Loot

Santa came to visit the home of the Mama. This is most of the swag the girls walked away with. The biggest deal was the kitchen set.


Seems that Mrs. Claus got it 2nd hand from a friend this past summer and somehow conned Mr. Da... I mean Santa into painting it to match the table and chairs the girls got for their birthdays. Oh that Santa... he's quite a guy! Grandma P got them these amazing sets of pots, pans and kitchen accouterments and Aunt R fixed 'em up with the cutest tea set EVER. Actual ceramic and polka dot to boot! Great Grandma D got them set up with toy shopping carts full of play food. The list is way too long. Thank you to everyone who made this embarrassment of goodies possible.

On Christmas Eve a Lawn and Leaf bag of toys walked out the door for Deseret Industries, along with who knows how much crap got thrown away. I'm thinking that another DI run is in order... but most importantly?...


... the Christmas Tree has not been diddled with in DAYS!

Permission

If you were looking to read a cute or cheery post, well... move along folks, there is nothing to see here... nothing to see.

Periodically I am hit by a feeling that I am behind. It is likely based on the fact that in the past some of my life choices were so astoundingly poor, that I feel like I am in "do-over" mode. Like the decade from 1986-1996 didn't happen or somehow doesn't count for anything, that it was all just wasted time.

Please. How stupid is that? Sure some people don't have to do what I did to learn tolerance and love... and perhaps I didn't have to either. But at least I DID learn and it does count for something in the scheme of things as far as my own development is concerned. I could still be back in the thick of living hard and being hard. Well, as hard as a girl like me can ever get, for all that I had several kind souls take it upon themselves to "toughen me up" for the "real world." I have never been good at being cool, kicking butt or taking names.

I survive though.

It's amazing what women can survive. Contrary to what old George Lucas seems to believe, women do not just roll over and die because the men they love and are committed to turn out to be scumbags and beat on them a little. Or alot. Sorry, I still can't get over the vasty gaping plot hole of Padme just giving up after delivering her babies, and what? Dying of a broken heart? Pshaw! Women with far fewer resources than she have been going through much worse than that and overcoming.... THRIVING!

Dear Internet, did you know that I was married before? Yup, Dadguy is my second husband and if you knew my first ? You would barely even recognise them as being from the same species. For the sake of ungoogle-ability I will call him Mr. Thatguy. There was a time that I would have referred to him as Mr. *$%##@! *^^&% %$guy, but I've come a long way since then. Remember? Learn and Develop?


You may be asking yerselves... ummm, whaaaa? I just wanted to log on and see some cool pix of the little wooden kitchen set Santa brought her girls for Christmas. I will get to that I promise. It's just that some Christmas memories for me are not all snowfall and sparkles. That last Christmas Eve and the beating I took.. well the beating was some how less of a deal than having him spit mouthful after mouthful of milk on me as I drove us home. Driving and choking back sobs as tears, my "manipulative tears" he called them, just wouldn't stop making their tracks through the milk and phlegm on my face. That Christmas kicked off two weeks and one day of the final insanity. He was on a roll. The beating was over my failure to read his mind and stop off at Arby's so he could get a Roast Beef with Cheese before they closed for the holiday. Over a sandwich, and it got worse from there. Maybe it got better, I guess it depends on how ya look at it.

There is something, I don't know... REAL and inescapable about a black eye and a fat lip. Together. On a face at the same time. Something that just defies the explanation that a girl fell walking up the stairs, and yet not one single person even missed a beat after hearing it. I was extra clumsy those last weeks, but a turtleneck sweater will hide a multitude of what? Sins? Doc Martin bootprints on the ribcage and back? Smudges shaped like fingers around the neck turning green and yellow then disappearing altogether?

Ten years ago this coming January eighth I looked at my face in the mirror and started asking questions. Was I prepared to lie about the fresh rearrangement of my features? Was I waiting till he hurt me worse? Was I going to wait until I got knocked up by this man not just knocked around? Would I leave him before or after he started beating on the resulting kids? Who's permission did I need to walk away, just walk out the door and never look back?

I needed my own permission and that night I thank my Father in Heaven that I showed mercy on myself and I gave it. Did I mention that the physical abuse was NOTHING? Truly nothing compared to what he did to my mind and heart, and yet it took getting my face messed with to get my own consent to leave...

...and leave I did.

Today is the day after Christmas and I believe in miracles. I believe in forgiveness and love. I believe in Mr. Dadguy, the life and family we have built together. This Christmas I have been steeped in the joys of the season, especially those that come from children and family. While the differences between then and now are shocking, my life is not just beautiful in comparison to back then, it is absolutely beautiful by any standard. While Mr. Dadguy certainly does not suffer from ANY comparison to Mr. Thatguy, that is not what makes him my true love and companion. Dadguy really is that great, and kind, and human in all the best ways that a man can be human.

I wanna give a "shout out" to my family and the family I have through Mr. Dadguy. I love you and treasure you. To those who are out there in a Bad Place I want to say that you can give yourself permission to walk away, or stop or do better. No, it never is easy, but it's do-able and you are worth it. Please... you know you've got MY permission.

If you are worried about yourself or someone else, then look here for a list and here for help.

NICE!

Christmas Naughty or Nice List I am on the The Nice List After checking the North Pole database I had : 2,864 nice entries 574 naughty entries Check your name on the Christmas Naughty or Nice List at JokesUnlimited.com

NICE!

Merry Christmas!

This is as close to a post as I will get till at least Christmas night... and then, because I know that I am getting a copy of the movie Serenity probably not then either. I loved the series and have not yet seen the movie... I will be watching it wooo HOOO! I got the series on DVD as well! Nope, no surprises here, Dadguy and I are notoriously bad at keeping secrets and surprises from each other.

Guess what?

My ticket is punched, I am outnumbered. I cannot get ready for Christmas, blog and do the Mommy schtick all at the same time. Human, it's true. Mea Culpa, or however ya spell it, and Tough Beans. This is how I console myself for not being a cool, as my girls would say "givener" this holiday season. Other than my kids and nieces and nephews we are not really doing gifts. We were gonna do framed pictures of the girls... went and got a perfessional to take 'em and everything. There is a funny story about why can't actually PRINT the lovely pictures yet and maybe ever. K, not funny to me. Not funny at all, but we'll get everything fixed in the end, and there will be some great New Years gifts for all the Grandfolks etc....

Ho Ho ho well.

and did you see? I am one of three reviewers for Erins novel!!!!! Yayyyyyy!

Pick Meeeeeeee!

Erin O'Brien, a blogger and published author, has asked the blogging world to tell her why she sould send them a signed copy of her book to read and then review on their blog. Y'all are adults and get to decide for your ownselves if you want to read her book too.

There is no way in heck she'll pick me but I thought the writing of the letter would be a meme-like excercise... and here we go!


