Blue

Still a little weepy and shaky from the wee early hours of the morning. Dadguy woke me from a rather dead sleep last night around 1:30am. He was holding my Pearl and shaking me with an urgency that is usually reserved for copious amounts of puke or poo. Baffled I sat up and he handed me a baby that smelled of neither, and from there I still cannot tell you what exactly happened or in what order.

Pearl was cold, bluish and shaking. Her hands were purple, so were her feet. She was unable to cry or do much of anything except labor for the next breath and look at us with a "what is happening to me" look in her eyes.

My dear friend K from two doors down was at the door less than four minutes from the time we called, to stay with our two older sleeping girls and then we went fast. To the Emergency Room. Praying out loud for God to look down on His little Pearl. Some time between "amen" and our arrival at the hospital she hacked/yarked out two huge mucous globbers and began breathing... not exactly normally... but at least more effectively. Her color returned, she warmed up, and after crying for a few minutes, she even graced us with a little bit of conversation that sounded an awful lot like "woo, that was scary... what the heck was that!"

Well that, was a hitch in the happyfunjoy that is sometimes called RSV, sometimes Bronchialitis. I think that I can speak for both Dadguy and myself, that our little excursion was more terrifying than the party we had with two pennies last year.

Thankfully it was also shorter... as in we were home and back in bed by 3:45am. My emotional state is a little whonked right now, refer to the above "weepy and shaky." But all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.

Blahblahblah Bad Health Blah

So, like a lonely old woman who has only her aches and pains to keep her company.... I find that all I can squeeze out in the rare moment that someone agrees to listen to me?... a litany of my aches and pains. I know it is wrong. I know it is boring. Welcome to my party of snot and goo.


Friday afternoon while Pearl was napping, I was curling Birdie's hair and LaLa was up next for a "fancy" doo. We were getting gussied up to enjoy a "Parfait" later on. "Parfait" is French for "Ice Cream Sunday" you know! If you have girls that love things that are fancy... I will offer for your reading enjoyment and vocabulary expansion "Fancy Nancy" by Jane O'Connor . Birdie got it from her Grandma for her birthday, and it is a smash hit in the House of Chaos. Prized ponies and dolls have been renamed things like Fuchsia, Frilly and Chandelier.

When it comes to all things fancy, it's difficult to say who is more swishy (can girls be swishy?) Birdie or LaLa. So you will understand that I was instantly paying attention when LaLa started wailing about there being something in her ear stabbing her... that it hurt too much to get her hair done "fancy." As it is the end of February, I immediately ruled out the earwig scenario and glommed onto the ear-infection scenario: Hardly a stretch considering the nasty cold and cough she picked up on our trip down south. I called the doctor's office and then looked at the clock while it was ringing 3:30. Not good.

The happy part? The doc's PA fit us in and gave LaLa a script for some Omnicef.

The crappy part? Birdie and Pearl, the girls not a sobbing mess refusing to let go of the front of her Mama's shirt, each picked up a rousing case of Pink Eye.

Birdie's conjunctivitis was more pink and less goo, so I've just been letting her ride it out. Pearl, who also seems to be working on a tooth or six, got a case that was less pink and more goo... with a bad cough... and a double ear infection just to round things out nicely. As she was spouting fluid of all description, and of every viscosity from every orifice, I decided to drag her back to see the doc today.

....and when your kids have pink eye? It's not like you can ask the next door neighbor to watch the other two while you run to the pediatrician. I took the whole circus (again) and a bottle of Purell with strict instructions to not touch the toys at the doctor's office. Sure, the damage is done for all of Chaos... but I didn't feel right sharing the love with the next set of kids to come in. My good intentions lasted for the first twenty five minutes of waiting.

