For the Ones I Love

Suffice it to say, I must really, truly, hate myself in such a way that torture is the only way to appease the masochism. 

All that to say, I'm traipsing off with the kids tomorrow morn to visit Ruby and George in the Arctic Tundra.  Three kids, two dogs, two (extra on the opinionated, less on the actually listening to what you have to say) sweet elderly grandparents and myself.  In a two bedroom, single wide trailer. 

I do this because I truly do love these people.  Though I wish there were a hotel room close by that I could actually, you know, afford. 

The thing is....  I didn't make the chicken patties I wanted to bring for Lydia.  Nor did I roast the potatoes nor the beets.  The diapers are currently on the drying rack and only one of four loads of clothes has finished drying-- though I haven't actually taken them out and folded them, yet.

Kyra and Lydia are awful bed partners and Ruby wants no one in the bedroom with her, lest she feel the need to scream and cry throughout the night.

I always like the idea of going to visit friends and family, but often find my self short on both sleep and temper. 

I rarely enjoy myself, is what I'm trying to say. 

And, yet, here I am, eve of a three night stay away from the gloriousness that is my home, with virtually nothing prepared and even less packed. 

Lydia fell out of a tree in the back yard about 7 o'clock this evening, not a long drop, but a painful one, and I couldn't help that one of the first thoughts out of my head, after the initial, "Oh, shit!" was, "Oh, please have broke something so we don't have to leave, tomorrow!" 

I kid you not.

This makes me either an ungrateful bitch or a horrible mother.  Probably both, truth be told. 

I'm excited to go because it's a chance to see people I really want to see.  I'm dreading the trip for the lack of sleep and escapism I so desire.

Onward and forward.  Or so they say.

Glass Half Empty. Now, Where'd That Waiter Go?

Today, my friend asked me in a casual conversational way, "What'd you do today?"  I answered with a little bit of this, a little bit of that and I dabbled over here, too.  And then something struck me. 

I confessed to my friend how I can never seem to finish one, set, project.  I can't organize wardrobe boxes from recent growth spurts and season changes.  I can't set Kyra's school work to a regular schedule.  I can't form a long term meal plan.  Hell, I can't even manage to straiten my own bedroom. 

I don't have anything more than usual on my plate.  Somehow, though, I can't seem to accomplish anything well enough to call one thing "finished." 

************

I recently traveled to spend the holidays with my side of the family.  It was nice to see everyone, but I can't say I was happy to be there.  Within just a couple days of getting there, I was already wishing to be home, in what has become my sanctuary.  Messy, unfinished or otherwise, my home has become my safe place. 

The baby wouldn't sleep through the night, instead reverting back to a newborn's waking schedule.  Lydia refused to leave my side unless I slipped away undetected.  Kyra couldn't catch a break while searching for and stretching her boundaries with those she hardly knows.  And I... 

I was tired and exhausted, cranky and emotional, overwhelmed and alone.  As much as my family is my family, they don't know me from Adam.  In a family of pristine, downy white sheep, my wool is as black as the richest farm soil. 

Nothing terrible, awful or even tragic happened.  But no matter how quiet and wallflower like I try to stay, no matter how pleasant I try to keep my smile, I still feel like the outsider trying to find her way into the exclusive club.  Some things never change, whether I'm 13 or 31, Awkward be thy name.

**************

I keep trying to tell myself this is way too long I've been feeling this way, but is it really?  I run between being sad and self-deprecating, to lonely and isolated, to plowing through with a smile.  Is it all symptoms of deployment, post partum or a combination?

Would someone who didn't have a 4 month old baby to contend with feel all these same emotions?  On the other hand, would someone without a deployment feel all these same emotions?  I've had PPD before, and while I never felt adequate, I also wanted to off myself.  At least I don't feel the latter.  And I've had the loneliness of deployment before, too.  Though I've never had the new baby at the same time as the deployment. 

Would someone with more, continuous sleep under their belt be asking themselves the same questions? 

*************

My sweet baby Ruby is three days shy of 20 weeks old.  As of today, Jeremy has been deployed for 17 of those weeks. 

I miss my husband dearly.  And not just at 12:30, 3 and 5 in the morning. 

I can't wait for the heart of my family to come back home. 

I keep waiting for the new normal to set in, the deployment normal.  So far, the normal is still a giant hole I can't seem to help but to pace around.

Reasons to Look Before You Cook

Ways to ruin your double batch of butternut squash soup you were so looking forward to for tonight's supper:

Add two teaspoons of chili powder instead of paprika. 

And that's what I get for only looking for the right color and not the right name when pulling from the spice drawer.

Now what's for supper?  I have no clue.  Oatmeal, probably.  Ya know, since we're not going to have it for Thanksgiving.

The Screaming Silence

My sweet babe is a month old today.  It's bittersweet, really.  She smiled at me yesterday.  A real smile, so I thought, a whole string of them as I whispered sweet nothings to her.  I haven't been granted the same privilege today.  I can't help but wonder if it was a fluke.  Or maybe that I've been right all along and she really does hate me.  I swore this to Jeremy since the day she was born.  I'd watch her, Ruby would stare unabashedly at Jer, sheer love in knowing he was here Daddy.  Never with me.  With me, I'm rarely granted eye contact. 

