Light

A few days ago I got my wee bloggy feelings tweaked, by what I felt was a hurtful exclusion. Notice that I say felt, not thought. My intellect is absolutely sure that the exclusion was not meant in a hurtful way, and not exactly done in a hurtful way by the excluding party... and while I try to live the motto of my bastardization of a darn good Brigham Young quote:

"She who takes offense, when no offense is intended, is a fool. And she who takes offense when offense is intended... well, she is probably a fool too."

I got my feelings hurt anyway.

Chalk it up to the system de-jack-up-ification process of getting off the Yasmin, leaving me bloated and weepy... and sensitive dang it... but there ya go. Ouch.

I hate getting my feelings hurt. And I really hate getting my feelings hurt when I cannot understand why/what about what just has happened is hurting my feelings. I reference this mess of my personal little owie only as it has bearing on the meat of what I wish to say. I don't want anyone else getting het up about an unfortunate crossover in language and purpose, or the old and rather tired lies of the past that still affect the way some people do, and will always view me. No matter what I do or say, and no matter what I really believe.

Hello, My name is Bon (The Mama) Chaos, and I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I am a Mormon, and this means that I am a believer in Christ, and an adherent to His teachings. I'm talking the whole ball of wax... His divinity, Godhood, literal Resurrection and the Atonement. In my book, this means I am a Christian.

But.

I also believe that God has dealings with his children today, just has he has in antiquity, a.k.a. modern day revelation. Yup, a Prophet of God alive and well today. I believe in the Bible (so far as it has been translated correctly), AND that The Book of Mormon is exactly what it purports itself to be on it's cover: Another Testament of Christ. According to some folks, that makes me "Non-Christian" or "Unorthodox Christian" at best. And at worst, a minion of the very adversary himself.

Unfortunately? There are slew of really awesome Bloggers doing some fun and cool bloggity-stuff out there, with that less than inclusive view of what it means to be Christian. These bloggers speak the same language of spirituality that I do. They speak truth, and try to live their lives in much the same way that LDS women do. They are often humble and smart women... only with a bias.

Now, now... don't get me wrong, there are some very important doctrinal distinctions between LDS and many mainstream "Christian" beliefs, especially the Evangelical set of Christianity. Coincidentally, the set that seems to have the most in common with LDS women, when you look at their lives and standards through the filter of a blog. Take away that filter? Hooo boy. It has gotten ugly in the past.

Basically, I was checking out a blog that was calling for submissions of posts that dealt with the topic of living in a Christian community; specifically the practical nature of service and helping in your community (your Christian Community). I have had this post of my own zipping about in my head for a while, and it was in line with what this blogger was looking for BUT. I noticed that in her side bar, she had been a nominee for a blogging award thingy, that last year was unwittingly the means of a public spanking of a blogger who is LDS, because she was LDS. The whole thing was an unfortunate mess. And while I do not think that just because a blogger was nominated for an award in and amongst the unfortunate hoo-rah of what happened, is cause to assume anything about her specifically... it did put me on my tiptoes. I am not interested in another flogging, especially one that actually involves ME!

So I emailed the blogger and asked if she meant "Christian" or only "Her Kind of Christian As Defined By Her." And in fact, it turns out that she did mean the latter. She was very gracious about it, and never did come right out and SAY... "No" to wanting a post from an LDS, or what she called an "Unorthodox Christian" point of view, but then, she really did say "No."

She then ended her missive with "God bless you for your sensitivity."

Sensitivity. Is it "sensitivity" or just plain old "caution" to check if an iron is hot before rubbing it vigorously on your face?

Now we are gonna switch gears here because the topic of the post that I wanted to write for this woman's collection of posts? Heh. Well, let's just say that something happened a few nights ago that has me thinking down a different track. A broader sort of avenue.

The Groundwork: As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ, if I were to pick up and move to East Texas next week, a place where I do not have any family back-up (not very close anyhoo) and then two weeks after moving in, I were to take wretchedly ill.... say a sort of cancer that I can recover from, but that has me down for a few hard-hitting months... who would take care of my kids while I was incapacitated, and Dadguy was at work? Who would vacuum the floors and scrub those toilets? Who would make the meals? Dadguy is a very capable guy, but that is a deep, deep burden to care for, in addition to a sick and suffering wife.

There is no question in my mind as to "who." In the church the first line of defense is a pair of women who are assigned to watch over you as a sister. They are your "Visiting Teachers," and while they may not get out to visit you every single month and share a spiritual message the way they are supposed to, it is a rare occurrence that they are not right at your door in times of misfortune or need. Then there is the Relief Society, the entire contents of the adult female portion of the congregation... they are kicking in to high gear and doing what it takes, the second you ask, and often long before you are ready to ask.

You, as a Mormon woman are called, along with another gal who is your "companion" to visit a short roster (2-4) of other women in the Ward and so on. Any woman over the age of 18 is part of this. I have been a Visiting Teacher of young single women, older single women, married, widowed, divorced... lots of kids, can't have kids. All.

There is also assigned to each household a companionship of men... they are called Home Teachers. They are also responsible for the families they watch over and visit. In our church we believe that it is awful hard to progress spiritually when you are starving and frightened. We also covenant with the Lord when we are baptised to, among other things, bear one another's burdens.

