Thank goodness it's February, that is.
January was quite the month. Moving, unpacking, sick kids and spending night after night waking up every couple of hours made it drag just a bit. I felt like every day was 72 hours. The cherry on top was my stinkin' car. It broke down the very day I finally went in to work for the first time. That means I showered, put on semi decent clothing, wore make up and even brushed my hair. I had a great friend come and babysit. I wasn't even stressed, I was looking forward to going out unencombered. My friend showed up on time, the B didn't mind me leaving and I had a good time in my meeting. I went out to the parking lot to go home, .. and the car wouldn't start.
Thankfully my other great friend was also at work and when I called in a panic she dashed straight out to help. She even lent me her car (I'd forgotten how fun it is to drive a stick!) By the time I had figured out how to get myself with the newborn down to my work parking lot to meet a tow truck driver, four days had passed. I was playing child schedule frogger; let's see, feed baby every twoish hours, kindergartner needs to be piicked up at 12, B needs a nap from 1 - 2:30, big boys come home at 3,... no, there just wasn't a good time.
The auto repair place I went to couldn't find a problem, and generously didn't charge me for figuring out there was nothing wrong (I've been charged $25 before because I was too stupid to figure out I needed to push a certain button to get the interior lights to come back on. One good reason not to let your one year old play in the car). Just told me what a great time he had driving the car. It is a nice car,.. when it runs. So, great friend grabbed my car and took it back to work for me to pick up later on.
This past Saturday we go down to pick up the car. I figure it'll be a quick pick up; so I don't shower, wear weird clothing choices (I was unpacking,..) don't worry about packing diapers and forget my phone. Of course.
Hubby leaves me with the four little kids to take home in the errant car while he dashes off to Home Depot to feed his 'homedepoholism'. (This is a very real side effect of redoing your home; women beware,..)
I start driving home,.. and the car stalls on the freeway. I make it to a side street where it completely shuts down,.. again. Go through my options, of which there are not many. Have no phone, so can't call anyone. Even if I go knock on a door, I am embarrassed to say I don't even KNOW any of my phone numbers. Not hubby's cell phone; not my new phone number, not even great friend's cell phone. I rely on my cell phone way too much.
Wait ten minutes; car starts. I gun it home, it's not far. Car peters out on the main boulevard. I see if I can possibly push it, but the street is too steep and the car starts to roll back the minute I put it in neutral. Thankfully not a minute passes and a man pulls over to help me. I'm sure he's still taking vicadin for the spasms his back is having after pushing that car with all of us in it.
We land in a Century 21 office and the realtor working is great. He lets us come in and use the phone. We take over a conference room and he pops popcorn and brings soda for the kids. I call a tow truck and taxi then realize I can call my parents' in law for hubby's phone number! Yay!
Call hubby and he's on his way to the next auto shop I choose thanks to the tow truck driver's input. Get all the kids in the car with hubby, put key in lock box and depart for home. Suddenly realize I have locked hubby's work truck keys in the broken down car. I will NEVER, EVER win.
So, I'm wondering if I'm a good candidate for Oprah's next mystical book club reading and online Webinar that promises that we make our own destiny, or something like that. Something very The Secretish. Which I think is laughable, because, yes, ridiculous things do seem to happen to me, but I think I'm handling it pretty well. I wouldn't call myself a victim. Of anything but my own ineptitude anyway.
So the nice highpoint of January was a great friend coming over for dinner. Now, I love it when single friends think they are funny and bring the boys a ridiculous amount of sugar, which this (so called) friend did. Not only that, but after they'd consumed an inordinate amount of Hershey's and Red Vines, he proceeded to tell them stories about how I had tattooes. To which my middle kid embarrassingly and very matter of factly announced that 'No, we've seen mom naked lots of times and she doesn't have any tatooes."
Just so you know, I can' t help it and I've imbibed in the sugar fest. Why don't I just buy my own candy bar? I think it's because if I steal my kids' candy it doesn't have any calories.
I took a bite out of the middle kid's hershey bar. He saw that and gasped, "You have a big mouth, mom!" (Yes, all the better to yell at you with, my dear,..) So, now I'm sticking to the red vines, so much harder to tell when you steal those, what with the 1000 or so that come in the vat that is sitting in my cupboard.
So, on with February and Valentine's Day! More kid's candy to steal!
Friday, February 01, 2008
What is Beautiful?
I love this picture; it's the kids in the neighborhood in Banda Aceh, where we lived. Our boys had a hot and cold relationship with the gang; one minute they are all riding bikes up and down the roads, finding fish in the gutters and then my blondies were getting kicked off the football field for being horrible players (they were) and the kids would shout the f word for no apparent reason, exept that the f word, like love, is an international language all in its own right.
Living over there where we were, on an average street in a country where very few foreigners have entered because of thirty years of civil war, and then couple that with strict Sharia laws and teachings, made me feel like I was performing in that episode of the Twilight Zone where the cute blond girl (not that I am any of these three things) lived on another planet and they all thought she was ugly. Beauty is definitely in the eye fo the beholder and people do tend to gravitate to others they percieve to be the same as themselves. So, we were definitely the outcasts. From trash being thrown in our backyard and kids perching on the concrete wall heckling my boys, to me in a grocery store having a small girl point and scream "Boule, boule, boule!" at me, we certainly felt like that girl in the Twilight Zone at times.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was "Black Like Me" by John Howard Griffin. Way before Tyra donned a fat suit, this journalist spent some days as a black man, all for the experience. Now I, and I hope, my kids, know what it's like to be the outsider, the one not like the other, to paraphrase the Electric Company. I experienced this in Liberia, West Africa as a teenager, as well, when my dad, also a civil engineer (do we marry our fathers, or what?) would hike out in the 'bush' to survey for roads and bridges on his off days from training the Liberian army (of which Charles Taylor was a member of at the time, but that's another already published blog). But there we were treated with a little reverence. Especially me, the blond girl, carried against my will across streams and granted special adoption into one village because of my hair, and then given a chicken as a gift. Seriously.
All in the eye of the beholder,...
Okay, gotta get 5 kids ready and get my butt to work for a couple of hours. Caio.
Living over there where we were, on an average street in a country where very few foreigners have entered because of thirty years of civil war, and then couple that with strict Sharia laws and teachings, made me feel like I was performing in that episode of the Twilight Zone where the cute blond girl (not that I am any of these three things) lived on another planet and they all thought she was ugly. Beauty is definitely in the eye fo the beholder and people do tend to gravitate to others they percieve to be the same as themselves. So, we were definitely the outcasts. From trash being thrown in our backyard and kids perching on the concrete wall heckling my boys, to me in a grocery store having a small girl point and scream "Boule, boule, boule!" at me, we certainly felt like that girl in the Twilight Zone at times.
One of my favorite books as a teenager was "Black Like Me" by John Howard Griffin. Way before Tyra donned a fat suit, this journalist spent some days as a black man, all for the experience. Now I, and I hope, my kids, know what it's like to be the outsider, the one not like the other, to paraphrase the Electric Company. I experienced this in Liberia, West Africa as a teenager, as well, when my dad, also a civil engineer (do we marry our fathers, or what?) would hike out in the 'bush' to survey for roads and bridges on his off days from training the Liberian army (of which Charles Taylor was a member of at the time, but that's another already published blog). But there we were treated with a little reverence. Especially me, the blond girl, carried against my will across streams and granted special adoption into one village because of my hair, and then given a chicken as a gift. Seriously.
All in the eye of the beholder,...
Okay, gotta get 5 kids ready and get my butt to work for a couple of hours. Caio.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Open Letter to VTech Corporation
Dear President of VTech Corporation,
I recently purchased a cute little yellow toy computer for my two year old as a Christmas present. I had bought a similar toy computer made by your company for my oldest child about ten years ago. He loved it, and consequently, my newest two year old loves hers as well. It is similar to mine, which I use constantly during the day, but much more fun looking. Having their own computer gains me a little more time in the day to type something before a little finger pokes the mouse button or pushes the enter key and sets off a whole domino effect of things I really don't want happening on my computer. But I digress.
As much as I appreciate this new toy, I must say that I don't appreciate the Screaming Monkey Button. I realize VTech used to make computers a long, long time ago and perhaps you still house residual computer programmers who think it is humerous to house an 'Easter Egg' somewhere on the toy computer, much like a real one. I feel this might be the case with the Screaming Monkey Button and I would like to let you know that it is not appreciated. I can handle a screaming monkey sound one or two times. But to have it continue to scream FOREVER after the toddler has tired wtih pushing the button, and have NO SHUT OFF KEY except to turn off the whole toy computer is really not fun. At all.
So, Mr. President, I hope you will remove this Screaming Monkey Button feature from subsquent toy computers you produce; or bundle the toy with a couple airline size bottles of scotch to relieve the frazzled nerves of parents everywhere as they try to unwind at the end of their day. Instead of singing an annoying song over and over in their brains, they instead have to contend with the echo of the Screaming Monkey Button.
And to the programmer who thought that whole Screaming Monkey Button concept was 'humerous' and 'silly'; may you have triplets in your future. All with colic. At different times.
Yours truly,
Karen Richardson
I recently purchased a cute little yellow toy computer for my two year old as a Christmas present. I had bought a similar toy computer made by your company for my oldest child about ten years ago. He loved it, and consequently, my newest two year old loves hers as well. It is similar to mine, which I use constantly during the day, but much more fun looking. Having their own computer gains me a little more time in the day to type something before a little finger pokes the mouse button or pushes the enter key and sets off a whole domino effect of things I really don't want happening on my computer. But I digress.
As much as I appreciate this new toy, I must say that I don't appreciate the Screaming Monkey Button. I realize VTech used to make computers a long, long time ago and perhaps you still house residual computer programmers who think it is humerous to house an 'Easter Egg' somewhere on the toy computer, much like a real one. I feel this might be the case with the Screaming Monkey Button and I would like to let you know that it is not appreciated. I can handle a screaming monkey sound one or two times. But to have it continue to scream FOREVER after the toddler has tired wtih pushing the button, and have NO SHUT OFF KEY except to turn off the whole toy computer is really not fun. At all.
