The Transplanted Garden

Good News!!!

2009-10-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

Moon is on her off the juice (living without insulin) trial! Today is day 6, so there are only eight left!

She dropped very low on .1 unit of insulin a few days ago after only 2 days on such a tiny drop. And that was that (antijinx).

The kids are on fall break right now, so yesterday and today is the first chance I've had to take full advantage of not having an injection schedule. I'm still testing her twice a day, and I'm still carefully controlling what kind of food she has to eat, and I will continue to test her every month for the rest of her life. Once a diabetic cat, always a diabetic cat. But being diet controlled is SO HUGE!

I still can't believe we've gotten to this point. It's incredible to look over at my sweet furbaby sleeping on my bag on the floor, all poofy and sweet. And alive...

One If down, only a couple more to go! :)

If all goes well...

2009-10-09T16:48:00.000-07:00

Madame McFluff only has 6 days (13 doses) of insulin left!!!!

If all goes well, I should be able to get my online store up and running by Thanksgiving!

If all goes well, I will have another story finished by Christmas!

If all goes well, I will actually manage to handcraft nearly all of my Christmas presents!

If all goes well, I'll be in bed by midnight.

If all goes well, I'll stop typing this ridiculous post before long ;)

Oh look, things are going well.

HOLY CAT!

2009-09-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

It's been entirely too long since I last posted here.

Quick update:

Got ready to start the etsy store, and it got derailed by life for a bit.

Tried writing for a contest, but it got derailed by life until after the deadline.

Kids are in school. It's been a weird year for them. Van is doing really well this year, which is a change for him, and one I'm DELIGHTED with. DC is, well, she's being a Demon Child. *sigh* There was some kerfluffle at the beginning of the year in her class, and it's taking her a bit to catch back up, I think. She's doing a bit better now, but her grades were NOT good at the first 5 weeks. *sigh* I say again...

And then there's Madame McFluff. One morning in early August, I came out to find an incredibly sick kitty. It gets a little graphic here. Stop now if you're squeamish.

Did you stop? No? Okay. You were warned. There was blood in the floor of the kitchen, and on the carpet in the living room, and also in the laundry room. I finally saw what was happening. Madame was walking around, squatting, and peeing blood. She was obviously in pain. I offered water, and she took a few laps. Then she would go repeat her rounds (thankfully, she left the carpet alone after the first bit). I was pacing behind her, cleaning up after her, desperately waiting for the slowest two hours of my life to pass so I could get her to the vet. I would have taken her, right that moment, to the emergency vet, but the kids were still sleeping, and needed to sleep.

Finally, she passed a stone, large enough to see when I went to clean up a puddle. After that, the blood faded and faded and faded a little more. Then she ate some and drank some and curled up to rest. I started breathing again.

If you don't know, Madame McFluff was around with my Meezer boys, Piddles the Cat and Lumpy. They're both gone ahead now, and sometimes, when Madame is strutting through the house, I see the little tricks they taught her in the early years. Lumpy taught her to fetch. And to break up fights between other cats. Piddles the Cat taught her the best place to sleep on the bed (I used to find them curled together, close enough to warm my feet, far enough to keep from getting thrown from the bed when I rolled over). He also taught her how to soak up tears in her fur. And she saved his life after Lumpy left us so suddenly. Without Madame, Piddles the Cat would have followed his brother, his best friend, his constant companion.

Madame carries a lot of weight for so tiny a cat.

At the vet, she was taken back to have a large series of tests run. When they carried her out of the room, Tyrannosaurus began to cry and wail: Madame! Bring back Madame! Want my Madame!

I laughed, because it was funny, and I cried, because I felt the same way. Please bring back Madame. I can't lose her yet! She's only 8 years old, and she's my baby, too!

She was so dehydrated, and so very, very sick, I had to leave her in hospital. It lasted a week.

