Panic In The Streets

Well.

Something has happened to me. Is happening to me?

I am afraid that if I write about it... what? It will be real, finally? I will have to do something about it? Somehow, that writing about it will make it into a big fat fuss when it's really nothing? Will it offend people who suffer from panic attacks to read my recounting of a couple of episodes of I-don't-know-what-but-it-might-be-panic-attacks, because really, I am just being a schmo?

I have probably not been having panic attacks. But I have been having... something. I have had a bit of tightly wound something that has been noticeable since I went into the mission field (I served a stateside LDS mission in my late 20's). Tightly wound. And that's the nice way of putting it.

The summer after Pearl got out of the hospital I got a little taste of an all new something though; a something that has hit me rather hard the past few weeks. I remember that Pearl still had her g-tube in, so it was probably in June, and we were at an amusement park just North of Salt Lake City, they have this big Ferris wheel that had extra-large, round baskets that easily held our whole family. A person would have to try really hard to get hurt on this thing, and we were there to have fun, and while I don't love heights, Ferris wheels seem pretty tame to me. But I fully freaked out on the ride.

I had my kids there, so I didn't get all screamy and outwardly freaked, but my heart was pounding, I was sweating, gallons of adrenaline were being dumped into my system and I cried steadily and quietly for most of the ride.

I'll buy that it was just some PTSD from the whole experience of the close call with Pearl, followed by her grueling recovery, and I hadn't much worried about it; till now.

This past spring we took the whole family plus my eighteen year old niece to Denver to visit my sister and her family. It was around the middle of April, so when my sister called the morning were we leaving to make the drive, to express her concerns about us making it through Vail Pass safely, I took it seriously, only sort of not. How bad can it get in April?

I'll tell you.... bad. Really, really, really bad.

And we were in our brand new (to us... it's a 2008) van. A Kia Sedona, that for as nice as it is, has this feature called ESC... a sort of equalizing traction thingy that is it's default mode. A default mode that, while I am sure it is great for keeping you from hydroplaning or slipping in a patch of sand on the highway, has the unfortunate side effect of undermining the power the van needed to make it up an icy, snow covered mountain road. We know that this feature is called ESC now, because after 20 minutes of slipping about and physically pushing the van up the mountain a few inches at a time in the dark, with other vehicles slewing about past us... we pushed the button that said "ESC off" out of desperation (inspiration?).

It must be stated here that, as we were driving off the lot with our new van, we spent over 15 minutes pouring over the owner's manual and pushing that button trying to figure out what it did to no avail.

Now we know.

Once we were finally to a safer place, my hands started to shake and I started to cry. I don't mean a tremble in my hands, I mean I would not have been able to hold a glass with a half inch of water in the bottom of it without giving myself a shower. Which, you might just think that this was perhaps a warranted reaction to what we had just been through... I would like to point out that no one else was having this kind of reaction. Just me, and it took every last bit of my will and determination to not make a big scene out of it. I think that I should also say, I am not having visions of disasters replaying in my head while this is happening. I am not obsessing myself into freak-out. This is a physical thing and it's pissing me off.

Most recently, Dadguy and I have been looking at some mountain lots for possible purchase. We want to eventually have a cabin, and Dadguy has stumbled onto this area that has what we want... and we can actually afford some of it.

Only it's been really rainy lately. And apparently I have developed a "thing" about muddy dirt roads as well as icy roads. Because really... y'all... I have been stuck in the mud before and it is not the end of the flippin' WORLD!

And I mean really stuck, in some world-class, mud-season mud in Vermont's puckerbrush back of nowhere, in what the truly erudite would call "bee-eff-ee." Solidly stuck in the snow in New Hampshire in a whole bunch of places. I have been spectacularly high-centered in a sandy wash in the tooley-bops outside of Farmpit, New Mexico in the middle of the night, and I, those who were with me, and the vehicles involved in each case, survived. This is not a Zombie Apocalypse we are talking about here.

But lately the adrenaline starts coursing, my hands start shaking and I get this note in my voice that I cannot stop.

I cannot stop.

And I hate this. I cannot stop it from happening, and it sucks down vast portions of my energy and personal reserves. Leaves me feeling wrung out and weepy.

I am not excited about being this way. I am not this way. Dadguy says that this is uncharacteristic of me, and frankly, he's only seeing the bit that is slipping through the cracks. The rest is a slavering, rabid dog tearing huge chunks of my insides out. But I am not really sure what to do. These episodes are so spread out, I'd hate to spend all of my regular non-panicking life being medicated for these relatively isolated instances. And really, I am still moving and sort of functioning while it's happening.

Only I have had two in the past two weeks, and this scares me.

...And By "We," I Mean "Me"

So here are some pictures of the tile in the kitchen/entryway. The tiles are 16"x16" Montagne Belluno tiles from Home Depot. The grout is Mapei brand in "Chamois."


Do I love it? Why, yes... yes, I do.



When we put tile in the bathrooms- more Belluno in the main bath, and slate in the master bath- we discovered that the sink vanities no longer fit. The things were not high-quality, and I have never loved them, so when it came time to decide if we were gonna pay to have them fitted in, leave them skee-whompus-but-functional or replace; we decided to replace, especially since the one in the main bathroom had water damage, both at the base and in the counter top. We are trying to manage our pennies, so I hit the local Craigslist type website and found a gorgeous hardwood and granite, vessel style sink/vanity that I loved. I talked the lady down $200... and went and picked it up for a measly $450 (kof kof!).

And then I realised that I needed to cut down the top to make it fit, my pretty counter top that I had measured over, and over, and over again. It wouldn't fit because where the hot water came out of the wall. So another $75 to get it cut and the edges refinished... and here I will put in an unsolicited plug for a great company in Orem called "Marble and Granite Solutions." They rock, har har har! Seriously though... they took the time for a teensy job like mine without once rolling their eyes or making me feel dumb. Kudos, guys! You will get my business if I can ever afford the lovely counter tops you make!

Then the drainpipe wouldn't fit... so some pretty chrome plumbing... $30. My next door neighbor, the guy we hired to do the tile work got it installed snugly and pretty (involved saws, chisels, drills and the like to make it tight): $100.

And then it became apparent that we needed to paint before all this went in. Can of paint, Ralph Lauren in a pretty grey called "Polaris." Approximately $30.