So, Mr. President, I hope you will remove this Screaming Monkey Button feature from subsquent toy computers you produce; or bundle the toy with a couple airline size bottles of scotch to relieve the frazzled nerves of parents everywhere as they try to unwind at the end of their day. Instead of singing an annoying song over and over in their brains, they instead have to contend with the echo of the Screaming Monkey Button.
And to the programmer who thought that whole Screaming Monkey Button concept was 'humerous' and 'silly'; may you have triplets in your future. All with colic. At different times.
Yours truly,
Karen Richardson
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Everything I needed to know in life I learned as a newborn
Screaming your head off gives you serious gas.
Pink is the new black.
A smile will get you everwhere. And everything.
Living the motto "I'll sleep when I'm dead" might be fun for you, but it is really not for the people who love you.
It really is true bliss to eat whenever you want, whatever you want.
Farting and burping in public is only cute when you weigh about eight pounds.
Good things do come in small packages.
Simple things can make you happy. (e.g. staring at a fan for half an hour. Who knew?)
Pink is the new black.
A smile will get you everwhere. And everything.
Living the motto "I'll sleep when I'm dead" might be fun for you, but it is really not for the people who love you.
It really is true bliss to eat whenever you want, whatever you want.
Farting and burping in public is only cute when you weigh about eight pounds.
Good things do come in small packages.
Simple things can make you happy. (e.g. staring at a fan for half an hour. Who knew?)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Catch Up
Dear Diary,
Wish we could catch a break. Been awhile since I've written, so here is the Cliff Notes version of how life is with a newborn during the hoidays as you move from one continent to another,...
Dec 8 - Yay! Daddy made it home before the end of the pregnancy. Bummer is he is grumpy because he has to start prepping for the colonoscopy he has scheduled for Monday and subsequently can't eat for two days.
Dec 10 - Spend day up in Seattle making 8 year old's dream come true by taking him to cool 3D Imax Dinosaur movie. Lots of walking and then visiting Bro-in-law who had successful liver surgery to remove cancerous tumor and 40% of his liver. (He is doing very well by reports from home. Have to call you Michelle, I am SO sorry I'm so delinquent). Go to Mass with Rob's parents up in Seattle, then head home to get kids fed and in bed in time for school the next day.
But, wait! Is that a contraction I feel? Start timing them on the hour drive from Seattle back to Olympia. They start at 40 minutes steadily decreasing in time between until we arrive home. I get through making the kids sandwiches for dinner before I 'fess up that I am having contractions. They are about 5 minutes apart, but not too painful. But what do I know? Only my fifth kid. I think maybe it'll be easier and faster this time and we make a decision to go to the hospital at 9:30pm.
Go to hospital with hastily packed bag and hubby's gallon sized colon cleansing prep drink, only to let down entire nursing staff because I am totally relaxed and not about to blow out a kid like they had envisioned. Between my contractions and hubby running to the rest room (all part of the prep for that fun colonoscopy!) have lots going on. So much for visions of him lovingly holding my hand, he's got other business to tend to. Figures.
I can't help but keep thinking of an exit strategy. I'm supposed to get the kids to school and take hubby to his procedure at 8am the next morning.I haven't finished the grandparents' Christmas present (only a scrapbook detailing the past year,...) OR wrapping presents,.. I have 100 sugar cookies waiting to be frosted at home. An article and a press release to finish. I can't have the baby NOW! Besides, I really can't wait to sit by myself in his hospital waiting room for an hour and read a magazine - the only 'me' time I've had since June. I don't want to give that up! The baby can't take that away from me! So unfair.
Decide we are staying for the long haul and hubby sacks out on the couch as best he can with legs dangling over the arm and scraping the floor. As anticipated my contractions peter out about 3 am. Hubby departs at 6 am to go to his procedure. My understanding doctor not only allows me to eat breakfast, but will wait until hubby is on his way back from his procedure (30 miles away) and lucid before starting my pitocin. Spend rest of morning prowling the hallways as the nurses cattle prod me out of bed in hopes of starting things naturally. Hubby calls at 11:30 and we are off to the races!
After an entirely icky labor, Sophia is delivered around 5:30pm.
She screams bloody murder the entire night prompting hubby and me to ask the powers that be why we were given the advanced model of baby when clearly, even after four precious ones, we still only rate the beginner version.
Dec 13 - 16 - The baby decides she doesn't like the boobs and also doesn't want to poop. Spend many late night hours trying to get 7 pounds of spit fire to eat the way God intended. This requires two adults. Take her back to see doc who schedules lactation consultant to help with the issue.
Dec 17 - Poop! Never thought I'd be so happy to see poop in my life. Perhaps I'm not starving the baby like I'd thought.
Dec 18 - Find out that although the little stinker is eating, she needs to eat MORE. Obviously can't be my kid, how could I have a kid who doesn't want to eat? The beginnings of feeding tubes, pumps and supplement bottles. Barely enough time left over after nursing, pumping and bottle feeding to breathe.
Dec 19 - 21 - A blur of the above.
Dec 22 - We baptize the little girl. Very nice ceremony and family and friends attended. My dreams of making party food and decorations never come to fruition. Thank goodness for Costco.
Dec 24 - Christmas Eve! Start the day by dowsing the B and the 8 year old with Tylenol; they both are sporting fevers. Go to Tacoma for 5pm Vigil Mass with Rob's family. 8 year old has been feeling funky all day. By the time twe get to Grandma aand Grandpa's house 8 year old is begging us to take him to the doctor. Bad sign that he'd rather to seek medical attention than open presents. Leave at 10:30 pm, race other kids in beds and hubby takes 8 year old to urgent care. 1 am they call; he's got the croup, but after a breathing treatment all is well. I've been wrapping presents between nursings, but hubby is up unitl 4:30am finishing up.
Dec 25 - Christmas! SSSSooooo incredibly tired. Kids happy little clams; got everything put together and wrapped. Family comes over starting at 2pm. I change baby's diaper and find she has a diaper rash. I decide she's too young to have a rash and this would never have happened if I was a good mother, have complete meltdown.
Dec 26 - Baby hasn't pooped again, but at doc. visit to get the all clear to cross state lines, I'm told not to freak out quite so much. Baby is looking good.
Dec 27 - finish packing and wedging everything into the U Haul trailer at 1:30 am. Hubby is truly a miracle worker.
Dec 28 - Leave in the morning. Honestly takes 30 minutes to get out of the vehicle every time we stop, we are packed so tight. Stop at first hotel. Baby finally poops,... enough for the last 2 weeks.
Dec 29 - Stay at awesome friend's house in Fresno; they even cook us an amazing Prime Rib dinner they were gracious enough to keep until 9 pm when we arrived. Those are true friends, by the way. Not only did they let us stay at their house knowing we had five kids, but even after hubby called them in route, "By the way, did I tell you we have a dog?...."
Dec 30 - Touch down! Get to house at 7pmish. Woops, don't have a key. Thankfully awesome friend Wendy has one and races over. Not only does she let us into our house, she and her husband installed a toilet for us. That is another sign of a true friend. : ) Have had house totally redone inside as monster tenants destroyed everything inside. Many boxes, but mattresses are on the floors, kitchen is pretty much unpacked and we have a toilet!!!
Dec 31 - Ready to make the house a home, but 10 year old comes down with,.. croup. Spend next six hours in waiting area of urgent care clinic with him and the newborn. By the time we get to the doctor am in tears completely convinced baby will die of some horrible disease. Tells me to keep on nursing. Thankfully it seems to be working.
Jan 1 - Ahhhh, the beginnings of a new year. My motto for the year? 'It's bound to get better because it can't get any worse.' Honestly, we are doing well, are treating unpacking like a hobby and are so happy to be back in the swing of things in Yucaipa.
Wish we could catch a break. Been awhile since I've written, so here is the Cliff Notes version of how life is with a newborn during the hoidays as you move from one continent to another,...
Dec 8 - Yay! Daddy made it home before the end of the pregnancy. Bummer is he is grumpy because he has to start prepping for the colonoscopy he has scheduled for Monday and subsequently can't eat for two days.
Dec 10 - Spend day up in Seattle making 8 year old's dream come true by taking him to cool 3D Imax Dinosaur movie. Lots of walking and then visiting Bro-in-law who had successful liver surgery to remove cancerous tumor and 40% of his liver. (He is doing very well by reports from home. Have to call you Michelle, I am SO sorry I'm so delinquent). Go to Mass with Rob's parents up in Seattle, then head home to get kids fed and in bed in time for school the next day.
But, wait! Is that a contraction I feel? Start timing them on the hour drive from Seattle back to Olympia. They start at 40 minutes steadily decreasing in time between until we arrive home. I get through making the kids sandwiches for dinner before I 'fess up that I am having contractions. They are about 5 minutes apart, but not too painful. But what do I know? Only my fifth kid. I think maybe it'll be easier and faster this time and we make a decision to go to the hospital at 9:30pm.
Go to hospital with hastily packed bag and hubby's gallon sized colon cleansing prep drink, only to let down entire nursing staff because I am totally relaxed and not about to blow out a kid like they had envisioned. Between my contractions and hubby running to the rest room (all part of the prep for that fun colonoscopy!) have lots going on. So much for visions of him lovingly holding my hand, he's got other business to tend to. Figures.
I can't help but keep thinking of an exit strategy. I'm supposed to get the kids to school and take hubby to his procedure at 8am the next morning.I haven't finished the grandparents' Christmas present (only a scrapbook detailing the past year,...) OR wrapping presents,.. I have 100 sugar cookies waiting to be frosted at home. An article and a press release to finish. I can't have the baby NOW! Besides, I really can't wait to sit by myself in his hospital waiting room for an hour and read a magazine - the only 'me' time I've had since June. I don't want to give that up! The baby can't take that away from me! So unfair.
Decide we are staying for the long haul and hubby sacks out on the couch as best he can with legs dangling over the arm and scraping the floor. As anticipated my contractions peter out about 3 am. Hubby departs at 6 am to go to his procedure. My understanding doctor not only allows me to eat breakfast, but will wait until hubby is on his way back from his procedure (30 miles away) and lucid before starting my pitocin. Spend rest of morning prowling the hallways as the nurses cattle prod me out of bed in hopes of starting things naturally. Hubby calls at 11:30 and we are off to the races!
After an entirely icky labor, Sophia is delivered around 5:30pm.