I am not an expert on all the welfare functions of the LDS church, but the little I do know? is impressive. The Church is ready to, and does ship food, clothing, books, hygiene kits, baby care packages, medicines and cold hard cash as disaster relief. To any one. I have toured Welfare Square and seen the organized LOVE that is there in the form of huge bales of clothing, and warehouses full of food.

I could go on in detail about the myriad of ways that the church is there to be back-up in times of trouble. There in a human one on one level, and on an institutional level: I DO NOT claim that this post is in any way comprehensive or definitive.... but the point I wanted to make, is that lots of you out there are NOT Mormon, and a good chunk of all y'all are not a part of any church. I don't know what it is like to be you. I don't know... how you sleep at night. And I cannot fathom what you would do in a personal disaster. What would you do in a larger disaster... flood, war, etc...

I was kinda thinking that I was... mmm, one up on ya? And in terms of big-guns back up, yeah, I may be, BUT.

I am now thinking that I was thinking in a sort of exclusionary way. Like somehow the way that I live and do things is so different from the way that y'all... the no-church goers do.

A Story: Two nights ago, I called on a woman to come to my aid at 1:30am. She left her warm bed, husband and sleeping children to come running two houses down, through the snow, her pillow clutched to her chest. Y'all, she needed her sleep, and yet she could not rest until she got a call from us that Pearl seemed to be out of the woods and was getting oxygen. The woman I called was a member of my Ward, but she was not one of my Visiting Teachers. One of my VT's in fact, lives two doors down from me on the other side, but it was K that I called. K, because of the bond of love that I have with her. We are friends.

If she wasn't there, I likely would have called one of my VT's... but she was there. She was the person I called when my heart was palpitating and my sleep soggy brains asked "what do we do?"

As human beings we are hardwired to love and help each other. That hard wiring is something that I believe is a gift given to every human being. A certain sort of Light. When it is nurtured it grows and leads a person to do kind and moral things... to seek truth. But I also believe that we can turn our backs to that Light, that we can push it away and in so doing, we become capable of uglier and uglier things with little or no trouble to our hearts. The Light inside becomes dim, and is sometimes extinguished.

I suspect that there is a very special price that will be paid by those who cause that Light to be extinguished in babies and children.

There is a term for this light... we call it the Light of Christ. You may be Buddhist, or Atheist, and that term may piss you off a little, but humor me. I am going somewhere with this. Here's the deal... this Light of Christ, Para-Conscience, or Morals, or Human Spirit or whatever you want to call it? I think YOU have it.

When I was an active drug addict... spending most of my time with other drug addicts, you could still find folks who would give you the shirt off of their backs. They were basically kind to others and tried not to do too bad of things. Granted their Light was compromised by the drugs, and their addictions made many of their decisions for them.... but when they could, most of them tried to do what was right.

Most folks who belong to most religions, or live a conscious and good life in general? Good solid Lights. This Light urges you to do better, to love, to embrace truth. And most folks, if given a half a chance would help you out in a jam. Wouldn't they?

What I am getting at, all Ye who hath slogged your way through this beast of a post, is what is your back-up? Who would be there in a pinch, and what's the plan, Stan? I am interested in posts about Community, and what your part in that community is. What do you do? And what would you do?

Do ya wanna?

Shoot me a link to your post, or just leave a comment that outlines what's what. I don't care... tell me about how your local PTA backs you up, or write something about your way-cool pastor, about your next door neighbor, how you volunteer at the local Red Cross... or just what your plans are.


If I have torqued someones bolts or gotten something way off in this post... feel free to say so... keeping it clean please.

Good Thing I Don't Jrink

I'm working on the Mother-Of-All-Posts, a beast that cannot be safely broken into chunks... but I gotta get that last, creepy post off the top.

The other day I was siting at the table with Birdie and LaLa... I think we were drawing.

Birdie:Drink, drink... drrrrink. How do you spell "drink" mama?

The Mama: Drink? It's spelled d-r-i-n-k.

Birdie:What? Noooo, it's NOT!

The Mama:Yeah, see (grabs stray piece of paper and spells out drink) d-r-i-n-k, drink!

pause

Birdie:Nuh uh! That's NOT how you spell it. DRRRRINK, drink, drink! It starts with "J"!

The Mama:Well, the way that you are pronouncing it, it does sound like it should start with "J", but it really does start with "D". Derrrrink!

Birdie:(gives me the stink eye, leans over and write j-r-i-n-k next to where I have written "drink.")

pause.....

The Mama:Y'know Birdie... your Mama is really, actually a very smart person.

Birdie:Pfft! (rolls eyes) Nuh UHH!

I'm thinking that we will not be going the "homeschooling" route, as stupid as I appear to be in her eyes already... I will be lucky to be able to swallow my own spit by the time she turns fifteen.

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.

Dishwasher

When we had this house built a little over five years ago, we paid $400 extra to upgrade the appliances. So far as I can tell, we got the same crap, builders grade appliances we would have... in a different color. Grrrr!

My friend two doors down has the same crap dishwasher we have.... she calls it her dish sanitizer. That's about all it's good for, because ya have to wash everything before you put it in to be "washed."