The final verdict was that she had a nasty cystitis flare up, and that aggravated what was hiding beneath: Feline Diabetes Mellitus. She was on the border of diabetic ketone acidosis, and her prognosis was unknown.

She survived. And the vet and I had a bit of an argument about what type of insulin to start her on, and how to best treat her. Because, of course, the first thing I did on diagnosis was hit the 'net.

I am so, so lucky I did, too. I found this site and its message boards, with wonderful, kind, sympathetic people, willing to bend over backwards to help me, to help Madame. They saved her life. Literally.

Today, she's poofy, sassy, sweet and high energy. It's like she's three again! What's even more exciting, she's down to incredibly small doses of insulin, and I have high hopes she'll be weaned all the way off of it very soon (antijinx).

It's like some kind of giant miracle that I've done nothing to deserve, making up for all the horrors Madame has survived which she has done less than nothing to deserve. I have my furbaby. And I'll have her for a long time to come :)

And now for the downer news: Less than a week after Madame had come home, just as her treatment was getting under way, the Kitchen Cat took a major turn for the worse. She couldn't walk well one evening after I had made a trip to the store. She had gone blind. She just seemed so very, very tired.

The next morning, she could barely walk at all. She would take a few steps, then sit down to rest. She didn't want to eat. She took a small tonguefull of water. And then she laid back down under her chair and let each of us humans, including Tyrannosaurus, pet her. She purred for all of us. She nosed our hands gently, purring and nuzzling.

And that, more than her condition, told me it was the end. She has never, never willingly let the kids pet her. She would occasionally accept a small pat from pesimst, and she would often get in my lap when we were up alone in the wee hours. But this time, she accepted all the love we were offering, and then asked for more. We spent a long time telling her goodbye that morning.

After the big kids left for school (Van called across his shoulder as he ran out the door "Tell KC I love her"), I made the call to the vet and prepared to take her in.

Kitchen Cat didn't freak out in the car. She didn't say much to the vet. At the end, she leaned her head against my hand, let me stroke her soft belly that I had never before touched. She kept her nose against my skin, since she couldn't see me, and I whispered in her ear all the messages I wished I could send to those who have gone before. It seemed she left before they gave the injections. One minute she was in my arms, letting me comfort and love her the way I had always wanted to. The next moment, she was in the arms of her beloved first mother, who had been taken away from her so cruelly by Alzheimer's.

I can bear it. I am, of course, very sad. I miss her. I miss having the table and kitchen chairs growl at me. I miss making her growl while she was drinking, so she made that sound like a waterlogged motorboat. I miss our quiet moments when her unbelievably loud purr was the only sound in the house.

But I can bear it. Because she's back with her person now. They're together, and neither one is old, or sick, or tired, anymore.

It's been a long three months. I'm sorry I haven't kept up posting. I did well for awhile, and then it got overwhelmed by other things.

I'll try to be better. I'll try to have more laughs and fewer tears next time I post. But for now, not all tears are evil things, and some are from triumphs worth sharing.

Hurt

2009-06-21T00:19:00.000-07:00

I found out tonight that someone that was once one of my very, very closest friends has died.

He died two years ago, and I never knew.

I cannot process this. It's too big to sink in.

I'm sorry, L. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that you were so sick, and I knew that you were, but I couldn't do anything to help you. I'm sorry that this illness, this monster in your head, kept us apart, kept me in hiding, so I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry it won. I'm sorry I wasn't there for your family, who, in spite of your fears about them "turning people against you," I always liked, and know they loved you so much. I'm sure they still do love you. I wish you could have seen that as clearly as I did.

And B, I owe you such a big apology, too. I should have called you. I should have explained what had happened between L and I, and why I had to back so far away from him. I should have trusted you enough to give you a chance to understand. But I was afraid you wouldn't, and I was afraid that, if you did, it'd change your perception of him, and you'd pull away from him. I didn't want that for either of you. He needed you.