She screams bloody murder the entire night prompting hubby and me to ask the powers that be why we were given the advanced model of baby when clearly, even after four precious ones, we still only rate the beginner version.
Dec 13 - 16 - The baby decides she doesn't like the boobs and also doesn't want to poop. Spend many late night hours trying to get 7 pounds of spit fire to eat the way God intended. This requires two adults. Take her back to see doc who schedules lactation consultant to help with the issue.
Dec 17 - Poop! Never thought I'd be so happy to see poop in my life. Perhaps I'm not starving the baby like I'd thought.
Dec 18 - Find out that although the little stinker is eating, she needs to eat MORE. Obviously can't be my kid, how could I have a kid who doesn't want to eat? The beginnings of feeding tubes, pumps and supplement bottles. Barely enough time left over after nursing, pumping and bottle feeding to breathe.
Dec 19 - 21 - A blur of the above.
Dec 22 - We baptize the little girl. Very nice ceremony and family and friends attended. My dreams of making party food and decorations never come to fruition. Thank goodness for Costco.
Dec 24 - Christmas Eve! Start the day by dowsing the B and the 8 year old with Tylenol; they both are sporting fevers. Go to Tacoma for 5pm Vigil Mass with Rob's family. 8 year old has been feeling funky all day. By the time twe get to Grandma aand Grandpa's house 8 year old is begging us to take him to the doctor. Bad sign that he'd rather to seek medical attention than open presents. Leave at 10:30 pm, race other kids in beds and hubby takes 8 year old to urgent care. 1 am they call; he's got the croup, but after a breathing treatment all is well. I've been wrapping presents between nursings, but hubby is up unitl 4:30am finishing up.
Dec 25 - Christmas! SSSSooooo incredibly tired. Kids happy little clams; got everything put together and wrapped. Family comes over starting at 2pm. I change baby's diaper and find she has a diaper rash. I decide she's too young to have a rash and this would never have happened if I was a good mother, have complete meltdown.
Dec 26 - Baby hasn't pooped again, but at doc. visit to get the all clear to cross state lines, I'm told not to freak out quite so much. Baby is looking good.
Dec 27 - finish packing and wedging everything into the U Haul trailer at 1:30 am. Hubby is truly a miracle worker.
Dec 28 - Leave in the morning. Honestly takes 30 minutes to get out of the vehicle every time we stop, we are packed so tight. Stop at first hotel. Baby finally poops,... enough for the last 2 weeks.
Dec 29 - Stay at awesome friend's house in Fresno; they even cook us an amazing Prime Rib dinner they were gracious enough to keep until 9 pm when we arrived. Those are true friends, by the way. Not only did they let us stay at their house knowing we had five kids, but even after hubby called them in route, "By the way, did I tell you we have a dog?...."
Dec 30 - Touch down! Get to house at 7pmish. Woops, don't have a key. Thankfully awesome friend Wendy has one and races over. Not only does she let us into our house, she and her husband installed a toilet for us. That is another sign of a true friend. : ) Have had house totally redone inside as monster tenants destroyed everything inside. Many boxes, but mattresses are on the floors, kitchen is pretty much unpacked and we have a toilet!!!
Dec 31 - Ready to make the house a home, but 10 year old comes down with,.. croup. Spend next six hours in waiting area of urgent care clinic with him and the newborn. By the time we get to the doctor am in tears completely convinced baby will die of some horrible disease. Tells me to keep on nursing. Thankfully it seems to be working.
Jan 1 - Ahhhh, the beginnings of a new year. My motto for the year? 'It's bound to get better because it can't get any worse.' Honestly, we are doing well, are treating unpacking like a hobby and are so happy to be back in the swing of things in Yucaipa.
Friday, January 18, 2008
The B is 2!
If I could find either my digital camera or the USB cable to take the pictures from the camera to the computer, I could show you a picture of the happy little girl on her birthday. But that request is not to be today. I could also show you the marginally deranged Elmo cake I decorated for her. The ugly cakes will perservere! After packing up the two girls and making my 'might as well be going to Mars, that's how difficult it is to do' trip to the grocery store and subsequently loosing Sabrina at the grocery store for a short while (thank God for other mothers who understand and don't judge), we made it back with everything,.. BUT the cake mix. I debated going another route, but then I remembered that 8 year old had an Elmo cake when he was 2 and 6 year old had a dump truck cake when he was 2, and 11 year old had a carrot cake made from scratch (only because we lived in Egypt and that's the only way to do it) when he was 2. So, since I found the Elmo cake pan (AND the Elmo plastic table cover, both still in existance after six years and moves to three difference continents) I HAD to use them. Don't have a measuring cup or the correct decorating tips, although I DO have the jello brain mold I use at Halloween. That sure comes in handy,... No, I didn't use the jello mold in the makings of the Elmo cake, just pointing out what fun it is to unpack moving boxes. Very similar to opening presents, but nothing is shiny and new.
But I did my best. And I showed the cake to B after I'd decorated it, asking her if she knew who it was and she said 'Momo.' (2year speak for Elmo) so I count this cake as a success.
Grandpa and Grandma got her a cool light up princess pink and purple scooter that she loves, but having inherited my genes, can't comprehend how to make it move. No fear, as she is the queen of the house and has three older brothers to push her around as she screams directions. Very similar to her mother, indeed.
Gotta get birthday girl to bed. I am now nursing a migraine, probably from massive frosting consumption.
But I did my best. And I showed the cake to B after I'd decorated it, asking her if she knew who it was and she said 'Momo.' (2year speak for Elmo) so I count this cake as a success.
Grandpa and Grandma got her a cool light up princess pink and purple scooter that she loves, but having inherited my genes, can't comprehend how to make it move. No fear, as she is the queen of the house and has three older brothers to push her around as she screams directions. Very similar to her mother, indeed.
Gotta get birthday girl to bed. I am now nursing a migraine, probably from massive frosting consumption.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Blindsided By Life
Okay, as any psychiatrist will tell you, we have really packed in all the variables required for a nervous breakdown; new baby, move, new job, new house, new schools,... I am regaining my sanity and will start posting again to keep friends and family in the know. However, I will be changing the name of the blog because, after seeing boxes for 3 weeks now (and many more weeks to come), and having the fifth kid, I DO have children, but I am no longer interested in travelling anywhere.
Top 10 signs we are back in So Cal.
1. While relatives battled the cold back in Wash., 11 year old had a pool party in the backyard for his birthday.
2. Sun, the beautiful sun! I no longer feel like I live at the bottom of the sea.
3. Lovely So Cal customer service with the cable company; took 4 times for them to get the equipment for the TV correct. Sheesh.
4. I've had to purchase self tanning lotion to fit in.
5. The boys are allowed to wear shorts to Church again.
6. Had to spray for bugs already in January.
7. The boys are just one in a million with their blond hair.
8. Watching my fav morning new program, 'Good Day LA' means that I am in the know on the latest in the Brittny Spears breakdown, but have no idea who won any of the primaries.
9. I've turned back into a closet republican.
10. The 11 year old was invited to another 11 year old's birthday party,.. at Hooters. Seriously.
Top 10 signs we are back in So Cal.
1. While relatives battled the cold back in Wash., 11 year old had a pool party in the backyard for his birthday.
2. Sun, the beautiful sun! I no longer feel like I live at the bottom of the sea.
3. Lovely So Cal customer service with the cable company; took 4 times for them to get the equipment for the TV correct. Sheesh.
4. I've had to purchase self tanning lotion to fit in.
5. The boys are allowed to wear shorts to Church again.
6. Had to spray for bugs already in January.
7. The boys are just one in a million with their blond hair.
8. Watching my fav morning new program, 'Good Day LA' means that I am in the know on the latest in the Brittny Spears breakdown, but have no idea who won any of the primaries.
9. I've turned back into a closet republican.
10. The 11 year old was invited to another 11 year old's birthday party,.. at Hooters. Seriously.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Quick! Blog now the baby is sleeping!
Well, it's amazing how having a new baby, Christmas prep and moving kill blogging time.
Anyway, I write this to you from my hotel room in Medford, Oregon. We are beginning day 2 of our 'travel adventure' as hubby calls it back down to our house in Yucaipa. Anyone who thinks a Suburban is a large vehicle has never packed two adults, five kids, a dog and all the stuff we've been living with (including Christmas presents) into it for five days. Oh, and a UHaul trailer. Which says it's from Kansas, so now everyone on the road thinks we hail from Kansas and has led Jared to exclaim that it isn't a UHaul trailer, it's a Y'all Haul! trailer.
Gotta go, babe's crying. We made it here in 9 hours, so not too bad. Hubby is subsequently fired from hotel reservations as the pool is outside and no breakfast is included. But we didn't have to sleep in the car, so that's a good thing.
Anyway, I write this to you from my hotel room in Medford, Oregon. We are beginning day 2 of our 'travel adventure' as hubby calls it back down to our house in Yucaipa. Anyone who thinks a Suburban is a large vehicle has never packed two adults, five kids, a dog and all the stuff we've been living with (including Christmas presents) into it for five days. Oh, and a UHaul trailer. Which says it's from Kansas, so now everyone on the road thinks we hail from Kansas and has led Jared to exclaim that it isn't a UHaul trailer, it's a Y'all Haul! trailer.
Gotta go, babe's crying. We made it here in 9 hours, so not too bad. Hubby is subsequently fired from hotel reservations as the pool is outside and no breakfast is included. But we didn't have to sleep in the car, so that's a good thing.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sophia Marie Richardson Is Here!
Announcing Sophia Marie Richardson!
Born December 10, 2007 5:30pm
7 lbs, 11 oz
19 3/4 inches
I'll post more soon. Great birth story of course, including dueling procedures between me and hubby. We take multi tasking to the next level!
Born December 10, 2007 5:30pm
7 lbs, 11 oz
19 3/4 inches
I'll post more soon. Great birth story of course, including dueling procedures between me and hubby. We take multi tasking to the next level!
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
'Tis the Season,...
Flu season, that is. Whadda week. Tuesday began with my 8 year old complaining he didn't want to eat and his stomach hurt. First, I'm miffed that the $4.87 box of junky sugared cereal has been infiltrated and a bowl poured into milk. No saving it. After more whining I release him from the table and give him some of my 'mommy wisdom.'
