Family Time and Lord of the Flies- It's All PG-13

Well it's been a crazy few weeks. We went to the every-other-year Brady family reunion at the end of June and had a great time. I always love hanging out with Husband's cousins and seeing the kids all hang out together. Altogether we're almost 100 people with half of those being kiddos. It's always really fun and somewhat exhausting.

HIGHLIGHTS:

Mr.Yuke(4) finding his BEST BUDDY Mr.J.T.(5) and spending every single minute together. Mr.J.T.(5) has a rule at his house that he can't visit friends/they can't visit him if his mom doesn't know their parents. He was shocked and then overjoyed to discover that I KNOW HIS MOM!!!!! so Mr.Yuke(4) can come over. !!!! I said, "Sure. SOMEtime. Not tomorrow. Not this year. But SOMEtime."
Mr.Yuke(4) didn't miss a beat: Yeah! I know! Like maybe when I'm PG-13 THEN I could go there!!!!!
They made plans to "be best buddies until [they] DIE. And after too."

CousinPA put together a funniest home videos night that had a special tribute to Husband's Grandma who you may remember left us the same week I lost the twins. It was really beautiful and had that "Let me go home" song on it that I love so much. Everyone was in tears. It was great. The woman lived a very full life. I told Husband later that I hope I live even half that full. (With this many kiddos that may be unavoidable. : ) )

They had a BIG GI-NORMOUS INFLATABLE WATERSLIDE on the first day. No, seriously. It was BIG.

We do a generations dinner one of the nights. I LOVE that. This year the grandparents all went out at 5:30 while us parents took our kids swimming in the hotel pool to get them tired, fed them fast food, and got them ready for bed so that the Grandparents could watch them at the hotel when they got back while we went out to dinner. We went to Chili's and had a great time. My favorite part of the evening was when SingerGirl told us an Emily Watts story. Essentially the story was about a trip Emily Watts took to Vegas and the intimidation she felt in hanging out in her bathing suit at the casino pool next to all the bronze hard-bodies. She ended up deciding that she would do them all the service of having someone to look better than in order for them to feel good about themselves. Charitable, no? Well at this point NotAFuddyDuddy says, "You know, I guess I always thought- it's not like people don't know what I look like. I'm not going to take off my clothes and they're going to go- 'OH MY GOSH!!! She's FAT!!!!! I had NO idea!' I thoroughly enjoyed that. Hopefully the humor wasn't just limited to her delivery of it.

The day after the reunion was over, we spent the day in one of our country's beautiful National Parks, just the eight of us. (Hee hee. That sounds funny.) Anyway, it was just us. It was really nice. We saw some beautiful scenery, hiked to a watertrickle, went to a museum, and drove THROUGH a mountain. MonsterTruck(3) got heat exhaustion and we didn't know the extent of it until that night as we were making the road trip back home when he started HALLUCINATING. I am not kidding. I'm talking FULL-ON acid-trip-style freak-out. Poor little kid. He just couldn't understand why we weren't DOING ANYTHING ABOUT THIS. (!!!!!!!!!!!) He screamed bloody murder for half an hour until we got home and got him in the shower. He never was convinced that what he was seeing was not there.

He had a fever the next day so I took him to the doctor. Turns out the heat exhaustion had combined with a virus we picked up at the reunion (The Pinkiest(5) got it too) and caused an extra-special side effect. Scary.

A couple days later I got said virus. Then I felt REALLY bad for the boy. It was HORR. I. BLE. It was some sort of infection of the spinal fluid that was localized in the neck and upper back. You know that feeling when water gets up your nose? Well it was like that only in your upper spine and the base of your head. It hurt A LOT and my arms got really weak like I couldn't lift them. Luckily the terrible pain and fever only lasted about a day and a half, but the recovery took almost a week of sleeping. The three of us slept a lot when we got back.