Erin,
I believe that I have some unique qualifications to bring to the review of your book.

First off I am a chick and I used to ride.
Some of my first memories were of riding in the sidecar of a bike my Dad brought home from work. He was a cop on the force down in Las Cruces New Mexico, but he moonlighted (moonlit?) at the Honda Cycle Center. I love motorcycles. When I was 21 I dropped out of college and bought my first bike, a Yamaha 650, 1983... a basic street bike, unpretentious and I loved her.
Motorcycle=Freedom.

Second, I have been pregnant and given birth three times.
One time I heard a statistic that really stuck with me and has become an odd superstition in my life view. The life expectancy for a person who uses a motorcycle as their primary means of transportation?... five years. With the exception of my youngest sister all eight members of my immediate family has some significant scar tissue from motorcycle mishaps, be it dirt bike or street. The only thing I have is a grill mark burn on my right shin. I am due to die. I'm interested in how Harvey handles the lifestyle changes that are coming her way, personally I have vowed to not get on any two wheeled motorised whatevers until my youngest turns 18. After that can you say "Roadhog Granny?" I know I CAN!

Third, I wish I could write.
Some day I really will write! That's what this blog thing is all about. It's a way that I, as a mom to three small girls, can start to get some skilz. I have written poetry and angsted out some short stories and Holy Hannah, it's HARD! The only thing that I have published are a few poems in local and now dead zines down in Albq years ago.

Fourth, I used to know real bikers. K, I don't know any up here in Happy Valley... don't think there are many to GET to know. But back in the day as a active member of AA it was impossible NOT to get to know a few, as they were usually the ones with the fun kind of sobriety. Granted I was regularly laughed at for my choice of riding material, but I was also a girl who rode so therefore forgiven a truckload of foibles. I HATED being called a "Motorcycle Mama" but a biker once told me that I looked like a Valkyries when I rode. That was pretty ok.

Fifth, I used to work at a Library. Sure I was the Storyteller for the two year olds, one year olds and babies, but being around all those books all the time has to count for something. Oh, and I got to teach literacy classes for parents, teen mothers and church groups as Facilitator for the MotherRead/FatherRead program. I AM pretty literate even if my punctuation and grammar sucks.

Ummmm... I have tattoos?

Sure, so there are a few reasons not to have me as your chosen reviewer. I think my blog, on it's hottest day since I started keeping track two weeks ago, had 47 unique visitors. W00T! I have only ever given reviews on writing at the grade school level plus my Father in Laws books. He's self published five boy adventure books. So what? Pick me, pick me, pick MEEEEeeeeeeee!

Thanks!
bon

ps....ummm... unless there are any EXPLICIT sex scenes... then I guess you'll hafta count me out.

Sunday Funnies

enjoy.... this is todays "Brevity."

In high school I had a teacher who was a real S.O.B. but he did have a funny line and a point when he would say...

"Oh, I see, you are all just expressing your individuality together. In exactly the same way. Good for you."

thank you for that Mr. Minty

Fam-Damnly

The other night I took pictures of everyone doing what they were doing. Dadguy was doing his hott-computer-geek thing... LaLa was getting Einsteined (as is Baby Einstein World Animals), there was a Birdbath, a sleeping Pearl, and photo-happy me.

Ornament

This can holds every ornament that would break my heart to lose or have broken. This is so I do not break the heads of my sweet girlies.


This is the nativity set that has been giving us all a break. Hours of joy and play... the green hillside doubles as a boat if you turn it over.

Because it fits, and it fits our family... except for LaLa, she has to have the "snow" plaque removed so she can see to "play" her games... this is a MAME machine and plays thousands of different video games.

MERRRRY CHRISTMAS!
show and tell brought to you today by Blackbird and Deb.

Quirks

Mr. Dadguy, an otherwise intelligent man and all-around good parent, has an alarming habit of giving the girls chocolate on the way out the door to church. In their good Sunday dresses. Both girls still do not get the concept of "napkin," preferring instead to wipe their pig-dog paws on whatever they are wearing.

Dadguy... I love you, but this has to stop.

Girl Update

LaLa loves to dance around in circles singing "bow-a-way-nah, bow-a-way-nah, bow-a-wayyyy-nah!"

translation: ballerina



Birdie is a Pony half the time nowadays. Those of you who know her, know this is a switch from the usual "kitty" shtick. She is still a kitty the other half of the time. Her pony name is "Fizzy Pop," and believe it or not, Mother Superior, I have not yet told her a "Phizzy Poo" story. She latched onto the name all on her own. Fizzy Pop is one of the "My Little Pony" ponies, the merchandise of which she owns nothing but a coloring book. She has gotten alot of mileage from that coloring book.

You may all be asking yourself "what the heck is a Phizzy Poo story?"

Then again you may not, but I'll tell ya what it is anyway. Phizzy Poo is an intrepid calico cat who lives with Master in a house on Elm Street. She wears a cute little apron that has a wee pocket on it, and in that pocket it a small golden key that opens the door to her best friends house, Magic Mouse. PP and MM go on really cool adventures in a Magic Land. That's all I will tell you, because someday either Mother Superior or I shall write the adventures of this daring duo from my childhood. At night, when I was a kid my mom would get us all dressed for bed and then we would each get to choose one thing that she would then weave into her story. I only remember a few stories from start to finish but I do recall alot of elements and details and THOSE STORIES ROCKED! Even if they do not get written soon, they will be told to my girls... as soon as they can sit still for longer than five minutes running.

Pearl? Well she eats and poops like a champ and the past two days she has looked a little less like E.T. when she opens her eyes. Except for the wierd, wrinkly, extendo neck she couldn't pass for the "phone home" guy at all.

Nerd-O-Meter

Not a nerd, but definatly not hip. Huh. Guess I coulda skipped THAT quiz!

Fishmouse

Today is Show and Tell day... it's supposed to be our holiday decorations, but I don't have the heart to do what it takes to get it looking all Martha Stuarty like I meant it to look. I DO have my Christmas bling up, it's just taken a serious hit. Two days ago Birdie pulled a"timberrrr" on the tree. I was laying LaLa down for her nap when I heard the crash. I gave the kid a quick kiss and ran out to the front room where Bird was standing there with THE ornament in hand. So I picked up the tree, got the lights plugged back in and packed up all the ornaments that I gave half a fling about.



So the tree is looking pretty pathetic considering Birdie has all the bell ornaments in a box somewhere... she was giving the box to each member of our family in turn as a jingly gift. I don't remember who got them last or where they ended up. The glitter-glue and craft-foam homemade jobbies have all been removed to the play table in the girls room as the girls were both pretending like they were cookies earlier. The cardboard star covered in aluminum foil that I made for our first tree before we even had kids is still askew from the fall it took. It's a goofy looking star made out of a Dominoes pizza box and held up there with a twist-tie but Mr. Dadguy loves it and thinks it's funny to have up there... so what the hey. I haven't figured out how to hang the stockings yet, as our spiffy stocking hanger N*O*E*L lets them droop over the piano key board.