Dadguy and I had agreed that the first thing that goes wrong with that sucker and it's OUT of here! Bless my Birdie's heart! She was dancing and twirling in the kitchen and fell on the open door of the dishwasher and bent it back (she was frightened, but unhurt). The unit still more or less worked as well as it ever had, but now required a large pot to be set under the door to prop it open for loading purposes. A dishtowel also had to be employed on the floor directly in front to sop up the three or so tablespoons worth of water that leaked. Dadguy put up with the situation for all of two days, and four stumbles over the pot before he cried uncle.

Truth? He wasn't even interested in whether it worked from the moment he heard that the door needed to be propped up. It was two days and four trips over that "freaking thing" of a cookpot before he flat insisted that we get a new one. I was the tightfisted hold-out. Dumb? Yeah.... don't know what I was thinking.

After an evening spent researching consumer reports online, I narrowed my options down to one; a Maytag that made my heart go pitter-pat yet did not take us to the "cleaners." The local appliance/furniture store had it for cheaper that the big guys like Home Depot and RC Willey, so all the better!

Now we have an appliance that I can truthfully call a dishwasher. It sits cozily beside my kitchen sink and it works like a dream! Works so good in fact that I have to keep reminding my self that it doesn't actually load it's ownself and to get my butt in there to do some dishes!

Why do I blog about this now? Well, it was snowing when I woke up this morning. I was less than thrilled. Sure, I know I live in Utah, a place that is famous for it's snow... I am aware of that. Just around this time of year I get a little antsy for a break. Not gettin' it.

What I am sayin' is that I was a little blue about the grey skies, and the white crap all over the place while driving home from the grocery store this morning. But then I got to thinking about the homemade chicken soup that I was gonna be making, and the warm home and clean dishes that I had to make it in. I got to thinking about the small little tweaks that make so big a difference in my day to day. A new dishwasher. A child using the toilet with out any reminding or harassing. My baby growing two molars and a front tooth in the past two weeks without any ear infection! Birdie turning five in a few days. I also thought about the constants like Dadguy working his butt off to pay for it all, then coming home to get mobbed by four females clamoring for his attention.

Y'all? I have it good, and I am happy. Grateful: even with a fresh layer of snow on the driveway.

Sisters

Sisters, originally uploaded by bonmama.

Sunday Photoblog...
It was a tough choice, but this is my favorite. Birdie is starting to enjoy "reading." She LOVES to read to her sisters, and they LOVE it when she does. She gives a rousing rendition of "Hop on Pop."

Tandem

Still in my Jammies. I am attempting to have myself a "sick day." So far, other than still being in my jammies, I don't notice any difference. Except, oh yeah... the head cold.

So much fun stuff going on around Chaosburg. I am hit with all kinds of De Ja Voo. LaLa decided four days ago that doing her bid-ness in the pot was for her. Except for one "wee" accident and one far more notable, and stinky accident... it seems to be a done deal. Pearl has decided that two legged motation is something to aspire to. She could actually be doing it full time, but for the fact that she thinks walking is hilarious! Step, step, step, step HA hahahahahaahaha!

It was a little over two years ago when Birdie was the pantie-girl and LaLa was the new walker-girl. They too, chose one week in which to hit their milestones in tandem; milestones that are life changing. Especially for Mama. There was rejoicing and a small party was held to celebrate.

And the next week I discovered I was pregnant.

Feeling just a titch nervous right now.

MY Two Cents Worth

Bleah.

There is a letter that I am struggling with the writing of... I have two solid starts that just peter out about two paragraphs in. The problem is my standard difficulty with self censorship. I have to write to my insurance company to appeal their refusal to pay for the Ambulance ride from Town Hospital to Primary Children's Hospital up in Salt Lake City. They claim that they don't have to pay for ambulance service when it is not an emergency.

There is the difference between the letter that I want to write and the letter that I need to write in order to make those schmuckity-ducks pay. The letter that I WANT to write? Dude, I cannot even post that sucker on this blog, at least not if I want to keep my family friendly status. And I do.

I have given myself a deadline of having it written by Thursday and sent by Friday... they only give you 180 days to appeal, and who knows how many letters this will take.

So here is the blogworthy version of the Letter.... let's see if I can get past paragraph two.

Attention: Schmuckity-ducks at Lame-O Insurance Company,

I recently received a bill from Real Cool Ambulance Co, saying that y'all are refusing to pay them for the services they rendered to our daughter, Pearl Baby Chaos on December 7th, 2006. I couldn't understand why this would be so, as we have the kind of insurance that makes us pay 100% of all medical costs until we, as a family hit our massive freaking deductible. Once the level of "massive freaking deductible" has been reached then Y'ALL are supposed to kick in and pay 100% of everything after that. We have this kind of insurance in case of emergency. This kind of insurance is only good for emergency's and crisis', and we pay our premiums in hopes that we never actually have to prevail upon a Shylock bunch of schmuckity-ducks like YOU to pay our medical bills.

Emergency=scary bad stuff

Well, we hit our deductible and expect y'all to pay for a while. And to your credit, Lame-O Insurance Company is paying for most of it. Just not the two thousand plus for the ambulance because, as your representative on the phone stated... our plan does not pay for ambulance service when used for anything other than an emergency.