So I finally recovered from that fun (during which time the 4th of July came and went). [You know I was sick because the 4th is my MOST FAVORITEST holiday ever and I was so tired that all I was able to blog about it was the sentence I put down there about that stupid, terrible waste of $40 we spent at the movie theater that day. SO- happy 4th everyone! Freedom is a privilege that must be carefully guarded. : )] So anyway- I recovered. The next day I thought, oh good. I can finally get up and some stuff done. I got up. I showered. I put in a load of laundry. And I got a migraine. This pretty much only happens to me when I'm pregnant (migraines, that is). It was one of the really bad ones when you can't SEE. Sight is something that I depend on pretty heavily. Like toothpaste. And underwires. I NEED to see. I laid down in bed and sent the kids to every single neighbor within 5 houses in any direction in search of a caffeinated beverage. (That is DIVINE advice from my old OB.) Nobody had anything. I had no choice but to try to sleep it off, knowing full-well the Lord of the Flies scenario that would ensue. At one point during the day I vaguely remember hearing someone yell, "Kryptonite(1) ate the WHOLE jar of jelly!" I had visions of jelly stains on every surface of the first floor as I dozed. Fortune smiled on me in the form of the ProprietoroftheAllenCafe. She had loaned me a library book and she dropped by to get it so she could return it (hopefully before any overdue fines?). I'm a little hazy on the details but I know that upon seeing my children and the state they were in (I can only imagine, having spent my day gaining an appreciation for the blind,) she asked Little Mommy(9) if I was ok and did I need any help? LittleMommy(9) promptly replied that I had a migraine and what I needed was caffeine. TheProprietoroftheAllenCafe offered to get me something on her way back from the library and LittleMommy(9) sweetly informed her that it would need to be Dr. Pepper. (She's a good kid.) That angel of a woman brought me 2 liters of Dr. Pepper and took my jelly-slathered baby home with her. I picked Kryptonite(1) up about 4 hours later when the caffeine had kicked in and I could see again. I don't know what she looked like when she left but apparently it was bad enough to neccessitate a bath. THANK YOU ALLENCAFELADY!!! YOU ARE A LIFE-SAVER! (Unfortunately I think I probably mean that literally because who KNOWS what could have happened to her before Husband came home?)

Now I am trying to hang in there for a couple more weeks until FedEx brings my Twilight book. I re-re-read the three I have but there is still a couple weeks to go. Someone give me something to read, quick!!!

NOT GOOSE!!!!!

The hormones are a ragin' I tell you. Pregnancy is a funny thing. It's no wonder that just a century ago they were locking pregnant women up in asylums. That doesn't look like I spelled that right. Oh well. You know what I mean. The water works are just really primed and ready to go at any little thing. Like freedom. And fireworks. And Kryptonite(1) driving cars on my arm.

I read THE BEST book this week. For the official review you can look here, but suffice it to say, I broke up with Mr. Darcy over it. I loaned it to AmishAtHeart, but when she finishes it I am reading it again. I cried my eyes out at some parts so hard that my shirt was soaked. But that could be the hormones. Because I did the same thing last week when Maverick lost Goose. Again. : )

One Less Way to Die

Kids are dangerous. I think they should come with a warning label for their potential level of danger and mayhem. Maybe on the DEFCON scale or something. Some kids would just be at DEFCON-1. Those are the kids who may throw their bowl of applesauce off the high chair tray once or twice and maybe occasionally poop in the bathtub. (Yes, that happens.) I'm thinking of Valenzoo's children here, and you, Dharma. ThePinkiest(5) was once in this category but she was upgraded last year to DEFCON-4.

DEFCON-2 are your kids who don't get themselves into trouble but if left there, will continue to roll off the bed hoping that this time gravity will not exist, even though they have tested this theory 500 times to date and are old enough to retain the results of all their previous experiments. [LittleMommy(9)]

DEFCON-3 are the kids who think they are invincible or that they have super powers. I'm talking specifically about Mr.Yuke(4) here. Did I ever blog about the time he thought he actually WAS Superman? If I did, I apologize for repeating it here.