My lovely garland may not go up this year. Mostly because it goes waaaay up high on the plant ledge in our front room that has vaulted ceilings, and I don't want to end up finding out that the destructo-girls can reach that too. Also, I don't have the heart. The sleep deprivation is really set in, as well as the "holy crap we have three kids" shock. Add to that a fast approaching Christmas Eve, my lack of preparation, because face it... before I ever HAD the baby I was PREGNANT for 9 brutal months and wah, wah, blah, blah, blah... that's it. Blah. I feel blah and bah... as in bah-humbug. I am sure that by tomorrow it will pass as these feelings always do. Until then- have yourself a fairy waddle fishmouse.


Show and Tell via Blackbird

I am...

...not my past, though obviously it weighs in on who I have become.

The past has certainly been more exciting than I ever desired, mostly due to some amazingly poor decisions on my part. Still...

RockStar Mommy has some cool kids t-shirts that she is making available for Christmas. The one that I am seriously considering is the "My Mom's Tattoo's Are Cooler Than Your Mom's." First, because face it... here in Happy Valley Utah it's a pretty sure bet that it's true. Second, because I think that it's funny. Third, 'cause it IS funny... especially here in H.V.



Yup, I've got a couple of tattoos. They can all be seen when I am wearing even the most modest swim suit or in other words- aint nuthin' on my butt. One is a very nice piece that I got as a cover-up for my first, which was a "piece-of-hud-home-job" above my right shoulder blade. I love this tattoo. It is a freehand original by Cap Szumski from back in the day when he was at Fineline in Albq., NM. Unfortunately, on really hot days the Pelikan #17 ink that the hud-job was done in welts the skin up a tad from under the cover piece and you can just distinguish portions of the first design, an original drawing that I really liked alot... till the "artist" who put it on me mangled the three interlocking circles and made it look, well... an awful lot like a toilet. Please, please, please... if you are thinking about getting some ink done, go and see a professional, there's more than health hazards to be considered!

That said, I also love my ankle ink. Did not love getting it DONE, you understand, But I love the design. I traded a painting for it. The small version of this.




The guy was working out of his apartment down in the student ghetto at the time, but he had a proper rig, set-up, inks and one of those sterilizing machine jobbies. A clava-something or something-clav, I forget. Autoclave? The only thing I am sad about is that it is all single-needle work that is already starting to moosh together. Sigh. Did I mention that it HURT!? Something that hurts that bad should get even prettier with time... like babies.



Final bit, is a scrid of an inkie-dink on the front of my left shoulder. It's a Chinese Ideogram I got from a wee shop somewhere in Santa Fe. The book I picked it out of said that it meant, and I quote as best I can remember... "Truth , Sincerity, Reality." I thought it was surpassingly cool at the time. Today? meh. What did my 22 year old self know from "Truth?" For that matter, what do I know from "Reality" today?

I used to draw flash (tat word for "pictures") for custom tats for friends, and I very nearly got into the business myself. The then manager of Sach on Central in Albq., asked me if I wanted to apprentice at his shop. He liked the flash that I had done and was looking for a female artist, as it would attract a certain clientel that was otherwise tough to please. Like guys who wouldn't normally pay for a tat on their girlfriends behind might consider it if they knew a straight chick was laying down the ink. Girls in general etc...yah-dah yah-dah.

But now? I will never get any more ink. I'm not gonna go into great detail why, just that it is a very personal choice, and has to do with some profound changes in my life and beliefs. I just think it's stinkin' funny that the topic of my ink is so taboo here in Utah. Where I come from it is a perfectly natural for someone whether they have tats of their own or not to ask about them.
"Hey, where did you get that one?"
"Why did you get that one?"
"What is that?"
"What the @^&&* were you thinking?"
So the utter silence on the topic is a little strange. I forget that I have them, even the one on my ankle that is clearly visible in my usual summer garb of capris and flip flops. Then something will happen and I will utter the word "tattoo" and then HOLY TAMALES a deluge of questions about them! I am beginning to suspect that most of the folks around here are keeping their traps shut in regards to the ink out of a concern that I am ashamed of them, or regret getting them. People are considerate like that. It is true that I am going to parentally insist that my kids do not get a tat while living in this house, and highly encourage them to never get one in general, and I have every hope that they never do...I just want to state for the record, my only regret about my tattoos is that I never got a killer Zia on my butt.

Ho Ho Ho crap!

Next year and the year after, and likely a long while after that, we are NOT putting up the &@**!% tree until well into December. Don't get me wrong, the rest of the decor can go up on the day after Thanksgiving, but the tree? No.

This year we (I, armed with Dadguys hard earned cash) bought some largish jingle bells from Target to replace all the glass ball ornaments that were such a bust last year. Literally a bust. The bells never spend more than one consecutive hour on the freaking tree. During one of Birdie's "movie naps" a few days ago I came in and there was not ONE single bell to be found. She had not left the room, they were not stashed anywhere that I could find so I broke down and asked. She had pried up the floor register from the heating duct and stuffed them all down the shute. I wish that I had handled it better than I had, call me sleep deprived but when she asked me...

"That's funny, huh?"

I shot her a verrry dirty look and said "no."

"Big deal," you might say, "ya didn't scream or blow your top."

You also did not see the way that her face fell. Something about the crumpling of that shiny little face... ok, well call me sleep deprived, but it's still breaking my heart.

The day after that I came in and found her trying to balance one kitchen chair on top of another so she could climb and reach the truly choice ornaments. That never got past the planning stages, yet somehow she managed to reach the unreachable, irreplaceable "Do Not Touch" ornament that commemorates Mr. Dadguys little bro who died in 2004. The wheels actually spin. I was reading the comics online and she came in and handed me the Kermie... unharmed, yet what a scare! We are not even trying to put up the lighted ceramic village this year.

Yup. This is the nativity set that I just ordered... this is the inevitable... this is my reality. I have a girl friend who lived down the street who has four kids. Until the most recent little girl she had kept a delicate and highly detailed Christmas Pop-up book under her tree each year. When she expressed her shock at how destructive this most recent two year old girl was... I expressed my shock at, well...what the heck kinda kids DON'T shred a book like that within five hot seconds?

Transportation

For Show and Tell this week I show you my vee-hickle. This is the glamour shot.




This is the less priddy, candid of mini-van-with-kids... in my filthy garage because it's raining.


...aaaand here.