I finally just went up and reminded them that they were dealing with multiple cases of pink eye, and could they please get us contained in a room to minimize the damage? Sigh. The new office staff is prettier than the first... but they are dumber. The waiting room is all spiffed up too; new paint, furniture... and the trio of dusty old lit pine trees sporting faux fishing tackle is gone. I just have to wonder though. Did all the changes to the look of the waiting room happen because the new staff is behind it, or is the new staff part of the refurbishment.

Huh.

Let's hope that they are not gonna be getting rid of their more unattractive patients as well... cause after three babies I'm not exactly looking my best. Maybe I should start looking for a new Primary Care Doc...

Nah. I'll wait and make 'em kick me out.

On the bright side, I got a script for and inhaler until I can kick the last bits of this lung crud. Should be fun PUFF PUFF!

Sunday Pic:Help!

This snow and yukky weather... it cannot last forever. Here is my front yard from last August. We will be there again.

Good Morning

This morning I walked into the girls room to fetch a pair of panties for LaLa. Birdie, who'd had a rough night of wakeful coughing, had just gotten out of bed. She was standing in the middle of the room with her red hair in a swirl about her head, blinking and looking sad and muddled. She mumbled something, and I asked "What?"

"I said I wished you had called me Alyssa!" she said more clearly this time.

"Alyssa? Why do you wish we had named you Alyssa?" I asked, searching my memories as to whether we had told Birdie that we actually had narrowed down her name choice to "Birdie" or Alyssa.

"Because Alyssa is a CUTE name!" she wails.

"Well... Birdie is cuter!"

Not exactly at the top of my game this morning.

Take Heed

I am still lounging about in my jammies, and still unable to laugh without my "heh heh heh" turning into "GARRRGHk wheeze wheeze hurghk kaf kaf etc., etc., ad infinitum" until I wet my pants or puke.

BUT, I am feeling better... and seriously considering a shower later on in the evening.

AND as delighted as I am sure you must be to read more about my health and protracted recovery, let's us switch it up a little and talk about a new subject. Like... howsabouts we discuss my hormones and reproduction! WOOT!

All men and family members, feel free to tune out and/or go visit Dadguy and harass him into writing a real post.

So... a while back (last month) I went off of the birth control pill that I have been taking since the weanery of Pearl. I was taking Yasmin, a new kind of "low-dose" double hormone type pill. Looking back, I realize that I started taking it shortly before having some very serious digestive issues. Remember the oatmeal and the Celiacs? Well that was not all that was troubling me.

Again... men? I have warned you.

I have also been having problems with an overabundance of yeast, and not just in the usual places. Under my boobs? Grrrr! It didn't budge for creams, ointments, OTC or scripts. Holistic fun, like probiotics? Piffle. And yeah... in addition to the thousand or so bucks that we shelled out for testing and diagnostics of the rest of my ills, I got tested for Candida.

Plus. No libido. What the crap good is birth control if you don't even WANT to get busy while you are on it? I guess the fine folks at Bayer Schering Pharmaceuticals feel like it's just a little extra protection. Yeah... they are going the extra mile just for YOU!

So last month I went off of the Yasmin, never having once suspected it as the culprit, and everything cleared up. I was SO mad! I went looking online for anything that intimated, implied or even hinted that my symptoms could have been related to Yasmin. Nothin' on the Yasmin party line! Of course... the ARE a few annecdotal sites where the folks are saying that Yasmin in the pill o' the DEBBIL HISSEF! Claiming that the pill caused them to have constipated-diarrhea and stars shooting out they butts!

Not so much over here, but I do wish that they would indicate that there could be some sort of systemic issues.

So... erm, and yeah... I have gone off the pill. Read into that what ya will. You know you want to!

Resting Up

Taking it easy this very fine day. We have just returned from the lands down south where there was real and actual swimming done in an outdoor pool. Last night pulling in to the drive way after a looong ride home made longer by the traffic pile-ups from the accidents on the freeway and bad weather in general... it took three tries to get up the driveway through the piles of snow.

Snow.

Bleah.