I'm also sorry I wasn't there for you when we lost him. I should have been there for you! You are the only person in the world who could possibly have felt a similar grief. I don't mean the depth of pain or any other comparison like that. I can't imagine what his family must have felt and what his other friends felt. But you and L and I, we were a we, and you knew that, even if no one else ever got it. I'm sorry that hiding from his disease meant I ended up hiding from you, too. Please forgive me?

L was a wonderful person. He was funny and smart, a fantastic writer, and passionate about his favorite music and movies. He had a classic movie quote for all occasions, and he was one of the best listeners I ever knew. He was always too hard on himself, never giving himself credit for the talents he had. He was often stubborn, but that kept him going through lots of nearly-impossible tasks, as well as making him butt his head against the walls of the truly impossible. He made the best brownies, and I can't ever taste any without comparing them to his.

I missed him all along, and I miss him most of all now. I wish I had gotten to say good-bye. I wish I had gotten to tell him just how much I loved him. I wish I could tell him I'm sorry.

I wish I could tell him I understand.

Weariness and other excuses

2009-06-05T14:44:00.000-07:00

Why is it that writing takes so very much out of me? I got sleep last night, but, while I'm engaged in a frantic bout of creativity, "enough" sleep just isn't.

I wish more people understood that, when I'm writing, I can't really do much of anything else. My mind is not here in the everyday world. I'm gone. I'm away. I'm busy.

And I'm very, very tired!

Tyrannosaurus and The Blue Train

2009-05-31T08:12:00.000-07:00

Tyranno-Manz is extremely fond of a certain bright blue train and his associates. He has quite a few of the wooden variety, plus a length of track. And he loves them. He talks about them all the time. He details tiny plot points of episodes as only a two-year-old can. He lines other toys up to pretend they are trains and spends quite a lot of time smacking one toy with another and shouting "Biff!"

He loves trains.

So yesterday morning, I woke to find Tyrannosaurus lying behind me on the bed, his head rammed against my backside. He was saying something, but I couldn't quite understand him, because of that whole being asleep thing. So I shifted away from him, and settled back down. Only to find his forehead pressed, once again, against my rear. I finally woke up enough to hear what he was saying.

As he rammed his head into me, he was muttering to himself, saying "Shunt, shunt, shunt."

I think I'm really back!

2009-05-30T21:03:00.000-07:00

I am flying so high right now. I just finished my first complete short story in over three years. Now, I grant that it is an extremely SHORT short story. One page, in fact. But it is a complete work, and I am humbled, grateful, and SOOOOOOOO energized. Which kinda bites, since it's 11:05 pm, and I am exhausted.

That door to the place where ideas, inspiration, creativity, spring from has been shoved wide open. I feel like I am greedily sucking down the flow of that blessing, but I am somewhat worried. I know that, if I don't act on these ideas, I will lose them. They're so fragile, and they melt so quickly in the heat of "don't have time right now" and "must get the practical work done first."

So, for the time being, forget the practical. Or at least push it aside. If I don't sleep in order to write, then I'll get by on less sleep. When I'm graced with an idea, instead of fantasizing for a moment and letting it go, I'll write it in the notebook, with as much detail as I can hold onto, so that I can come back and make the idea reality. I'll sketch and doodle, plan and organize, all that I can, to try to keep this space in my head open. I will keep playing my flute to clear out the clutter in my mind and heart. I will keep trying to include the children in as many acts of creation as I can, so that I never neglect my greatest loves for my greatest passions. I will make the tools and materials for my own creations a priority, with the same weight as I give to everyone else's needs and desires. I will accept my limitations, but will try to expand my skills, so that I can better serve and translate the inspirations, both artistic and literary.

I will continue to dream big dreams, work toward small dreams, and I will live every moment of the journey.

I've changed my mind

2009-03-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

I have often said that all babies should come with an 8 year old brother. Van has been such a huge help with Tyrannosaurus. He loves to play with his baby brother, and he's old enough (and tall enough) to run and fetch everything from a drink to a diaper to the baby!