This is the command deck, where I am "in charge." Plus my favorite bit of technology short of the internet. My loooovely ipod. I am in loooove with my ipod and kiss it everyday. Newest acquisitions... Disney Storyteller Series Peter Pan, and Foo Fighters- The Deepest Blues Are Black

I love my 2001 Dodge Grand Caravan Sport! We bought it used last year for a great price (k, we are STILL buying it if ya wanna get technical). I also love my plates. It's got some numbers on it, but the letters read MUU. Heh.

Pishy

LaLa was a half hearted Babysign girl. The "half" part was on my half, but we probably had a vocabulary of about 15 words at the height of our use. It cut down on some of the frustration, hers and ours. Flower, dog, cat, more, elephant and fish etc...

Yesterday Pearl was gassy so we busted out the generic Mylicon drops. For those of you unaquainted with the "miracle drops" they are applied by eyedropper into the mouth of the screamer, whereupon said baby instantly stops screaming and begins smacking lips with a wondering expression on said baby face. LaLa watched this baby ritual and when Pearl began smacking her lips in that funny puckered-up-fish-face fashion she gave out a toddler guffaw and yelled "Pishy!" and gave Pearl back the fish lipped Babysign for the word fish.

Naughty or Nice

Today I thought I'd (cheat) let you get to know Mr. Dadguy a little better. He e-mailed this wish list to me earlier today, and I think it is very much a slice of what-makes-him-tick. For those of you worried that I might publish personal e-mails of yours, I DO have permission to use this. But worry anyway 'cause ya never know if ya piss me off. I'm just saying.


A couple things I've thought of so far. Not necessarily in any
order. And hopefully within budget for a couple of these.

- Red vs. Blue season 3. (I have a $10 coupon code for the RvB site
if you get this, in my yahoo email. You can probably search it and
find it.)
- Wireless controllers for the xbox. Two would be good in case I
screw something up splicing wires I'll have one as backup. =)
- It would be nice to have some new jeans. And socks. Socks rock.
Come to think of it, (underwear) might be good.
- I'm mildly interested in that Atari classic version 2 or whatever
they have out now. I think it's $30 or something, and you can hack
it to play the original atari cartridges. Not that I would do such a
thing with the real atari around. On second thought skip this, it
would probably not get used enough to be worth it.
- Money for "the pinball machine" is always nice. Not that it'll
happen in the next few years, but hey, it's a nice dream. =)
- Some new pictures (and frames?) of our girls for my desk would be
nice.
- Headphones. Good ones that don't suck would be nice. I seem to
have lost the last ones I bought, can't seem to find them.
- Something
- Extremely
- eXceptional is always nice.
- I'm still not sure about an mp3 player. I think we should wait a
bit on this one, but I'm mildly interested in the right kind. I'm
intrigued by the new video iPods, but there's not a big selection of
videos (other than music videos) for them yet.

The big things that I'm interested in but not willing (or able) to
spend the money for right now would include a truck, finishing the
basement, pinball machine, back patio, new computer, maybe an xbox
360 (though I think I'm more interested to see the new nintendo
revolution that's coming out next year)... I'm sure there's more.

Most of this is just a "that would be nice" certainly nothing that
I'm dying for. You know what I'm dying for. =)

Anyhow. Love you.
-(Mr.Dadguy)

Hopes and Fears

Ahh, the siren song of a crying baby... I tell you when Pearl lets out a squall all hell breaks loose in this house. LaLa and Birdie go on high alert, audible intake of breath, eyes widen, pupils dilate and the screaming commences. They are both right there smack up in her wee face hollering

"AAAAHHHH!!! BABY! BABY! PEARRRRRRLLLL!"

This continues until I can get the kiddo squared away and the crying stopped. Bedlam.
Did I mention the fingers? Fingers in the eyes, in the mouth, rubbing the fuzz right off that little baby peach noggin.
Later on when Pearl can protect herself and has a reaction repertoire of more than crying in discomfort, startlement, frustration, fear, pain etc... I'm sure I will thank my lucky stars that I have two little girl helpers who want NOTHING MORE IN LIFE than to get a reaction out of Pearl. That is, if the preferred response that they go for is a smile or a laugh.

I have the highest hopes. That's all I have, hope and a healthy dose of fear.

Lack-tation

How on earth can I be expected
to write when my brain is
liquefying?
Liquid and running
in a tight spiral by the droplet
down my brain stem
and into the fluid around my spinal cord.
It oozes out somewhere
in my upper thoracic vertebrae
and creates for itself a groove
down my collarbone where
it finally insinuates
it's grey-oil self
into the marrow of my first three ribs.
It distills there and slips
creamy white into the tissue
of each breast.
Fills ducts and becomes
food for thought
in bright streams
down my newborns throat.

The Barfs

gaaahk!
once again siiiick!

Few things in this world quite as much fun as nursing a baby when you have the barfs. Happily I have just yesterday received my handy-dandy Medela Pump-n-style double electric pump. That way if it ever happens again I can forgo forcing the fluids into a sore and cramping tummy because I will have milk stockpiled I tell you! That's the plan.

Something Red

I love my popcorn popper! It is my favorite red item in the whole wide world. Ok, so only the very top and the very bottom is red... SO WHAT! Wooo Hooo!

Moo-duty

Last night was the official inauguration of lactation in the household of The Mama. Mind you, I have been pulling moo-duty ever since the birth of Pearly-girly, but now "You've Got Mail" has been dusted off and put back into circulation. I don't know what it is about that movie, but it sure makes the milk flow and the time go for those three am feedings. It's the ultimate comfort movie. When LaLa was nursing I added "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," and "Bend it Like Beckham" for a little variety. My mom claims that with at least one of her kids, probably my little Bro, Freakboy, he was always hungry at the same time of night ....so she watched a lot of "Streets of San Francisco." My oldest sister claims to have learned three hymns in Portuguese during the two months she lasted nursing her oldest boy.

A few years back before I had children, during a women's church society meeting, I sat through a lesson by a woman who shared how much she loved to nurse her babies because it gave her a chance to catch up on her reading. She was currently reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln and some really cool gospel related material. I was pretty stoked... wow, a chance to sit on my butt and do all the reading in the world that I wanted to do. Not that my reading selection was likely to be as wholesome as hers, but hey, to each her own. Ahem. This reading thing must be a privilege reserved for competent lactators, or women with small boobs. For me, nursing has been a two handed affair. One arm and/or hand to hold small larval like infant and one hand to hold the boob. Those of you with small or even normal sized breasts may well ask why I need to hold my own breast? So I don't suffocate the poor wee bairn.

Do I get any sympathy in my family? Crap, no! As it turns out I am the only female in my immediate family of mother, two older sisters and one younger who has a rack. And what a rack! Turns out I got most of EVERY BODIES. This would be cool if I were into being stacked, but as a life long tomboy, I was never thrilled with a consonant, or worse... double consonant cup size. I had always assumed I would receive my vindication when it came to functionality. HAH! What I got was mocked by my sister because my boob is so much bigger than my newborns head. What I get is two-handed nursing.