This is what happened. The boys all share a room. Bubba(7) has the top bunk, a twin. Mr.Yuke(4) has the bottom bunk, a double. Across the room a few feet is MonsterTruck's(3) bed, a toddler. Well, Mr.Yuke had on his new Superman jammies and he was sure that those pj's were all he needed to attain all the powers of Krypton. He decided the best way to test his power would be with flight. Specifically, he would fly from a standing position on MonsterTruck's(3) bed UP TO Bubba's(7) bed. Really, as far as SuperHero flight patterns go, this really was a small and easily attainable first attempt. Well, he made the leap, fell short of his goal (the top bunk), and SMACKED his head on the metal edge of the bottom bunk. Ever seen a headwound? Yeah, they're messy. So after slowing down the bleeding I ascertained that Mr.Yuke(4)-(then 3) was going to need several stitches. I took him to the emergency room- and here is the part where he warrants the DEFCON-3 rating as opposed to just the accident-prone DEFCON-2: As the doctor was stitching him up, asking him all those slightly insinuating/accusatory questions to make sure the parent didn't just make up a phony Superman story and actually bludgeon him with a blunt object, the doc says, "So you can't really fly, huh? (Then with confidence and somewhat in the tone of a gameshow host-) Well, you're not going to try that again are you?" Mr.Yuke's(4) answer? "Well, I fink it's because I didn't have my cape on. You need your cape to fly. I need to try it again WITH my cape." The doctor didn't even know what to say to that. He just gave me a look that said, "I pity you."

DEFCON-4: These are the kids who learn to open the child safety locks and pill bottles when they are 7 months old. They have advanced motor skills so many of them are also climbers and escape artists. MonsterTruck(3) falls into this category. I've mentioned before that we have called Poison Control more times for that kid than all the other kids put together. UPDATE: Since that post, we've called Poison Control four more times. He is just bent on killing himself, ok? DEFCON-4 kids are also the ones who are the evil genius masterminds behind all the naughtiness that takes place in a given household. This is where ThePinkiest(5) fits in. Last week when I posted the In A Word meme tag, it was because I needed a few days to find the humor in her latest scheme. It was still too fresh to be funny. Here is what happened.

I mentioned I'm clueless, right? Well, in spite of past experience, I left an open bag of flour in the kitchen overnight. [I guess that makes me a DEFCON-2 : )] ThePinkiest(5) and Mr.Yuke(4) discovered it the next day while I was upstairs laying down with Kryptonite(1). We were both just recovering from some sort of flu bug that was pretty nasty and we were plain dog tired. I heard the two of them downstairs laughing their maniacal laughter- and really, if I had been on top of my game instead of in a sick-induced stupor, I probably would have realized from the sound of that laughter that something insidious was taking place and would have put a stop to it before it escalated to where it did. But my pregnancy brain was not functioning at that Supermom level so I missed my cue for intervention. The first clue I got that something was not right was when MonsterTruck(3) came upstairs with white hair and said, "Mo-om. ThePinkiest(5) and Mr.Yuke(4) are pwaying wif duh fwower." I sent him to the shower and spent the next several minutes trying to work up the energy to go downstairs and see what the extent of the mess was. Now, the next part is unclear but from what I could gather it went like this: There had been a flour fight where handfulls of flour were thrown around (about 20 pounds worth, give or take). Then someone looked around and realized that they were going to be in BIG trouble so they decided they better clean it up. I think this must be the point when they added the water (about 2 gallons worth, all over the kitchen floor). At least I think they were using the water to clean it up with. I was a little too ballistic to gather accurate details at the time. You know what you get when you mix flour and water, right? Yep. They paper mache`d my entire kitchen floor. And then tried to sweep up the goo up with the broom. Oh- by the way, Lowe's has an excellent broom selection, just FYI. So I was exhausted, angry, still not feeling all that well, and was NOT under any circumstances going to get my pregnant self on my hands and knees to clean up that mess. I supplied the two of them with scrapers and later rags, and allowed them the joy of cleaning up their fun. ThePinkiest(5) actually said to me after about ten minutes of scraping, "It's NOT FAIR that WE have to clean up this mess." HA! MyBeautiful put it best when she said, "It's not fair. WE already spent FIFTEEN minutes making this mess. We shouldn't have to clean it up too." Things like this are why ThePinkiest(5) is permanently at DEFCON-4. That night I left the minute Husband came home and went to a movie with Smunchie and MyOtherMother. Husband is good like that. Sometimes it's necessary to leave your children for a short while in order to love them properly when you come back. We saw BabyMama. It was WAY better than the previews made it look.