Now, however, I've changed my mind.

You see, if you have a newborn and an 8 year old, they turn 2 and 10 in the same year.

And that is just Not Cool.

Surely It's Hard to Be a pesimst...

2009-03-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

When I Lavf!

Happy Anniversary, my dearest, my beloved, my best friend, my lover, and my husband. You are my pesimst, and I am your Pixie.

I take you.
I honor you.
I cherish you.
I love you.

Always.

Wrath of the Plumbing Gods

2009-03-10T01:49:00.000-07:00

And other adventures...

Last week didn't begin well. I had a sore tooth that gradually became worse, until Monday found me very, very ill and hoping for a speedy death. Obviously, that didn't happen. Rather, my wondeful Uncle Dentist called in an antibiotic for me, and my recovery was somewhat faster than my downward slide. Here in about seven hours, I'm going to go in to get the problem behind the pain solved. I am dreading this appointment, and wish it were over and I were drugged and asleep in my bed already. This dread would be the reason I am NOT asleep, even though it's four in the morning, and I'm very tired.

There is another reason, the reason I woke up, in fact, which is not yet my news to tell, so I will wait until it is, and then I'll shout from the rooftops.

So. Last week.

Tuesday I had a dentist appointment to see what needed to be done. Wednesday, I prepared to go shopping for DC's birthday, which had been delayed by a sick DC and then a sick me. I was on my way to the store when her school called to tell me she was sick (again) and to please pick her up. So, obviously, no shopping.

Thursday, I HAD to get to the grocery store, but the sick DC and a growth-spurty Tyrannosaurus made that difficult. I finally determined that I could go after they had each had a post-lunch nap, and began to prepare. It was all going smoothly until I walked through the playroom and splashed in a LARGE puddle of water.

Okay, fine. Call a plumber and just prepare for a fast-food supper.

The hot water heater was shot. Of course. Because, the way the week was going, why wouldn't it be!

The plumber was fab. He gave me the estimate on replacing it and then told me to do it myself, and even gave me careful directions on how to do so! And then he didn't charge for coming out in the first place!

Okay. So, new water heater purchased. I removed the old one. Yes, pesimst helped. But, basically *I* did it. I was SO proud! And, heck, if I can take one out, surely I can put one in, right?!

So, after the second trip to the home store, which had to wait until Friday morning, I had all the water hooked back up and was ready to fill the new tank. Turned the household water back on, and the whole-house wayer filter began spraying water all over the plumbing closet. And pesimst. He was SOAKED.

Third trip to the home store involved getting a new gasket for the filter. Which did not help a bit, I might add. So the FOURTH trip was to pick up an entirely new filter system.

Which would have been great, except the old one was put in by morons. They had GLUED THE PIPE FITTING TO THE OLD FILTER HOUSING. Mind you, this is a part that needs to be changed every 8 to 10 years. Glued. Seriously.

I gave up and called the plumbing company back. Did I mention this was ON DC'S BIRTHDAY??? They said someone would be out in two hours or so.

Three hours later, they called to say someone was finally coming. I started to get giddy. He'd fix it, I could do dishes. I could then make DC's birthday spaghetti, and everything would be great. Well, if pesimst, who was only 5 hours late to work because of the mess, could get home. But I'd worry about him later.

About 10 minutes after the plumber called, Van's school called. He was sitting in the office, but not in trouble. He had rounded a corner just as a teacher opened a door, smacking him in the face and busting his eyebrow open, and could I please come get him, because he needed stitches.

*WHINE*

Okay. I HAD to wait for the plumber. We had no water. Van was being cared for at that moment. So I called pesimst and told him to go fetch Van.

Meanwhile, the plumber had arrived. He poked around for a time. He actually asked me how long we could go without water. Seriously??? About one day less than I have gone without water already, bucko!

Obviously, he couldn't do anything. But he made a list and promised to send someone with the right tools the next day! And didn't charge for the call. Which is good, since I'd have probably kicked him in the shins...