I wish I could freeze time, here, at home, until Jeremy can return.  But these early days of three kids, one of them a new born, on my own... I'm utterly overwhelmed at times.  I could use him here for physical support, if not only for moral support.  My expectations of the big girls are high.  My fuse with them is short.  I'm pretty sure I'm failing.

I thought I was finished in my woe-is-me wallow fest, but in these late hours, after the kids are all in bed, I can't help but be swept up in the screaming silence. 

I've done the dishes.  The laundry is running.  The floors are being swept in the slowest pattern I can muster. 

Tomorrow is one week since he's left.  And to be honest, I don't even know what date the boat is supposed to return.  One of the downsides to him checking onto the boat and then taking baby leave.  He had one week to jump in head first before the boat deployed.  Little things were missed, his email address, expected port calls, approximate return date. 

At least I now have his email. 

I miss him.

I keep reminding myself the first month is brutal.  The first week the worst.  That means, starting tomorrow, it's only going to go up from here.  Right?

Dear Atlas Van Lines,

I hate you.  And not only do I hate you, I FUCKING HATE YOU. 

I hope, whom ever had the bright idea to change our moving date THREE FUCKING TIMES, one of those times being THE DAY BEFORE you are thought to show up, walks out of their office building and proceeds to get dumped on by sheets and sheets of pouring rain. 

I hope that while it's raining, you then find that YOU LOCKED YOUR MOTHER FUCKING KEYS IN. YOUR. CAR.  And I hope, when you call for a locksmith, they break your mother fucking window trying to pry your lock.  And you have to ride home... fully exposed to the elements.

I also hope the Navy wises up and fires your ass as one of their contract movers. 

That's what I hope, because I've run completely dry of patience.  And I'm sure God is looking down on all of this with his hands up saying, "Look, dude.  You can't fuck with a 25 week pregnant woman.  I ain't stepping into that vat of vengeful hormones.  You're on your own."

Honest to goodness, if we can figure out a way to move our own mother-fucking-selves in the next three days... WE. WILL. 

Sincerely,
The woman who sounds pleasant on the phone while simultaneously planing your ultimate demise in her head.

************

Now.  How and where to find an ass ton of moving boxes.....  And while I may have the anger to pull this shit though, do we have the time? 

This is the most unprofessional, cluster-fucked, pre-move bull shit we've ever experienced.  And I'm over it. 

But I bet you figured that out already.

It's A Sign. A Sign SOMEONE Needs A New Job.

My heart stopped beating twice today, because of a shitty lifeguard I've been cursing in my head for 8 weeks now thanks to the glazed look he gets in his eyes as he stares at the wall on the other side of the pool.

The first time was when a little girl, who ALWAYS lags 15 feet behind the pack, had her floatation device spontaneously unbuckle from her waist.  There she was, desperately trying to make it to the side of the pool, right under the feet of the lifeguard who was staring off into space.  It was the little girl's mother who shot to the side of the pool to alert the lifeguard to, you know, do his job and save this child.

Can you guess what happened, next?

He stood there, clutching his long, floaty, life saving device and watched the teacher swim the 10 feet back to grab the little girl. 

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WAS FOUR FEET FROM THE LIFEGUARD'S TOES.

I shit you not!

The second time was when the kids were taking turns climbing out of the pool to slide down a make shift slide.  Each child was allotted two turns before the instructors unbelted the floaty things from their backs and sent them to their mother's for towels.

Lydia-- my dear kumquat of a child-- apparently either (a) was unaware they took her floaty off or (b) was unaware she was finished with the class-- went back to the slide, went into the water, in front of a teacher.  The teacher then passed her off to the side {meaning for her to swim back to the stairs to the other teacher} and moved on to the next kid.  All this happened before I could rouse Kyra off the bleachers and get to Lydia before she slid into the water.

It was my turn to point out my child was barely treading water.  I by-passed the lifeguard who was, once again, standing directly above the scene of the action, oblivious to life happening around him.

Excuse me!  Teacher A!  Lydia isn't wearing her floaty and needs help!

Teacher A reaches out, plucks Lydia up and starts with her in hand, towards the stairs.  Lifeguard Dumb Ass, looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. 

Take that in.

He looks at me.  The mother who's child he didn't notice was drowning.  AND SHRUGS HIS SHOULDERS.

Someone please pat me on the back because I. Did. Not., as much as was my first instinct, rip his head right off his motherfuckingshurggingshoulders.

I really think I deserve some kind of award.  Or box of chocolate topped, vanilla cream filled, Krispy Kreme donuts.

I looked at Lifeguard Dumb Ass, told him he was doing really shitty at his job today and walked to
Teacher B to gather my child as she apologized, saying Lydia was supposed to find me for her towel. 