DEFCON-5 is reserved for kids who bring drugs into the house and act violently against their family members. We don't have any of those. Knock on wood.

Kryptonite(1) has been a DEFCON-1 kid since she was born. I call that "the tender mercies of the Lord". She is easy and low-maintenance. She has only had two or three minor accidents in a year and she learned quickly from all of them. This week she learned two new things. She has expanded her vocabulary from "No" to "No" and "Hi!". And she learned to crawl down the stairs!!! (Insert angelic choir and applause here.) I am ecstatic. One less way to die. Now if I could just get her to stop playing in the potty every time someone forgets to close the bathroom door upon exiting the restroom, we'd be good. Because let's face it, the only thing worse than your baby drowning, is your baby drowning in pee-water from a toilet that was left unflushed by an older sibling. WHY can't they flush the toilet?! WHY? I just don't get it.

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.

Papagaio

I have a bad habit. Ok, fine. I have more than one. But there is one that is particularly problematic. I say a few bad words. Not any of the ones that get a movie an R-rating, mind you; more the type that are on evening television. Nonetheless, they are bad. I think it is wrong to say them. They never sound bad coming out of my own mouth. It's always when they make a debut appearance on the tongue of one of my children that I cringe and kick myself for ever having uttered that word. Case in point: SUCKS. This word is everywhere. I use it frequently. It barely crosses my mind that it is inappropriate. That is, it didn't, until Bubba(7) also started using it frequently. Only then did I realize how ugly that particular word sounds to the listener. I have tried suggesting to him that it may not be the nicest word to use but well, the boy has heard it a few too many times for that to make a difference. As sad as Bubba's(7) use of the word "suck" is to me though, it is LittleMommy's(9) language that has always been a source of embarrassment to me.

The first time was in Nursery. (Nursery at our church is the class for 18month-3 year-olds. They sing songs, have a short lesson and a snack, play toys, color, and blow bubbles. Oh, and cry. Usually.) So there is LittleMommy(20m) in Nursery and the leaders start singing the clean-up song. LittleMommy(20m) turns to the other toddlers in the room and says, "We need to cwean up dis cwap." Fortunately, the Nursery leaders thought it was funny and didn't shame me for it- too much. I wanted to die. I went home and prayed that day that the other kids didn't learn a new word to take home and demonstrate for their parents.

The next time I remember was at Sunday dinner with the in-laws. Sunday dinner at the in-laws' house is a proper, formal affair, complete with china, crystal, cloth napkins, and napkin rings. LittleMommy(3) came to the table, climbed up on her knees in her chair and peered into the serving bowl in front of her. Motherinlaw had made Stroganoff as she had many times- (one of the best things she makes. Mmmmm)- and the bowl in front of LittleMommy(3) was filled with noodles. After looking at them for a moment while everyone else seated themselves, LittleMommy(3) asked, "What the hell are these noodles?". Motherinlaw registered a look of something like horror. Fatherinlaw nearly had an aneurism stifling his laughter into his napkin. Husband and I both tried to keep straight faces while Motherinlaw chided LittleMommy(3). I thought I would die.