So I was left with a very depressed DC, a bored baby (who'd had to amuse himself most of the day as sister was sick and mama was plumbing the depths of plumbing, Van and pesimst were in an urgent care clinic, waiting to see the ONLY doctor on duty (and it was her first day there), AND NO WATER.

So a friend, upon hearing of the chaos said to me "So here's what you do: pack up the kids and the cake and come over. I'll order pizza, and we'll have a party for DC. And I just did laundry and have enough towels to go around."

To this friend: I can NEVER thank you enough!!! DC has now said three times that she had a great birthday. And, lemme tell ya, it wasn't because of the plumbing problems!!!

We went, we had cake, we got clean.

pesimst and I had an argument over showering arrangements. He wanted to shower together, and I didn't want to be rude. His point on water-savings won the day, though. He pointed out that the less of her hot water we used, the less we raised her heat-the-water bill. And she was being SO GOOD to us. We were in such a hurry to get through, and we both felt weird about seeming "kinky" in someone else's house, that I have never had a LESS erotic two-person shower. Unless you count the fact that we were both lusting after the water...

Saturday morning, things started to get better.

First, Van, on being told that his black eye was developing nicely, ran to look in a mirror and said "Cool!"

Second, the THIRD plumber came out. He looked at the problem, fixed the problem, complimented my hot water heater changing abilities, waited to make sure it filled, chatted and was friendly and kind, and left. The bill was steep, being a Saturday, but worth every penny!!!

I got the water heater wired up, flipped the power on, nearly swooned when the power light came on and waited.

HOT WATER!!!

Then, the big, exciting present for DC arrived. I had ordered it at 11:58 on the 5th. I went with the free shipping option, since it was such a pricey present. And it arrived on the 7th. A blessing and minor miracle for which I am grateful.

All she has asked for since before Christmas is a horse. DC LOVES horses as much as I do. But I cannot get her (or myself) a horse right now. I simply cannot afford the upkeep.

So, for her 7th birthday that was shaping up to be a real downer, I decided to get DC a pony. The FurReal Friends pony Butterscotch. Thankfully, marked down from obscenely expensive to merely really expensive.

She is OVER THE MOON!!! She has named it Bluebell, and she has spent nearly every spare moment grooming, riding or hugging that pony. And it got here so fast, that she never really had to wait for it (I told her what was coming when it looked like her birthday was going to be a washout). She remains enchanted, and, since it seems quite sentient, I suspect the adoration won't pale too quickly.

I'm so glad it's a new week. I hope the appointment today goes better than I'm imagining. And Tyrannosaurus has a dentist visit tomorrow, which won't be fun, as he's terrified of the dentist now. But I'm hoping for no bad news on that visit, as I'm not ready to make the decisions on his teeth yet.

But I got good news this morning. So, hopefully, the worst is behind us, for a little while, at least...

to do tomorrow (or, by the time I finish typing, today)

2009-03-05T21:56:00.000-08:00

1. Order horse (of the fake variety)

2. Install new hot water heater (provided we get the right part)

3. Dishes, dishes and yet still MORE dishes

4. Finish decorating cake

5. Go BACK to store for bread and card

6. And gift bags...

7. Pick up and vacuum livingroom

8. Laundry

9. Change beds

10. Lots more boring stuff

11. Have birthday party for a very, very special 7 year old girl

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DC!!!
Thank you for making me a mama

An Open Letter to the Rest of You

2009-03-01T07:26:00.000-08:00

Dear Sir or Madam (and one Madam in particular),

I am doing my best. I am expected to be available to my children and husband, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 52 weeks a year. I rarely get a break from parenting/wife-ing/ housekeeping/life, and so I sometimes get overwhelmed and make mistakes. So here are a few guidelines to making any interaction between you and me (or any other SAH-parent) easier.

