Clueless

When Husband read my post about our movie date, his first question was, "Why didn't you put a link to Indiana Jones?" I cannot believe I made such a blunderous oversight. : ) [Here is a link to Indiana Jones.] Then he proceeded to tell me all the details I had gotten wrong because I am, as I said, clueless. Here is a printed correction:

The hat from the original Raiders milliner is from Canada, not Brazil.
The leather jacket is from Brazil. (I knew that.)
The sucker with the picture of Indy on the wrapper was not purchased in Disneyland. It was actually procured in Switzerland. That is cooler I think.

So there you go. I'm a clueless wife. : ) I say at least I knew he had all that stuff.

My cluelessness is not limited to the collection of Indiana Jones paraphenalia which sits in my house. When I am pregnant I get a SEVERE case of pregnancy brain. The kiddos keep doing all these funny things and I think, "Oh, I'll have to blog about that." Then I sit down four hours later and cannot for the life of me remember anything funny they have ever done in their entire lives. Mr.Yuke(4) has not ceased his antics but I can't seem to retain any of it for longer than two seconds.

The funny stories are not the only thing my brain has a hard time with when I'm pregnant. Day before yesterday, I got a call from the anesthesiologist's billing office. Apparently, we owe the balance after what the insurance covered and they would like to get paid. That is all fine. I was unaware that the insurance didn't cover all of it. No problem. But the conversation went something like this:

Caller: Hi. Is this Aberjaber?
Me: Yes.
Caller: This is Caller from SomeplaceorOtherAnesthesia.
Me Huh. Have I ever had that? When did I ever have that? Then looking at my hand comprehension dawns: Yes?
Caller: We show you have a balance with us of SomeAmountorOther for Anesthesiology.
Me: I have insurance. Don't they cover (what's that word? Dang. I can't think of it.) Anes...thesio...lo...gia? Anesthesio...? Anes...?
Caller: Which company is your provider?
Me: Anesthesia! InsuranceCompanyX
Caller: Yes. It appears that they paid the part they cover and you are now responsible for the balance.
Me: Oh. Ok.

Yes. This sort of thing happens to me several times a day. I go from a working vocabulary of 20,000 words before I'm pregnant, to barely communicating through a series of grunts and pointing for nine months every time I conceive. It's a little funny. And a lot frustrating. Even this post is taking me forever to write because I keep having to delete words and put the correct ones in their place.

The pregnancy is going well. I am now in my 14th week and feel like I can sit back and celebrate the fact that I'm pregnant without worrying anymore. I hope that's not naiive.

The child of my youth has been gone to visit her grandparents on an extended vacation. LittleMommy(9) left a week before school got out and we won't see her until the family reunion at the end of this month. I'm really missing her. I hate letting my kids grow up. It stinks. : ) She is having a good time but she misses her siblings and has found out ThatPlaceThatWeUsedToLive is not ShangriLa after all. I think that she will appreciate us more when she gets back. At least that's what I'm hoping.

MonsterTruck(3) is finally pooping in the potty. I sort of- through a series of unfortunate events which were largely out of my control- didn't ever potty train him. PianoGirl believes that kids will potty train themselves when they are ready and that formal potty training doesn't really work. I have hoped this to be true since I have been unable to potty train him for the last eight months. Having done it both ways now, I can say that for me- the frustration of two intense weeks is far less than the frustration of eight months of unnecessary diaper/pullup changing. But that's just me. I am SO THANKFUL he has finally decided to get on the band wagon.

You know who else is clueless? I'll give you a hint. It is June. Until yesterday it was 55 degrees outside. I'm just sayin' is all. Thank goodness it is beginning to warm up. Summer vacation should feel summer-y. That's all I have to say about that.

ISMs

I haven't posted for a while because my children are still being posessed and I am at a loss for what to say about that. I have a post that is an unfinished work in progress which I can hopefully soon publish. In the meantime, here are some isms of late.

Mr. Yuke(4): I have erasers between my toes.
Me: Erasers?
Mr Yuke(4): Yes. Look. It's like erasers. (Shows me toe-jam.)

Monster Truck(2), removing wet pull-up: Yookit dis. Dis is wet. SMELL IT. (Only boys, I swear.)

Bubba(7) whose last doctor appointment was several months ago, CRYING: I don't WANT to get a shot!
Me: What are you talking about?
Bubba(7): I don't WANT to get a shot?
Me: You're not going to get a shot. You don't have an appointment.
Bubba(7): I know. But SOMEDAY.