Both cases were total and complete accidents.  Things that can be listed under SHIT HAPPENS.

I'm not angry with the teacher who was 15 feet in front of one kid, who thinks it's play time, to keep up with the other 8 students in class.  This kid had been harped on again and again to keep up.  The mother didn't do anything to help the situation, unless you count taking lots of pictures of your child while she didn't follow basic instructions.  Honestly.  SHIT. HAPPENS.  It's no one's fault.

Nor can I be offended with the teacher who let Lydia slide into the pool, never noticing something important was missing.  Lydia didn't listen to her instructor's directions.  I didn't get to her side in time to correct her lack of listening skills.  It happens.  SHIT. HAPPENS.

But when your a fucking lifeguard.  And all your job entails is making sure to watch the water for small, drowning children.  And you fail.  TWICE.  In TEN MINUTES.  That's not SHIT HAPPENS.  That's, you need another fucking career.

One that doesn't involve attention to detail.

3's

1. Saturday, 1AM, Kyra wakes up in severe respiratory distress and we had to call an ambulance for help [for the second time in 18 months].  Monday afternoon she's formally diagnosed with asthma by her pediatrician.
2. Monday, 4:30PM, dogs visit the vet for yearly vaccinations.  Bishop hasn't eaten a thing all weekend.  He's put in puppy hospital because his pancreas is shutting down.
3. Monday, 10PM, Lydia wakes up in respiratory distress and Jeremy drives her to the ER.  She has a nasty case of Croup.  We are ordered to stick her outside in the below freezing temperatures if she's in distress again.

Life happens in 3's, right?  3 major incidents in 3 days.  I think we ought to be good through the New Year... 

At the very least.

The Price of Changing Leaves

Lydia has a doctor's appointment this week with her Pediatric GI.  We are hoping beyond hope that they'll scope her.

That sounds very mean, doesn't it?

Excuse me, Doc, do you mind shoving a camera enabled tube down her throat and possible up her ass, too.  If it's not too much trouble, mind you.  

The issues we have are (1) the leaves are changing and (2) the city we're traveling to is at least a 3 hour drive.  These wouldn't be problems if her appointments weren't always at the ass crack of dawn.  Because of our early appointment, we need to find a hotel room for the night before.  And not just any hotel room, one with a kitchen in it since our delicate little flower can't eat restaurant food for shit without reacting to the unknown.

The place we stayed back in April was lovely.  Affordable over priced, yes, but lovely.  To stay in that same hotel this week, it's MORE THEN DOUBLE the previously affordable over priced rate.

Let that sink in.... MORE. THAN. DOUBLE. the price.

Because leaves will be at their peak.  The cost, per night, to see a stupid red, yellow, or orange leaf is THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. 

Oh, fuck me.

I guess I'll just take it out of Lydia's college fund.  Not like she'll be able to afford college, anyhow, what, with all that expensive fresh, non processed and pasture raised food she'll have to buy.  And I'd like to see just how much time she'll have to study since everything she cooks will have to be made completely from scratch. 

The price we pay for our Wee Delicate Flower.

She better remember this when she's picking out the nursing home for Jeremy and myself in 40 years.

Stressed

I'm stressed and I'm strained and I am, honestly, not dealing very well inside.

I baby sit a kid.  A kid who comes to me with issues.  Issues beyond my control.  Issues that affect me.  And my children.  Issues that I was sure, if I could just keep the child's life constant, here, in my house, we could work things out.  Teach right and wrong.  Consequence and reward.  Kindness and respect.

Four and a half weeks in, things are no better then day one.  And worse, my children are starting to pick up on this poor behavior. 

There are 4 more weeks until school starts.  But I'm not sure we're going to make it until that point.

Every morning, I wake with a feeling of foreboding.  Every day, I wish to tell the parent I can't do this anymore.  Every night, I fall asleep with the regret of not speaking up.

I also feel immense guilt.  I feel like I'm giving up on a child.  And that thought tears me apart.  Tears my heart to shreds.

The kid needs stability.  Structure.  And someone to guide the way.

Its hard.  The kid seems to lack sympathy and empathy, caring what is right and wrong and whose feelings are hurt.  The kid pushes boundaries, ignores requests and breaks all the rules, and a lot of the toys.  

The kid lacks discipline but is full of entitlement.  Speaking with the parent, its obviously a norm in their house, though probably exasperated by the recent upheavals they have faced.

But when the kid is good, the kid shines.  Climbs in my lap, longing for attention.  Showers kisses, petting my arms and face.  Eager to be doted upon, eager to please.

That's when my heart aches.  The bad times are more frequent then the good.  But the good times are great.

And I'm at a complete loss as to what to do.  How to cope.  How to move forward.

Four more weeks.  A blink of an eye.  One can hope, right?

I Have My Wooden Spoon and I Know How to Use It, Badger or No Badger

IF Jeremy read my blog [he doesn't] he'd laugh because he says I poke with a stick, I claim it's a wooden spoon.  I like to cook, not play with sticks.  He thinks I'm equally retarded and funny, and I am okay with that.