Yeah... I managed our pennies right into brokesville, thank-you-very-much. But it looks really pretty.





Still needs some shelving above the toilet, and something like this for the bottom shelf (as Dadguy will point out, the only shelf )of the vanity. But I think we will just love what we have for a while.

This next week I hope to get around to painting the main bath and taking pictures of my farrrrr more reasonably priced solution in there. Stay tuned.

Henry's Hamburgers

Yesterday I took the girls and myself down the street to our hairstylist to get gussied up for our TV appearances. The TV folks were great, the interviews ok... but I am left with the regret of having said too much and not enough at once.

Yep, it's a little like blogging in that way. That oversharing sort of a way. Only I cannot go back in and edit any of it. That's a crying shame too... because at the last, when I they asked me if I could go back in and handle any of it differently, I responded in a way that I wish I had tempered with more gratitude for the awesome, dedicated and concerned doctors that we had along the way in figuring out what was up with Pearl. I am hoping they edit in such a way that I come off as less of a harridan.

Back to the hair. My friend who does my hair has a little girl who is just a month older than Pearl, but far more articulate. No one seems to know where she got it, but she started calling Henry's fat rolls on his thighs, his "hamburger's," a term I find screamingly apt. They LOOK like the fat and delicious layers of sandwich that make a good hamburger.

My friends, I invite you to enjoy....

HAMBURGERS!

And how's about a yummy serving of the whole thing!

Beauty

"Mama, I am going to be really beautiful when I grow up, aren't I?" Birdie asks as she is brushing her hair for church.

"Ummm, well yeah. You are going to be beautiful." I say, because she will be.

"Most girls are beautiful, you know. Because they want to be, huh." She adds thoughtfully.

Oh baby, that's truer that you know. We are beautiful when we want to be.

repentance

I was talking today to one of the producers for a TV show about kids who swallow funky things, she was asking about "why did we do such and such," and "what was the timeline for..." and I was able to answer her questions coherently because I could just refer back to the bloggy and whup!  there it is.  No having to thump my noodle trying to come up with what I thought might have been going on at the time.

How sad that I have not been blogging worth a hoot lately.  Eeeesh.  What has disappeared into the morass of my mushy head and mushier memory?  

I repent here and now, I repent of blog-sloth.

So.... this coming Tuesday there will be a television crew out here to interview us and get some footage of Pearl for that TLC show about kids and the ghastly ways they age their parents by eating awful stuff.  A half a week away.  A time that is NOT GOOD to be caught up in the middle of a remodel;  and yet, here we are.  

What started out as Dadguy coming home one day and announcing that right now would be a really good time to upgrade and buy a new house, has turned into us deciding to stay put and save our money.  Only we were already replacing our floors in preparation to sell.  And now, for various reasons, our old bathroom vanities don't fit very well without investing more money to make them fit.  Only I don't want to invest more money in these vanities because I don't like them to start with, and the one in the girl's bath has water damage.  And getting all this stuff out of the bathrooms really showcases how badly they need some paint.  

Oh, it goes on and on.  All I can say is that it all made sense at the time.  And now I have a film crew coming in the middle of my chaos.   I could just DIE, and now, on top of it all I realize that I have been depriving y'all of some sweet, sweet home-improvement porn.

Er, am I the only one who gets a thrill to watch a room take on new prettiness?  

Wait till I tell the tale of a second hand pedestal sink for the kids bathroom, and a repurposed section of a high end modern vanity and a granite counter top for the master bath.  Green glass vessel sink.  Ooooooooo!

The kitchen floor is pretty much done.  Just tonight I finished sealing the grout, but the carpet still has to be restretched and secured.  We decided to move the book case/cabinet to the end of the hallway in the basement where it fits beautifully.  The thing just collected and clutter and was messing with my tile-floor-racetrack-curve-feng-shui.  Later when I get everything put back and prettied up I'll post some more shots.  But now it's late.  Sleep good.

Sunday Pic: Everything

The yard work has begun in earnest.

Henry in all his chubby glory.

Before pic: the floor in the kitchen and entryway. We are getting the linoleum ripped out and tile put in.

Birdie in her usual spot.

Pretty soon they will all weigh about the same. Like maybe next week.
(Plus, do you want this chair Lins?)

The book case that sucked down my life for about a week. Hello Ikea!

Did I promise you guys some pics?

Last week?

Oh. Here they are.

Price

Creation comes with a price.  The cooler the creation, the steeper the price usually.  For the boys reading, y'all can just skip the following till ya hit the asterisks; is gryll talk.

I started my monthlies again today.  I think it's the solid foods that Henry started on about a month ago.  He's a big fan of the spoon, and his nummie intake must have dropped below the specified hormonal level... cuz umm, yeah.  

For some reason this surprised me.  The visit from Aunt Flo and all.  I knew it was coming eventually, but after my snip-snip I had just written off all things "procreation" except, umm.. for the recreational parts.  Belatedly, I am reminded that I will have this reminder until I hit the "change."  And while a bit of cramping and PMS is no great shakes when compared to the living hell of actually being pregs, it is still uncomfortable and inconvenient.   I still think that it is bizarre that over half the human race will not ever carry and bear a baby.

I think that it is due more to the PMS than impending Mothers Day, that I keep thinking  about all the things that I have done as a mother (sleep deprivation, privacy deprivation, clean-up on aisle 12, etc...) and all the things I cannot do anymore, at least for the time being.

***

So in case anyone was wondering... we are maxxed out over here in Chaos-land.  Four is for shore the magic number for me.  The number four and the number forty.  

Four kids.

woooo.

I promise... I will post some pics in a few days.  Kids, new shelves, flowers WEEEEE!  Spring is really starting to pop 'round here.

Attack of the Kids

It is late, the kids are all finally asleep. I walk through the house admiring the mess, but too tired to do much of anything about it. On my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water and inspect the dishes that I will not wash until tomorrow, I see a funny flesh-colored-something stuck to the far living room wall.

"The heck?" I mutter, "is that a band aid stuck on the wall? Why the heck would they stick a ..."

I reach out a hand to touch the mass. Gum. Freaking pink bubble gum. Well craaaap.

Catch My Breath...

Pearl pronounces the word volcano as "puh-kay-no," she calls DVD's, "DV-doh's." Like, a cross between a DVD and a Video.