I hadn't been on antibiotics for anything last year.....none, nada, zip. this is a big deal for me. I had mentioned it to a friend and she squawked about how I was gonna really get it NOW, saying it OUT LOUD and all! I thought to myself..."So? I'm due for a round of the cold and flu turns infectious and debilitating... it'll be just more of the same for me."

So, I really got it.

A couple of weeks ago I started with this cough... but it was pretty low key. Then last Tuesday I started feeling tired, and the cough got worse... I would have these spells of uncontrollable coughing that was more like spastic wheezing until I was red and sweating. Finally last Friday I decided to add to the two older girls' yearly check-ups, and get my cough looked at... see if I could get something for it. The doc listened to my lungs and got a little concerned note in his voice, he said something about being two seconds away from full blown pneumonia. I was kind of feeling like a hypochondriac, but apparently it was good I got in when I did.

It turned out well though, I got to get a shot of antibiotic in my butt before the girls got their immunizations... so it was kind of a rounded experience for us all. Also, I got a nice script for my favorite ever Codeine/Phenergan combo, and did you know that Zithromax is now available in generic?

One of Birdie's "Kindergarten Shots" got very red, very hot, and swollen... her whole upper arm was tight and started to blister a little... did I get a picture of it? No. Not one little bit of bloggy documentation. I don't know if I am more disgusted at myself for NOT getting the picture, or for WANTING to get the picture for putting up on this, my little patch o' teh Internets. I was conflicted... therefore, no picture. Also, I was ummm... lazy and nursing my own little bit of coughing misery.

Now LaLa has a raging tidal wave of snot going on.... I think it's a cold, but I won't know till I can get some of the mucus cleared away.


Good times.

Sunday Pic: Early

We are headed south for the weekend, gotta do some swimming. I thought y'all ought to see some snaps of LaLa's third birthday... and the cake. Always have to throw some braggers up on the cake!


You may think "So? I could go down and buy something that looks better at the store!" And you'd be right. I enjoy making them, but I must admit... I do NOT enjoy making them with the peanut gallery literally hanging on my neck and breathing in my ear. And the FINGERS! OH! The ever so helpful FINGERS! From now on, if I cannot decorate the cake after bedtime? We are hitting the bakery.



I am especially proud of the ceramic unicorn. It was a paint-it-yourself bank from the dollar store. I used my own paints and filled the coin slot with frosting and candles.

My Name Is Bon, And I Am A Freakshow...

I would like to be the first to admit that I have a problem. What the problem is, I'm not sure exactly, but I suspect it has to do with some sort of over identification or maybe just some kind of obsessive ego-centrism when confronted with frightened or hurt children. It started when I was pregnant with Birdie.

The morning of September 11th, 2001 I had driven up to a girlfriends house to haul my five month pregnant self around her neighborhood for exercises. After the walk I had hopped back in my car to drive back to our apartment so I could get ready for work. The radio announcers were talking about the attacks and my first reaction was that it had to be an advertisement or some bad joke. Once I figured out that they were reporting an actual attack on US soil, I realised that I had my arms both curled around my swollen belly like I was trying to shield the tiny life inside of me.

Last year there was a woman in our congregation who lost her premature baby. He lived for 45 minutes and then died. I was grateful that I was gone the day they sent around the sign-up sheet to bring food to the funeral luncheon. I have a hard time typing these sentences about what happened, let alone try and look the grieving mother in the eye and not turning into some blithering pile of jelly that has to be scraped up off the floor and removed via dust pan.

Since then, I have been through a little bit o' drama with Pearl... and have been able to also bring dinner to a different woman who, after a valiant battle so save her unborn baby boy ended up losing him to the failings of his own little body. I did it with out any of the melting, or sobbing, or dramatic hoo-dah that I feared, but I am still much freakier than I care for. I am not used to living with my tears and my fears so close to the surface. It's there for total strangers, and my heart is tender for the fictional as well as the real. It's hard to live this way.