The girls and I are home, safe and sound.  Man, oh, man was this trip a roller coaster ride in and of itself.

The Sunshine State was just as pleasing and lovely as ever.  The Land of the Country Bumpkin was a series of peaks and valleys that we all could have totally done without.  And The Brother's house was more wonderful and special then I ever thought it could be.

Now, to get some things out of the way...

As far as the SIL thing, thank you to all of you who stood by me.  YOU are the one's who know me, love me and get me and it's for YOU that I write.  If you don't like me, don't like what I say, how I feel and the truths I express....  STOP STALKING ME ON MY BLOG.

Its like this, I don't particularly care for football.  It's a bunch of testosterone filled, too tight pants wearing morons ramming their heads into one another all for the sake of I WANT THAT BALL! IT'S MY BALL! GIVE ME THE FUCKING BALL BEFORE I BOWL SOMEONE OVER AND IRREVERSIBLY DAMAGE MY BRAIN IN THE PROCESS OF IT!  It's a stupid game and a stupid concept, in my opinion.  Not everyone agrees, some people really like football.  But I don't try to turn anyone against the sport just because it's not my cup of tea.  I don't watch the games in hopes that I'll find another misstep [another concussion, another over paid athlete with a short temper, large ego and sense of entitlement] to hold over the founder of all things football to prove to everyone else what a stupid man he must have been to come up with such a lame idea.   I don't like it.  So I don't watch it.

If you don't like me, don't read me.  Seems like common sense, but I guess it's like some people say, common sense isn't so common, anymore.

So.  Yeah.  In the Land of the Country Bumpkin we:
-hid in a basement for a total of 8 hours over a two day span thanks to tornadoes passing through town [one of which was a deadly one that hit the next town over],
-watched the girls find trouble since it rained nearly 2 1/2 weeks with hardly a break [cabin fever, much?],
-dealt with the SIL's drama,
-cooked good food,
-hung out with good people,
-bought warmer clothes [winter, apparently, hasn't left parts of the south, yet],
-felt helpless as the MIL suffered another heart attack almost exactly a year since her last one,
-rejoiced as a family no longer mine [due to a divorce] still accepts us with open arms,
-and felt trapped as flood waters cut off interstate and highway roads that would lead us home.

Peaks. And. Valleys.  I guess it's a good thing we've been averaging this trip once every two years.  Jer and I love our families... but that state is out to get us.  

As for The Brother's house, I'll fill you in on that tomorrow.  Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll have pictures uploaded!

Or maybe not.  You're all still waiting on pictures from the dresses I made 5 weeks ago.  Whoops!

Best Advice Ever

"Willing isn't the same as doing or praying."

And it's probably dead on right.  Because if I'd-a-just prayed, I still would have been oblivious that the SIL read my blog.

Live and learn, right?

Doesn't change my feelings.  Only proved them further.

I did learn, though, that if you use the phrase "conniving bunch" in a tongue and cheek manner, it will not be taken as such.  It will be taken as This family is a bunch of lying, cheaters and thieves which is not where I was trying to go with that. But that's the thing with tongue and cheek, it can be misunderstood.  And I frequently take that risk in my writing. 

All I can do now is hope that the people hurt know that it was not meant to be a rude or ugly statement, just a poorly placed one.  And now I'll move on with my life.

If a certain someone doesn't chew me up and spit me out like she promised.  Eww.

But I should really Shut. Up. before the Huz accuses me of poking the badger with a stick again.  At least he snickered through his frustration when I replied, I'm sorry!  I was unaware the badger read my blog!

See.  Tongue and cheek.  Some people get it.  Some people hate me.

Squirrels in the Attic

We have squirrels in our attic.  And our walls, and the floor between the two floors, and... well... where ever else they've decided to tunnel though in the house. They used to keep me up at night as they hauled in their acorns through a hole in the attic above my bedroom or scampering about playing tag in the middle of the night.

We've since closed the hole under the roof eve that they came in through and set out cereal baited live traps in two of the storage rooms we've heard them in. 

We thought the cereal was a better solution then the poisoning option our landlord would like to go for.   I'm sure he's thought that through and knows that when the damned things die IN THE WALLS we'll be calling him back in to remove the rotting bodies via random holes IN THE WALLS.  Because, that's sure to be where the critters will be when they finally kick the bucket. 

However, after this morning, I'm beginning to rethink the whole poison solution... 

Mainly because I think the little shits are taunting us. 

Yes, that right there is an acorn.  In the storage room.  Containing the baited trap.

Bastards.

It's Like This

There is this guy, who I once considered a friend.  And then I considered obsessive.  And then I considered sensitive.  And then I considered creepy.  And now I've come to realize that he's a manipulative ass.

The thing is, his wife is sweet and his daughter is an absolute doll.  Krya and his kid get along better then peas and carrots.  But I can no longer stand him.  I can't even stand the thought of him because his manipulative way throws me through loops and makes me think I need to step on eggshells to keep from harming his sensitive little soul before I realize... OH YA!  CREEPY GUY IS AN ASS! And then I get caught up thinking about how such a sweet woman could marry such a jerkish guy and have such a darling little girl and, geesh!, do I have ADD or something?

