest:
(Hear the record scratch?)
Yep. You heard me right. Little Mommy(9) strikes again. In an effort to NOT clean her room, she did any- and every- thing else she could possibly think of instead. When she ran out of ideas she just got "sick of [The Pinkiest's(5) ] bangs hanging down in her eyes" so she HAD to cut them. (Incidentally, it may be relevant to know that The Pinkiest(5) has been growing out her bangs forever. Since the last time they were cut by a not professional.) It's sad really. Her hair was getting so long and pretty that people were starting to comment on it everywhere we went. So now, The Pinkiest(5) has bangs between 3/4 of an inch to one inch long- depending on where you're looking, which start just behind her ear on one side and go to above her temple on the other side. Plus that one other piece. It looks terrible. I'm afraid we're going to have to just cut off the lot of it and start over. At the very least she is going to need a bob. I'm guessing it'll be shorter than that.
My personal feelings about how to handle this situation are that Little Mommy(9) should have to get her hair cut in the same style as The Pinkiest(5). Considering that this is her fifth infraction with a pair of scissors and "hair" of some variety, I think it only fitting. I'm willing to give her the first three which happened between the ages of 2 and 4, but the most recent one was last year and well- to me, the fact that she is now 9 makes this pretty inexcuseable. (By the way, the reason "hair" is in quotation marks is because one incident involved several victims from Mother-in-Law's doll collection, most of which have yarn for hair. Or used to.) Now, last year when she cut her own hair to the scalp in a three inch square patch, I told her she was going to have to get it cut short like a boy while it was growing out. I would put mousse in it and make it curly and we could tie ribbons around her head and maybe it would still look really cute. The workers at the Beauty Shop however, all thought this was cruel and talked me out of it. I think now the time has come because I, like Gracie Lou Freebush, believe in harsher punishments for parole violators. What do you think?
The good news is that The Pinkiest's(5) hair won't be a total waste. *Shelbie needs a wig and I heard her family is collecting hair donations. Since The Pinkiest(5) and Shelbie are both blondies and The Pinkiest's(5) hair is so long, hopefully they will be able to use her hair to help. (See below for info on Shelbie.)
The only other cut I want to mention in this post is the one on my self. It has been put above the rest as well. Above the laundry, the cooking, the hair fixing, the bathroom cleaning. (DANG! Maybe I don't want to get better.... No, wait. I guess I do.) Anyway, this week, I got to cut down to having PT ONLY TWICE A WEEK!!!! This is very exciting news. I played some Clementi on Tuesday, and it was not horrible. And also, I am typing like a real person right this very minute.- Only it hurts more. So today I looked around and realized that it was time to stop putting my cut above the rest. I did a load of dishes (turns out- that is still pretty challenging. I can't grasp things very well.), cleaned a toilet, walked Mr. Yuke(4!) to preschool while pushing the stroller and everything, and then sat down to blog. Because let me tell you- when you've put your cut above the rest for a month and a half, there is a ton of crap to do and I have no idea where to even start- so I'd rather just blog about it instead. And there is no rest when there is a cut. I guess I'd prefer it this way though. I've had about enough of resting for a while.
*Shelbie is an amazing little girl who is 9 years old. A while back she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. They did a surgery where they went in through her eye and removed it. The biopsy came back as cancerous. Later they removed a second tumor. They thought she was in remission at that point. However, just recently they discovered a new tumor on her brainstem that is inoperable. Because of this, Shelbie has started an 18-month course of chemotherapy which I think is going to be either followed by or overlapped with radiation treatments.
Shelbie's lifelong dream is to be a cheerleader. Specifically, she wants to cheer with the 49'ers cheerleaders at one of their games. I wonder how many degrees of separation there are between me and someone who could make that happen?
Through everything, she has remained positive and sweet. All this is remarkable, but the real reason Shelbie is remarkable is that she has attended Church and Primary/Activity Days as often as possible for the last year without her parents. She gets rides with neighbors or the Primary presidency. She is an amazing example and a wonderful missionary. Visit her website. Sometimes there are pictures, although there aren't any right now.
Friday, November 23, 2007
- My Husband
- My Family
- My Mom
- A home
- Food to eat, clothes to wear, a place to sleep,
- The Internet
- That I didn't open my RIGHT hand,
- Reconnecting with an old friend through MySpace
- Chick flicks
- Cell phones
- The Internet
- Amish work days
- Good Neighbors
- Bottled water (the water where I live tastes like poison.)
- My Beautiful
- The blessings of Tithing
- Hot showers
- My piano
- The Olers (although they are both friends and family)
- Muhloo(7m) who is the best baby in the world
- Dual automatic sliding doors
- Good Books
- The Durfeys
Also, if anyone read my entry about the Pil-gruhm feast at school, apparently the Indian Nation or whatever they are called, lobbyed for the segregation. I guess unlike everyone else, they don't want to be integrated because the white man stole their land. So, yay for segregation I guess.