Movies that depict the lone screaming child standing in the path of the horrendous mob or oncoming enemy? Yikes, it leaves me in a puddle. Law and Order SVU? Never. Ever. Ever. I must have seen the movie AI for the first time before I had Birdie, because... Holy HANNAH! The scene where the Mom leaves the little robot boy alone in the forest? I tried to watch the show again on DVD, and started sobbing at that point, couldn't finish watching the show.

Last night the Chaos family enjoyed a birthday meal at our favorite restaurant... they give the birthday kid a Lolly pop Sundae and do a loud clapping rendition of a song to celebrate. Grandma and Grandpa met us there, so it was an extra good time. After we got home and got everyone to bed, I flipped on the TV to pass a half hour or so. Bad move. Every channel was covering this story about a gunman who walked into Trolley Square and just started blowing people away. Before I knew it I was glued to interview after interview of folks who had been enjoying a family night out at restaurants, shopping... just a low key evening out. Parents running, and hiding, and stuffing their children in any nook or cranny they could find. Parents trying to keep their kids safe. Not enough that five innocents lost their lives and still others fighting for their lives on hospital tables, I glommed onto the scared kids and parents.

Now, I think I have been in Trolley Square like four times in my life, I avoid all mall type shopping at all costs. I live a good hours drive away from SLC, plus.... it wasn't me. I wasn't there, and I despise that odd glitch people sometimes have of "well my sisters, brother's, cousins best friend died in that fire and it really has me freaked OUT!" But I really am just a little freaked out. It's too close to home, and comes on top of a few strange and sad tales that I have been sitting on... two blocks away a father of young children raping a neighbor girl in an upstairs bedroom. A registered sex offender moving in just down the street. I can see his house when I look out my front window. One other darker tale than this that just comes off as gossip of the worst sort when I try to write it...

Last night, poor Dadguy came into the front room where I sat in the light pouring off of the newscast playing on the TV screen and asked what was up. I started to tell him and I'm betting that my voice was starting to sound a little...mmmm, strident? I got to the point where I started to tell him that I was a little freaked out because we had gone out to eat that night and.... He interrupted around then saying something about getting way to personal... and then I interrupted him. Yelling at him that I was perfectly aware that I was crazy! That I didn't need HIM telling me how crazy I was, and I would be the one to say that I was WAHHHHhhhhhhh!

Sigh.

Sorry Dadguy, another close encounter with freakshow mama. And yet again, sorry Dadguy... but I don't think this particular party of weird is done. This morning I read the post from Elizasmom about a sweet little conversation she had with her kid on the way to the mall, and all I could think was at least it was a safe trip, no lunatic 18 year old's with a shotgun. I wanted to slap my OWN self and tell me to get a grip already!

Mother Duckers

Still embroiled in the Ambulance Bill Debacle. You remember the ABD? Yeah, that's the debacle stemming from the Two Penny Incident. The whole question of who's gonna pay for shipping Pearl from one hospital to the next, has become one of those stupid-fest's that make all the business entities involved smell kinda rank.

Nobody is looking good but my ENT, and the ENT's gracious office staff.

First, I spoke with my insurance company who assured me that a letter from my ENT would likely resolve the matter. Since I knew that a letter had been sent, because I had received a copy of said letter... I didn't worry too much. Then the ENT called me and told me that the letter they sent? Had been returned stating that my insurance company didn't know who they were talking about. I told the nice lady at the Doctor's office that I would take it from here, and I would resubmit the letter from the Doctor (I still had the copy they had sent), and write a terse letter to send it on it's merry way to the Appeals Office. I wanted to do this anyway because I felt that the State Insurance Commission needed a heads up, and I planned on cc-ing the whole caboodle to them as per Fantastagirl's and Nobody's advice.