Finally with Pearl I seem to have figured out how to do this thing. The boppy. This is the same boppy that I used with LaLa, but now we seem to have entered into a magical milky land where I can get away with propping her up on said boppy, using one hand to hold said booby... and voila! It as almost as if I am normal.

Now, if I could just concentrate long enough to read a whole page.....ahhh, heck with it. What did I do with that video?

Milk Angels

What I said about the wintry look of the scene outside? Well the Christmas Land that popped up over the weekend across the street? Not lovin' that so much. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those hyper-offendable people that grinds her teeth over the commercialization of the season and yah-da yah-da... I'm more of an "eye-roller" than a "tooth-grinder." I treat the "Christmas Aisle" that makes it's debut along with the "Halloween Aisle" in late September about the same way that I treat the soft-core porn that is Victoria's Secret and all of her slutty little advertising friends. That is to say, I try to avoid them until the time is right, like when I am underpants shopping or looking for that "just so" little number for a weekend getaway with my husband. Hmmm... which sadly, like Christmas Day itself, seems to only happen once a year lately. I'm simply not prepared to deal with any of this until the day AFTER Thanksgiving, and then I am alllllll about making the Yuletide bright.

So on Saturday, when I drug the two older girls and myself to the store for some milk ( Dad was home with the barfs and the sleeping baby) I was completely unprepared for the jolly holiday that hit me. Mind you, I can handle the tinsel, the trimmings and the eggnog flavored ice cream samples that the girls wore home. What caught me off my guard was what could only be a rip in the veil between this world and the next. O, the singing, the angelic singing! So there I was next to the cottage cheese sobbing my hormonal heart out as the other shoppers tried enjoy the Utah Children's Choir sing carols in the local supermarket. These things should come with a warning, sheesh. Like those cones they put out in rainy or stormy weather "FLOOR MAY BE SLIPPERY."

Enough of the premature noel, let's talk about what is right in front of me. I mean RIGHT OUT FRONT. Holy cow, no pun intended, but ummm...I think my milk has come in. In the past I have had a problem or two with delayed milk production... that is to say it makes it's appearance about a week after the baby... and it trickles in until we are finally up to speed. This time around, forewarned is forearmed so Dr. J has had me using Progesterone Cream for the last month or so. Ergo, I am right on schedule, as is a another thing heretofore never experienced by me or my two friends.

Engorgement. Aye-yi-yi a bowling alley ain't got nothin on me. That's all I have to say about that. Except, and I don't wish to seem ungrateful, but OWWWWWWW!

Old Painting

Photos and Phacts

LaLa pronounces slippery as "lippity." Her current favorite thing to do is hold the binkey as Pearl sucks on it... then take it out, put it in, take it out, put it in- ad infinitum until we stop her.






Birdy was highly impressed with all of "mama's new watches!" in the hospital. We have been discussing bellybuttons alot.

Birth and Winter

This morning I looked out my front window and noticed that every last crimson leaf was gone from our maple in the front yard. They all must have blown away while I was at the hospital. I am sad that they are gone, but glad that there is this one thing to mark the birth of my Pearl. Ummm... other than the obvious.

Both of my other girls were born in February, which in Utah is pretty solidly winter. Yet right after each of their births I began looking around with this feeling of "Ok, my baby is here... where the crap is spring now?" So for me to come home and have this bare tree is kind of a relief. Like Mother Nature is acknowledging the entrance of MY baby. Somehow there is a melancholy feeling of rightness with those leaves gone. The cold rain that is falling now accentuates the snugness of all three baby girls of mine tucked in and resting at the beginning of this winter

Ta-Da!

7 pounds 8 Ounces, 20 inches. More to come.

Charming

Have you seen Finding Nemo? Yeah, the fish movie. There is a scene where two birds are sitting in the water, and some bubbles come up near one of the birds. The other bird looks at bubble bird in disgust and says "Nice," and flies away. Well my cool little sis who speaks French and Arabic watched our DVD last summer in the Au Francais and informs me in that scene the french translation has the sarky bird saying "charment" or charming. That word has been pattering through my head all afternoon, snooty french accent and in the tone of voice the bird utters it no less. It fits.

I am in labor, not yet the get me to the hospital I'm gonna pop deal, but they (contractions) have been coming strong and regular since around 12:30-1:00ish. I had been feeling merely crampy till I read Nytro's latest post about her dental woes. The teeth didn't get me, though I certainly can sympathise. No, it was the fart jokes. Sadly I have no defence against them. Nope, on the other hand I am such a sucker, and my low brow sense of humor was SOOOOO tickled by the categorising of her husbands various flatulence's that I started laboring for real and haven't stopped. It's a good thing that I don't keep baby books for my kids. I can see the entry now.... "Pearl, your entry into this world was heralded by a combination of yer mama busting a gut over a fart-joke and a little bit 'o Dr.J's "prostoglandin contraband."

Whoop-yeah! I am one high-tone broad.

Tall Man

Siiiiiiiiick, bleah. Luckily the version 2.6 of the tummy flu that I was testing was not as violent as what the girls had...version 2.0. As a matter of fact, although I was never more than two feet from my bowl I never actually did any yarking. Nope, I did what I do most of my 1st trimester of pregnancy... walk around feeling green. I have been assured that barfing is worse, and I would have to agree in the case of those hyper-emetics who have to go on the old IV drip. But the sweet relief that comes from a good cleansing yak, well I coulda used that yesterday. Instead, Mr. Dadguy made an early day of church duties and I was back in bed by 11:00am. Where I stayed.
Amen.

Sheesh, enough already with the barfsnotpoop...

I read a great post by Squishy Burrito about Tall Man... Most of my life I've been the kind of gal to let her freak flag fly, not a great combination with an overly soft heart, but there you are. Rather, there I am. I would be one of those mommies happy to sing a little more emphatically, and let Tall Man strut his stuff. At home we sing and I don't skip a verse, I mean, please... my kiddo's don't know nuthin' from nuthin' and I'm not about to explain obscene hand gestures or obscenities in general. We haven't even gotten to the name calling stage yet. But here we are in Happy Vally Utah where the prim grass grows. Home of the cute and pristine mommy. Hey, don't get offended 'cause I'm NOT slamming them, these creatures who will look you in the eye and tell you that they do not recall their mothers EVER raising their voices. See, I believe them when they say this and to a certain point I envy them the graceful and gracious way that they live their lives and raise their kids. To a certain point. But there is this freak in me that has a flag that must be flown. There is this part of me that cannot or will not feel shame. I know these things about myself...aaaaand now y'all know it too.