LaLa this morning came in to the kitchen while I was eating my breakfast and told me, "Mama, you are the bossiest person in the whole world. Why are you soooo bossy?" Pffft. She should get a load of MY mom in full swing.

Birdie. She is killing me. She tries so flipping hard to be the best good-girl she can, I would worry she will blow a gasket... only she does have her little outlets. Tonight for instance, about one minute after her daddy went downstairs she crept into our room to play "My Little Pony" internet games with the sound off. The only reason we know this is that Dadguy had been downloading some files that stopped when she closed out his user and opened her own. This, when she was supposed to be asleep in bed. The stinker.

Henry. He is still a baby, and oh mah CRAP that boy is a chubba. No joke, I should prolly take some pictures.

Last night I went through a boatload of videotape footage from back when Pearl was having her strider (loud breathing) from the sequin stuck in her throat. Holy CRAP, my kids are loud, and they never shut up. Ever. Birdie even talks in her sleep. I was trying to find a clear representation of the sound she used to make, but you can barely hear it in between the shrieks, squawks and singing of her older sisters. Relentless.

I don't think I will ever get any sufficiently representative video footage of the "Bacon Shakin'?" shtick that the girls give Henry. There is a reason they have developed this activity; I am busy doing something else and cannot get to the kid to help him be happy, let alone shoot some footage. It is to the point that if he starts screaming while I am cooking dinner, I might distractedly ask LaLa to "go ask Henry about his bacon." Works darn near every time. I am still 100% in the dark about it's origins.

Duuuuuude!

I think the word "dude" is pretty funny.... a lot funnier than it is in reality. Like, my use of the word has lost it's irony, and now I just use it. All. The . Freakin'. Time.

Fact is, I think that swear words are even funnier. But I have been putting lots of effort into not swearing now-a-days... so that just leaves "dude."

Think about it. I now have a boy to call "dude"!

Cutie Patootie Dude. Little Dude. Doodster. Dude-icus Rex. The Dude Man. Round Dude. There is some unapologetic overuse going on over here.

Back when we had no kids, Dadguy and I went to see "Dude, Where's My Car" at the dollar movies. Have you seen it? Whoah, was that a baaaaad movie, but, whoah, we laughed our cans off! One particular line has made it into our all-time family in-jokes.... the old Chinese lady saying "...and theeeeeeeeeen?" Last night Dadguy pulled out that old-moldy at the dinner table for the first time in a while... using a gravelly voice and really drawing out the "theeeeen."

It's one of those bits that has been there for long enough that I wasn't 100% where it came from and had to ask if that was from the movie, and all Pearl heard in between bites of dinner was the title. So she laughed and said "mama! It's in the garage!"

Enjoy!

Ten Things and a Few Pics

1.  One of the main problems with posting so infrequently is there is so MUCH to post that I don't post anything... then there is even MORE to post and I don't post that either.  Today you will get ten cheesy summary bits and we will reset this blog.

2.  I have strep throat, and have now been on antibiotics for almost ten hours.  Other than my throat being gross and hurty I don't see much difference in the way that I feel right now (headache, body aches, tired and generally like crap) and the way that I feel when I am pregnant.  Actually I feel better than when I am pregs, I do not regret getting myself nuetered.

3.  The girls LOVE to sit in front of Henry and say over and over again with large amounts of inflection..."What's your BACON shakin'?!"  They will say it to him until he tires of it, and it takes a very long time before he tires of it.  As a matter of fact he will coo and grin and laugh out loud when they do it.

4.  I need to just get used to he idea that until the warmer weather hits, a sick baby is actually the default setting.  He's got a new cold and a sore throat.

5.  It's not like being sick is setting him back any though.... he packed on a whopping four pounds this past month.  This puts him into his 6-9 month outfits, and a size three diaper. He is 17 pounds y'all.  That's an awful lot of baby to lug around.

6.  My parents called and asked what Birdie and LaLa would like for their birthdays a little over a month ago... I told them that if they would like to be the hero's they could get them a "My Meebas."  They had reaaaally wanted a "My Meebas" for Christmas, but not even Santa could stomach the idea of shelling out twenty bucks a pop for these insipid things.  Apparently grandparents don't mind.  The folks sent them, and although they girls were THRILLED to get them, they left them on the shelf for a few weeks until Birdie finally figured out how to play the various LCD screen video games and "evolve " her Meeba enough to get the tube thingy to pop open, and get her amazingly cheap and dumb looking Meeba out.

7.  LaLa got hers to it's next-to-the-last evolution, got frustrated and then just used a butter knife to spring hers.  Same diff.

8.  Those awful things are truly the toys du jour, every single du jour ever since.  LaLa was just the other day bemoaning the fact that she had no My Meebas coloring book.  Hmph!  Coloring book, shmoloring book... have you seen those dreadful things?  They are freaking amoebas, I think I can draw an amoeba with eyeballs and a grin.  I got out a marker and made a slew of coloring pages for the girls.  I just wish I had made copies before they got colored in and then cut out.

9.  Poor Pearl was feeling left out, and even though Birdie generously gave her permission to  play with her Meebas every day while she was at school, that left all the rest of the day and the weekends.  I figured I could make her one, same as I made some color sheets... so I did.  For the "tube" I used and old facial cleansing sheet box.  This thing is every bit as loved as the real thing.

10 Obeseve: the "Mommy Bas."

Sunday Pic: The Cookies

Two and a half months, birthday cake and numerous cookies do a chub-ola baby make.

She Turned Five

This once a week posting is for the birds, but I have been excessively busy, so suck it up and eat birdseed my friend.

Seriously... another birthday and party, Valentines Day, Pearl with her usual double ear-infection plus sinusitis, Birdie and Henry down with RSV, all the attending doctors appointments, meds, and love and care for the sickies, a trip down south to St. George for the weekend, and now with the serious focus on potty training for the Pearl-girl... lucky any post of any kind is comin'! And oh yeah, the computer bought the farm and this post is coming to ya via the laptop; stupid Safari and blogger don't play well together, and I don't know how to mediate.

If anyone ever tries to tell you that there is no significant difference between three and seven kids, take your thumb and forefinger and flick them soundly upon the nose for me. They are lying to you.  Is load of crap.

Lala  wanted a "Littlest Pet Shop" themed birthday party for her fifth birthday, so I planned a cake and drew a cat poster which the girls color in the day before the party, a day that turned out to be a sick day for everyone anyway (ref: the RSV and ear crud and nose crud) .  Then I drew some tails on papers so the guests could color and cut out their own tails for the game.... an activity in itself.