The huh?

That ambulance was ordered by our ENT surgeon who was concerned that an emergency tracheotomy would need to be performed on the way to the bigger, cooler hospital. Are y'all good for tracheotomies? Because I'm not, and I would prefer to have the assistance of a trained professional for that kind of maneuver. And there is that word: Emergency, that goes so well with the other word: Tracheotomy. But you couldn't know that from where you sit, so I am telling you now. The doctor is also telling you... see enclosed letter. Also, for your viewing pleasure, the DVD of the Laryngoscopy performed on her just prior to her ambulance ride . What you see in the DVD is a small camera on the end of a rubber tube going down her throat. The big, dark pause in the movie is the doctor having to push hard and wriggle the camera around in order to shove that tiny camera down the tinier amount of space she had left to breath through. Even a schmuckity... I mean, a LAYMAN can see that an unknown SOMETHING was pressing her windpipe shut.

The thing that kills me is that you did not make your decision to refuse payment in a vacuum. You are surely aware that at Primary Children's there was a slew of diagnostics done, as well as surgery and a night spent on the intensive care ward. You payed the crappin' bills, so I HOPE you were aware of this. And yet, this was not an emergency?

Yeah... y'all are pissing me off. Pay. Now.

Thank You
The Mama

Spuh-LASH!

P1010035, originally uploaded by bonmama.

I think that I will make Sunday my photo blogging day. Welcome to my favorite picture of the week.

Followed closely by this jem. I yam what I YAM!

Singin' in the BATHTUB! Lah ta ta ta deeeee!



Taking it down a few notches in the House of Chaos.

The Amish

It's official: I could never have an Amish friend.

It's nothing on the Amish folks. I have no theological quibble with them... I find that I prefer not to God-quibble with anyone, it's bad for my complexion. I'm sure they are decent and fun people in their own right... it's their bread. Grrrr!

A bit of back story:
It appears to be a local Utah custom to make up a batch of this so-called Amish Friendship Bread, take out four portions of the dough to put into four gallon sized Ziploc baggies. You are supposed to keep one of the bags for yourself, then give away the other three with the xeroxed instructions. It's kind of like a real life meme, and the goo in the bag is a "start."

Looking at the recipe it appears to be a sweet bread of some sort. I say appears, because although I have been given four separate starts, by four separate friends over the past year... they have all four been round filed after four pathetic attempt to follow a few simple instructions. I suck at this kind of friendship.

Here's the deal: It takes ten days of mushing the bag around once a day... except the fifth day you are supposed to add some ingredients and then continue with the mushing. The paper saysmush it. Mush. A very apt term for this bubbly concoction that flops in it's increasingly nasty looking Ziploc baggy. On my counter. Did I mention that it smells vaguely like beer and vinegar. Around day three I lose it and chuck that nasty bad boy into the pantry so I don't have to smell it or look at it.

I usually find it a week or so later. It is grey and non-bubbly by this time.

This last time I made it to day six with it taking up valuable real estate on my counter top. Too bad we passed up day five which was the "add stuff in" day. I considered trying to make a go of it anyway... but when I opened that bag to add the stuff? Holy SWEET mayonnaise! I was hit with flashbacks of old beer cans and bad hangovers... count me out, maaaan!

What I need is some nice, forgiving Amish Blogship Bread. I can handle a meme a la tehInternets, they don't stink! Speaking of which J.D., I really will be getting on that meme you tagged me with. The rest of y'all? Especially if you were a giver of a bag o' goo, bread meme thingy? Please take no offense... I just kinda suck at alot of this stuff right now.

Cringe:A Meme

I got hit with a meme by the Dread Pirate Rackham that seemed like a painless posting opportunity.

The rules are as follows:

1. Find the nearest book.
2. Name the book & the author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.
5. Tag three more folks.

So I looked around and the nearest book that I can see is a book entitled Possibilities by Yours Truly. Yeah, I know, how drippy can ya get! But you should know that this sucker HAS a title and IS numbered, plus the next closest books to me are my scriptures. I am fairly certain y'all don't care to read a few lines out of my Bible OR my Book of Mormon. Not that you are getting off much easier with an excerpt from page 123 which happens to be rough of a poem entitled Scapula.

Hang onto yer underpants, here it comes straight (for the most part... punctuation added plus I substituted the words I went with in my final draft of the poem: blades for scalpels, and launch me for launching ) to you from 1997.

My mighty wings are
an exquisite and terrible banner
composed not of feathers
but stainless steel blades.
Descending
one by one,
to excise my sparrows heart
from the fabric of mundane
and drear slowness.
O wings, WINGS
thwart gravity and
laugh, launch me
forward so fast that I cry
only the tears of
the wind whipping by.

I tag
Mama D
Elizasmom
J.D.

Thinking Out Loud

Jessica from Kerflop recently posted a piece on what she believes. It was beautiful, and it is more in line with what I want to believe.