I started to write the letter last week, but when I took a closer look at the bill that Real Cool Ambulance Service had sent me... there in black and white I saw that they had described the service billed for, as "Non-Emergency." I started to laugh!

"Well there ya GO! It's all a big misunderstanding," I thought to myself and proceeded to call the Ambulance folks to explain to them how to get their money from the Schmuckity-ducks.

I explained to the representative who answered that I had discovered the hold-up in them getting their money. They had, for some bizarre reason, mislabeled the service they had rendered to my daughter.

It turns out, there was no misunderstanding. They label any service that does not originate in a 911 call as Non-Emergency, no matter the medical situation. I was informed that was simply how they did it and they didn't plan on changing. Ever. Plus as they are the ONLY company that transfers patients from Provo to SLC... the Schmuckity-Ducks should just know! The End.

When I protested that my insurance company didn't pay for anything that had "non-emergency" appended to it, they pretty much just said that my company, Schmity-Duck Insurance, was the only company who refused to pay based on the language alone, and that currently they (the Ducks) were refusing to pay them (RC Ambulance Co.) for anything. At all.

Here's the part that torques my butt... this is the medical field y'all. It is stupid, but a medical field reality that if the Insurance company won't pay the bill that you have submitted to them? You change the wording on it and resubmit it until they do. There were in fact, three bills in conjunction with the Two Penny Incident that the Schmuckity-Ducks were trying to get out of paying. The companies trying to get their money, apparently each found a way to phrase their services in order to get their dough, because the Ducks did end up paying them. Everyone except the (not so) Real Cool Ambulance Co. Nope. They seem to be more interested in the semantics that their billing software spews, than in getting their crapping money from the Ducks.

I was so pissed I was crying.

The ENT's office manager took my shaky and slightly weepy call, gave me a "there, there honey," and is taking care of my appeal once again. Do they rock? Yes, by cracky, they do!

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to tell me what you think I should do for Dr. ENT and his staff by way of saying "Thanks!" All that is coming to mind is the standard "plate o' cookies"... whaddah ya think?

Sunday Pic

I'm gonna try wicked hard not to gloat, and be all neener-neener-look-what-I-got.... but HEY! LOOK WHAT CAME IN THE MAIL from Fantastagirl! The friendships I have developed from blogging have warmed the cockles o' my soul, and not just because of some great shwag. These are some fun friends to have, and THANK YOU!

I have drooled extensively over hats like these this year. I call them "cupcake hats" because, don't they look like frosting and sprinkles? I did not buy any for the girls because they all had their last winter's hats that fit, and I ain't made of money. We are extra appreciating these confections, and will love them even more when this temporary lifting of the Arctic is over and we return to our regularly scheduled Utah winter.

Two of Them

Monday after picking up Birdie from pre-school, we headed out to the local video store to rent a few kid vids and get something for me... preferably something mindless and fluffy.

Hello Bandidas, you'll do nicely. What can I say? Steve Zahn makes me laugh.

As I was making my selection, LaLa, clutching her copy of Angelina Ballerina to her bosom, catches sight of a DVD on the rack. The primary figure on the box was a curvy woman dressed in a blue string bikini. LaLa starts to chortle and loudly announces that...

"Hers a NEKKID BUMMIE!"

Two yards away, the girl restocking the PS2 games starts snickering. I look over and explain to LaLa that she is wearing a swim suit, but yes, she might as well be "nekkidbummie" which is the Chaos household term for any state of undress that you may not leave the house in. Usually denoting nakedness, but not exclusive to complete nudity.

LaLa, unimpressed with my explanation realizes that there is yet another bikini clad beauty pictured on the box, just not as prominently. She starts loudly cackling and hollers...

"TWO! Theys TWO nekkid bummies on dith movie!! AHHHHHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

The store employee ducks behind the nearest display rack, snorting with laughter. I make my selection a little faster than usual and we are outta there.

Catch 22

Getting three small girls out of the house...