The poster turned out better than my Turtle debacle.



Cake was great, and the kiddo was happy too.



The thing that really slays me though... with all of my generous eating of birthday cake, Valentines chocolate and cookies, and the vacation crap food extravaganza, I have lost three pounds.  This mysterious loss of weight baffled me until I looked over and realized that somebody now has cheeks that bear an uncanny resemblance to cookies, and there are a few thigh rolls that I swear look like buttercream frosting.  Doesn't he just look like a white chocolate bonbon, all wrapped up in a Sunday suitie?! I promise you...that little button up shirt under the sweater vest really does have a collar.

Happy Bird-day!

huh.... this is my 400th post.

These days the Chaos family is exploring the realm of "good 'nuff." Nothing is getting any elaborate treatment, nothing is 100%, nothing is perfect... but it sure works OK, and we have a good time balancing a larger family. Mostly.

My days of spending hours decorating a cake (or writing a post for that matter) are over, but in my opinion, the cakes that are resulting are still fun and cool. The kids dig 'em so... even if they weren't and aren't, big whoop-tee-do.

Birdie wanted a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle birthday party, so we got the invitations, a few TMNT themed party goods, and went on a search for a good cake; as per usual we found a great, do-able cake on this site, truly a website filled with the coolest amateur cakes you have ever clapped eyes on. Birdie hit on the one that I was interested in trying, a cake that used some fondant, but not enough to cover the whole cake.



I had never worked with fondant before, but it was much like working with a sticky Sculpey or Fimo. As far as taste? I think it is accurate to call it "chewy frosting," kinda gross, but it looks cool. Plus Birdie had the TMNT mini's that she had gotten for Christmas, so it was kinda a no-brainer to try it.



Two very satisfying comments/squeals from guests: "Look! It's two cakes STACKED UP!" and "Look! There is FROSTING in the middle!"

The part where the balancing act collapsed was in the party-games department. I figured with the extra time used in eating pizza as well as the cake, we would only have time for a few short games. So Birdie came up with a Duck-Duck-Goose game called Turtle-Turtle-Ninja, and as she was running out the door for school the day of the party, she asked me to come up with a "pin-the-tail-on-the-Turtle" game. I was running short on time, so when I finally grabbed up a magic marker, paper, and one of those Ninja Turtle minis and saw that they had no tails... I just decided to add one and call it good.

Y'all... there is a reason that the creators of the TMNT franchise did not give them tails.

Observe.




...and I am here to tell you that when we added the little green construction paper tails that LaLa designed for the project, things did not look any better. I did not get a photo of that bit of risque business, just suffice it to say that it was in no way my finest hour or judgment call. Really, I didn't realize what I had wrought until I was taping the stupid poster up the the wall, and by then I had zero time and just hoped for the best. Luckily, most of the guests were of the seven year old girl variety and if anyone saw anything to comment on, at least no one did.

Happy Birthday little Bird!

Snuck Up On Me

This has been a busy week... Saturday morning a beloved nephew was Baptised, followed by a family gathering. Sunday morning at church Dadguy gave Henry a name and a blessing, followed by a family gathering (at OUR house no less). Monday Henry had his two month old doctor's visit and immunizations, followed by Tylenol and exacerbated by all the snot and misery he and I are sharing; A cold to beat out all colds.

No. Really. I am SURE that my misery far exceeds your misery.

Good news is, he's up to 13 pounds and is hitting all the milestones that he should. Bad news is... there still isn't a cure for the common, wretched cold.

Then on Tuesday was Birdie's seventh birthday with the cake and attendant party to accomplish... an event that I promise to cover in a post tomorrow. Ish. Tomorrow-ish, unless all hell breaks loose... and it may.

All of this with my head so full of snot it feels like... choose your own @%$# metaphor, simile or otherwise... whatever.

I am concerning myself with the blessing of the boy-o in this post. Three things have occurred to me, with this blessing of my last child, and they came upon me in this order.

1. There is a Catch 22 in preparing a house for a big event that will take place first thing in the morning when that house is inhabited by a number of the small minions. It is as follows... it is useless to clean any earlier than after the kiddos go to bed, the night before the event. However. If you WAIT till the night before said event... at least ONE of said minions will wake up a-puking, thereby foiling your cleaning. Catch 22, sux 2 B-U.

2. While I am perfectly aware, and have been, obviously, that I have a boy baby as opposed to my myriad girl babies, it has been just that in my mind... my boy baby. We call him boy, and I refer to him as a boy, kiddo, brother or baby, but Sunday night it occurred to me that we have a son. For some reason the semantics make a difference. I now have a son.

3. Don't know why, but I have been completely without sentimentality in viewing the ending of my procreative period. Rather than any feelings of grief or sorrow at the end of any portion of my gestation or giving birth my feelings have been more along the lines of "good CRAP! Thank heavens I will never have to do THAT ever again!" and "if I can just gut my way through this, it'll be the last time... I can do it just this last time." I have been wondering if I am especially cold hearted or callow as I have watched these many "lasts" with glee. Then late Tuesday night as I was pulling Henry's freshly laundered blessing suit, that had been provided by my MIL, out of the dryer and placed it carefully with the exquisite blessing dresses that my MIL had hand made for each one of my daughters. I was thinking to myself where I could purchase archival quality boxes or bags to keep these treasures in, until each child would be ready to claim them when they were old enough (read: married and having a child of their own).

...and then it hit me. This is my last.


oh, wow.




I am going to be that mother who is crying as she sends her "baby" off to school.

Sleep Sucking Death

This is why I haven't been blogging. I am tired, and tired-brain equals stupid brain... and annoyingly, pathetically WHINY brain. I get started with a post and I cannot get farther than two sentences because I want to put myself in time out, I am SOOOOO wah-wah-wah-everything-sucks-I-need-sleep. Only I really just want to punch myself in the face... but we are trying to use our words and our problem solving skills aren't we?

Which is funny, because I never mind it when I read other people's blogs about the sleep deprivation. Maybe it because I have to hear my own unfiltered whining in my self-pitying brain rather than experience it in it's cleaned up format on a blog. Maybe it's because of that funny thing about how even when your own life sucks, you wouldn't trade with anyone else... 'cause you know the suck that you live with and it seems more live-withable than someone elses suck. I have that in spades, I HAVE lived someone elses life before, I have lived another version of suck and I am more aware than many, just how good my suckitude really is. Because in some ways I have it all. All of it that really matters to me anyway.