I first heard the term “Traditional Build” on the Verymom (now Kerflop) website over a year ago, and have gone on to read the Ladies No.1 Detective Agency books with my jaw dropped. The main protagonist is an African woman named Precious Ramotswe. She is a woman who fills a size 22 dress and feels beautiful. She is treated and spoken of by others as a desirable woman. When another refers to her as "fat" it is with admiration, or a sense of covetousness. To my readers ears, the character's in Alexander McCall Smith's books pronounce the word "fat" the same way that I would say "svelte."

It makes me want to cry. Not many folks around me admire my "Traditional Build." If they did? I still wouldn't know it, because I certainly don't admire my ample traditions.

I come from a family and culture that measures a woman's success, desirability and state of emotional health by the size of her jeans. Jeans that I have never been able to fit my butt into. They are some teeny-tiny, no-thigh-having jeans, and I hate them.

I am in the process of rejecting those stupid jeans, but they still hang in my closet. I get sick of them and throw them away, but the next morning there they are again, and they mock me. Stupid Jeans.

Anyone got a blowtorch?

*edited to add: I do not blame my messed up thinking and body attitudes (or my messed up body for that matter) on anyone. I am an adult, I am in charge of what/who I am... it is taking time and effort to get to where I want to be, however. I am not indicting anyone in this little post, INCLUDING my stupid ex who used to call me a fat @$%&*% cow as a motivational technique. Wait... I think I did just indict him with that last sentence. Fine, I am indicting no one but him.

Messy Bessy

I Am The Choir...

...that Nobody preaches to in regards to the bathroom door.

Let me give you a bit of history...
I am the fourth child in a family of six kids, positioned smack in the middle of the two boys of the brood. We were OK financially, but this WAS back in the day before ten trillion bathrooms per household was the norm. You do the math... six kids and one bathroom to share between us. I was not only a door shut-er, I was a religious door lock-er. We are talking about survival here.

Directly upon leaving home, I found myself in a roommate situation: Roommates, roommates boyfriends and various folks from hither and yon. Shut and LOCKED up tight, thank you very much!

How far I had fallen. I excused my sloppy bathroom door technique because I was home alone with three girls... we're all girls. Girls.

But then.... then I found myself failing to shut the door all the way when Dadguy was home. Then even when he was in the next room! Y'all, I'm not talking prudery here... I'm talking about romance... which is hard enough to maintain when there are young kids in the equation. So the real and actual facts here (and I believe that I have scaled new heights in the TMI category) are that I am getting back to my better habits. I have not only consistently shut the door recently.... I have locked the door on three separate occasions in the past week.

Whoop YEAH!

as a side note.... it is 10:30AM and Dadguy is still rolling his lazy butt about in the bed. He claims it is the new pillow that I purchased for him last night. Am I buying that? No.

Poor Widdle Bloggy

Sad neglect of a poor widdle bloggy... it's just pathetic I tell you!

No apologies from ME however!... just an update on my pre-new years resolutions.


1. Cut out the Na-na words, even the ones that don't make it out of my mouth, what I refer to as "swearing in my heart."
Better...mostly. Really, I didn't think that I would have as tough a time as I'm having, but the very difficulty of the task only strengthens my resolve. I am in charge here dadgummitall!

2. Shut the bathroom door.
I wavered on this one... it is still highly tempting to keep the door open just for "safety sake." Dadguy reminds me that the reality if the situation is that anything truly horrible happens, it will come to my attention closed door or no. It comes down to a boundary that I need to have.... so, much better here too.

In addition to my Pre-resolves, I have also resolved that this year I will read the scriptures every single day... and that if I miss a day or a week or whatever, I will drag my sorry can back to the resolve and start all over again. Not start the year over... just, you know, I'm gonna do it. I've already flubbed one day but I am UNDETERRED, this is gonna happen.

Update... Pearl is close to walking. Christmas day she started with the standing unassisted and has practiced this stunt every day since. She took one step yesterday and promptly whomped on her face. We are proud, and cheer her on... the older girls are giddy and a little amazed at the progress she is making.

Merry Christmas To Me!

Ahhh, that was fun!

I had a merry Christmas, but I tell ya it was a close one. Christmas Eve were to have a little party at our house, and in the days preceding, I was more than a little stressed at preparing the house for guests. This being no easy feat of cleaning, and balancing the not cleaning yet, of stuff that life and the Chaos Girls will trash between then and the party regardless. Saturday found me tense and unkind, unhappy with the season and finding fault with my beloved and children.

sigh...

It never helps that I am conflicted with the timing of Christmas (not that I am in any way shuffling off the responsibility for my crusty behavior... it's mine and I was a grouch). The whole business about most of the "symbols" of Christ in the season actually being co-opted Pagan Midwinter hoodie-doo. The part about how this ain't even close to the date when Jesus was actually born... whatever. When did I become an intellectual purist?

Besides... if I wanted to get all theologically technical? All things point to Christ anyway.... and the Pagan stuff was itself, a corrupted form of eternal truths. So what does it matter how we get there? For some reason it matters to me, just enough to throw me off my stride... that and the lying about Santa bit.

The fact that scholars and revelation agree that the Savior was born in the springtime? When did I get so picky? My fifteenth birthday was set back an entire month so that our family could celebrate the marriage of my oldest sister. Believe me, I wasn't all that bugged by the delay or the fact that my "birthday cake" was a resuscitated half a frozen sheet cake from her wedding reception. Instead, I parlayed the shifting of my birthday celebration into my first ever "friends" birthday party complete with Domino's Pizza, drinks and a rented video showing of Repo Man.