How is it to be done? There is no magic moment to get them ready that guarantees a smooth and timely transition to driving down the road. Let me explain.

Shoes: do not stay on little girl feet for longer than 30 seconds in the house. They are an item that must be put in place as the herd is walking out the door. All. Three. Pair. In addition, shoes and socks that are well within my two older daughter's abilities to put on when we are NOT going anywhere, ie. dress ups or socks for "ice skating" on the kitchen floor... are a screaming, freaking, WAILING impossibility for the actual leaving of the house.

Shoes... I dream of warm weather and flip flops... the no-fuss footwear for little girls.

Hairdoos: A problem no matter what. We are trying to grow out last years I-can-cut-my-own-hair debacle... so a clip or rubber band is a must if my kids are gonna see where they are walking. Only... the two older girls like to wrestle each other, so it's not like any ponytail or barrette solution is a long-term one.

Clothing: There is never a leisurely or orderly dressing of the Chaos. If you dress them well before it's time to go, when you are neither freaking out late or stressed to the gills because you are about to be late. Again. You will turn around to discover that there has been a diaper blow-out, a water fight or a lone M&M found under the couch- then dribbled as chocolate slobber down the front of the only cute top that goes with LaLa's pants. There is also the ever popular quick change artist who swaps out her going-to-school duds for a princess dress while your back is turned getting the baby dressed.

Unfortunately if you wait till there is just time to dress and leave, there will be multiple tantrum melt downs regarding wardrobe choice. The pants are not soft enough, a dress is the only thing that will do, the color is all wrong and AAAAAIIIEEEEEEEE! I! DON'T! WANT! TO! GOOOO! Plus there is a diaper blow-out anyway as you deal with the flailing dervish, so y'know... party on.

One last trip to the potty before we leave? Fuh-geddaboudit! Just plan on hitting the potty first thing, at wherever you are going to. You will have to go there anyway... the siren song of all public toilets has too seductive a pull to be ignored by any mortal girl under the age of six.

Pretty much, I try not to leave the house more than once a day.

Photoblogging 2

Right before her party... those are sparkle stickers on her forehead. Although we DID give her a cute hairdoo right after taking this pic... she wore those stickers till bathtime. Oh, to be five.

Bonus photo: the cake... that sucker was BIG!

Birdie Turns 5

My baby Birdie is turning five... she is officially a big girl.

On the one hand it feels like "just yesterday" but then on the other... insert cliche referring to how I have felt every last bloody moment of the past five years. I love this girl, but I have to be clear here... she was NOT an easy baby. As a matter of fact, the older she gets, the happier she gets and the easier she is to be around.

You know how babies look in the mirror and then finally realize that the chubby bald thing looking back at them is them? All the books and developmental websites say that the squirts are supposed to think it's pretty grand, and grin and coo. Not Birdie. She would catch sight of herself in the mirror and get this devastated look on her face... like "The CRAP happened to me? I didn't sign up for this.... this... this BABY garbage!"

She would then turn her accusatory gaze on me. The teen years will be fun, I think.

She wasn't a sleeper. She had no time for that hud. From the very start she has been on the very lowest end of "normal" or lower, in terms of quantity of sleep needed. She is the reason I have become the Sleep Nazi. Seriously... monkey business during designated sleep time is one of the few spanking offences in this household. Ranks right up there with running out into the street or playing with knives.

Trust me; it's a matter of their physical health and my mental health that my kids get a good night sleep.

Wait... was this a birthday post or a kvetch session? I think this is why I don't write those developmental, squooshy love letters to my kids.... my love and appreciation for my kids doesn't come through.... just my "in the trenches" view.

My five year old Birdie is full of joy. She loves to laugh, and she wants to help and do what is right. She already knows that there is bad laughing and good laughing. She is careful. She is kind.

Baby Bird? I love you.

This is one of my favorite baby pictures of Birdie with my Granny who died just a few years later.