I would tell you the specifics about how good I have it... but it would just come off like bragging, or else you would just look at what I think is so great and think "wow... she thinks that's so great and I think that's just more of the suck that she lives with!" Just trust me when I say that most everything is going my way and translate that statement to the things that YOU would think are great.

Didja do it?

Good. Now picture yourself sniveling about some small hitch in one aspect of your truly awesome life, possibly a hitch that is part and parcel of that aspect. Like being bitter about the security checks you have to go through to get on the plane for your two month long dream vacation to the Bahamas. Perhaps you get frustrated to tears with the Paparazzi trailing you every where cuz you are such a famous, sexy thang and you are dating whoever it is you happen to think is the uber-hottie celeb.

That's me with the sleep deprivation that comes along with the behbehs. Except for the small fact that sleep deprivation is it's own little world of misery. It is a multiplier of misery. It, by it's very nature, causes every irritation and sorrow to appear to increase and deepen in the mind of the sufferer. Seriously, I thought that I had re-jacked my knee, it hurt so bad... then I realized that everything hurt. My head hurt. My back hurt. My hands hurts. My heart hurt a little.

Henry is mostly a good baby... he just didn't sleep so good at night for five nights straight, and I don't get naps. I had to abandon my work-outs this week, and that is annoying AND humbling because I know many women who woulda gone anyway. But I guess it comes down to me knowing myself, and I had to scale back.

and you would get more of the pissing and moaning except HEY! He's awake again and I either click the publish button now, or give up and post a stupid blurb on Fecesbook.

TA DAAAAHHH!

edited to add... Meredith... I am gonna answer your question, and everyone else? Don't blame me when I do, cuz she asked!

Square One

.... only not.

Today was day one for me going back to the twice a week workout group, lovingly referred to by it's victims as "Bootcamp." I was there in the genesis; as a matter of fact I was the one who gave the instructor (also my hairdresser) the last push into teaching it. Is brutal. Her cop husband, a former BYU football player came once, tried it, and proclaimed all of us insane and hasn't been back since.

I knew it would be tough going back after almost seven months of doing nothing more physically taxing than toting a ginormous belly around. It was. Plus Pearl spent the entire first hour prostrate on the floor at whatever station I was at, sobbing her face off. Henry was less than pleased as well, so I packed it in before the end run. But I was pleased that the warm-up run was not as evil as I thought it would be. Strangely I seem to still have a bit of wind left in my lungs... well, enough wind for me to do a very slow, test jog without panting.

Trust me, after a brutal pregnancy, c-section and jacked up MCL... I am being careful.

I am delighted to find that my memory of being sore after a workout is not a fantasy. Hurts, but it feels good too, in a weird sort of a way. Of course, I may be whining a different tune tomorrow. The worst part? The worst was being the slowest, weakest, and wussiest of the group. Apparently I have enough pride that I am bugged by this, but not enough pride to be kept away by this fact.

Nine months out and nine months back: This is my mantra. I have a number months to get bad a@@ again.

On an unrelated note, and not likely to mean much to those of you without a working knowledge of the LDS church, I forgot to mention that shortly before Henry was born Dadguy was released from his church calling as Executive Secretary to the Bishop. We were thrilled. I cannot stress how thrilled were were to hear this, and then delighted that he had gone so long without a new calling. Was like a little vacation. Only not, since his extra time was sucked into Christmas stuff, baby stuff and oh yeah... World of Warcrack released an expansion in November.

Vacation's over now... he's now first counselor in the Elder's Quorum Presidency. A fairly time intensive calling like his last, but now that we are used to it (now that I am used to it) it doesn't seem so daunting. Sez the wife, who doesn't have to do the calling! Am now nervously eyeing my own calling as Relief Society teacher... it's been over two years for me doing the Teaching For Our Times bit, and a recent change in RS presidency. I suspect that I am soon to be ousted from my comfort zone into a new calling. Ah well.

Sunday pic:Henry and the Dresses

What? You need words after that?

Blog?

Did I have a blog around here somewhere? Cannot quite remember, and it's not just the new addition to the Chaos around here, though Henry certainly keeps me hopping. It's not just the shiny, new toy of Facebook (the memories, the schizo nature of it and the occasional train wreck you can witness)... although it IS a proven fact that I only have so much writing in me per diem, and a little blurb about what I am doing/thinking on FB, apparently passes for a whole blog-post worth of writing nowadays.

Part of it is that "Blog" is almost a language. When I am in the groove I actually think in Blog as well as English. I am living my life, but I am also storing up tidbits and seeing events through a lens of blogability.

Haven't been doing that lately.... thinking like that.

My only regret is that the funny, exasperating and milestone-ish things that are happening around here are sliding by and slipping away. Like the fact that Pearl is a HOOLIGAN these days. My sweet little baby girlie that was so angelic I feared for her life; some beings are too sweet to live on this earth very long. Well, I don't worry so much anymore. She is a beast.

Example? Last night she nipped me on the arm, cracked her baby brother on the head with Birdies new little digital camera and then promptly ran upstairs and emptied an entire box of breakfast cereal on the kitchen floor. Right in front of Dadguy, on purpose. And the sad thing is that we are breaking our backs to make sure she is getting as much attention as we can manage. I am thinking that our best is simply not enough, and so she is spending half her days in time out.

Fibblety crap-sticks.

I suspect that Dadguy had the right of it when he observed that four is just too many. "We have more than we can handle here, but hopefully we might be able to grow into it." Crossing my fingers, and thinking that maybe we will grow into the new dimensions of the fam. Something hurts anyway, so I am praying that it's growing pains.

Speaking of something hurting.... guess what Yours Truly did to ring in the New Year? Did you guess "drag her sorry butt into the ER?" Cuz if you did, go ahead and award yourself the "I Am a Freakin' Psychic" button, and pin that bit of flair on your vest.