"When I was your age my tummy hurt when I was upset, too." I say. He had been complaining the day before about injustices wreaked by a couple of friends. He's also upset that we are moving soon. I know how it is, I'm an army brat. I developed weird stomach anomolies in second grade too. Maybe it's hereditary.
As I take a breath and am about to launch into the whole saga, he subsequently pukes. So much for mommy wisdom; the kid is sick.
He doesn't eat much for the rest of the week, which is always worrying because as slim as my kids are (why is youth, beauty, skinniness and the desire not to eat wasted on youth??), he is skeleton boy. I just want to hook an IV up to a stick of butter and stab his arm some days.
Thursday we go up to Puyallup to celebrate SIL's birthday. My kindergartner doesn't want a snack. 'Odd' I think. Duh. When will I not be a dense mother? We go and have a great time with family. The skinny 8 year old eats a peice of bread, and the kindergarner eats only noodles.
We get home late, around 9:30pm. As I turn off the car, kindergartner throws up all over the floor of the Suburban. I enlist my 10 year old to carry the B upstairs and stick her in her crib as I calm down the wailing kindergartner while he continues to throw up in the car and all over me. We get in the house, strip down and get him in bed finally. About 10:30 I find my 9 1/2 month preggo self out in the cold dark night shopvaccing and scrubbing the back of the Suburban. Silver lining: at least he didn't eat the sauce! Get to bed around 11pm.
At about 2am I'm not feeling too great, but I think it's the residual result of cleaning up vomit. At 3am the B wakes up puking. Her bed is a loss, I clean her up and bring her into bed with me. She continues to vomit until 5 am. We've gone through a pillow case, five towels and two changes of clothes for me.
I beg my poor mother to stay late (she leaves for work at 5am) and take the only surviving healthy child to school. She does so and I tackle about 50 loads of laundry.
The only light at the end of the tunnel was logging on and seeing my So Cal neighbor Janice ALSO had the same kinda week I had. Misery loves company!
This week, so far everyone is healthy. Slowly introducing real food back to the kids. They've had a grand time surviving off of toast, sprite and jello for the last five days.
On top of this, the dog decided not to eat for the past five days, as well. He too, seems to be regaining his appetite. I think he was fasting until I took pity on him and moved him into the house. He's doing better now that he lives in the basement next to the GameCube so he gets plenty of attention. He must just be too good for that kennel in the garage.
What made us all forget this crazy flu season was on Saturday, the first day of December, it snowed! Simply perfect for four kids who spent the last year in Indonesia. Who cares it was a centimeter of snow stuck on the ground. They went out in all their mitties and scarves and scraped up enough of it to make a couple of pathetic little snowballs and had a great time.
Unfortunately, now we are back to the usual NW weather, which as you may have seen on the news, is horrible and many people are fighting flood waters. A few people have died. We are hoping for relief tomorrow.
Gee, flooding or mud slides? So tough to decide between California and Washington some days.
"When I was your age my tummy hurt when I was upset, too." I say. He had been complaining the day before about injustices wreaked by a couple of friends. He's also upset that we are moving soon. I know how it is, I'm an army brat. I developed weird stomach anomolies in second grade too. Maybe it's hereditary.
As I take a breath and am about to launch into the whole saga, he subsequently pukes. So much for mommy wisdom; the kid is sick.
He doesn't eat much for the rest of the week, which is always worrying because as slim as my kids are (why is youth, beauty, skinniness and the desire not to eat wasted on youth??), he is skeleton boy. I just want to hook an IV up to a stick of butter and stab his arm some days.
Thursday we go up to Puyallup to celebrate SIL's birthday. My kindergartner doesn't want a snack. 'Odd' I think. Duh. When will I not be a dense mother? We go and have a great time with family. The skinny 8 year old eats a peice of bread, and the kindergarner eats only noodles.
We get home late, around 9:30pm. As I turn off the car, kindergartner throws up all over the floor of the Suburban. I enlist my 10 year old to carry the B upstairs and stick her in her crib as I calm down the wailing kindergartner while he continues to throw up in the car and all over me. We get in the house, strip down and get him in bed finally. About 10:30 I find my 9 1/2 month preggo self out in the cold dark night shopvaccing and scrubbing the back of the Suburban. Silver lining: at least he didn't eat the sauce! Get to bed around 11pm.
At about 2am I'm not feeling too great, but I think it's the residual result of cleaning up vomit. At 3am the B wakes up puking. Her bed is a loss, I clean her up and bring her into bed with me. She continues to vomit until 5 am. We've gone through a pillow case, five towels and two changes of clothes for me.
I beg my poor mother to stay late (she leaves for work at 5am) and take the only surviving healthy child to school. She does so and I tackle about 50 loads of laundry.
The only light at the end of the tunnel was logging on and seeing my So Cal neighbor Janice ALSO had the same kinda week I had. Misery loves company!
This week, so far everyone is healthy. Slowly introducing real food back to the kids. They've had a grand time surviving off of toast, sprite and jello for the last five days.
On top of this, the dog decided not to eat for the past five days, as well. He too, seems to be regaining his appetite. I think he was fasting until I took pity on him and moved him into the house. He's doing better now that he lives in the basement next to the GameCube so he gets plenty of attention. He must just be too good for that kennel in the garage.
What made us all forget this crazy flu season was on Saturday, the first day of December, it snowed! Simply perfect for four kids who spent the last year in Indonesia. Who cares it was a centimeter of snow stuck on the ground. They went out in all their mitties and scarves and scraped up enough of it to make a couple of pathetic little snowballs and had a great time.
Unfortunately, now we are back to the usual NW weather, which as you may have seen on the news, is horrible and many people are fighting flood waters. A few people have died. We are hoping for relief tomorrow.
Gee, flooding or mud slides? So tough to decide between California and Washington some days.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Random Thoughts for Today
Anyone who thinks German Shephard Dogs are smart hasn't met mine. Granted, the breed smartness is a generalization and we did get our doggie from a rescue. You get what you pay for, I suppose,...
He is outside at the moment, for fear of eating my mother's cat. So, he is bored. I'm doing the best I can, but I can't do the walks anymore, too painful with 13 days to go until baby is out in the world. It's been raining and I am a California girl at heart, can't handle dampness or anything under 60 degrees. So, I've been inside most of the time.
The dog has started having what we call 'yard sales.' He was taking the boys shoes that were on the porch outside in the basement and, I swear this is true, meticulously lining them up in a straight row on the grass. We took the shoes inside. Then it was B's outside toys. Then, he wrestled a big plastic garbage can we were using to save plastic bags to recycle at the grocery store. I picked up all the plastic shards and plastic bags and threw them out. I guess this is the grown up's version of 'the dog ate my homework.' If my carbon footprint is larger than it should be, it's becaause my dog ate my recycling bin.
And for all my attempts to save my mother's kitty while we shack up with her embarrassingly for six months, the cat HATES MY GUTS. How do I know this? Because she finds absolutely every opportunity possible to pee and poop on my things. I get the point, Isabell. I'm leaving soon. : ) I can't win. For a girl who wanted to raise horses when I grew up, I sure don't enjoy the furry wildlife at the moment.
Not that I'm complaining, but I woke up today after the dog howled me awake for the second night in a row to my 10 year old finishing his book report and my kindergartner doing his homework. At 6:30 in the morning. How can I have kids who are more disciplined than I am?
This means that I missed my 5am wake up alarm. No work was accomplished this morning, and while I have quite a few documents open right now to work on, I needed to get some blogging done to ease my brain. Maybe my version of a cigarette break.
So yes, I have turned on the boob tube for B. I don't usually have the TV on at all. I used to catch up on DVR'd version of Gray's and House, but I think she's beginning to get too conscious of the screaming, kissing and bleeding. So, we found Teletubbies, that horrible show. She wasn't very impressed, thank goodness, because after the 500th time they repeated the word GREEN, I was about to throw my shoe at the TV. What we did find that she likes is 'Animal Jam' on Discovery Kids, for anyone who cares. Except now she is dancing on the oversized ottoman along with a big creepy elephant who is singing and dancing on TV. Is this how Paris and Brittney got started? Better than the Goosebumps she watches with her brothers, I suppose.
Speaking of too yucky to go outside, did anyone else see the article about kids today getting RICKETS because they didn't drink enough milk or get enough Vitamin D because they were inside couch potatoing instead of exercising in the sunshine? Two things necessary for proper bone growth? Frightening. Especially as I keep my little one sequestered inside because I'm old and fat and tired and ready to get this baby out.
Baby is due in 13 days and everything is good. While I am certain the baby is at least 20 pounds and has a head of a steel ball bearing, my doctor assures me she's normal at around 7 pounds and only has human parts. I'm dilated to 3 centimeters, which prompted her to ask 'Now, where is your husband?' I'm banking on the fact that my uterus is as stupid as my dog and won't clue in until we have hubby home, colonscopy completed for him (two days before the due date, should I be gambling in Vegas, OR WHAT?) and the baby car seat I just ordered arrived and set up in the car. The other one is in a shipping container somewhere in Long Beach.
As much as I love, love, love moving and being incredibly random and hoboish so I don't have to really grow up, setting up households is always an expensive endeavor and I end up owning more things than I'd like. Think about it, all those spices you acummulate in your kitchen? They must be thrown out or given away for every continent hopped and new ones bought. Baby items get lost, toys are left behind and new things must be had. I think we could be early retirees if we would just stay put.
So, I hope the baby stays put until she's expected to come out. Then we smoke her out, because we are on a schedule, you know? Gotta get to California by the new year. Ridiculous, I know.
So, as waddly as I have become with the big baby sitting on all those nerves and chewing away at my ligaments so I can't lift my legs after I've been shuffling around all day, and so bloated that I've actually developed carpal tunnel, they are easier to deal with inside than out.
I have so many things to do before she comes. One includes getting my kids, especially the 8 year old, up to Seattle to the Science Center. We got a year membership because it was only a couple bucks more than the 'old woman in the shoe' price I paid to get me and my brood in for one visit. Stupidly I told him about a sea monster IMAX show that has been running since October. He LOVES dragons and dinosaurs and is freaking out wanting to see this movie. But we haven't been able to make it up yet with parties, baseball, football, basketball, and other stuff getting in the way. I'm thinking the only day I have left to get him there is next Friday, five days before the due date. Then, I think there is nothing worse than being alone with my brood an hour and half away from my doctor in Seattle and my water breaks. Except maybe being in the middle of an Indonesian mall alone with my brood and hemorraging. You only live once, right?