Comically, that was 1984, the year that the movie Sixteen Candles came out. I never did understand why the crap the main character hadn't given her whole family a heads up at least two weeks in advance to remind them of her upcoming birthday. I guess coming from a family of six kids is a titch different than three. I never assumed that my folks would remember too much of anything!

I, of all people, should relax about a little fudging in dates.

That wasn't the problem. I was the problem. Nothing that a little bit of prayer and meditation couldn't fix. Looking back on Christmas, I am shocked to see that this Christmas was perfect. It was so perfect that I couldn't even see it because I was so busy living it.

Everything was present. Warm and comfortable home, healthy children, family and friends, love, food and gifts...

We made and delivered treats to neighbors, made ornaments for the tree, a gingerbread house, parties, kept it all relatively Christ focused and even had a particularly touching and wonderful opportunity to do service for someone who had a need this season. It's good to be useful to another, and to teach our sweet girls that service and charity is an essential part of celebrating Christmas.

Sweetest of all...

All year Birdie has wanted a My Little Pony Butterfly Island from Santa Clause. She has been scheming and hoping and drooling over the fun she will have. In the meantime LaLa has developed a deep love for her all time favorite pony... Hona-Lu-Lu. It is her "whay-vwit." When Santa went online to purchase the Island and a few other pony essentials, he was nonplussed to find that Hona-Lu-Lu was not in the Hasbro pantheon of ponys for sale. Imagine Santa's surprise and discomfort when the UPS dude delivered the Island and sundries, and he got a good look at the Pony Island set. It comes with Hona-Lu-Lu.

Santa said... "Oh, crap!" Serious as a heart attack, that's what came out of his jolly mouth! He thought long and hard about simply having the set out and assembled, and putting the Hona-Lu-Lu pony in with LaLa's stuff. In the end he decided against it because that Birdie is one sharp cookie. She probably is perfectly aware of every last bit of plastic hoopty-doo that is included in with the Butterfly Island.

Christmas morning, and the box containing the Island is being ripped into like a terrier rips into a fresh rat hole. Birdie finds the Hona-Lu-Lu pony and says, "Oh! LaLa, it's Hona-Lu-Lu! Your favorite... here." Whereupon she hands her sister the pony, and that was that.

I tell you, it was a perfect Christmas.

Ssssslacker

It's not that I am overwhelmed. I'm always overwhelmed...

It's not all the extra medical stuff going on, what with two pennies for Pearl and the dental horrors being perpetrated on my mouth. Don't think it's the busyness of the season, after all, I have planted my can in front of the computer several times to write a post. My heart is not in it.

There is this reservoir that I have near my heart, it is full of tales and stories. It's the place that my laughter comes from and the place that my tears start. Right now I am a little congested in my reservoir with a troublesome knot of fear and sorrow that I am really not in a place to talk about. It's not my tale to tell, not one side of it or the other side....

Really... I am not trying to be all mysterioso, does this never happen to you? You can't write about a thing that seems so glaring and big to your heart, and so your ability to write just dries up altogether? Just me?

Huh.

I'm gonna post this pathetic bit of introspection in an attempt to break this I-can't-write cycle, bear with me... good stuff is to come.

Have a funny picture.

Resolutions

I don't do New Year's resolutions... they just don't make much sense to me. I have recently resolved to do better in the two following areas, and I am not waiting till the first of January to start.

1. I will stop swearing. This includes the swearing I do in my heart, which is where most of my cussing stays. But, little by little, bits of NaNa words are leaving my heart and re-entering my speech... and I won't stand for it. I control what I think and say.

2. I will make sure and shut the bathroom door when I do my business. I am an adult, and my kids can wait three seconds (i pee fast) to have access to me. I will lock the door if I must. After three girls, and the attendant separation anxiety of a simple potty break, I have become uncouth and I won't stand for it.

On a side note....
Pearl has another/continuance of her double ear infection. Impressive considering the high levels of antibiotics she has been pumped full of. Tubes will be put in on Thursday the 28th by the ENT. This means another trip to same day surgery and a general anesthetic, but barring her hoarking down a few more pennies, it should be uneventful.

SWEEEEEEEET!

He is of the opinion that the tubes will help to improve her breathing thingy as well. He is also of the opinion that she will grow out of the whole thing. I am of the opinion that I really like his opinion. I have heard, and continue to hear stellar reports of his medical prowess. Sooo....Yay!

Also, the ENT was able to clear up the placement of popcorn kernal chunk that was removed last week. It was in her hypowhatsis, a small area above both her food and wind pipes... soooo, not her lungs at all. The ENT was of the opinion that is got lodged there after the pennies cut off the downspout for food. She still ain't touching popcorn for a long time.

Grin and Bear It

Huh, apparently I have been decompressing. Apparently, also; I cannot decompress and write at the same time. Witness recent lack of post.

It has not helped matters that the wee sore throat that started for Dadguy during the Hospital-Two-Penny incident turned into a full blown sick. Plus a continuance of my tummy distresses and Pearl also has not exactly normalized. Her schedule is off, and she now feels so good that even when she IS tired, she doesn't want to waste it on sleep.