Before you worry too much, let me esplain. After doing a little too much, I will sometimes feel extra-sensitive on my incision site the next day. But last night after wracking my brains and being unable to recall any lifting or heavy duty activity that would account for my increased tenderness, I decided to check. Without going into the TMI details here... let's just say that a portion of my incision had become infected, something I wasn't aware could happen after the outside had healed and was sealed off. By the time I checked, it was after nine o'clock and a simple office-visit-worthy problem had become a trip to the ER, simply because nothing else was open or would be open until Friday. The on-call physician was pretty adamant that this could not wait. "Blah-blah-blah septic blah." So I rang in 2009 with some double strength Bactrim. Whee.

And hoo-rah... tape on the girl-parts revisited, cuz you can never have enough of that action.

And, umm.. Oh yeah. HAPPY NEW YEARS!

A Name

Nope, not gonna post it.... but if you are on FaceBook you can find out... or you can email me and ask.  There doesn't seem to be a password protected function on Blogger, so for the purposes of this bloggity, he will be known henceforth as Henry.

Wow... this whole experience has kicked my trash from here to kingdom come, and while I feel  svelte and slender post-c-sec-baby, apparently I look as preggo as ever.  I kid you not.  Everybody says so, at least those that haven't had a heads-up that the baby is already sucking oxygen.

My MCL is stable and undamaged, but the rehab of my knee and whole freaking body is gonna have to wait, and will be a long, careful process.  So I will get to stay looking pregnant for the next couple of months.  Yay.

And what the shmellman kind of sadist doctor thinks that shaving a girls nether regions, slicing her open and then using TAPE to patch her up is a good idea?  Stubble and tape... down there?  This is the real reason ya need the good drugs post-op... not so much the pain, just the agony of the re-growth enhanced with tape.  Am deeply regretting my poor reactions to virtually all the "good drugs,"  Motrin is not cutting it.  

Tape.  Sheesh.

New baby

8 lbs, 10 oz, 21 inches.

Still no name. Some of the more popular name candidates are Dexter, Morgon, Marcus, Riker, Matthias, and Ezra.  (Wish us luck on that one!)  

Enjoy!

Tomorrow

Well... ain't life a hoot? We had ourselves a big fake-out in the wee hours of Sunday morning; starting at a little after midnight I was getting some good and hard contractions that kept getting closer and closer together... and laying on my side actually made them stronger. By two in the morning the contractions were every three to five minutes so we went to the hospital, but on the twenty minute drive there they started to peter out.

Went in anyway and stayed till about five am at which point my "labor" was over and I was peeved and a little chagrined. A little pissy as well. But I learned that I am very afraid for the safety of this baby. Something feels off, and he cannot turn properly and I am done messing with all of this.

Tomorrow I go in around noon for a c-section, and we will have a baby. The end.

In my book, I am trading an easier recovery and a higher hospital bill for a guarantee (or close to it) of safety for this little guy.... and frankly, I have a sneaking suspicion that this would all end up on a table with a knife anyway. My options are not stellar.

...at least I get the more predictable outcome and the tubal ligation two-fer. I am trying to find the happy in all of this.

Now we just have to figure out a name for the squirt.

Update

So no baby yet... and as he is back in the transverse position, and the other doctor is the one who is doing appointments last week and this week, and he doesn't seem to give much of a flying one way or another...

all bets are off. They will not induce if the kid is transverse, so the second or third of December is out. Maybe a c-section? Donno, and the other doctor is one of those that knows better what you need than you do. Which yeah... he's a doctor etc... but when I talked to him about getting a tubal ligation he informed me that what I really needed was a certain kind of IUD.

The crap?

I think that if I wanted an IUD, I would ask for one. I am 39 years old, and so VERY done having kids, I think I am well within my rights to have my tubes tied. There is no reason whatsoever that I take a less permanent option. He wants me to do this IUD because it has some sort of progesterone blah-dee-blah and, here's where the guy pissed me off... "because of my weight putting me at very high risk of endometrial cancer...."

What? Scare tactics for the fat lady? I have been fat for how long, and this is the first I have heard from any doctor just how dire my situation is? Please... do NOT go there with this woman. He started in on progesterone, and I had to stop him to inform him that I well aware of my needs there, and I am already taking care of myself. I don't need an IUD to give me a constant dose. I don't want an IUD to give me a constant dose; I prefer control, and using the creams cyclically.

Frustrating. I really dislike doctors using scare tactics to get their product kickbacks or whatever is this guys incentive for pushing this brand of IUD off on a woman asking for a tubal ligation. It's not like IUDs are any kind of risk-free item, no matter how a proponent of them might like to gloss over it.

Dang. Still grumpy I guess.

Still not dilating.

still...

grumpgrumpgrump

Sheeeesh. Here's another link to today's Junkfood Science, it's much shorter and much less unpleasant than that last one. I just cannot resist sharing this post, as it touches on my hometown AND one of my hot buttons; government telling us what we can and cannot do... because they know better. Dude... POSOLE! I could really USE SOME POSOLE right now!

grumpgrumpgrump
Still knocked up and pissy, thankyouverymuch.

Dadguy's iPhone is working again after a few days spent in a ziplock bag filled with uncooked white rice. But the antibiotics are only half working, so this is either the UBERCOLD that ATE MANHATTAN, or it is Cold 2.3, and I am taking antibiotics for nothin'. But I don't dare stop, because "what if they just prescribed me a weeney little bit of antibiotics, they just need more time to work?"

grumpgrumpgrump
Still knocked up and pissy, thankyouverymuch.

This kid is no longer Transverse. I am pretty darn sure of this as I now must go pee every five to ten minutes... if I don't I am sure to wet my pants during one of my uncontrollable hacking sessions, or when I suffer one of my explosive sneezes.

That fact combined with almost complete blockage of my, erm... other waste needs, and a few boots to the ribs? Pretty sure we are good to go. Did you catch that young man? GOOD TO GO! That's pregnantese for GET OUT!

Yup, he's about as obedient as the rest of Chaos.

grumpgrumpgrump
Still knocked up and pissy, thankyouverymuch.

Things My Mother Tried To Teach Me

I was a truly obnoxious teenager. Sad really, to think back on it. I went from a fairly sweet little kid, to a precocious and self-righteous tweener... straight to smart-ass-know-it-all teen.

And then I encountered the paradigms of nihilism, and pessimism, and I thought that I had met with ultimate "cool." And really, when you think of all the things that "cool" wants to be and have? I may have been right.