One great thing about having no shame and very little dignity is you can sometimes parlay that into a fun performance, don't believe me? Go and check out the Dormitory Boys. Now those guys are Carpe-ing the crap out of their Diem! Back before I had Birdie and for the first 9 months or so of her life I was a Storyteller at a local library for the Toddler Time. This turned out to be fairly big proposition as the body count during a session would often be in excess of a hundred souls. The biggest turnout I remember was 250+. This was the best job I have ever had in my life. Yeah, you can actually get paid for this kind of thing. There I was with a microphone strapped to my head like I was the Britany freakin' Spears of the preschool set. Kay, well I was fully dressed but what an experience. We read books, sang songs, did puppets, danced, hooted and hollered... but one thing we never did was "Where is Thumbkin." Somehow, in all the love fest that was my job as a Storyteller I was pretty darn sure that at least a few of the moms in attendance would not appreciate the view of the flag that song would give.

OOoooooh, where is TALL MAN?! Where is TALL MAN?! HERE I AM!!!

Adventures in Emesis

Pretty much the moment a mother makes a statement about how her children are or the way her household is run, then something conspires to make a liar of her. Is it fate? Murphy's Law? I don't know, but I have been stuck sleeping in the same bed with my KIDS for the past two freaking nights running. I may not have said, but I don't sleep well next to squiggle bums. My girls are both highly advanced squigglers.

The only happy highlight to last nights tragicomedy of a puke fest, is that after the first couple of rounds of the old heave-ho, my three year old got the hang of yakking in a bowl. I know adults who cannot hit a bowl, and my Birdie DID NOT SPILL A DROP! Bless her sweet little soul, it warmed the crabby old cockles of my heart and improved my attitude toward her greatly. Poor LaLa, however, does not even understand what the heck is going on except that it isn't fun and she doesn't like it. Meh. Luckily most of her food had digested before she began and Birdie laid off... both around 6:00am. Once again, a bare minimum to clean up as yuk-fests go.

In our house we call bath water "bum-water" to help underscore the importance of NOT DRINKING the water yer dirty old bum has been marinating in. We talk about it alot, the "not drinking it" bit... and yet I suspect entire gallons have been consumed between both girls.
"Mama, last night I had a dream," says Birdie this morning at the breakfast table.
"mmmm-hmm?"
"Yeah, I dreamed that LaLa was under the bum-water and I couldn't reach her," Birdie says nodding her head gravely.
"Under the bum-water?"
"Uh-huh. I was scared 'cause I couldn't reach her."

addiction

My Addiction


How sad.... pregnant and still drinking this crap. I have no defence, but I am also not gonna apologise.

I would like to invite you to meet a few of my friends from yesteryear.

There was the fun and omnipresent intimate of 13 years. And the weekend pals that crept into my workaday...

But my bestest, truest and most deadly friend of all.

tai food and babies

So very much to do and write about! Last sunday evening a friend called up to ask if I was hungry... for Tai food. Please understand that Tallula (name changed to pertect the innocent) and her husband have a rep for being culinarily untouchable. Was I hungry? No, the answer to THAT question is "not applicable," the question that was in the subtext was how fast could I hotfoot my behemouth self over the 1/2 block to their house? I don't remember the names of all the ambrosia that I was fed, except that some of it was HOT, there were cashews in another dish, the spring rolls were exquisite and I have never had better curry. Ever. To think I was invited because some bizarro sibling and boyfriend just never showed up to Sunday dinner. Freaks.

My uvula? Oh, yes... so much better thank you.

The baby? Well , I went to see Dr.J yesterday morning. While he politely refrained from using the actual words "epic" or "gargantuan" he did agree with me that the 17th was just not a good idea. So now I have an appointment early tuesday morning to see if we can get a little labor-action started. If not, then Thursday we'll just go ahead and induce. Can I hear an "uh-HUH, uh-HUH!"

I really do think that it's time. The bed has started to creak alarmingly when I get in. So much so that last nite after one of my many pilgimages to the bathroom I was easing my Self into bed Dadguy waved his hand around from a dead sleep and mumbled "no, no be careful, be careful." I think my laughing woke him up. Poor guy. He's just not ready for a new baby. I know because he told me so this morning. The thing about Dadguy is that while he is the BEST Dad I know (sorry Pop he's gotcha topped) his paternal instincts just don't kick in till the kid's about six months old. You will never find Dadguy holding his newborn with that goooglie expression you see on some Dad's faces. With our first I was really worried that I was going to be on my own parenting wise. He just never got into the naming thing, wasn't all that taken with the whole pregnancy thing and when the actual infant thing popped out? He didn't seem all that sure about whether it was worth the Hoo-raw. I'm pretty darn sure that Birdie was the second infant he had EVER held, and also pretty sure that he didn't care if it was the last.

I love that man.

I need to go take some pictures, and download pictures... and share pictures. I haven't forgotten!

me and my uvula

allllrighty then! Here I am with tonsillitis. Again. Apparently the zithromax "Z" pack was only good enough to give me a weeks worth of health before the crud-nasties took back over my body. As nifty as "Z" pack sounds, the new meds sound... well, like they ain't gonna take no poody-doo from no crud-nastie.... I am, as of 1:30pm on OMNICEFFFFFFFFFF (echo, echo echo monster truck rally announcer style).

This morning when I awoke to find that what I had suspected was going on had indeed happened I just sat in the bathroom and cried. The sound was a hoarse gagging sound as this particular brand of tonsillitis seems to focus primarily in my uvula. You heard me, my uvula. What can I say, pregnant women will talk about ANYTHING, no stinkin' modesty whatsoever. Give over already, it's just the hanger down thingy at the back of your throat.

Back to the bawling... IS there anything more pathetic than a woman in her 38th week sitting on the crapper feeling sorry for herself? Probably not. But that was this morning before the prescribing of the omniceferator. Now I am a human who can swallow food as well as drink. CELEBRATION!

Now, however, all of my blogging plans are in the dumper as I fell asleep with Birdie an hour and a half ago. Upon awaking I realize that I am still a sickie despite all the improvements.

y*a*w*n

g'nite sweet prince (mumbles incoherently as Dadguy tucks her in).

random

LaLa met a rosebush the hard way. I actually had to pick a lodged thorn out of her cheek. She cried for less than one minute. She cried for the entire two hours that I left her in nursery by herself for the first time yesterday. Meh.








The designated chair. See "Lack of Nest" post.... I lack the linking skilz.

Girlee Update

LaLa pronouces tea party as "pee potty" and adds "ie" to the end of most nouns. LaLa do you want some monkey juice?
"Muccky doocie doocie?"
She is a much tighter mirror of me and my verbal oddities than Birdie ever was. Poor LaLa.

Birdie did a fabulous ballet dance for everyone waiting in line at Little Ceasars the other nite. People describe her as "animated." I say she hasn't nor is likely ever to have any shame. The jury is out on whether that means "poor Birdie."

Pearl is running out of room and her kicks have become squggles. We are both getting waaaay to big.