Here's where Creepy Manipulator gets annoying.  The whole thing blew up in his face when it finally dawned on me what he was doing and I called him out on it.  All this went down 5 or 6 weeks ago (I really don't keep count) in a way that he said "Call me when you're not mad anymore." and I said "Mmm hmm." and I have never called him again but dude is STILL CALLING ME!  And/or emailing and/or texting.  Like, EVERYDAY! I have not spoken to or responded in written form this guy since I called him out on his games.

Frankly, I'm not sure what to do anymore.  Jeremy is too much of a pansy, wallflower, wuss, passive person to want to get involved.  His point of view is Dude isn't trying to call me.  Every time I tried to talk to him in person he turned around and stuck his head up your ass.  Which, relatively speaking, is entirely correct. That being said, I can't quite count on Jeremy to talk to him Man to Man.  Ignoring the guy has clearly not done any good and I'm afraid that if I do respond to him I'm going say some harsh things out of anger... and really, I like to be a kind person if I can at all help it.

I explained to Kyra weeks ago that she probably wouldn't be able to see her friend anymore because the daddy doesn't know how to play nicely.  Kyra asked for a better explanation.  I told her that sometimes people say things and do things that hurt other people's feelings and when Mommy told this daddy that he wasn't being nice he laughed at Mommy and said "I was just kidding with you! **laugh laugh** I was only joking! **laugh laugh** I'm sorry, I was kidding! **laugh laugh**"  AND THEN CONTINUED HIS MANIPULATION.

Okay, so that last part I explained to Kyra in a more child appropriate manner.  

Kyra accepted our talk, said she would miss her friend and then moved on with her day.  Occasionally Krya still mentions her friend, but she seems to understand that she probably won't see her anymore.

Today comes and Creepy Manipulator calls twice.  And then emails.  I read the email and it essentially says, Hey! My kid wanted to call on her way home from school. I didn't put her up to it.  So then I listen to the message and, sure enough, it is his kid.  First messages says "Hi Alicia!" Second message says "Hi Alicia! Can Kyra come play at my house or can I come play at yours? I love you!"   

Uhhh......

So, Life?  Why is it my 4 year old can move on but a nearly 40 year old, umm, can't?

Ahh, Yes, We Are At the End

Part 3:  Where did those straws go?

New appointment comes.  Kyra is diagnosed with Croup (Awesome!) and Lydia is confirmed to have just your every day cold.  Doc is happy to see Lydia's bouts of vomiting have stopped completely but wasn't that excited to hear the outcome of the Lactose Free milk.  And then he starts to ask about her poop. 

No, I'm not going to describe it for you.  

Your welcome.

Did you know that when a baby's poop resembles tar, it's not a good thing?  At least not after the baby surpasses 2 weeks of age?  No?  Jer and I had no clue either. 


This new find landed Lydia one prick in her to for a blood draw to test her hemoglobin.  Low end of normal, the doctor says, Nothing concerning.

And after the torture session for Lydia, he begins telling us how we get to torture OURSELVES.  Lovely.

For three days we get to fill 7 viles with Lydia's poo and take them to the local hospital so they can, essentially, test for worms or parasites in her abdomen.  And in true fashion of being the wonderful and fantastic wife that I am, I guilt trip Jeremy into taking the samples (because, we all know how he doesn't get to do nearly as many "special" things with his girls... poop collecting is a bonding experience, don't ya know?) and I will be the one to drop them off.  Sounds fair, right? 

Test results came back last Friday.  Negative.  All 7 viles of poo-- NEG A TIVE. 

We are to keep Lydia on Zantac twice a day for two months and start introducing the FORBIDDEN FOODS.  Which roughly translates to... they still don't know what the fuck is wrong with my baby but we're gonna keep introducing those foods and watch her scream and cry ever couple of months because the docs are collectively scratching their heads while grasping straws to figure out where we might go from here.

To top all that off, Friday Kyra was in the ER because she woke up 10 MINUTES BEFORE her pediatrician's office closed for the weekend screaming hysterically that her hear hurts.  Her Croup has lead to a double ear infection.  At the advice of the ER, I call Lydia's pedi Saturday morning to get her ears check out, too.  Left ear is infected. 

The amount of medicine my children are on is astonishing.  Kyra: Motrin (for pain), Mucinex (to dry up her sinuses at night), Robitussin (during day) and Ammoxicillin (3x/day).  Lydia: Infant Tylenol (for pain), Benadryl (to dry up her sinuses) (which also made her take 3 naps a day) (ahhh, the peace!), Ammoxicillin, (3x/day), and Zantac (2x/day).  I'm dispensing medicines almost every 2 hours.  I HATE giving my kids medicine.  I'm the type of mom who generally tells Kyra to "Suck it up!" unless she's in real need.