He is outside at the moment, for fear of eating my mother's cat. So, he is bored. I'm doing the best I can, but I can't do the walks anymore, too painful with 13 days to go until baby is out in the world. It's been raining and I am a California girl at heart, can't handle dampness or anything under 60 degrees. So, I've been inside most of the time.
The dog has started having what we call 'yard sales.' He was taking the boys shoes that were on the porch outside in the basement and, I swear this is true, meticulously lining them up in a straight row on the grass. We took the shoes inside. Then it was B's outside toys. Then, he wrestled a big plastic garbage can we were using to save plastic bags to recycle at the grocery store. I picked up all the plastic shards and plastic bags and threw them out. I guess this is the grown up's version of 'the dog ate my homework.' If my carbon footprint is larger than it should be, it's becaause my dog ate my recycling bin.
And for all my attempts to save my mother's kitty while we shack up with her embarrassingly for six months, the cat HATES MY GUTS. How do I know this? Because she finds absolutely every opportunity possible to pee and poop on my things. I get the point, Isabell. I'm leaving soon. : ) I can't win. For a girl who wanted to raise horses when I grew up, I sure don't enjoy the furry wildlife at the moment.
Not that I'm complaining, but I woke up today after the dog howled me awake for the second night in a row to my 10 year old finishing his book report and my kindergartner doing his homework. At 6:30 in the morning. How can I have kids who are more disciplined than I am?
This means that I missed my 5am wake up alarm. No work was accomplished this morning, and while I have quite a few documents open right now to work on, I needed to get some blogging done to ease my brain. Maybe my version of a cigarette break.
So yes, I have turned on the boob tube for B. I don't usually have the TV on at all. I used to catch up on DVR'd version of Gray's and House, but I think she's beginning to get too conscious of the screaming, kissing and bleeding. So, we found Teletubbies, that horrible show. She wasn't very impressed, thank goodness, because after the 500th time they repeated the word GREEN, I was about to throw my shoe at the TV. What we did find that she likes is 'Animal Jam' on Discovery Kids, for anyone who cares. Except now she is dancing on the oversized ottoman along with a big creepy elephant who is singing and dancing on TV. Is this how Paris and Brittney got started? Better than the Goosebumps she watches with her brothers, I suppose.
Speaking of too yucky to go outside, did anyone else see the article about kids today getting RICKETS because they didn't drink enough milk or get enough Vitamin D because they were inside couch potatoing instead of exercising in the sunshine? Two things necessary for proper bone growth? Frightening. Especially as I keep my little one sequestered inside because I'm old and fat and tired and ready to get this baby out.
Baby is due in 13 days and everything is good. While I am certain the baby is at least 20 pounds and has a head of a steel ball bearing, my doctor assures me she's normal at around 7 pounds and only has human parts. I'm dilated to 3 centimeters, which prompted her to ask 'Now, where is your husband?' I'm banking on the fact that my uterus is as stupid as my dog and won't clue in until we have hubby home, colonscopy completed for him (two days before the due date, should I be gambling in Vegas, OR WHAT?) and the baby car seat I just ordered arrived and set up in the car. The other one is in a shipping container somewhere in Long Beach.
As much as I love, love, love moving and being incredibly random and hoboish so I don't have to really grow up, setting up households is always an expensive endeavor and I end up owning more things than I'd like. Think about it, all those spices you acummulate in your kitchen? They must be thrown out or given away for every continent hopped and new ones bought. Baby items get lost, toys are left behind and new things must be had. I think we could be early retirees if we would just stay put.
So, I hope the baby stays put until she's expected to come out. Then we smoke her out, because we are on a schedule, you know? Gotta get to California by the new year. Ridiculous, I know.
So, as waddly as I have become with the big baby sitting on all those nerves and chewing away at my ligaments so I can't lift my legs after I've been shuffling around all day, and so bloated that I've actually developed carpal tunnel, they are easier to deal with inside than out.
I have so many things to do before she comes. One includes getting my kids, especially the 8 year old, up to Seattle to the Science Center. We got a year membership because it was only a couple bucks more than the 'old woman in the shoe' price I paid to get me and my brood in for one visit. Stupidly I told him about a sea monster IMAX show that has been running since October. He LOVES dragons and dinosaurs and is freaking out wanting to see this movie. But we haven't been able to make it up yet with parties, baseball, football, basketball, and other stuff getting in the way. I'm thinking the only day I have left to get him there is next Friday, five days before the due date. Then, I think there is nothing worse than being alone with my brood an hour and half away from my doctor in Seattle and my water breaks. Except maybe being in the middle of an Indonesian mall alone with my brood and hemorraging. You only live once, right?
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Ode to Thanksgiving
It’s not like I don’t know when Thanksgiving will be each year. They don’t exactly move the holiday – it’s always basically on the same date. I have no excuse not to be prepared; in fact, I have 364 days to get ready for it each and every time it comes around. But where do I find myself each Thanksgiving Eve, but at the local grocery with the other slackers pushing a cart up and down isles looking for food products I would not otherwise buy.
Most of the year I’m pretty healthy about my eating, even if the three small boys I try and sustain are not. How they exist on yogurt enhanced with flavors that don’t exist in nature, every kind of sugary coated cereal imaginable, and a wide array of alarmingly nasty snack chips, I’ll never know. Real fruits and vegetables do manage to find themselves into my cart, and once and a while, even something as wild as tofu or a whole grain low carb cracker or two.
But let’s get back to Thanksgiving. The one thing I notice about each of the other cart pushing slackers is, we all have the same food products in our carts. Maybe the others aren’t as lame as me. Perhaps that nice lady over there thought she had one can of left over sweet potatoes in the far reaching cob webbed back corner of her cupboard. Maybe that kindly looking gentleman thought Great Aunt June was going to bring the cranberry sauce, but that fell through. Not me. No, I just don’t think about all the necessary but odd foods I’ll need in order to recreate the warm and fuzzy Thanksgivings of my and my husband’s childhoods.
So, here I am at the store as the clock strikes nine p.m on Thanksgiving Eve, along with the other twenty or so cart wielding slackers as we race like a pack of frenzied lemmings to each Thanksgiving food station in search of those last few cans of necessary items required to make the holiday a success. It’s like a marshmallow topped yam induced treasure hunt as we all try and figure out where in the world French fried onions, whole cranberries and cornbread stuffing reside in the local supermarket. I always wonder if these goodies are actually on the shelves during the other eleven months at all, or if the store manager whips them out of some storage shed in a back lot somewhere just in time. Think about it a moment. Do you find green and red candied cherries any other time than at Christmas? Does anyone actually eat those anymore, or have they gone out of fashion like marshmallow jello and pasta salad? If they do stock these things, I don’t think they put them in the same place each day. In fact I think they move them every morning in the store. This keeps us shoppers on our toes, and for those of us suffering from stress induced short term memory loss or early Altzheimer’s, a.k.a. parents, we are guaranteed to purchase more cans of odd Thanksgiving foods than if they were in the same spot in the store during that whole honorary turkey month. It isn’t by happenstance that I now have four jars of marshmallow fluff in the pantry. It’s because they keep moving the holiday food endcap, like a camouflaged hunter in a duck blind, trying to trick me every time I have to run in to the store because I forgot butter again. Racing past that pyramid display of cooking delights, each time I stop and try to remember seeing it the day previous. I look around at my surroundings, confused and disoriented, reaching yet again for the powdered sugar and chocolate chips, walking slowly to the check out. It isn’t until I reach the safety of my own home I realize I have once again forgotten the butter.
But I digress. Here I am again. Thanksgiving Eve, eyeballing the cart next to me to see if that person has figured out where the pearl onions are hidden. Crawling close the floor boards stalking that necessary box of cornbread stuffing, I pause. Where is it? In the bread aisle? Or is it with dressings? Oh, they don’t mean that kind of dressings, they mean the salad dressings, right? Oh whatever, I’m so confused. I tackle the cute stock boy on leave from college for the holidays to ask where the black olives are located. I mean, what is an olive anyway, a vegetable or a fruit? Doesn’t matter as they are located with the condiments. No wonder I can’t find anything.
Time to check out. Now my next decision is whether to hide the wedding ring or not as I hand items to the checkout clerk. They are already passing judgement against me; do I really want them to think that someone as irresponsible as me could possibly think I can cook a Thanksgiving dinner for another consenting adult, or heaven forbid, children who have no say in the matter?
Once home I feel half the battle is complete, but there are more dragons to slay. You see, our family seems to make a habit of moving right during the holiday season. This time I feel relieved to say our move only entailed swapping houses a few doors down, but usually it takes several airplanes, a truck load of baggage and a change of language before we are safely ensconced in our new home.
Not wanting this move to be any easier than the others for fear I will be out of condition for the next one, I have put off calling to turn on services until the very last minute. This means that my lovely family of five is without basic services we Americans think is our constitutional right including water, electricity, gas and satellite tv for the entire Thanksgiving weekend. Never fear, as I still hold the key to the rental house. I imagine it will be fun to pretend we are at the local campground dashing in our unmentionables down the street to use a running toilet and take a warm shower.
The Thanksgiving dinner won’t be a problem this year, as I have already impolitely invited myself to a dear friend’s house for the holiday. So what if it is their first Thanksgiving together? So what if they were married less than one month ago? Why wouldn’t they want to share this family holiday with me and my brood? Nothing says family planning like hosting three rambunctious boys at a formal sit down four course meal. My heart rate increases when they unveil the newly purchased 61 inch HDTV and sweat starts pouring down my forehead. The visions I have are not of my wonderful friend Wendy basking in the glow of the cooked turkey as she carries the platter from the kitchen to the dining table, or of that first toast to a wonderful meal, but of me intercepting nerf footballs as they are launched at the largest piece of electronics I have ever laid eyes on. I say a silent prayer as I catch the floor lamp in its arc towards meeting that shining, incredibly flat screen after a match of small boys wrestling and chug the rest of my mulled wine.