My girls have not been very funny. Little Mommy(9) I think, has (sadly) grown out of the funny stage and has not yet grown into her teen-angst-driven-humor years. I await that with eager anticipation. And dread. More dread I think. Here is one of her greatest hits though:

Little Mommy(3): What's that? Are we having soup?
Me: No, it's stew.
Little Mommy(3): What's stew?
Me: It's kind of like soup, but thicker.
DogMom: Oh, good! Brochen!
Grampa: Hey! Brochen!
ArtisticallySpecificTastes: We're having brochen? I love brochen!
Little Mommy(3) indignant that all these grown-ups are so stupid: It's not BUTT-CHOSEN! It's STEWP!

Dirty Words

Human anatomy has become a favorite topic with the pygmies around here lately. Apparently certain body parts are the pinnacle of funny and I was just unaware. Not cute little words like "Bum" and "Knickers McFanny" (thank you Nanny McPhee). No, I'm talking the real whoppers that Brother has a hard time with. I have no idea how to handle that. It seems like it's only more gratifying to them if I react to it and remind them ever-so-gently that it's best not to say those words in the middle of the grocery store AT THE TOPS OF THEIR LUNGS! Oh, yes. That brings on gales of laughter. On a related note- does anyone know what a pee-nit is?
Kids-4, Mom-0

There are some other dirty words I've been contending with lately. Closely related to the human anatomy issue is the ever-dreaded potty training. Now, in the name of good personal hygiene, I have always had the child who has an accident take a quick shower. None of my other kids thought much of this. Well, it turns out that Monster Truck(2) really likes the shower. A LOT. He is quite joyful when he announces that he has peed/pooped himself AGAIN so "I need a shower!". The enthusiasm with which he delivers that sentence just can't be captured in the written word. Suffice it to say, he could just as easily be saying, "I'm going to Knotts Berry Farm! With Santa Claus!!!" Anyway, I don't really know what to do. As long as he keeps getting to get clean after an accident he's not going to try to stop having them. Do I let him walk around smelling like a port-a-potty?
Kids-5, Mom-0

Mucous is another dirty word I've been contending with. There seems to be a surplus of it in the world. Sadly, my children got my genes and therefore will most likely not learn to blow their noses until they go to college. (True story. I just couldn't do it.) They try. Several of them blow out their mouths into a tissue expecting to expectorate the junk in their noses. That's kind of funny, actually. I will continue to wipe their noses I guess. For the next 12 years.

Chores. SIGH. What can I even say about that? Ah. I know. To quote a (cyber) friend:

"Frickin' farker frickafrack!!! Scream."

Yep. That about covers it. Bubba's(7) friend came over the other day to get Bubba(7) so they could go play at the friend's house. Bubba(7) had not quite finished his chores and he had to finish before they could leave. His friend stood there and watched with disdain while Bubba(7) unloaded the dishwasher. After a few minutes the friend said, "I don't have to do any chores." Bubba(7) shot me the stinkyeye and said, "That's because your mom is nice." (Slam the bowl down.) Me: (No, that's because your mom doesn't think you can do anything yourself you big baby.) Ok. So I admit it. That wasn't a nice thought. But really, do you have to come into my house and make my slaves start having thoughts about the injustices of their lives? I have already been dealing with a near-revolutionary uprising the past few months, no thanks to my next dirty word: Cabin Fever.
Kids-6, Mom-0

Ah, cabin fever. The current bane of my existence. I don't know who has it worse- me or the kids. No one wants to do any chores. No one wants to listen to the parents. No one wants to stay in this house for ten more seconds. I'm just sayin' is all. You know the other problem with being cooped up all winter long? Dirt.

Yes, Dirt. That is my last dirty word for this post. I never realized that Cabin Fever is the reason for Spring cleaning. I always had a vague impression that spring was just some arbitrary time someone picked because the weather is neither too cold nor too hot. WRONG. The reason spring cleaning is in the spring is because with a bunch of kids and no Alice in the house for almost 5 months straight, the house is dirtier than the garden. There are mystery handprints on the walls that have no explanation other than that their origins could not possibly have been any one of my children. ("It wasn't ME!") My children have managed to get crumbs in corners that no human (or vacuum) could ever fit into (behind the bunkbed, under the bookshelf, etc.) The kitchen floor hasn't been scrubbed in I'm-not-going-to-say-how-long (in part because of my feelings about mopping but also) because the kids haven't been able to be outside long enough for it to dry, so what's the point? Yesterday spring finally got here. I hope beyond hope it stays. The weather in This Place That I Live is a little unpredictable this time of year. I remember one June that it was 95 degrees one day and THE VERY NEXT DAY IT SNOWED. I am not making this up. Anyway, if the weather holds out at least for the weekend I'm going to get the dirt (and the dirty kids!) out of the house. Ooooo! It's going to be so great!