And this is where I tell you that you have just over a month (you know, when we start "testing" foods again) before I start complaining that my kid is wickedly rotten and is it legal to trade her in for a new house plant.  BECAUSE HOUSE PLANTS DON'T CONTINUOUSLY CRY AND MAKE YOU FEEL GUILTY.

So there you have it.  The reason I haven't been blogging very well for these last few months.  I have nothing better to say other then MY CHILDREN ARE SICK AGAIN AND LYDIA WON'T STOP CRYING AND I THINK THEY BOTH HATE ME!!!!

Aren't you glad I sat silent, now?

You Have Options, People!

Another example of how we, as people, have options:

I was in the doctor's office today to complain about how my ear drum feels like it just might very well EXPLODE at any minute and was hoping the doc could, you know, stop that from happening. 

When I walked in there was one lady (mid to late 60s) sitting in the waiting area.   Shortly there after we were joined by two men who seemed to know each other from work and a mother carrying her sick child (2ish) who had his head laid in the crook of the mother's neck.  You could tell the little boy was sick even before he started coughing just by his pale cheek and the lack of energy that every toddler has mass quantities of in their reserve. 

Everyone was called back into the exam rooms except the origional lady and myself.  She stirred, I glanced over and said, "I guess it's back to the two of us, again." She smiled and commented back, "Oh, I'm just waiting for my daughter to get through." 

Seconds passed by before the lady spoke again, "Did you hear that boy?" 

I replied, "Poor thing!  Nothing worse then a sick baby."

And then we had this exchange,
She- "I can't believe she brought him in here coughing.  Most places make you wear a mask, now a days.  I wonder why this place doesn't."
Me- "Most children will only rip the mask off.  No sense in wasting money."
She- "I've got enough medical problems, I don't need to get sick."
Me- "Well, you could go sit in your car, too, since you don't have an appointment.  Why don't you exercise that option?"

And then we sat in silence until her daughter (in her 40s) came out and left.

I could not believe her!  If I didn't have any decency, I would have walked right over and SLAPPED the bitch for being a hateful idiot. 

While I was quick to point out her other option, I wonder if I should have used my option....

No, not the one where I slap her.  Though, that would have been awfully fun!

Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut and have had a little bit more respect for my elders.  Maybe I should have ignored her comments completely.

Lets be honest, here, when do I EVER keep my mouth shut when I ought to?

Besides, the old lady had it coming.  You can't make a mean comment about a sick baby when I've got two at home who are probably going to catch my cold by next week and they'll be the one's coughing in the doctor's office.  And, no, I'm not going to make Lydia wear a mask.  I'd rather risk running through a lion's den carrying 5 pounds of freshly trimmed steak then to have to listen to my sick child screaming as she tries to claw a mask off her face. 

I'm just sayin'.... You have options, people!

In Case You Cared...

I am wearing size 6 jeans at this very moment. I'll let that sink in for a moment...

**crickets**

Given that I have done virtual NOTHING in regards to exercise thanks to the Arctic Tundra's lovely weather (fucking cold, cold, rain rain rain, oh, look, it's summer!, well, that was a fun 2 weeks!, rain rain rain, cold, fucking cold), I am quite surprised and pleased with myself.

Well, really, I guess I should be pleased with Lydia.  I hold any inches lost off of my waits, thighs and ass due to the fact that I now have to RUN after Lydia to swipe out whatever contraband she has successfully stuffed into her pie hole.

Seriously, though, Kyra didn't start to run until after she was 2.  She was content to walk, and occasionally walk quickly, but running has never been Kyra's thing.  Lydia, on the other hand, isn't even ONE and she's RUNNING.  And CLIMBING!  Oh, holy hell, I haven't even told you all about her climbing.... something else Kyra has never been too interested with.

Whatever the case, I'm in a size 6 jean today.  Just in time for me to start packing on my Winter 10.

As in the 10 pounds I gain every winter while I hide from the cold.

Maybe this year will be different... Maybe this winter Lydia will KEEP me running after her so I don't have a Winter 10 to try and work off next spring.

Or should I say summer, after all, if EVERY spring is like the one we had this year... I'm not sure that counts as spring.  It was more like WINTER because it was STILL SNOWING!

Hmmm... Now I'm rambling.  Probably because I'm now having panic attacks because Kyra was supposed to decorate sugar cookies with one of her friends this afternoon and it is SNOWING!!!!

Now, I can't very well drive down the side of the mountain we live on, with two kids in the car, to decorate sugar cookies.  For (1), the girls are sick- as in they both can sneeze and hit you from across the room with a glob of snot.  Yes, the parents of the other child know my girls are sick.  They're words were, well, if our child isn't going to get sick from your girls, then she's going to get sick from someone at school.  Better to be from someone we know.  For (2), I still don't know how to drive in the snow.  Though, that is on my "To Do" list this year, to ATTEMPT to drive on a road with a light dusting of snow and then work my way up.  However, we've gone from 3 inches of snow last Saturday, to 15 inches on Wednesday, to God only knows how many inches today.  Somehow I don't think the transition I'm looking for is going to happen as I would like...  And for (3), what did the girls ever do? Having to be forced into their car seats only to go sliding down the road with an inexperienced driver and hope we can make the 30 curves between us and the bottom while trying to not hit any trees along the way, that's just WRONG.  My girls deserve better. Jeremy on the other hand.....