A couple of weeks later at yet another Sunday dinner, partway through the meal, LittleMommy(3), using her best manners, said sweetly, "Pass the damn beans." That time Husband and I were both stifling laughter while simultaneously getting the stinkeye from Motherinlaw. Fatherinlaw was unusually quiet. I think he got in trouble the time before. Moneybags jumped in and told LittleMommy(3) not to talk that way. I think I did die.

And so it went. Every few years at inopportune times LittleMommy would insert new and colorful vocabulary into her dialogue, always to my shame and horror. Then last week, her Primary teacher (Sunday School for kids) posted this story on her blog:

"This past Sunday we were teaching our 9 & 10 year old primary class all about Abinidi and evil King Noah. [A story from the Book of Mormon. Don't be hatin', just keep reading.~Aberjaber] Brett was giving some background info on King Noah's dad, King Zeniff. He told them that King Zeniff had been a good King but that his son did not follow in his foot steps. The kids wanted to know why King Zeniff had allowed Noah to be the next king since he was so evil. One of our sweet primary kids offered this suggestion.
"He was probably a kiss ass to his dad." "

Now, I happen to know that this particular term has been a favorite around this household for a month or two, thanks to "Night at the Museum". (No, they don't learn all the bad words from me, thank you very much.) In spite of my t.v. woes, and the fact that my kids aren't even allowed to watch PG-13 movies until they are 13, they still manage to pick up the choice phrases in our video collection. I confronted PrimaryTeacherFriend and she would not admit whether it was LittleMommy(9) or not. I'm afraid though, with her colorful history, there can be little doubt. : )

I am working on breaking this bad habit. Hopefully I'll have kicked it by the time Kryptonite(1) goes to Nursery. It's the advantage of having big families. Eventually, you're bound to stop messing the kids up. I hope. : )



P.S.- Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. I bet you're SICK of checking back here and finding nothing. I've been SICK too. Morning sick, that is. Wish me luck this time around.

Home Schoolin'

I recently had an epiphany in which I realized that I should be a librarian when I grow up. I was ecstatic. The long years I've spent narrowing down what I want to do with my life, finally at an end. Now, a path. That starting place, a jumping off point, a direction to a determinded destination. I called That College I Sometimes Go To, to inquire about which classes I could take online while I am waiting for Muhloo(10mo) to go to school. I discovered that Library Science is actually a Masters program. One which, incidentally, is not offered at Said College.

Deep breath. "Okay, well do you have any idea what sort of Undergraduate degree I should pursue with that Masters in mind?"

"Oh, pretty much anything. Of course something with English or Literature is always good, but really any field that interests you would work."

So much for narrowing down what I want to do with my life.

So I go in and meet with an Advisor. She tells me that I can choose between Comparative Literature ( YES!) which she is advising me against (NO!) and English, which she thinks would be my best bet. Why would English be better I ask? Well the Comparative Lit. degree doesn't have any major classes available online. English on the other hand has tons.

"Explain to me the difference between the two."

"Well, Comparative Literature would be studying and comparing literature (oh, really?), while (and this next part came in hushed and reverential tones-) English would be studying the intracacies of the English Language. (Enter the choir of heavenly angels now). Hmmm. I wonder which classes SHE teaches?

The intracacies of the English language. Hmmm. Semicolon 101? I don't think so. Thanks, but I get all the English Language learnin' I need reading the "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks. Ok, Comparative Lit it is. And actually I still have some G.E.'s to get out of the way so I can do those online while I wait for Muhloo(10mo) to grow.

Thinking about the general education I am soon to receive at home got me thinking about the general education I have already received there.

Since we're already on English, let's just start there:

Pronunciation of Consonants (PrCn160)-
Me: Wwwww-ipes
Monster Truck(2): Yyyyyyipes.
Me: Wwwwwipes
Monster Truck(2): Yyyyyyipes.
Me: Wwwwwwwww
Monster Truck(2): Wwwww
Me: Good! Do it again!
Monster Truck(2): Wwwwww!
Me: Now say, wwwwwipes.
Monster Truck(2): WwwwwwYipes.