What's Really Important

So we sailed through the extreme cinnamon rolls without incident. We somehow coped when all the laundry in the entire house was dirty (until Husband valiantly saved the day and washed most of it). We got by when I was puking my face off. We survived pulling out of school early, throwing stuff in a backpack and driving ten minutes later to the other end of the state to see our Grandma on her deathbed. We hung on through the loss of our babies, the D&C, and Grandma's funeral. And then, I did it. The stupidest thing I could ever have done. I said- OUT LOUD- that the kids had handled everything remarkably well. And then I SHOULD HAVE called an exorcist, because ever since that day, they have been decompressing (read: posessed) to an extreme degree. I have been in tears more than once and have sat seething in anger a few times too. Seriously, it's been all I can do to remind myself that families are the most important thing on earth and that I love those kids more than anything else in this world. Mostly, I've just wanted to hang a cardboard sign around their necks and stick them out on the curb.
"FREE. TAKE ONE."

I guess I'm grateful for a perspective which helps me at times like this to remember what it is I love and what's really important.


Tonight, I took dinner to a friend who is sick. She's the sort of person who is CONSTANTLY helping other people but doesn't let anyone help her. I insisted on bringing the food in spite of her polite refusals because- who doesn't need homemade chicken noodle soup? I'm not even sick and I want some. Anyway, I made the soup, some homemade buttermilk biscuits (something that I am somehow very good at in spite of the baking-challenged environment I was raised in), homemade whipped honey butter, and my famous chocolate chip cookies. (Yes, they are famous. No, you can't have the recipe. It's my very own and I can count the number of people I've disclosed it to on one hand- and they've all been SWORN to secrecy. I developed the cookies because I was feeling competitive with my friend Piano Girl who was always bragging about how great her cookies are. Someday I'll have to make her some of them.) Anyway, my kids were totally excited about the cookies they just happened to notice baking in the kitchen. I told them that I was taking some to The Nicest Lady I Know and that they could have some later during Family Home Evening. I got the food all ready to go, pulled the hot biscuits out of the oven and arranged them on a tray, and carried everything to the car. Immediately, Monster Truck(2) started crying. He began potty training today so I thought maybe he was stressed about me leaving him to tend to his bathroom needs by himself for four minutes. Or maybe he wanted to come too, but I didn't have time to look for his shoes. ALWAYS the shoes. He has a little toddler crush on me right now so his big huge tears just melted my heart. He just loves me so much. It almost made all the psycho-children moments this week seem worth it because he so obviously wanted to be with me. I called up the stairs to Little Mommy(9) to watch the little boys while Bubba(7!) and I delivered the food to our friend a block and a half away. Then I quick-shut the door and locked the deadbolt with my key so Monster Truck(2) couldn't get out. We got into the car, started to back out of the driveway, and I see Monster Truck(2) standing in the open doorway, wailing out into the night, "MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!" "Oh, poor [Monster Truck(2)]", I said to Bubba(7). We delivered the food as fast as we could and returned in 4 or 5 minutes. When I came home Little Mommy(9) was sweetly distracting Monster Truck(2) from my absence. I walked in and his little face lit up- "MOMMY!". I rushed to him and gave him a hug saying, "See? I came back. I wouldn't leave you." Then he looked up into my face with anger and resentment burning behind his eyes and said, "YOU TAKED THE TOOKIES buh-bye." The little booger never wanted ME at all! Like I said, I'm glad I know what I love and what's really important. And so does Monster Truck(2), apparently.
Score: Kids-3, Mom-0

Back in the Saddle Again

So the other day it accidentally came out that I had quit blogging. Obviously Husband is one of my more devoted readers since this came as a huge surprise to him. Anyway- I told him everything I was feeling- from the alien invasion, to the reaction to Charlotte, to somewhereelseat.blogspot.com. He was surprisingly understanding about it and took it much better than I had given him credit for. Of course he then proceeded with the line of reasoning that this backed up his earlier blog theories but I didn't let that bother me. I was so pleased at how supportive and amiable he was about it I didn't mind. TwinScrapper and I had discussed it and we decided that the invasion was probably over anyway so I decided to take up blogging again. I'm glad too because you know- I've missed it.