Now, maybe you are wondering what I was doing at that grocery in the middle of the night, if I have shamelessly invited myself to someone else’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It all goes back to recreating those wonderful meals from childhood. My husband is partial to a particular stuffing. I have to wonder though, what ever possessed his mother to brown bacon in butter? Isn’t that redundant? And what possesses me to do the same? I am a college educated adult, and I recognize that bacon doesn’t really need to be browned in butter to elevate the grease factor of the stuffing to ‘saturated’. Could it be I am still reeling from the fact that his favorite comfort food comes from his ex-girlfriend’s mother, even though we’ve been married for eleven years, and I’ve given birth to all three of his children?
Well, I didn’t do his stuffing. I’ve decided to not be so neurotic, and chose instead to make my mom’s fruit salad. It is a wonderfully sweet concoction made with (full fat!) cream cheese and marshmallows. She discovered it when I was just a babe in Alaska, out of necessity because they didn’t get many fresh fruits at the time. You’d have thought I was born during the ice age. My thought is, if the cans of fruit cocktail were so bad, they had to be smothered by cream cheese and marshmallows, I question the intelligence of eating them in the first place. Anyway, I had to dash to the local supermarket to get marshmallows because the boys had used them for their marshmallow guns (another story) and of course, the (full fat!) cream cheese.
I’m sure our neighbors were wondering as I ran back and forth from the new house to the old house carrying a sauce pan and some hot pads. But nothing was going to come between me and a groovy fruit salad from my past.
Even living oversea, the pull of comfort foods was strong. Whether I was boiling down enormous squash to make ‘pumpkin’ pie, or sneaking ham underneath my underwear in luggage traveling back to Cairo, we’d do anything to recreate that special meal. Friends and I would look for hours in store after store in the Philippines to find the right ingredients for chili. We thought nothing of going over our weight limit on the airplane if it meant bringing back a few extra jars of peanut butter. I’d travel four hours in a hot van to secure a can of speghettios for my deserving children. I’ve been known to pay the equivalent of $15 US for pop tarts while outside of the United States. This is the true test of honesty in a relationship. Do you confess to your spouse that you were idiotic enough to pay that amount of money for some pop tarts? You’ve got to really love them if you let them eat a pop tart when they are three dollars a piece. It was a challenge acquiring all these foods, but the sense of accomplishment and experiencing those familiar smells and tastes were worth it.
So, if you see me this next Thanksgiving eve, pushing a cart close to midnight, know that it’s a mission of love. And I forgot the cranberry sauce again.
Most of the year I’m pretty healthy about my eating, even if the three small boys I try and sustain are not. How they exist on yogurt enhanced with flavors that don’t exist in nature, every kind of sugary coated cereal imaginable, and a wide array of alarmingly nasty snack chips, I’ll never know. Real fruits and vegetables do manage to find themselves into my cart, and once and a while, even something as wild as tofu or a whole grain low carb cracker or two.
But let’s get back to Thanksgiving. The one thing I notice about each of the other cart pushing slackers is, we all have the same food products in our carts. Maybe the others aren’t as lame as me. Perhaps that nice lady over there thought she had one can of left over sweet potatoes in the far reaching cob webbed back corner of her cupboard. Maybe that kindly looking gentleman thought Great Aunt June was going to bring the cranberry sauce, but that fell through. Not me. No, I just don’t think about all the necessary but odd foods I’ll need in order to recreate the warm and fuzzy Thanksgivings of my and my husband’s childhoods.
So, here I am at the store as the clock strikes nine p.m on Thanksgiving Eve, along with the other twenty or so cart wielding slackers as we race like a pack of frenzied lemmings to each Thanksgiving food station in search of those last few cans of necessary items required to make the holiday a success. It’s like a marshmallow topped yam induced treasure hunt as we all try and figure out where in the world French fried onions, whole cranberries and cornbread stuffing reside in the local supermarket. I always wonder if these goodies are actually on the shelves during the other eleven months at all, or if the store manager whips them out of some storage shed in a back lot somewhere just in time. Think about it a moment. Do you find green and red candied cherries any other time than at Christmas? Does anyone actually eat those anymore, or have they gone out of fashion like marshmallow jello and pasta salad? If they do stock these things, I don’t think they put them in the same place each day. In fact I think they move them every morning in the store. This keeps us shoppers on our toes, and for those of us suffering from stress induced short term memory loss or early Altzheimer’s, a.k.a. parents, we are guaranteed to purchase more cans of odd Thanksgiving foods than if they were in the same spot in the store during that whole honorary turkey month. It isn’t by happenstance that I now have four jars of marshmallow fluff in the pantry. It’s because they keep moving the holiday food endcap, like a camouflaged hunter in a duck blind, trying to trick me every time I have to run in to the store because I forgot butter again. Racing past that pyramid display of cooking delights, each time I stop and try to remember seeing it the day previous. I look around at my surroundings, confused and disoriented, reaching yet again for the powdered sugar and chocolate chips, walking slowly to the check out. It isn’t until I reach the safety of my own home I realize I have once again forgotten the butter.
But I digress. Here I am again. Thanksgiving Eve, eyeballing the cart next to me to see if that person has figured out where the pearl onions are hidden. Crawling close the floor boards stalking that necessary box of cornbread stuffing, I pause. Where is it? In the bread aisle? Or is it with dressings? Oh, they don’t mean that kind of dressings, they mean the salad dressings, right? Oh whatever, I’m so confused. I tackle the cute stock boy on leave from college for the holidays to ask where the black olives are located. I mean, what is an olive anyway, a vegetable or a fruit? Doesn’t matter as they are located with the condiments. No wonder I can’t find anything.
Time to check out. Now my next decision is whether to hide the wedding ring or not as I hand items to the checkout clerk. They are already passing judgement against me; do I really want them to think that someone as irresponsible as me could possibly think I can cook a Thanksgiving dinner for another consenting adult, or heaven forbid, children who have no say in the matter?
Once home I feel half the battle is complete, but there are more dragons to slay. You see, our family seems to make a habit of moving right during the holiday season. This time I feel relieved to say our move only entailed swapping houses a few doors down, but usually it takes several airplanes, a truck load of baggage and a change of language before we are safely ensconced in our new home.
Not wanting this move to be any easier than the others for fear I will be out of condition for the next one, I have put off calling to turn on services until the very last minute. This means that my lovely family of five is without basic services we Americans think is our constitutional right including water, electricity, gas and satellite tv for the entire Thanksgiving weekend. Never fear, as I still hold the key to the rental house. I imagine it will be fun to pretend we are at the local campground dashing in our unmentionables down the street to use a running toilet and take a warm shower.
The Thanksgiving dinner won’t be a problem this year, as I have already impolitely invited myself to a dear friend’s house for the holiday. So what if it is their first Thanksgiving together? So what if they were married less than one month ago? Why wouldn’t they want to share this family holiday with me and my brood? Nothing says family planning like hosting three rambunctious boys at a formal sit down four course meal. My heart rate increases when they unveil the newly purchased 61 inch HDTV and sweat starts pouring down my forehead. The visions I have are not of my wonderful friend Wendy basking in the glow of the cooked turkey as she carries the platter from the kitchen to the dining table, or of that first toast to a wonderful meal, but of me intercepting nerf footballs as they are launched at the largest piece of electronics I have ever laid eyes on. I say a silent prayer as I catch the floor lamp in its arc towards meeting that shining, incredibly flat screen after a match of small boys wrestling and chug the rest of my mulled wine.
Now, maybe you are wondering what I was doing at that grocery in the middle of the night, if I have shamelessly invited myself to someone else’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It all goes back to recreating those wonderful meals from childhood. My husband is partial to a particular stuffing. I have to wonder though, what ever possessed his mother to brown bacon in butter? Isn’t that redundant? And what possesses me to do the same? I am a college educated adult, and I recognize that bacon doesn’t really need to be browned in butter to elevate the grease factor of the stuffing to ‘saturated’. Could it be I am still reeling from the fact that his favorite comfort food comes from his ex-girlfriend’s mother, even though we’ve been married for eleven years, and I’ve given birth to all three of his children?
Well, I didn’t do his stuffing. I’ve decided to not be so neurotic, and chose instead to make my mom’s fruit salad. It is a wonderfully sweet concoction made with (full fat!) cream cheese and marshmallows. She discovered it when I was just a babe in Alaska, out of necessity because they didn’t get many fresh fruits at the time. You’d have thought I was born during the ice age. My thought is, if the cans of fruit cocktail were so bad, they had to be smothered by cream cheese and marshmallows, I question the intelligence of eating them in the first place. Anyway, I had to dash to the local supermarket to get marshmallows because the boys had used them for their marshmallow guns (another story) and of course, the (full fat!) cream cheese.
I’m sure our neighbors were wondering as I ran back and forth from the new house to the old house carrying a sauce pan and some hot pads. But nothing was going to come between me and a groovy fruit salad from my past.
Even living oversea, the pull of comfort foods was strong. Whether I was boiling down enormous squash to make ‘pumpkin’ pie, or sneaking ham underneath my underwear in luggage traveling back to Cairo, we’d do anything to recreate that special meal. Friends and I would look for hours in store after store in the Philippines to find the right ingredients for chili. We thought nothing of going over our weight limit on the airplane if it meant bringing back a few extra jars of peanut butter. I’d travel four hours in a hot van to secure a can of speghettios for my deserving children. I’ve been known to pay the equivalent of $15 US for pop tarts while outside of the United States. This is the true test of honesty in a relationship. Do you confess to your spouse that you were idiotic enough to pay that amount of money for some pop tarts? You’ve got to really love them if you let them eat a pop tart when they are three dollars a piece. It was a challenge acquiring all these foods, but the sense of accomplishment and experiencing those familiar smells and tastes were worth it.
So, if you see me this next Thanksgiving eve, pushing a cart close to midnight, know that it’s a mission of love. And I forgot the cranberry sauce again.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
A Random Look Back At Early November
Ha Ha! I remember dressing up MY dog when I was little. I have to find that picture of Shoni with my nightgown, a hat and pink sunglasses,... I do think Max looks especially tough with a pink feather boa! Like mother like daughter!
Home Depot ROCKS! The first Saturday of every month they have a free workshop for kids. You sign up, show up and they hand you a little kit, safety glasses, a hammer and an apron you get to keep. I would not give this little girl a hammer if I were you,...