Try to say that. It's really hard.
(Note: Monster Truck(2) graduated this week from wwwwYipes to Lipes. Also, I think speaking toddlerese 6 times earns me a Minor in Foreign Language.)

Zoology 100 (ZooL100)-
Little Mommy(9) informed me today that she is pretty sure she broke her toe at school because she dropped something heavy on it and then just kept "slumping around" all day.

Mr. Yuke(4) popped his knuckle night before last while wrestling with his dad.
Mr Yuke(4): OH NO! I broke my ANKLE BUTTON! It WASN'T WORTH IT!!!!
[I actually think I should get double credit for this one in Drama 120 (Dra120)]

Economics For Small Business (Econ160)-
Me: No one in this family is allowed to charge for breakfast or lunch at school under any circumstances whatsoever. Do you understand me? (Collective nodding of heads.) Charging is not a good practice to get into and we do not have the money for that. I have already talked with the lunch lady. Her computer says you guys can't charge. Okay? (Nodding again.) We have perfectly good food at home you can eat for breakfast and take for lunch. There is no reason ever to charge. Got it? (More nodding.)

-----

Me: What do you mean you owe $10.45 to the school and they're kicking you out in January if you haven't paid it yet?! What have you been doing with ALL THOSE LUNCHES you took to school?! ... Uh huh. ... I see. Well you are paying those charges with the money from your own piggy bank. ... Yes, it is fair. ... No, I provided you with food the first time around when you chose to throw it away. You owe money too?!!! How much do YOU owe? $6.80? How can you owe $6.80? Lunch prices don't even add up to that! (STUPID LUNCH LADY!) You TELL that lunch lady that I want an itemized receipt for that. ... It means a list of all the charges. ... Yes, she can. ... If you can't remember "itemized" then just say 'my mom wants a receipt.'. ...WHAT?!!!! YOU aren't even AT school for lunch time!!! HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY HAVE CHARGES AT SCHOOL?!!! ... Breakfast? You eat breakfast at home. ... I don't CARE if you like french toast better than cheerios, you're not allowed to eat at school without taking money!

I should get an honorary degree in Social Science for that one just on the grounds that no one got maimed. : )

Psychology 210 (Psy210)-
One of Husband's roommates was a Psych major. Not my favorite person come to think of it. The reason for that was that he was constantly doing/saying/encouraging things solely to elicit a reaction and then to analyze all the people involved. The world was his laboratory, the human race his lab rats. In honor of the roommate I'll call Dozen Roses, my psych experiment:

Monster Truck(2): You're taking a BAFF?!!! (Read: Have you LOST YOUR MIND?)
Me: Yep.
Monster Truck(2): Why aye you taking a baff?
Me: Because my back hurts (stupid cheap Walmart junk...).
Monster Truck(2): Because yo-ee back hurts? You takinga baff because yo-ee back hurts?
Me: Mmhm.
Monster Truck(2): Hmm. Nice and Yarm.


I'm also pretty sure I've already earned at least a minor in Children's Literature and probably Early Childhood Development as well. I can offhandedly quote Dr. Seuss, Shel Silverstein, e.e. cummings, and Mem Fox. Sad, but true.

I've learned how to fix baby beds, action figures, boo-boos and dinners. I've written journals and blogposts and permission slips and excuse notes. I've made costumes and messes and excuses and FHE lessons; done homework and housework and yardwork and God's work. I've made babies and a family. I've made a home.

I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to comtemplate what I wanted to do with my life. In taking the time to contemplate it, I did it.

Silver Lining

They have almost forgiven me. I offended them deeply, again, but forgiveness (almost) always comes. I spend a lot of time making it up to them. I take good care and let them know how much I love them. Yes. My plants have almost forgiven me (for getting pregnant, of course).