W, X, Y and Z.
Now I know my A-B-Z's.
Next time won't you sing with me?"
Every time he sings it, I gently correct him that it is A-B-"C", because the song has "Z" at the end. He looks at me like I am stupid and corrects me back that it is
W, X, Y AND Z!!!"
I try to convince him that no, it is "C" (I'm saving the battles of "M", "Q" and "S" for after I win this one). He won't have any of it.
The Pinkiest(5), I fear, is going to be dependent on some substance or the other for the rest of her life. Currently she is hopelessly addicted to anything sweet. She steals them, hides them, and eats them every chance she gets. It is quite sad actually and I am at a loss for how to help her. This is such a problem that any time we go anywhere, she scavenges the parking lot for gum any moment my eyeballs are not directly on her. Then, all of a sudden I see she has gum in her mouth and I know she didn't get it from home because she has had gum in her hair (and the car upholstery, and the baby's hair...) so many times that she is banned from chewing gum at all. So I ask her, "Where did you get the gum?"-
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Well, that gum didn't just appear in your mouth.
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: What do you mean 'you don't know'? How can you not know?
The Pinkiest(5): I don't know.
Me: Just tell the truth. You get in more trouble for lying.
The Pinkiest(5): The ground.
Me: Was it already chewed up?!!!
The Pinkiest(5): Yeah.
Me: Well SPIT IT OUT!!!!!
This exchange is usually followed by a lengthy conversation about germs and how disgusting it is to pick up ABC gum and that she should never, ever do that, at the end of which she promises never to do it again. Until the next time.
So I'm doing battle with Mr. Yuke(3) over "A-B-C" and the only explanation I can come up with is the one foremost in my mind: ABC gum. This of course will do me absolutely no good whatsoever and I am rendered impotent in both situations.
Score: Kids-2, Mom-0
Monday, November 19, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
We try to date as much as possible. This is for several reasons. They are, in no particular order:
- I like my husband and want him to continue to like me,
- to strengthen our relationship,
- incentive to go to my weigh-in,
- adult conversation- outside of discussing what the appropriate consequence is for the offending child of the moment,
- our church leaders recommend it,
- my sanity,
- it's the only foreplay I have time for (-sorry, Jay, if you still come read this-),
- we didn't really date before we got married and we're trying to make up for lost time
Let me briefly touch on a few of these.
I Like My Husband and Want Him to Continue to Like Me
Husband is wonderful. He is supportive, patient, a good listener, and he helps around the house. He lets me warm various parts of my ice-cold body on him in the night, even if he has been sound asleep and toasty for hours before I come to bed. He sticks up for me and appreciates how much (or sometimes how little) I do to keep our lives running. He protects me from sickness, bugs, bankruptcy, and things that go bump in the night. In return, I try not to greet him with a completely messy house, hot dogs for dinner, and a seething lack of patience due to the way I have already repeated every single thing I've said all afternoon about fifteen times. Clearly, I am getting the better end of the deal at this stage in our lives together. I need to date him just to get me out of my element; my "mom"-role, my frustration, and my sweatpants. Dating gives Husband a chance to see me with fresh make-up in good lighting, discussing something other than decorating Bubba's(6) Thanksgiving-turkey-art-project like Optimus Prime. Suddenly I get to be interesting and funny and beautiful. It does us both wonders.
It Strengthens Our Relationship/Adult Conversation
We have a rule when we date: no discussing the children. I will admit that this is much more difficult when we have a three-year-old; they are always doing some truly hilarious thing- but we try to stick to it. If you've been a parent for a while and can't remember the last time you went on a date, let me warn you: although the benefits from the "no discussing rule" are many, it is extremely difficult to do in the beginning. "Supermom" is a pretty all-consuming job and can easily take over if you do not carefully cultivate your secret identity. (It's a secret because small children will not believe you have a life outside of them, and teenagers will not believe you have a life at all.) The more effort I put into my alter ego*, the more we have to talk about over a plate of Italian food. It helps us stay friends. (*See The Refrigerator section for my current alter ego expansion project.)
We try to date our children as well. That is to say, we take them on individual parent dates so that they get some undivided attention from each of us. One of us will take a child out each month so that by the end of the year they have all gone on one date with Husband and one with me. The one-on-one time is nice, plus, it gives us the opportunity to take them somewhere we could not afford if we had the whole family along, for example- the full-price show at the movie theater complete with the works at the consession stand. I bring up the kid dates because I found out this weekend just how high-maintenance a date I am. Granted, there are reasons stated above for me to milk it a little, but nonetheless- I think maybe I should be a little less picky about what constitutes a date. I came to this conclusion after Mr. Yuke's(3) Daddy-date.