ANYWAY!

To sum up... My ASS is now in a size 6 jean and there is SNOW on the roadways. 

And now I'm going to drink a mug of hot chocolate while sitting on the space heater, staring out the window and silently freaking out about how I'm going to drive Kyra to all of her activities this week.  And then I'm going to eat a bowl of ice cream. 

Nothing says IT'S SNOWING! like hot chocolate and ice cream.

Who Knew Food Could Be Such the Enemy?

I agonize every single day over what to feed Lydia. Its an ongoing process of reading labels and rejecting 99.87% of them because they either contain milk, soy or both. I'm to the point that I make a good deal of her food in the blender.

Anything with bananas in it is a total winner to Lydie Kate!

But that doesn't seem to help me much when we're on the run. And lately that seems to be a lot, between Jer working nights and sleeping days and immediately following the mold find last week, I've done my damnedest to keep the girls out of the house.

I've mentioned before that I try to do all organic foods with Lydia but the only way I can seem to find organic food is in the same 10 jars of non milk/non soy containing baby food and these Baby Mum-Mum (dissolves in your mouth, no effort required) treats.

I've become slightly suspicious that if I were eating these same foods over and over again for 6 weeks strait, I'd be very tired of the damned food by now. But Lydia doesn't seem to mind. Maybe it's because she truly doesn't care, maybe it's because she isn't quite old enough to express her true feeling in word form yet. Either way, I've been trying to branch out and find new things to feed to a child who refuses to take anything that isn't at the exact temperatures of SCOLDING! or FUCKING HOT!

We've dipped her into new temperature ranges slowly. First by offering her green beans strait from our garden. At first she turned up her nose but after a few more offerings (weeks) later, she decided that room temperature food in solid form wasn't, after all, made by the Devil himself.

Next I moved right along to refrigerated foods like organic, all natural, no sugar added because my mother is NEUROTIC about her children ingesting sugar at such a young age, apple sauce. She doesn't like it. No thanks, not for me. Don't every try to shove that horrible shit into my screaming pie hole ever again.

Just over a week ago, she started to teethe again. She's now sporting 4 pearly whites, her top two eye teeth to go right along with her bottom two front teeth. But during the process of cutting these eye teeth, Lydia became, once again, an absolute horrid little monster who was absolutely not going to be put down FOR ANY REASON unless it is for her pure wanting, will and desire and, yes, she holds the right to change her mind at a moment's notice. Also she WILL chew on your finger and if you don't let her chew on your finger she will maim her thumb to the point of puncturing a large hole in her bottom knuckle and make the thing look infected by constantly sucking the life out of the now gaping hole. To combat this lovely change of face, I offered her some frozen green beans to suck on.... and hot damn if she doesn't love them.

I'm sure it's the numbing of the teeth that seems to hold the most appeal.

But now that we're on a teething hiatus, she's back to her normal self. Though she's decided to keep frozen veggies in her diet.

Thing thing I'm getting at, here, is that we're trying new things. And some of these things are blowing up in our faces. Or, to be more specific, its blowing out of her ass and eating the skin around it to shreds.

Case in point.... Kyra was allergic to dairy for 2 years, if you'll remember way back. However, little things didn't seem to bother Kyra's system. She could eat bread that was made with milk and have no problem. She could eat half a breadstick at Pizza Hut with no problem, but if you gave her a whole Pizza Hut breadstick or three slices of lunch meat on whole wheat bread she would, within hours, start with the explosive poo and blistering, bleeding ass and the wails and screams of pain would make me feel like I was the most horrible mother in the whole wide world because I fed this offending food to her.

Going on this whole "a little won't hurt, we just have to find the middle ground" theory, I've starting experimenting with Lydia. Things have not turned out so well. BREAD.... is totally an enemy. Don't even give her a little bit. CHEERIOS... is a total no go. PITA BREAD.... she can do but will only take so much before she wants something with a little more flavor. KICKS CEREAL.... I thought she could do. I tried her out with a little bit yesterday, say, 10 little balls, max. Today? Jer and I collectively fed her throughout the day an entire cup full. This evening, explosive poo, red hiney, screams bloody murder during the clean up, but no blistering.... yet. So I'll put Kicks on the "no go" list.

I feel a bit guilty. She's one of those babies that watches you eat and wants what you have. (something Krya never did and still rarely seems to care) She watches me eat WHATEVER, most of which she can't have thanks to everything in the world being made with milk or soy, and as I offer her another spoonful of pureed mush of the day. I swear she's starring at me, thinking ill thoughts, plotting my death because I will not share my non organic, made with fake, neon orange, powdered cheese and noodle dish. (Also referred to as Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.)