Every time I get pregnant it's the same scenario (the variable being how many people live in the house). Roughly 35 seconds after conception I start throwing up like a cancer patient. Shortly thereafter, I stop talking to all my neighbors and most of my friends. All non-essential life support systems are shut down. This includes things like watering plants, answering the phone, showering every single day, and writing notes to the school to excuse absences. (If you're wondering how I manage that, it's like this:

To Whom It May Concern,

Please excuse all of the [Aberjaber] children from any and all absences between (fill in the month) and (fill in the month). I assure you, if they were allowed to stay home during this time period, it was only because they were deathly ill. If you have a problem with this you may call me.

Thank you,

Aberjaber

I have yet to receive a call.)

So usually the first nonessential things to go are the plants. They put on a good show, trying to stay perky for as long as possible; but in the end they always either die or are mortally damaged before some other member of the family takes pity on them. I am not proud of this. I feel as bad about this as you might feel about neglecting to feed a family pet- but, there it is.

Please don't misunderstand. I am not one of those black thumb people. Thank goodness, no. Plants can be mostly content coexisting with me. That said, I don't have a green thumb either. I acquire plants most often from My Beautiful. My Beautiful is one of those green thumb people. That is probably understating it. If the truth be told, she is sort of like the Layla character on "Sky High". Her MANY plants really know when she is home and they are all constantly vieing for her attention. "Look at me, I'm so big and full!" "No! Look at me! See how all my leaves are the deepest shade of green and I am so perfect and shiny I don't even look real?" "I have all these flowers I bloomed especially for you!" My Beautiful can grow anything. Indoors, outdoors, garden, pot, or planter box- the plants grow for her as if she is the sun and the rain. She really is that wonderful. When you think about it, you can't really blame the plants.

So my plant acquisition always goes something like this:

My Beautiful: I was thinning some of my gorgeous plants because they are so thick and luxurious they can't possibly continue in one pot. (I may be paraphrasing here a little.) I have a whole bunch of starts. I already potted most of them but I have a few left. Would you like to have one?

Me: Yes! Of course!

My Beautiful: You'll need to get a pot. This (fill in the blank) likes a lot of (this type of fertilizer). You'll need to give it...

...

...

and then...

....

Be sure to...

....

I think I have some (whatever kind of fertilizer/soil conditioner) if you want me to bring it over next time I come. (Then, seeing the glazed over look on my face and the expression of complete bewilderment as I say-)

Me: Sooooo... I water it then. How often...?

This is when she realizes that the poor little start doesn't really stand a chance with me. Then the next time she sees me she brings an already-potted and fertilized start that has been nursed along a bit and is doing quite well. This is the main reason my plants always look so nice and are healthy for years at a time- they are still basking in My Beautiful's care of them. Then, one of two things happens:

1. I get pregnant and they die.
2. I get pregnant and they become only "mostly dead". Again with the Princess Bride- must be time to watch that again.

(Note that NOT getting pregnant never happens. Ever.)

So then I do one of two things:

1. I throw the plants away and wait until I am deemed capable of plant stewardship again, or
2. I pull off all the dead leaves and water them twice a day and hope that if I do this a lot, they will not end up bald like Aphrodite. (Aphrodite was an aptly named, huge golden pothos with tendrils 5 feet long and was our college apartment mascot- yes I know what a mascot is-. She thrived for 3 years until she was turned over to my care when I got married. Aphrodite lived happily with me- until I got pregnant. Poor Aphrodite. She was never the same. A moment of silence.)

I think my plants are going to come out of this pregnancy unscathed. And that is the silver lining.

Bittersweet

It's not my favorite kind chocolate chips. I'm a milk chocolate girl, all the way.

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.

The Cats Are Out of the Bag

Well, I haven't posted for a while because I've been sick. I had the flu Monday and Tuesday- a natural reaction to the domino effect started by Mr. Yuke 2 weeks ago which is still finishing up with the last family members right now. Cleaning up the puke and diarrhea has kept me too busy to blog. (Sorry if that grosses you out.) I've been wondering WHY we spent the money and the time and the aggravation to go get those stupid flu shots. AND, I've had morning sickness for the last three weeks as well.

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