This past month it was especially grand, since it was pirate ships. Aaaargh!!!! Poor Jared nailed in his 'cannons' so they were shooting inside the ship instead of out. Like mother, like son!
Here is the FANTASTIC cake that I found on the Internet and said to my mom: "Here is the cake that I,.. well, I mean us,.. okay, well, actually, YOU are going to make for Zach's eighth birthday. It looks really easy!"
Uhm,... Ben, you are supposed to throw the balls on the skeeball alley, not Brendan!
Maybe There Is Such A Thing As Too Pregnant
Okay, so after the comments I got emailed to my personal email, perhaps I should stop posting until the pregnancy has passed. I am riding the emotional roller coaster, which is always there lurking in the background for us girls, but very exemplified when preggo. Last week I had three days of 'every one is out to get me, no one cares I'm having a baby.' My husband tried to call. I emailed him and told him I didn't want to talk. When he did call I was nothing but a blubbery mess. Then, magically, I felt fine! He was just happy to be 2000 miles away not dealing with the whole loop-de-loop, I'm sure.
Only three and a half weeks to go. At my last appointment the nurse sat down to go through my chart, getting everything in order to send over to the birthing center. That's when it hit me, I'm having a baby,... SOON. Dealing with four other kids non stop one tends to forget the bun in the oven, accept when trying to bend over and tie my shoes, pick something off the floor, or attempt to look cute for the day in some sort of clothing. Ha. Then she said, "You are the picture of a perfect pregnancy." To which I replied, "Uhm,.. except for the blood clot and 50 pound weight gain,.." What chart was she looking at? But, honestly, besides those two little things, yes, absolutely. I could do this whole pregnancy thing myself.
After all, what DO you ask your OB when you are pregnant with your fifth kid? "Any questions?" asks my doctor.
"Nope," I say.
"Well, we'll see you in two weeks," she replies.
So I started to think of every possible stupid thing I could ask.
"I'm sooooo tired," I whine.
"You are pregnant," she says, closing my chart and smiling, ushering me out the door.
"I think I'm getting hairier. Here, look at my cheeks, they are fuzzier than normal. It's a good thing I'm blond. Is it my thyroid?"
She smiles. "Your thyroid is fine."
So, yes, small babies, Terri, but not a small mommy. : )
Gotta go buy some little diapers and maybe pack a bag, I guess.
Only three and a half weeks to go. At my last appointment the nurse sat down to go through my chart, getting everything in order to send over to the birthing center. That's when it hit me, I'm having a baby,... SOON. Dealing with four other kids non stop one tends to forget the bun in the oven, accept when trying to bend over and tie my shoes, pick something off the floor, or attempt to look cute for the day in some sort of clothing. Ha. Then she said, "You are the picture of a perfect pregnancy." To which I replied, "Uhm,.. except for the blood clot and 50 pound weight gain,.." What chart was she looking at? But, honestly, besides those two little things, yes, absolutely. I could do this whole pregnancy thing myself.
After all, what DO you ask your OB when you are pregnant with your fifth kid? "Any questions?" asks my doctor.
"Nope," I say.
"Well, we'll see you in two weeks," she replies.
So I started to think of every possible stupid thing I could ask.
"I'm sooooo tired," I whine.
"You are pregnant," she says, closing my chart and smiling, ushering me out the door.
"I think I'm getting hairier. Here, look at my cheeks, they are fuzzier than normal. It's a good thing I'm blond. Is it my thyroid?"
She smiles. "Your thyroid is fine."
So, yes, small babies, Terri, but not a small mommy. : )
Gotta go buy some little diapers and maybe pack a bag, I guess.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Happy Scary Shopping
Okay, when I only had boys to shop for, I did run into the 'OMG, I am NOT buying that toy and WHAT PARENT WOULD?' mindset from time to time. No scary bleeding plastic figurines; no demonic action figures and nothing that promoted some movie they were too young to even see. (Same goes for Haloween. You can dress up as a Zombie, but you may not dress up as Jason. How do you know who Jason even is??)
I'm not some crazed zealot shielding my kids from the evils of the world. I am, however, their mother, as as that person, I will guide them away from things that are not appropriate and tell them why, so when they are older they can make their own decisions. It is all we as parents can do. I allow toy guns. They read Goosebumps and Harry Potter and even the Vampire Chronicles, because my oldest can handle it.
And don't get me wrong; I can't WAIT until they are old enough to bring the pillow and blankies out to the living room and watch scary movies with their mother until the crack of dawn. But not yet. I, for one, treat horror movies and books as a rollercoaster ride for my brain. I don't think reading or seeing them makes me an evil person. But, again, I'm an adult and I can handle it.
Having a girl, however, has opened my eyes to a whole WORLD of ridiculous, inappropriate toys. Wow. Barbie, maybe not so darned bad when you place her next to Bratz. Not just the creepy eye surgery and botox lips they sport, but the mindset of these dolls. Shop and shop and shop. Yes, I know lots of little girls who play with them and they are completely fine. But I have my mom as a role model, and where she allowed the 'Sunshine Family' she allowed only one Barbie doll. Did I think my friends who had 20 barbies had a better life than me? Of course. Did it scar me for life? Of course not. Did it teach me something good as an adult? I think it did.
Toy cash registers with pretend money? Great for learning. Toy credit cards and the plastic jewelry to pretend to buy? No way.
Play food? Great! Play McDonald's food? Not so great.
Then I found this great little aisle in Target that had what I'd call snooty toys. Why they had to have their own aisle, I can't imagine except for that impression they want to give their shoppers. They have these cute 'barbie' type dolls that don't have gazonga boobies and dress not so quite inappropriately. I grabbed one and a little baby with supermodel hair for my daughter. Now for the daddy doll,... no daddy doll. No boy baby dolls, no male nothin'. What's up with that? I know that the nuclear family is in the minority, but come on! It's okay to play with boy dolls! It's okay for boys to play with dolls! My boys had baby dolls when they were younger. Are these lesbian dolls who propogate with IVF? Nothing wrong with that for those who want it, but I don't. Make a boy doll for me. Are we teaching little girls that boys are not important? Living in a household with four boys (five if you include the dog), I kind of LIKE boys and think it would be cute if my daughter could pretend with her play family just like her real life family.
That doesn't mean I want to BE a boy. I am extremely happy being a girl and would like to teach my girl that being a girl is cool. But liking boys is also cool.
Which leads me to the whole controversy of the Dangerous Book for Boys and now we have a Dangerous Book for Girls. Don't even get me started down this path. I bought the first for my boy. I will NOT buy the second for my girl. I think it is ASANINE. I don't want my boys and girls to be the same. I want them to be different and cherish their differentness; respect each other for their differences and learn from them.
As a kid, one of my favorite toys was a blue metal pick up truck. But I'm a girl.
As a teenager I wore makeup. But I also trained bird dogs, got a couple of first places in field trialing competitions and my grandfather, who is a gunsmith, gave me a shotgun for my 13th birthday. But I am a girl.
As an adult, at one of the many after conference shin digs I'd go to with my co-workers, smoking a cigar and snarfing beer out of the pitcher (sorry mom), my good buddy told me, "Karen, you are a man trapped in a woman's body". Maybe true, but I am a girl.
I'm not some crazed zealot shielding my kids from the evils of the world. I am, however, their mother, as as that person, I will guide them away from things that are not appropriate and tell them why, so when they are older they can make their own decisions. It is all we as parents can do. I allow toy guns. They read Goosebumps and Harry Potter and even the Vampire Chronicles, because my oldest can handle it.
And don't get me wrong; I can't WAIT until they are old enough to bring the pillow and blankies out to the living room and watch scary movies with their mother until the crack of dawn. But not yet. I, for one, treat horror movies and books as a rollercoaster ride for my brain. I don't think reading or seeing them makes me an evil person. But, again, I'm an adult and I can handle it.
Having a girl, however, has opened my eyes to a whole WORLD of ridiculous, inappropriate toys. Wow. Barbie, maybe not so darned bad when you place her next to Bratz. Not just the creepy eye surgery and botox lips they sport, but the mindset of these dolls. Shop and shop and shop. Yes, I know lots of little girls who play with them and they are completely fine. But I have my mom as a role model, and where she allowed the 'Sunshine Family' she allowed only one Barbie doll. Did I think my friends who had 20 barbies had a better life than me? Of course. Did it scar me for life? Of course not. Did it teach me something good as an adult? I think it did.
Toy cash registers with pretend money? Great for learning. Toy credit cards and the plastic jewelry to pretend to buy? No way.
Play food? Great! Play McDonald's food? Not so great.
Then I found this great little aisle in Target that had what I'd call snooty toys. Why they had to have their own aisle, I can't imagine except for that impression they want to give their shoppers. They have these cute 'barbie' type dolls that don't have gazonga boobies and dress not so quite inappropriately. I grabbed one and a little baby with supermodel hair for my daughter. Now for the daddy doll,... no daddy doll. No boy baby dolls, no male nothin'. What's up with that? I know that the nuclear family is in the minority, but come on! It's okay to play with boy dolls! It's okay for boys to play with dolls! My boys had baby dolls when they were younger. Are these lesbian dolls who propogate with IVF? Nothing wrong with that for those who want it, but I don't. Make a boy doll for me. Are we teaching little girls that boys are not important? Living in a household with four boys (five if you include the dog), I kind of LIKE boys and think it would be cute if my daughter could pretend with her play family just like her real life family.
That doesn't mean I want to BE a boy. I am extremely happy being a girl and would like to teach my girl that being a girl is cool. But liking boys is also cool.
Which leads me to the whole controversy of the Dangerous Book for Boys and now we have a Dangerous Book for Girls. Don't even get me started down this path. I bought the first for my boy. I will NOT buy the second for my girl. I think it is ASANINE. I don't want my boys and girls to be the same. I want them to be different and cherish their differentness; respect each other for their differences and learn from them.
As a kid, one of my favorite toys was a blue metal pick up truck. But I'm a girl.
As a teenager I wore makeup. But I also trained bird dogs, got a couple of first places in field trialing competitions and my grandfather, who is a gunsmith, gave me a shotgun for my 13th birthday. But I am a girl.