So- on the homefront-

This week we've had:
-Teacher2 inform me that while Husband and I may have known Bubba(6) since his conception, after less-than-careful observation of him for four days she believes that our School-Psychologist-Recommended Disciplinary action against him is unnacceptable and that if we do not do what SHE says, she will PERSONALLY UNDO THE CONSEQUENCE HE HAS CHOSEN. But I suppose that is for another blog. Maybe somewhereelseat.blogspot.com is going to com in handy after all.
-2 dentist appointments WITH NO CAVITIES!!!! (I had to document it with the caps lock on and everthing because I believe it very likely this may be the only time in LittleMommy's(8) life that it happens.)
-A well baby check for Babyloo who has officially been given a nickname. Now and for however long it seems appropriate Babyloo will be known as Muhloo(-). Maybe you're saying to yourself "how is that any different?". Trust me. It is.
-A physical for AberJaber. Prognosis is good I guess. After extensive testing by a medical assistant they can conclude that I am alive and need to pay them $10. The good news is that for that price, the appointment also included a Tetanus-Pertussus booster cocktail. Can I just say that when the nurse tells you your arm will only be sore for about a day, that's a D*%$ lie. "Day" my *$$.
-a biting incident (also LittleMommy(8). I guess 1 out of 2 aint bad). Wow. Even typing "aint" makes my skin crawl.
-The mommy suggestion that Monster Truck(2) is NOT on the Dark Side and that He and Mr.Yuke(3) had better use their light sabers to fight Darth Vader (who is the couch) together. "Yeah. Let's go, Jedi! (whack, whack) Let's kill my Father! (whack, whack) Who is that couch. (whack, whack) That couch is my father! And this makes NO sense." (whack, whack).
-The Great Toilet Seat Debaucle of '07. It's this that I've chosen to blog about this evening.

As you know, Mr. Yuke(3) is at the most entertaining stage of all the Little People around here at this time. Kid cracks me up constantly. Well, I suppose the Great Toilet Seat Debaucle started with Monster Truck(2). Or maybe The Pinkiest(5). It happened like this. The Pinkiest(5) is a bit obsessive. Her current obsession is tutus. They are her uniform for life outside of school. And she only makes that concession because it's too cold to stand at the busstop with bare legs at THAT TIME of the day. Monster Truck(2) picked up on this obsession and found it amusing. Now, whether to emmulate her or to make fun of her, I can't be sure (but my money is on the second one-), he decided that he would wear a tutu too. Only his would be the Elmo toilet seat that fits onto the big potty which we recently bought him to start potty training on soon. Since we have not used the seat for its intended purpose, he has adapted it for a tutu in the interim. The Pinkiest(5) puts on her uniform and starts dancing around and he runs and puts that toilet seat on and dances behind her. Brothers. Anyway, I've tried to stop the toilet ballet a number of times because one- I don't want this particular use of the toilet seat to continue once we employ it in less tidy duties (or should I say doodies?) and two- it's a tight fit around his middle and I've worried that one of these times he is going to get stuck. Well, Mr. Yuke(3) beat him to it. Yesterday, Mr. Yuke(4) came to me and said, "Mom, can you help me?" He had put that toilet seat around his neck. I have no idea how he did this. If you had seen it you would agree with me that he must have the mutant power to shrink and re-enlarge his own head or else maybe he has retractable ears- because no one could have gotten that thing on him. Or OFF. I said yes, I'd help him, but first I'd have to take a few pictures. I found a camera and he happily showed off his newly acquired neck-gear. But then it had to come off. I couldn't get it. Then Husband tried and he couldn't get it either. Then THE SHRIEKING started. If you know Mr. Yuke(3), you know which sound I mean, although for once it didn't make me mad because I felt really bad for the Little Toilet Head. LittleMommy(8) brought Husband some lotion and they slicked up his ears. I left the room for a minute and by the time I got back they had it off. Poor kid has bruised, scraped temples today though. And now I have to grapple a little with the mommy guilt that in Mr. Yuke's(3) moment of crisis I was already planning out scrapbook pages. ("Back in the Saddle Again"- I could frame the shot with a toilet seat.... Hmm. I'll have to buy some Elmo stickers.... Where is that camera?...)

What a week. I tell ya. I don't know how I've held all this stuff in. Ahhhhhhh.... (Cathartic sigh of relief.) It's good to be blogging again.