Yesterday we finished decorating a graham cracker gingerbread house, one of four that were started on a Sunday a few weeks back. Also last night I made each of the girls a new bed-buddy out of unused portions of a quilt I made a few months back. For those of you who do not know what a bed-buddy is, it's a fabric pillow thing that is full of grain instead of stuffing. Toss the thing in a microwave for a minute or two, and voila! Better than a hot water bottle or electric heating pad, and safer too. They are especially wonderful when kids feel sick in their tummy's. We tend to have a hard time keeping track of them in this house, so the more that exist, the better. Like fingernail clippers. I have discovered that once I had saturated the household with approximately ten pair, I can usually find one pair within a one minute search.

Speaking of fingernail clippers... I have been meaning to document the following:

In order to get the girls to sit still for the weekly clip, I whump them on my lap and sing them the following song:

Snip snap snooper
Poop-ed as a looper
Snip snap snooper
Bippity bappity bop

As a result of this, LaLa calls all nail clippers... snip-snaps, only she pronounces it "nip-naps." I'm fairly certain that she knows the real name for this tool, as I KNOW for a fact she knows what the heck a ball point pen is called.... yet today she asked for a purple, sparkely pen by requesting her "pockelly draw-draw."

Ummm... any way, I'll be giving them each a new bed-buddy for Christmas.

I don't think that I have mentioned lately how much I love my neighbors. Last week on the evening before the initial procedure that sparked a hospital half-marathon, I had reached my full level of freak-out stress. Dadguy noticed I was not at my... ummm... best, and ordered me out of the house, suggesting that I take myself out to eat. I walked two doors down and knocked on my friend K's door.
I may have said something like..."I have been kicked out, can you talk?"
She looked at me and said, "I'll get my car. Meet you in the driveway."

We got Chinese and talked for an hour and a half even though she had just that day gotten on antibiotics for a monster sinus infection. Y'all, I have great friends. This is to say nothing about all the neighbors who took my girls while Pearl and I hit the ENT's office on Tuesday and Wednesday, and then for a while after that, just because they thought Birdie and LaLa could use some fun time away, and I could use some quiet. My neighbor from two doors down the other direction brought dinner to my MIL and the girls while we were gone. Heck... my MIL who took two days off in a row to stay with the girls while getting by on sketchy, scary half updates from a bad cell phone connection. My big sis waiting in the wings to take up any slack.

How do folks do this kind of thing with no back-up?

There's one interesting tidbit I have learned from this though. When it looked like it was the worst possible diagnosis... it was bearable. I have long worried about what would I ever do if one of my girls was hurt or even killed. Would I survive that kind of pain? How would I hold up, would I fold or would I be there for my kids? Here is the interesting part... you bear it. You walk through it. Maybe it's easy for me to say because we did walk away unscathed (relatively), but I have an inkling now of how parents do it. Parents of children who do not dodge the bullet... MS, Leukemia, catastrophic birth defects, car accidents.... you bear it because you must, and then you find a safe place and cry your guts out, wipe the tears and go back to bearing it.

Much Better, Thanks

I Luuuuuve balloons!

These are so shiny!

Oh. The bear!

....aaaand a perfect photo op.

Now I want my balloons back. Fetch woman.




*edited to add... the offenders

Ruminations on Fish

The day after Thanksgiving we put up the Christmas decorations. This meant that the usual clutter of "hands off" stuff that we keep at the top of our tall shelf in the kitchen had to get shifted to make room for garland and candles. I'm decorative like that, call me Martha. On of the items that got moved was a small jar full of pennies. Everything got put in the cupboard under the shelf, we have a baby proof lock on the doors. At some point I can only assume that I left the door to the cupboard unlocked and the jar of pennies was lifted. The first I knew of this was when I entered the girls room to check-up on a ten minute period of relative quiet. The two older girls had spread my blue denim blanket on the floor and scattered the pennies about. I was informed that they were gold fish in the pond. Pearl had a "fish" in her yap, whereupon I freaked and fished it out. All pennies were then confiscated and put away.

Perhaps not all. Perhaps she had already swallowed two "fish" only they were not turned to a position of blockage. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I refuse to allow fear to rule me as a mother. The shame and horror that I feel, knowing that this happened because of my Mama-losership? Let me say right now...yes, this happened BUT, I refuse to be an absolute freak.
Will my cleaning in every single nook and cranny tighten up? Yes.
Will my vigilance level be raised? Yes.
Will my baby be allowed to get near popcorn until she is at least two and has a full bank of teethies? Yes. Because on that point? Mea Culpa. I have allowed her to eat popcorn in the past. No more.

Sigh... but I still feel like crap.

On a happier note, these showed up today! GranPa was here and almost sent the delivery girl away.

"Pearl XXXXX? There's no Pearl XXXXX that lives here?" He said.

He's aware of the bloggity, but is not an actual reader... he has no idea the pseudonyms we operate under. It was extra funny when I poked my head out and saw the stuffed bear with three get well balloons and squeed "OH! I bet that's from NOBODY!" The gal handed it over with a veeery skeptical look on her face!