My mother had a very low opinion of "cool." She always compared being "cool" with being cold and emotionally shut down. She said that when you are "cool" that it is a state of not caring about others. This is one thing that my Mom tried to teach me, and she did a pretty good job in that I was never able to throw myself wholeheartedly into the quest for coolness, much as I wished for that kind of numbed closed-off approach to life. I could never really encase myself, or protect myself from the crap-storm that came from my own actions; so I was able to learn from the consequences and I think I turned out better for it.

Another thing that my Mother tried to teach me, I don't know if she will even remember. It was one of those moments that happen between parent and child that shape that child forever... but you don't know that it's coming as a parent, and sometimes you never know that it happened until decades later when that kid tells you. Sometimes you never know what has happened. Mom, I'm telling you now.

First it should be said for the record on this blog, that my parents are both really, really smart. The have their quirks; for instance my dad has fabulously atrocious spelling and yet eschews spell check functions. But they are some sharp folks, and I have always known this, even in the depths of my teen disdain for their screwy-churchy-Mormon-crap... so it was an interesting conversation when I started to trot out my Public School Indoctrinated Ideas of "Overpopulation," "Zero Population Growth" and "How Humanity is a Blight on this Earth." Because- see, I was a "Gifted" kid, and we all knew about the "Science" behind the unsustainability of the human race, all the depleting resources, how there is not enough food and it's all going to hell in a handbasket unless we STOP HAVING BABIES!

I cannot tell you today what my mom said, word for word... not like another instance of Things That My Mother Tried To Teach Me that my mom denies that she taught me. A really nifty bit about the true value of black pepper when cooking an egg, that you will always know if you have salted your egg if you see pepper on it. Salt and pepper see, you put it on in that order... salt then pepper, and you will always know.

aaaaanyway....

I was expecting some drippy churchy rebuttal to my fear-mongering and got science. She trotted out instance after instance of scientific advances that have the power to feed everyone if we choose to do so. She insisted that this earth was designed to hold over twice what it currently does in terms of humanity, and do it cleaner and safer and more environmentally soundly that we currently do it, and this was back in the mid eighties; over two decades ago! Basically she was teaching the idea of "Abundance vs Scarcity" a topic I scatterbrainedly addressed here, and it left an impression on my brain. I am not saying that I changed my ideas right then and there... but her ideas forced me to stay "open" in much the same way that her ideas about "cool" forced me to stay "open." I have never been able to fully subscribe to nihilism and pessimism and the pervasive culture of fear that seems so rampant in intellectual circles.

Fear. It is very important, and performs a valuable life saving function of getting us out of sketchy situations and keeping us out of them as well. But it is a thing of momentary value, or rather, it has value in the moment of danger. Humans are not meant to live in fear, and when we do live in it, we turn into rats in a cage. Living in fear, basing our decisions on fear, reacting as opposed to acting... it does something to us individually, and it does something to us as whole societies. It causes us to start basing our actions on fear as opposed to reality. Fear makes it's own reality.

I have the blog Junkfood Science on my Bloglines, I have begun to read it because it is fascinating and sometimes is the only source for the layman to get at studies and findings that the media ignores because it doesn't feed the fears of society, or sell papers. Today's post... well.

There are several of y'all reading my blog who are currently pregnant or have recently given birth. You may not want to read the first section the post that I am about to link to, skim it perhaps to get the gist. Suffice it to say, it gives statistical and anecdotal evidence of forced abortions and sterilizations happening in China in order to force it's population into compliance with it's One-Child Policy. China... with the assistance of UNFPA (United Nation Population Fund), a fund that was receiving about $34 million a year from the US under the Clinton administration. That funding was stopped during the Bush administration upon the recommendations of Secretary of State Colin Powell after... well, go read it.

But be prepared to skim over portions of the first section of the post if you suffer from MFOD (Mom's Freak Out Disease)... keeping in mind that the blog author herself even skips the more horrific and graphic details of what is going on in China. This is happening with the assistance and money of the UN. Supposedly the better part of the civilized world, putting it's very likely groundless fears ahead of human life itself.

I submit that this is the natural outcome of living in fear. People... let's think and act rationally please, and have a care about allowing our fears to make our decisions (reaction) instead of our brains (action).

I want to also add... this goes right along with what I have been trying to say in terms of coercion and governments "forcing" it's populations to do what is right. Because sometimes? What one person thinks is the "right" thing to do? Sometimes it just isn't, but if governments already have in place the machinery of coercion... what the heck to you propose to do to change it? Keeping in mind that many many people believe that China's One Child Policy is the "right" thing to do, no matter the cost. You think this could never happen in America? Ever? Really?

And the hell of it all is this is happening based on non-science. Nonsense. Just generally accepted feartheories.

Dude... my mom was right all along.

Weeeenie

I have always been the proud knower of precisely how I carry my kids; heads down, breech, face front, face back etc...

Not this one, and as it turns out, it's probably because the kid is in there in a pretty screwy position for a term baby. He's transverse. Head on my left side, bum on my right with his arms and his legs poking up. Really baffles me as to what the heck is weighing down the bottom of my uterus and making me waddle so. Water?

Oh, AND I am at a big fat ZERO. As in zero centimeters. As in, "crap." As in, we are gonna be in this to the bitter, bitter end. Which, when you consider how freaked out I am at the prospect of the whole labor and delivery gig, may be a good thing. Wait this out till I am so VERY miserable that I won't care what it takes to get this kid OUT of me. You would think that a three time veteran of child birth would be less of a weenie about the prospect of pushing a fourth kid out. You would be wrong.

Call me Oscar Meyer cuz I am freakin' hard!

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Eeek! MAh poor Bloglines is freakin' OUT!

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OK... so I have this cold. Still. And from what others around the area have been saying... it's a beast of a cold that takes around three weeks to clear. I would feel even more sorry for myself than I do, but Pearl and Dadguy are suffering right alongside me. Birdie and LaLa seem to have gotten off with the little sister of the beast cold; lingering but not intrusive. I am a little sad that since the cold takes the normals a full three weeks, it's a pretty safe bet that I will still be hacking and snotting away on the delivery table. Bummer.

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At least I can bend my knee now. Well, I can bend it MORE anyway.

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Last August Dadguy turned thirty two and one of the gifts that he got was a funny little stuffed animal from our niece. It was a Lemur with a very long black and white ringed tail, and he managed to unwrap it and admire it for all of three second before Pearl snatched it and claimed it for her own. The beast is now indispensable in her sleep routine, she has named it Elmer. Whether or not that was an actual NAME name or just her initial mispronunciation of LEMUR I couldn't say... but it is now his name. Elmer the Lemur.