Mr Yuke(3) started out just like me, making all sorts of crazy demands about where they were going to go and what they would do when they got there. He chose going to "cowboy town" (Tombstone, Arizona) to buy a cowboy hat and ride a stagecoach and drink sasparilla and watch a gunfight and get some ice cream and then maybe buy some handcuffs and a sherriff's badge. This would be followed by a light lunch of four bread baskets and the mimi mouse pancake platter at Mimi's Cafe. They would then return home and watch a movie of Mr. Yuke's(3) choosing for the rest of the day (or until Mr. Yuke could think of something else to demand instead). Now, when he began listing off the itinerary, Husband and I both immediately became a little high-strung. See, going to "cowboy town" is somewhat problematic, seeing as how it's two states away and that means he of course can't go there and so one of us is going to have to break it to him gently and hold our breath the entire rest of the day because, as cute as he is- the boy CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH. And when he decides he is upset by anything in the world that has not gone his way, he will shriek his high-pitched noise at you until your eyeballs explode, as a punishment. And that makes it a little difficult to drive him to a "plan-B" destination. I was not feeling up to dealing with the "cowboy town" aftermath, so I steered clear of Mr. Yuke(3) the rest of the morning, rationalizing that this was Husband's date and therefore not my problem. I did feel a little sorry for him. Just not enough to get in the line of fire. I watched them leave, wondering what would happen when Husband broke the news to him? What would Husband try to do to make Mr. Yuke(3) happy? and how was he going to drive with exploded eyeballs?. Imagine my surprise when they returned not much later, Mr. Yuke beaming, full of pancakes and a spring in his step. I looked quizzically at Husband, the questions burning in my eyes- "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR SON? AND WHO IS THIS KID? AND DO WE GET TO KEEP HIM?" Mr. Yuke chattered happily away at me as I stared in amazement, racking my brain trying to figure out if Husband maybe could have taken him to some other crappy tourist-trap western town that is close-by but had somehow slipped my mind before? And then I got my answer-
Mr. Yuke(3): Come on, Dad! Let's finish our date! Remember? The part WHEN WE EAT COOKIES!!!
(said in a way that could have meant- We're going to meet Santa Claus! in Disneyland. and he's going to give us money.)
Ah hah! A classic dad manuever. Bribery. With sugar. lots of sugar.
SIGH. This is one of those things in life that is not fair. Because there is some unwritten law that says moms cannot shamelessly throw half a dozen chocolate chip cookies at a child in order to prevent the eyeball explosion tantrum, yet from dads, this is totally acceptable behavior. Oh well. I experienced a satisfied state of happiness over the facts that:
- Mr. Yuke(3) had a marvelous time with his dad,
- Husband had an enjoyable time with his son,
- all of us had a great time not hearing the shrieking,
- and EVERYONE loves my chocolate chip cookies. They are divine.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Please don't ever feel the need to apologize for your opinions, especially when I requested them. I only feel the need to say something because I actually know some people who consider it rude to express a dissenting opinion. Having an opinion is pretty much the privelige of whatever person happened to utter his or her thoughts first. I am offended by this value system. Ludicrous. (I am so opinionated, you can see why this approach to human interaction might chap me.)
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Interestingly enough, I have a theory that going through this annual ordeal makes us sick. Now, I'm not talking about the school of thought maintained by rabid anti-immunization lobbyists. I think getting shots keeps us all much healthier and I'm all for it. No, my theory centers more around the location of the ordeal. (No- I don't mean arm vs. leg. Keep reading.) See, we go to the pediatrician's office for our shots. (You've gotta go back and read that with a southern accent.) But do you know what? There are Others who also go to the pediatrician's office. They're called SICK PEOPLE.
Did you know that sick people have germs? True story. The last four years, (when I decided I could no longer abide the Domino Effect caused by the barrage of Just-arrived-from-a-random-third-world-country-illegal-immigrants, and snot-nosed, school-aged children we have nearly constant contact with and that flu shots were not as unnecessary as my mother always tried to make me believe-) after I have taken my clan for their flu shot, they- and I am not making this up- have been sick with Croupe within 48 hours. Every time. And for some reason, about this same time every year, either Husband or I becomes EXTREMELY sick with Bronchitis and/or Walking Pneumonia so that- when a feverish child is up all night wheezing and coughing in such a bark that dogs in London actually start looking for lost puppies, I never know if it is Croupe or if this is the year the child has actually caught Bronchitis from the doting (hacking) parents. So now somehow, half the half dozen children are oozing- well we'll call it "stuff"- from every orafice in their heads, and I'm thinking that if there is a Hocker Ooze out there somewhere, my blog must have pissed him off and now he is wreaking his havoc in my personal corner of the universe. So eventually I end up taking them back to the doctor where (insert pediatrician's name here) says, "Yup. Sounds like croupe. Use a humidifier. Maybe try cold air." and then the receptionist is like, "That will be ten dollars, please." and I'm all, no- you pay me ten dollars! and then clean your waiting room. with lysol. And then I shell out the cash, cringing as I watch to see whether or not the mag strip on my debit card has worn out from all the physical therapy co-pays in the last two weeks. (DANG! No such luck.) So while I'm waiting for the little paper to print out, I take a mental inventory of all the children's decongestants currently in the cupboard at home and I realize that I have tons of it. It's all for the ages of the healthy kids in the family. For the sick ones, I'm going to have to go buy some more, and that's going to be another fifteen bucks. And then I begin to feel nauseous and try not to hurl as I total up the cost of our healthcare in the last month and I wonder how many of our kids will be in college before we can afford to go on a date again.