Like I said, I feel a bit guilty. Guilty that I can't seem to find an endless variety of new foods, new tastes, new textures for her to try. To bad I don't feel guilty enough to stop eating a heaping bowl full of ice cream while she sucks on a frozen green bean for the 800th time.

And too bad frozen foods don't travel well in a diaper bag...

Life Gets Hard

• When your downstairs smells of closed up ick, even when all the windows are open.
• When you find TONS of dog hair on your couches because your dogs use every opportunity to sleep on them when you're out of the house.
• When you vacuum TONS of dog hair off of your couches only to flip the cushion over and find it is a nice shade of green............ and your couch is brown.
• When you realize that this green is ALIVE and GROWING on the bottom of your couch cushion that is also sopping WET.
• When you start searching out the rest of the immediate area only to find that two of the baby's frequently played with toys are harboring mold as well as the wall behind the couch.
• When you realize that your oldest took a 2.5 hour long nap on the offending couch that very afternoon.
• When you branch out and find that mold is in every single ROOM in the down stairs.
• When the worst of the damage seems to be on the couch, love seat and the 500,000 individual pieces of toys in the girl's toy room.
• When your daughter's baby doll/stuffed animal collection is suddenly cut in half because there is no way to save them.
• When you now have to keep your children either upstairs or out of the house while simultaneously cleaning the down stairs.

On a good note, at least the land lord is jumping on top of it. We're hoping that by this time next week things will return to our regularly scheduled programing, sans couch and love seat combo.

It's Official- Teeth

I'm calling it for official this time.

Symptoms:
Cranky as all get-out.
Loose stool.
Occasional rash on either girl parts or bottom.
Chomps on anything and everything that comes into her mouth.
Random feeling of warmness but not quite fever worthy.

Symptoms we're lacking:
Extra drool.
Red swollen gums.
Chapped chubby-cheeks.

What we're doing for her:
Letting her live. (with all the excess screaming, this mark is worth noting)
Giving her Tylenol in this handy device. (without it, she spits out anything that does not come through a bottle nipple, food included)
Letting her live.
Giving her anything short of sandpaper to shove in her pie hole.
Letting her live.

Any suggestions you may have? Speak now or forever hold your peace.

Crazy Few Days

It's been a crazy few days, between the Cry It Out nights, the do I or don't I Facebook, and then to top it all off, the ever bitter but still loved Nanny has been teetering between life and death since Friday and, yesterday, finally succumb to death.

To start things off, the whole Cry It Out has been going quite well! Day 2 she cried for a half hour solid and then the next half bitched for a few seconds before loudly sucking her thumb before she fell back asleep. Day 3 she cried for 15 minutes before the bitching and sucking that lasted another 15 minutes. Day 4 she slept through the night. Yea! And day 5, last night, another 15 minutes of crying 10 minutes of bitching/sucking. So, it's going well! I'm pleased and am hoping that by this time next week we'll have fully accomplished sleeping through the night EVERY night.

Next, boy oh boy are there some serious Facebook users out there! I never knew it had such a cult like following. And the farming game? I've read about it numerous times over at Chic with Sticks, but good golly, are you guys a dedicated following. I'm still a little up in the air about jumping in that barrel of fun, mostly because of the days I've had as of late, but man, you guys are convincing.

And finally, Nanny. I wrote about her once here. (click on the word "here," I know it's not highlighted, but I can't figure out how to do so) Anyway, she suffered from COPD and has finally left us for a better life in Heaven. I've been back and forth about whether or not I should go down there to say my goodbye's and I totally set myself up for being stuck here without realizing it.

Friday night, before I knew what was going on, I transferred nearly all of our money out of the checking account and into various other accounts, a transaction that I knew wouldn't go through and be available until Tuesday morning. I do such things so we don't spend excess money over the days Jer is off. So, basically while we have money, we were essentially broke until today.

Then there is the question of flying or driving. Flying would take 5 hours of my day and cost an ass load of money because it's so short notice. Driving would take 2 days and cost me my sanity. And either option, I'd be doing it alone with both the girls in tow.

I learned my lesson driving to the Land of the Country Bumpkin with Jeremy's help. I would rather fly.

BUT! I have this Gogo Kidz Travelmate that I use with Kyra when flying. (by the way, HIGHLY recommend anyone coughing up the money for one of these things. TOTALLY worth it's weight in gold.) The thing is, I only have one. If I fly I will need a rental car, thus I will also need car seats and while rental companies have them available, I don't trust a car seat that I did not buy and assemble in my own home. So. I would need another one of the Gogo attachments. They're sold in Babies R Us stores but when we called to make sure they have them in OUR store, um, they don't.

So. Can't fly. Won't drive. Will have to say our good bye's from our bedside as we pray. Hopefully she'll hear us.

Now. To end this, we have 9 pounds of strawberries sitting on my table. We had plans of making jam out of them with my mother's recipe, but my mother is dealing with funeral arrangements at the moment.... so... um.... so any of you have a good recipe to share? What about your mother or grandmother? Come, on! Doesn't anyone in your family make homemade jams?