My Inner Hippy

It has been just a titch over a year and a half since I last popped a wee bairn, and yet I cannot remember what the heck I'm s'posed to pack to take to the hospital... yeah hospital. No midwifery or homebirthery for ME! I am the original under-cover-older-mother, and I feel much better having the height of modern technology at my beck and call. Y'know, just in case. Therefore we go to Utah Vally Regional Medical Center 'cause the NICU rocks! They have all the cool gizmos including a very expensive machine that goes "ping." But as I have mentioned previously, I do like to give a nod to all that is Hippy and Holistic, so Dr.J is my answer. He's some kinda plain old practitioner with a wack-job side to him. I think there is even an extra set of letters that his general wackiness adds to his title. Dr.J PhD. HiPPy. Don't get me wrong, he's no dirthead guy, he's very clean cut with a conventional family, practice, and over all professionally. Just he also will do things like "prescribe" Xango juice for a sore throat (it actually works! I call it Dr.J's Hippy Juice), give ya a little hush-hush chiropracty (he's not actually licenced, but I hobbled in and later walked out of the office) and is not above a little levity at a patients expence. Like when I tested positive for Strep B with my last pregnancy. I was pretty distressed... how the heck did I catch such a thing?

"Well, it has to do with poor hygiene more than anything..." he says.
(me, jaw dropping)
"WAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Sorry, no we don't really know it's just one of those things! Wahahahaha!" (him, wiping eyes).

One of my favorites was the Head and Shoulders shampoo that he recommended for Birdies really bad baby acne. Once a week put the shampoo on the cheeks and allow to set for a few minutes then wash off. Something along those lines. Once again it actually worked.

Wait back up. What the heck do ya mean "under-cover-older-mother?" you ask. Let's just say that I robbed the cradle when I married, got a verrrrrrrry late start on having kids by Happy Valley standards, and have a sweet and chubby baby face to boot. It kills me, once my girls hit the serious 3 month old pudge everybody just ooo's and ahh's over how they look "just like their mama!" Ahhhyep. You may not have noticed that any baby with a bit of chunk to their face bears a striking resemblance to me. So combine that with surprisingly good skin tone. and the fact that it's kinda hard to detect the 36 year old sag on a... shall we call it "FULL FIGURE," it's a little hard to place me agewise. I have noticed that with NO EXCEPTION every mother that I meet thinks that I am however old they are, or they assume that they are older by a few years. At least in this neighborhood they are almost always wrong. I don't really mind too much till people forget the pecking order and get a little "advice happy" with me. Sigh.

Dem Hormonal Thangs

Wow...
I teared up reading Darings letter, see:something that sounds very similar. That is SO what happens, only scaled down to two or three weeks in my case! It was way worse with little Birdie mostly because I was up against all the new-mom issues as well as the freakout, and I wasn't prepared. But with LaLa I just about lost it anyway. These hormonal issues... dahhhhgh!

Last year out of the blue I got hit with two months in a row of BLACK and VILE pms. K, well not totally out of the blue, I had just stopped nursing LaLa. I knew that my hormones were lying to me, but it didn't change the fact that a part of my mind was telling me to take a hammer to my own skull. Luckily each session only lasted two to three days, but what mom of young children can call everything off and hide out in a dark room for even ONE day?

So after darkandvile# 2 I hit my doctors office. Dr. J offered to prescribe the old standbys, but the only thing that sounded even vaguely interesting was the Prozac that you can take once a month when your cycle is about to start (technically it's the Prozac that is a once a week pill, but he has had lots of success with women problems just aiming it at the time specific trouble-zone, aka. PMS). In the end we decided to go with the Progesterone Cream to be used around my cycles. It has made all the difference in the world. So far. Here is hoping for a better, kinder post-partum for us all.

I started using Arbonne's cream, but have now moved on to some funky concoction that my moms endocrinologist has whipped up for his patients... it's more cost effective. But basically this stuff does not require a presciption to obtain. For the record, I am far from being against prescription drug use to deal with these issues, I just feel lucky that I can stick with the hippy methods for now. And I think that ole' Tom Cruise, if there is any justice, is about to paaaaayyyyyy for his remarks and attitudes. Or rather Katie will pay and I hope she returns the favor. Sigh ... but there rarely is any justice, and he will never, never know what a twit he is.

On a lighter note, Mr.Dadguy just put a lock on our bathroom door as well as a new seat on our toilet all in the time it took me to write this. No small feat considering he had the assistance of Birdie.

girls and punkins

Lack of Nest

So much for my "nesting." Last week I just chalked my lack of instinct up to the stink-nasty round of health issues that have been spinning around the house, but today I have simply concluded that my nesting is just not going to happen. Not that it has been all that impressive in the past. At least with the Bird I had an actual nursery prepared, complete with crib, dresser, and darling little layette all ready to welcome the sweet fledgling home. With LaLa I had a brand new suitie to bring her home from the hospital and a quilt I had made just for her. Right now I'm not even sure where I'm gonna put this new little girl... and any clothes that she has that are new is not due to any effort on my part. I certainly don't have a designated take home outfit. The crib is in pieces and actually needs some replacement parts before we put it back together... Birdie darned near rocked that sucker to pieces and LaLa, with her far more modest rockage finished the job. That's why she sleeps in a big girl bed at the tender age of 19 months. That and we didn't want her to feel like the baby was stealing her bed when it came down to the time to actually inhabit the crib. Although we have till the kid is almost three months old before she is likely to use it.

Y'see we have the "designated chair" that our babies spend the first three months of their lives in. The poor thing is UUUUUUUUUUgly, and the guts are crumbling out. But throw a thick tapestry cloth over the top and it is the most comfortable seat in existence. We nurse, I stand and place comatose baby on seat of chair wedged up against arm or back and walk away. This was more the scene with LaLa than Birdie, but I pretty much plan to do the same with upcoming Pearl. I'm just not a 100% on where the chair will live. Right now the chair resides in the bay window space in my bedroom... on MY SIDE of the bed no less.

Let me tell you why it is not likely to stay there. In our house we DO NOT CO-SLEEP and there is NO SUCH THING as a family bed. This is not because I am morally against it or whatever... I've read in forums where folks can get into some pretty nasty name calling and judgements on each other about what is best. Naw, the fact of the matter is that I get post-partum freakout. Not the baby blues, and it can't really be characterized as depression, what I go through is just plain old freakish freakdom. My brand of freakishness may have alot to do with the doubling of my dose of thyroid medication over the course of each pregnancy followed by an immediate drop in my need of the higher level meds after the baby is born. Maybe it's tied to whatever delays my milk production till almost 7 days after the baby comes. Whatever it is, I cannot sleep within two rooms of a baby. They snuffle. They peep. They groan and squeak and every sound they make sends adrenaline searing through my veins. The nights I have spent laying with my teeth clenched together, hands balled in sweaty fists as I try to control my breathing, the "fight or flight" instinct causing my whole body to shake...it ain't pretty.