And THAT is how getting flu shots makes you sick.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
My father disappeared again. Wonder how long he'll be under the radar this time?
Monday, October 22, 2007
On a related note- I will be taking a little hiatus from blogging until at least Nov. 3rd when the surgeon allows me to remove splint, bandages, and stitches. (Your mom was REALLY right.) (Also- I am really stupid.) Severed 2 tendons and a nerve. Will be having PT and OT for several months. Ever tried to change a diaper one-handed? Someday I will have something funny to say about that.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Mr Yuke(3): Chuck-Gr-Ama has the same name as you.
Mr. Yuke(3): You both have the same name. Of Gr-Amma.
Makes you hungry just thinking about it, doesn't it?
Now that I've gotten all the crud off my chest, (if not totally OUT of it)- Let me tell you about the field trip to the Pumpkin Patch. The Pinkiest(5) and her class had a field trip to the pumpkin patch. They went with the afternoon kids and that meant she had lunch at like 9:45 am and she had to show up at school with a water bottle and tennis shoes and sunscreen (oops.) and NO BACKPACK. Not that I particularly cared about any of these directions but the No Backpack thing seemed to be a real big deal for the kindergarten teachers because they sent home four different notes about it. The Pinkiest(5) also needed $2.00. This was absolutely required and if they did not bring it they would not get a pumpkin and they would not get a treat and they would not get a visit from Santa Claus and they would not get to go to the pumpkin patch! Ok, ok, we'll send her stupid $2.00. Geez. So, a week and a half before the field trip she starts asking me for the money. About ten times a day. I say yes, don't worry. We'll get your two dollars. 5 days before the field trip The Pinkiest(5) is practically in meltdown mode. "I need my two dollars." "Where is my two dollars?" "Don't forget my two dollars!" "What about my two dollars?"
ME: YES!!! I'LL GET YOUR TWO DOLLARS. JUST WAIT!
So she waited that morning, only bringing it up about fifteen more times. We get in the car because she missed the bus and as I'm driving her to school I realize- CRAP!!! I forgot the two dollars. That's just great. I start thumbing through my wallet. All I have is a five. She of course notices me perusing the cash stash and pipes in, "I NEED my two dollars!" And all I can see in my mind's eye is an image of claymation fast food items dancing. (Someone please confirm that those were in that movie and I'm not just losing my mind on random rejected commercial ad campaign pitches.) So I toss the five at her while emphatically stating that I want ALL the change and that means three dollars and I want it all. "Yeah. Ok, mommy. Bye." I watched her walk away with a sinking feeling that I'd never see that three dollars again.
And a strange desire to get a paper route.
Fast forward to later that day, about 15 minutes after she got home from school. Crying she says, "I lost my money!!!"
ME: What money?.... You mean MY money? My three dollars?
The Pinkiest(5): No, it's five. The sub wouldn't take it.
You can imagine my exasperation at this point. Because just what kind of amateurs are they paying to sub down at that school who don't even take care of the important things like collecting money for a field trip they know nothing about that's five days away? Doesn't this woman know that Murphy's Law and The Forces of the Universe and the brain of a mother of 6 all state that these sorts of things can only be remembered ONCE and therefore she will surely not have that stupid two dollars turned in for the field trip no matter how hard I try to make sure she does? It's unnatural. Well, then The Pinkiest(5) goes on to explain that she had the money in her backpack and she took it out when she got home to play with it (because why not? She's been home for fifteen minutes.) and it got lost. (Funny how kids always put it like that- "IT got" lost. I really had very little to do with it.)
Luckily she found it that night and I confiscated it. The good news is that the day of her fieldtrip I happened to read over the gazillionth note from the teachers about the requirements (Water bottle. Check. Sunscreen. In a minute. Two dollars. Oh crap!-) and we were able to find exactly two dollars this time around. But in the hunt for "my two dollars" we forgot the sunscreen. I guess two dollars and skin cancer late in life are a small price to pay for a pumpkin from the real-life actual pumpkin patch. At least she had a jacket with her and has therefore, NOT gotten sick. (Mom logic.) John Cusak's got nothin' on me.