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It looks and feels like this baby is gonna just drop out if I jump up and down a bit. He doesn't though, even when I jump up and down a LOT. Bummer. Tomorrow I go in for my now-weekly OB appointment. I'll get checked to see if I am dilated. I will keep y'all in the loop, unless I am at a zero, then I will probably just stay home crying.

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World of Warcraft released a new expansion pack last night at midnight. Dadguy, who has been on the wagon for over a year now. In the face of the coming baby and the resulting hardships that will pretty effectively put the kibosh on further iPhone App development, he has allowed himself to be talked into taking up the WoW again. He was up until 5:30 am last night after picking up his copy of the expansion. It was an inauspicious start but for the highly redeeming fact that he turned over the laundry and washed the dishes before he turned in. For those of you in the know... I offer the following bit of humor. DISCLAIMER!!!! Has quasi-bleeped out language, un-beeped out language and crude humor. But if you are a WoW widow it will SLAY YOU!!! HAHAHAHAhahahahahahhahahahahahaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Sorrow. Pearl just dunked Dadguy's iPhone in the terlit. GAAAAAHGHK!

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American

To be clear... Barack Obama was never "my guy" and there are a slew of things that he represents politically that I disagree with. But then, McCain was not "my guy" either... given my recent political posts, I am sure that it cames as no surprise to anyone that I voted Constitutional Party for the most part (one noteable Libertarian).

But the election is over, the People and the Electoral College have spoken, the system works. I also have to admit, that while President Elect Obama was not "my guy" when it came to campaigning and voting... he is absolutely "my guy" now. He is the "guy" for whom I will be praying to be the recipient of divine inspiration to lead this country, he is the "guy" who has my support as our elected leader, upon him goes my hopes and prayers for wisdom to guide us and his personal health and safety.

I have the utmost respect for the position that he holds today, and even more for that which he will soon be sworn into. I also respect the man who has inspired such hope and passion in my fellow Americans; I am proud to be an American.

Well...

My inner Polyanna is on hiatus after a brief day in the sun. I fully expect to see her again just as soon as I can kick the misery of this cold that has beaten me into the dirt. Although it must be said... today is more bearable than yesterday was.

The knee... well it was a little less conclusive of a visit than I had hoped. Again... the doctor could not do a full examination because the knee is still too tender. Which I guess begs the question: what do we do if it is still too tender for a comprehensive examination in a MONTH when I am scheduled to come back? Bleah. I am just gonna go with the "it's gonna do fine all by itself" theory, and do the rest and ice thing, call it good.

Huh. Guess Polyanna didn't go as far away as I had thought.

And poor, poor Dadguy just returned from work reeling under a head stuffed with snot. Welcome to hell for the next twenty hours, poor guy.

Tweak

So... huh. How odd life is. Tomorrow morning will be two weeks from when I took a header down the stairs and wrenched my knee. Until five days ago, based on the state of that knee, I was pretty sure that surgery was in my immediate future. Today I am still planning on keeping my appointment with the doctor tomorrow morning, mostly to get his recommendations for rehabbing my knee: exercises and the like. I am feeling that optimistic. Every day sees a little more improvement.

And somehow, even though I am still fabulously distended with pregnancy, and in this last month completely at the mercy of my unmedicated arthritis, hurting from the spread of relaxin and "advance maternal age" waking up aching and barely able to walk for the first few minutes... I am gleeful and grateful and full of hope. My situation seems flipped on it's end, and the little bit of mobility I have regained seems to over-shadow all the fear and pain of the past two weeks.

I am also grateful for:

-The modestly sized bathrooms in my lovely house. Due to the cheek by jowl spacing of the tub to the toilet to the sink, I was able to lever myself up and down from the toilet using upper body strength.

-I spent only two days feeling sore in my upper body, pretty sure because I still had some muscle left from working out so hard before getting knocked up.

-A doctors office that has annoying rules like "we only do inductions at that Hospital on Wednesdays." As personally frustrating to me as this may be, I am glad that these doctors are going about their business in wisdom and in order. They are making sure that they are rested and fresh to the best of their abilities and planning. While at first I didn't appreciate having another doctor "foisted" on me, in reality it's a good thing to have two doctors that I have met with and are familiar with my treatment be available for the L and D portion. I am more likely to get a doctor who even knows my first name to be there to catch the baby this way.

-Gastric distress. Seriously, the very fact that I have backed up guts and acid indigestion and general discomfort reminds me that hey, I have plentiful and nutritious food to eat. And when I cannot stand the thought of eating something healthy and good? I can eat a slice of white bread to kill the hunger and even out the crappy food with a pre-natal vitamin.

-I am an older mom. Yeah, sure it's probably harder for me than the twenty-somethings being pregnant, but the fact is... I AM pregnant. By planning and by choice and by huge amounts of luck and blessings, I get to have this and I want to treasure this. This is not a right. Plus I need to remember that I get this as a SAHM, married to My Prince Charming. Plus as an older mom, I get to have this at a time where I am more comfortable with the devastation that these pregnancies wreak on my body. I am more comfortable with my body. I am more comfortable with me, and frankly, a lot less high-strung than I was one and two decades ago. At least in my case, I am better aware of what I am capable of (which is way more than I used to think) , and I know better when to call in the cavalry (again... I need it more than I used to think).

Seriously, I am starting to think that most any complaint I have, if looked at in a "tweaked" version, I will see a blessing and a gift and something to be grateful for.

Filthy house? Material blessings and energetic kids to track in the dirt, drag the toys around, and wipe their snotty fingers on the walls.

Piles of laundry? Clothes to wear and a washer and dryer downstairs. Y'all, I even occasionally get to splurge on namebrand detergent cuz I love me the smell of original Tide!

Can't think what to make for dinner? Um... hello, too MUCH choice there? Am I pissy about getting to be home with the kids? Again, a choice that we have sacrificed for me to do.

This is just scratching the surface of gratitude, and the difference in my attitude just today has been obvious. Even with a sick kid, a headache and a house turned on it's end I have been happier today. So tell me... what are your "tweaks"? What sucktastic situation is really a blessing for you? What are you grateful for?