Maybe this time it''ll be different. My doc.... we'll call him Dr.J here, has me using Progesterone Cream in the hopes of evening things out, and oh yeah, getting my milk to come in before the Pearly girlie starves to death. Maybe.
Meantime I'm just trying to catch up on the laundry. Hmmmmmmmm but I probably COULD make a quilt in time....

K, so they were both down by 8:20 pm and I am a whiner, big deal.

Here is a pix of my sweet birdie and Skellington Jack her boyfriend. Yup, she kisses him when she thinks I'm not looking.

This is also the October Glory Maple of which we are absurdly proud, that we purchaced and planted earlier this year... notice the odd rings in the grass.

Dental Games

That Mr. Dadguy is the only reader so far.... and he was truly appalled at the height of the pedestal that I had stuck him on. Whassah maddah deah, you scared of heights? That's ok, 'cause I'm yanking him back down today for him going off to game at the horrifying hour of 7:30pm, aka the middle of bedtime procedures. Yup that's right, he's leaving me all alone tonite to wrassel the girls into bed. Sheeeze, thanks.

That's right y'all, I married a gamer. Most people don't understand adult "gamers" they think gamers should just grow up and give up. I know his parents sure do, and sometimes I feel a little short with the quantity of time that goes into pursuit of the game, like when it cuts into gettin' my fair share of nookie. Of course at this point in my pregnancy, with my poor, sad old relaxin strained hip joints, frozen tail bone, generally sore groin area combined with a solid dose of arthritis in my lower back/pelvic region, to say nuthin' of sheer gargantuan SIZE it ain't so much nookie as it is
noo-
ouch, no roll over that way, owowowowowow! ok that's better
-kie.

Back to the gaming. When I met him he was in an online Clan that played Team Fortress Classic, a blood and guts capture the flag game. Frankly, I am quite proud of the calibre of player that mah man is... He has spanked pretty much all the husbands in the neighborhood, plus a lot of guys online in a wide array of games. Now I'm not just talking smack on his behalf because I must qualify the previous by saying that he is not what he once was, so please don't try and challenge him to some kinda gamers duel. The man has 2 highly active daddy's girls and a demanding wife with a high -maintenance pregnancy. Oh, and a time intensive church calling. Still, it gets me a touch hot when the guys in the hood talk about how cool Mr Dadguy is and how he will sneak up and pistol whip their character down in Halo while they are carting around a beastly arsenal. Pistol whipping= hard to do, big arsenal=still not enough to take him down. Face it, however, proud or not when it comes to ducking out on nigh-night time... well that doesn't earn a whole lotta points.

Some of you are now thinking to yerself, when is the yanking going to commence? Well, I'm done, that's as far as I go because of a little trip I took to the dentist today. A trip that the aforementioned Mr. Dadguy is gonna hafta pay for. Technically the insurance paid for the visit, but if you think that one measly little cleaning and check-up is the end of my tale of woe, well sit back and relax 'cause this will only hurt a little. Dentists.... gahhk!

Once upon a time I had AWESOME teeth if I do say so my very own self. I used to have indestructo teeth that could withstand the assault of tobacco, coffee and grinding amounts of drugs that make you grind yer teeth. My pearlies and I survived nicely until the real assault began. Babies. They sucked the marrow from my bones and the Hoo-raw from my teeth. My Sister-in-Law is a Nutritionist student at BYU, complete with bio, and chem classes. She could explain to you all the reasons why and how having babies can kill your teeth, just suffice it to say that now my teeth SUCK. I have sad and weak-kneed little corn kernels hiding out in my mouth, trembling for fear that I might try to chew ice or some other dentally irresponsible thing. But that will only account for the old pre-teen filling that got partially chipped and now has to be replaced, along with a good sized cavity in the next door neighbor tooth. No, no the thing that galls and rankles... the thing that HURTS, and the thing that coincidentally is gonna end up costing right out the wazoo is the bleeping crown that I has lived in my mouth for all of a year and a half. The one that hurt worse than the hook-nasty-root-canal that it serves to protect. Yeah the crown that six months after I had put in my mouth I asked the dentist to look at 'cause it still hurt. Yeah, the one where he told me oh... you need to step up your hygiene... you have gingivitis and need to floss better and use Listerine.

If you can't tell, I am now seeing a different dentist. Y'know, the new school non-butcher-type. The new dentist was very careful in his criticism of the oldguys work, but you could tell how distressed he was looking at the jacked-up second set of x-rays that he took because the first set was just too funky to be believed.

Ummmm, yeah, sorry but that crown really has to go. It's wayyyyy too big for the root of the tooth, and you have a large amount of decay going on under the crown. Maybe you could go back to the guy who put this in and I'm SURE he'd fix it for free.

Well CRAP!
There is a reason I am no longer seeing Dentistguy #1.... 'cause he is a brutal BUTCHER. Sure as shootin' the insurance won't pay for a re-do, so my darling Mr. Dguy... I love you, please pay up. Again.

now that i'm here

I feel like an utter dope.
I have been indulging in some really amazing bloggage for the past month or so, jamming on what people have to say and feeling this angst-like urge to "go and do likewise." The question is, do I have anything to say? If you read this, just cut me some slack 'cause I am sooo an amatuer.

Once upon a time I had a thick skin and a lousy mouth. Back in the day I had a few piercings, a funky hairdo and plenty of attitude. I still have the tattoos. I've got some scar tissue in my mouth and a few bone spurs from hairline fractures to remind me why it is important to marry wisely. There is an unknowable amount of damage to my ears , nose and throat due to sniffing crystal and her bastard half-sister crank. Prbably minimal damage due to the alcoholism... the main problem was really the meth. I am told that after 7-8 years the lungs of a smoker become clean as if the smoking had never happened. If this is true then WOOOHOO!

That was once upon a time and poor Mr. Dadguy still laughs and shakes his head in wonderment whenever I have occasion to mention just about any of this. Frankly I like the fact that he looks at me and cannot see it. K, well except the tattoos and those become strangely invisible after a while. I'm sure that sometimes I will refer back to past items along these lines.... I'm just sayin' I don't wanna shock ya.

This coming April 6 I will have been married to Mr. Dadguy for six years and I love him way more today than I ever have. It still blows me away that this amazing man wanted to marry me... that he did marry me and that we now get to live our ever after that really is HAPPILY!
We have a three and a half year old girlie that I will call "Birdie," a year and a half year old named "LaLa" and what the ultrasound guy assures me is a third girlie on the way. Due in three weeks as a matter of fact. Shoot me in the head if she actually drags it out that long.

here is another question... do I tell my family about this blog?

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is there any buddy OUT there?