Sure enough, on top of the Pinball DVD that showed up for Dadguy from Nobody earlier this week, the Mr. and Mrs. Nobody's sent over this gift and well wish. Thank You, Thank YOU! She loves plushies and balloons!

The little sweety is tired and sore. She has various pokes, bruises, scabs and a fat lip from all the medical whatsit, along with sticky places from sundry sticky things they taped to her body. She still has her usual rattly breathing and a sore throat... but she is home. She is getting better.

Her Two Cents Worth

Well.
Hm.
It's a very long and tangled story of a narrow miss, lots of frightening diagnosis, waiting, pain and a very wide network of concern and love. Not sure I am up to telling the whole story that I told around twenty seven times yesterday, to an even greater number of medical professionals.

But.

Here is the short story; we dodged the bullet. There was, in the end, no Vascular Ring, no swollen artery and no cancerous growth. There was only my sweet Pearl getting her two cents in. Literally. There was a period of four days between Tuesday Nov 28th when she got her chest x-rayed, and Sunday morning when we first became aware that she could no longer swallow solid food, that she ate two pennies, and they became lodged in her esophagus. Swelling ensued and started pressing in on her trachea, cutting down her airway to less than a pencil's thickness and closing. After a second CT scan and some very quality medical interpretation finally ruled out some scary potentialities, they operated on her last night and removed the pennies. Also they checked out her lungs closer and found...stuff, among which was a small bit of popcorn kernel that she had at some point inhaled. She has a respiratory condition that has a long name but falls under the catchall diagnosis of "asthma" and we will be pursuing that. From home. Which is where we are now.

I have alot to do, I have alot to process. A night spent on the PICU (intensive care) floor in Primary Children's Hospital is a humbling experience for the mama of the healthiest child there. We shared a room with a five month old baby girl named, of all things Purl (same real life name as my baby only spelled different). The road ahead of her and her mama... well, it will be longer and harder than "asthma." Just to walk from making a phone call in the waiting room back to the room where Pearl was, was to walk a gauntlet of the pain and suffering of the sickest and most catastrophically injured of children, and their families.

I am grateful. I am tired. I am home.

Thank you.

whats happening

Dear The Mama readers:
This is mama's big sister posting from my own computer, I hope this works! Just wanted to update, so that nobody would be too worried. Big doings though, I'm afraid. During the "procedure" this morning, the ent found the swelling was very bad and getting worse, and little Pearl was in actual danger, (a swelling aorta was involved!) so an ambulance trip was ordered up to Primary Children's hospital in Salt Lake City. Tests showed that something (probably metal) was lodged in her esophogus, and she's in surgery now again as I type. Thanks to modern medicine, God's providence, and Bon's persistence with the medical types, she should be just fine.
Well, I could have the details mangled, because their cell phone connection from the hospital is mighty bad, but Bonnie will probably be back tommorow or Saturday, and she can set the record right. Let's all keep her in our prayers/meditations/thoughts - take your pick!

Update

We went to the ENT. He asked the questions, he looked in the ears and he stuffed the wee scope up her nose and checked out her throat as far as her voice box (ummm, not a happy baby). Saw a thing or two, but it appears that she has Subglottal Stenosis. This means... below-the-voice-box-swelling. Why this is, we do not know. My vote is congenital, but it could be lesions of some sort.

We will know more on Thursday after exploratory "not-exactly-surgery" when she goes under anesthesia so they can get a look past her vocal chords. Dadguy is taking the day off work and his mom is coming to stay with the two older girls. I will be staying away from google because... well, it's telling me nothing I want to know.

Really, everything will be fine, but prayers and happy vibes are welcome for the wee Pearly girl.

ENT Today

Tip toeing along the very freaking edge of freaking out. I have my "things" but I am generally not an alarmist when it comes to my kids health. Of course we have been lucky and very blessed where that's concerned. Other than the finger smashing incident a few months ago in Shopko, we have managed to keep out of emergency rooms. I'm liking life like this.

Pearl had her appointment with the ENT on the 15th, but they graciously moved it up to this afternoon. Her crunchy, grind-y, gurgle-y breathing is about the same... but she has not been able to get solid food down her throat since Saturday night. At least the first I became aware of the problem was when she gagged and choked on the wee piece of white bread from the sacrament tray on Sunday morning. As far as I can tell, the only thing that has made it past the... whatever it is that does not allow even baby cereal to get by... is rice milk, water and juice.

Thankfully, she is relatively chipper. Except for the sleeping bit. She's not too hip on sleeping. Oh, and the clinging part... I'm not allowed to put her down.

I am not yet freaking out. I am just "stressing out." Yeah, that's what it is... stressing.

Hold This Please

The debacle of potty training LaLa continues. Like her older sister, she "gets" the poo portion of potty training... the peeing business has her stymied. Perhaps "stymied" is the wrong word, it implies some sort of effort on her part.

For the last month or so, every time she sits on the toilet I have to "hold" her tail so that it does not fall into the toilet water. She is a pony, you see. Sometimes her name is Hona-lu-lu, sometimes she is Flowertop. One way or another, I know I am her mother... who the heck else would hold her imaginary tail and wipe her not-so-imaginary bum?