As an adult, at one of the many after conference shin digs I'd go to with my co-workers, smoking a cigar and snarfing beer out of the pitcher (sorry mom), my good buddy told me, "Karen, you are a man trapped in a woman's body". Maybe true, but I am a girl.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Stuff Worth Reading
I love blogs. I love to see what people are up to, and have them lead me on other pathways that I may find interesting because they do. Blogs are kind of like Amazon.com's "People Who Bought XYZ Book Also Bought This,"
Here are a couple interesting things I found on the Internet that I think are worth reading (thanks for the links, Magan!)
Don't knock bibilical home ec from the Oped section of the LA Times. She is what I would say is a conservative baptist (maybe there are no other kinds?), a great writer and interesting blogger.
And something to chew about Mitt Romney, even if you don't lean that conservatively and think you don't care, it is an interesting reflection and for my generation, a bit of history revealed.
Here are a couple interesting things I found on the Internet that I think are worth reading (thanks for the links, Magan!)
Don't knock bibilical home ec from the Oped section of the LA Times. She is what I would say is a conservative baptist (maybe there are no other kinds?), a great writer and interesting blogger.
And something to chew about Mitt Romney, even if you don't lean that conservatively and think you don't care, it is an interesting reflection and for my generation, a bit of history revealed.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
All I Needed to Know I Learned From Kindergartners
So I’m helping with the Kindergarten Memory Book, which is no easy task when you are nine months pregnant, have an almost two year old and a part time job. But I said I’d do it and I need to log ‘Family Commitment Hours’ as part of my contract to enrolling my kids in this school. Why don’t they just go ahead and admit that they are ‘Overworked Mother Commitment Hours’? I can’t remember hubby doing anything to help besides get chastised for using a non-digital camera at the pumpkin patch. (serves him right.)
It is cracking me up to see what kids write. There are the usual answers to ‘what is your favorite hobby?’ like ‘riding my pony’ that you would expect from a private school. So, I guess the girl who answered ‘crab’ to her favorite food question also shouldn’t be a surprise. Neither should the ‘ravioli with white sauce’ (these are five year olds for heaven’s sake and I think they eat better than I do.)
Then there are the brown nose questions like the answer ‘vegetables’ to the ‘what’s your favorite food’ question. Yeah, right. Someone tell her she isn’t getting graded.
Then there are those completely made up questions like from my son. His favorite food? Japanese. I don’t remember ever feeding the kid Japanese food. And spending the night at his friend Ren’s house, who does happen to be Japanese, and exclaiming that tofu is gross, doesn’t count as eating Japanese food, much less claiming it as his favorite.
My kid’s favorite color? Black. What does that say about me, oh friend with the child pysch doctorate? It can’t be good.
********
For those who have asked, my due date is December 12. All my kids have been around 8 lbs, with Sabrina, the only girl so far, being under 8 even though she was number four. Let the betting begin!
*********
And CONGRATULATIONS to Paul and Sarah who are expecting their first in July! Yay! Paul says they are now in competition to have even more kids than us. I say, more power to you!
It is cracking me up to see what kids write. There are the usual answers to ‘what is your favorite hobby?’ like ‘riding my pony’ that you would expect from a private school. So, I guess the girl who answered ‘crab’ to her favorite food question also shouldn’t be a surprise. Neither should the ‘ravioli with white sauce’ (these are five year olds for heaven’s sake and I think they eat better than I do.)
Then there are the brown nose questions like the answer ‘vegetables’ to the ‘what’s your favorite food’ question. Yeah, right. Someone tell her she isn’t getting graded.
Then there are those completely made up questions like from my son. His favorite food? Japanese. I don’t remember ever feeding the kid Japanese food. And spending the night at his friend Ren’s house, who does happen to be Japanese, and exclaiming that tofu is gross, doesn’t count as eating Japanese food, much less claiming it as his favorite.
My kid’s favorite color? Black. What does that say about me, oh friend with the child pysch doctorate? It can’t be good.
********
For those who have asked, my due date is December 12. All my kids have been around 8 lbs, with Sabrina, the only girl so far, being under 8 even though she was number four. Let the betting begin!
*********
And CONGRATULATIONS to Paul and Sarah who are expecting their first in July! Yay! Paul says they are now in competition to have even more kids than us. I say, more power to you!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
No Turning Back Now
Okay, okay, I'm posting. If I had time to post every day, I would have nothing to post about. :)
Thanks to all the neighbors and friends, Church acquaintances, and school friends who are excited to have us back down in Cali. Rob appreciates the kind words as he sees everbody and the references for housepainters. And let me tell you, I'll take an eight year old's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese over the mess he moved back to any day. And that's saying a lot.
On my end, everything is hunky dory. The baby is locked and loaded, head down. No small feat since two out of four pregnancies have been breach. It's such a relief to not have to worry about that. While a version (when the dr. turns the baby around using external manipulation) isn't anywhere nearly as wonderful as full assault labor, it is extremely uncomfortable and,.. weird. Plus it leaves bruises. The last baby didn't turn with that, which led me to asking everyone available for ideas on how to get her head first. I had a lot of interesting ideas from standing on my head (can't do that when I'm NOT pregnant) to sitting on an exercise ball (good to have a use for it, because as I have learned, exercise equipment doesn't give you any of its good advantages unless you actually use it. Having the receipt in your wallet for those 10 lbs. dumbbells doesn't actually help you gain muscle. Such a bummer.) Also, from my Phd friend, as she explained in layman's terms for me, the BA holding one, "shine a flashlight up your hoo-ha." Considering she doesn't know what continent Eqypt is on, I decided not to do this one. Too 'Poltergiest' - ish if you know what I mean. "Carrie Ann, go towards the light,.."
I did finally ask my doctor and he suggested (now, remember this IS southern California, the land of crystals, flax seed and 'finding yourself') to get in a hot tub, with the water not so boiling hot. So, I did this for the whole weekend. Not as relaxing as you might think, with three boys and their friends cannon balling their preggo mother in the hot tub.
Whether this actually worked, or the doctor pushing her half way did, or she did it on her own, she turned!
I'm also dilated to 1 cm, which means absolutely nothing really, except that things are working. They seem to stall, however, when the actual delivery times comes along, making me at least, very thankful I don't like in the old days, as I would have died with the first birth. Here's to pitocin!
Thanks to all the neighbors and friends, Church acquaintances, and school friends who are excited to have us back down in Cali. Rob appreciates the kind words as he sees everbody and the references for housepainters. And let me tell you, I'll take an eight year old's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese over the mess he moved back to any day. And that's saying a lot.
On my end, everything is hunky dory. The baby is locked and loaded, head down. No small feat since two out of four pregnancies have been breach. It's such a relief to not have to worry about that. While a version (when the dr. turns the baby around using external manipulation) isn't anywhere nearly as wonderful as full assault labor, it is extremely uncomfortable and,.. weird. Plus it leaves bruises. The last baby didn't turn with that, which led me to asking everyone available for ideas on how to get her head first. I had a lot of interesting ideas from standing on my head (can't do that when I'm NOT pregnant) to sitting on an exercise ball (good to have a use for it, because as I have learned, exercise equipment doesn't give you any of its good advantages unless you actually use it. Having the receipt in your wallet for those 10 lbs. dumbbells doesn't actually help you gain muscle. Such a bummer.) Also, from my Phd friend, as she explained in layman's terms for me, the BA holding one, "shine a flashlight up your hoo-ha." Considering she doesn't know what continent Eqypt is on, I decided not to do this one. Too 'Poltergiest' - ish if you know what I mean. "Carrie Ann, go towards the light,.."
I did finally ask my doctor and he suggested (now, remember this IS southern California, the land of crystals, flax seed and 'finding yourself') to get in a hot tub, with the water not so boiling hot. So, I did this for the whole weekend. Not as relaxing as you might think, with three boys and their friends cannon balling their preggo mother in the hot tub.
Whether this actually worked, or the doctor pushing her half way did, or she did it on her own, she turned!
I'm also dilated to 1 cm, which means absolutely nothing really, except that things are working. They seem to stall, however, when the actual delivery times comes along, making me at least, very thankful I don't like in the old days, as I would have died with the first birth. Here's to pitocin!
Friday, November 09, 2007
Have a Happy Life
If you haven't seen it yet, I strongly recommend Evan Almighty with Steve Carel. It is HILARIOUS, has a good message and absolutely NO SWEARING. It has a better family rating than riding with me in my car any day of the week.
And for another happy moment, check out Edward Beck's book Soul Provider. I've just begun to read it, but his easy writing style and interesting correlations to everyday opportunities to grow in your own spiritual faith make this a book that you'll grab to read over and over again. A Catholic priest, Beck discusses spirituality that transcends our human need to typify religion; he brings in tenants from many different faiths to dscuss a 5th Century 'step to being a good person'. It is very timely today in a society where we try and fill our emptiness with things ( I like Nordstrom more than I should, I'll admit it), and we seem to be hit more and more often with tragedies such as the recent fires in California, flood and famine in the world, and human atrocities we inflict on each other every day. (Just this week investigators unearthed a UPS pilot living in a nice suburban lakeside community who has been beating and raping little boys for the past decade. He has video of these awful things in his house. We are talking more than 20 victims who have been identified already. Unbelievable.)
Soul Provider and his other books God Underneath Me and Unlikely Ways Home remind us that we as human beings are fallible and that's okay. Life is a learning event. Dust yourself off and try again, don't beat yourself over the head because you aren't perfect. But don't give up either.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Thurston County Football 2007
A couple of pictures for daddy who is down in So Cal sewing our lives back together; assessing damage of the house from uncaring tenants, moving household goods back in after we spent our moving allowance on shipping heavy, but beautiful teak furniture back from Bali, and setting up utilities. Fun fun fun.
Anyway, here is Jared in all his glory. He had a great football season; six touchdowns, lots of tackles and many other things that I as a football illiterate fail to understand. It was nice having him play in a smaller league. That and the other kidney I had to sell to pay for his overnight football camp this past summer.
I feel like we won the parenting Olympics since his coach told us at least three different times what a great kid he is. And that he is. We are very fortunate and I at least hope I don't screw him up in the next eight years. Here's praying for help with parenting,.. ugh.
Here are a few pics from my buddy at work who's boy also plays football (on another team) sent over. His wife has a killer camera. Maybe Santa will visit us this year and take Rob out of the analog age. : )
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