1) Do not, under any circumstances, speak derisively about my job. It's hard work! I have made a lot of sacrifices to make this my "career," and, while circumstances have been good to me, I do not appreciate being told "not all of us are lucky enough to be stay at home moms!" in nasty tones of voice by people who have said they go crazy being "stuck home with the kids." Your lack of appreciation for what I do for my own kids (and possibly yours, as I make time to volunteer for school and sports) makes me MUCH less likely to ever make time in my life to help you out.

2) Assume my good-intent in everything that pertains to the children. Even my Feminism takes a backseat to my advocacy for children and children's rights. Children have no legal rights, but they do have needs. One of those needs is having care, love and positive attention from the adults in their life. That attitude leaves me very little space to waste time or effort just to make things difficult for you. What I do, I do for children, and if it seems like it was against you, step back and look again. It was probably just a split-second decision to meet a need for a child. If my motivation seems unclear, just ask what happened. If you attack before getting an explanation, you will probably never get that explanation!

3) Don't use me as your personal secretarial service. I have a hard enough time keeping up with the schedules for the five members of my family. If you have questions about time or place, please look elsewhere first. You have internet access. Use it.

4) Even though I'd love to be Superwoman, I'm not. I'm human. I will make mistakes, have bad days, and sometimes I would love to chuck the whole thing, hire a daycare and go to work where I could at least get actual money for my time and energy, not to mention real meal breaks and the company of adults. When I'm overwhelmed, be patient. Don't expect me to do even one more thing and don't make me feel any guiltier about saying "no." If I said yes to everything I was asked to do, I would have no time left for the things I need to do, let alone the things I WANT to do. "Stay at Home Parent" is not synonymous with "not working." I have lots of work, and you almost never see it. You'll see the results in children wearing clean clothes, getting good grades, being well-fed and well-behaved, though. Compliment me on those outcomes, and I'm yours forever.

Parenting is hard work, whether you work outside the home or not. Work with me on raising children, yours, mine, ours, someone else's, and it'll run so much more smoothly for everyone. Kids deserve our time, our attention and our love. Since that's my primary goal and the point of my job, help me out. Respect my family, my time, my intentions and me. When you do, I will respect you, too, for providing for yourself and your kids financially and for finding ways to keep yourself feeling fulfilled.

Staying home with the kids isn't for everyone, but it was the right move for me. You may need to work for the money or the personal satisfaction, and that makes it the right thing for you. I don't have time to make you defend your choices, so please don't make me defend mine.

Sincerely,

pixie larouge

and almost still alive...

2009-01-30T14:40:00.000-08:00

I'm still here. More or less. We have had every illness known to man through our house since my last post, or so it feels. We've had colds and fevers, stomach bugs, random infections. The latest? Foot, hand and mouth disease. And guess who has it right now! ME!!!

Seriously?! Those of you who remember mt chickenpox escapade will know I seem to only be able to contract "childhood illnesses." But this is ridiculous!

DC had it first, but we didn't realy realize it was such. Then Tyrannosaurus got it, but he wasn't very sick. And then I got a couple of odd little blisters in my mouth. And then a couple of little marks on a couple of fingertips. And, oh dear, fever, can't eat, the generilzed icks. I have it, sure enough.

So I'm moping right now. I suspect we'll all survive. But my pride has certainly been knocked around a bit LOL

Let's Read!

2008-12-01T10:31:00.000-08:00

DC appears to be dyslexic. No great surprise, given that I am (and, of course, the spell checker doesn't work on this site on this device). It's no big deal to me: dyslexia comes with a host of advantages to offset the disadvantages, so where's the harm? However, DC's difficulty with letter recognition landed her in reading lab. Again, fine with me, especially as both her teacher and the reading lab teacher are willing to change how they teach to fit each child. So DC is learning a bit of phonics and a LOT of word recognition. It's how I learned to read before anyone realized I had a problem.

As I see it, we have just one wee problem left: her gift of language and memorization has quickly pushed her PAST first grade level, and she's starting to get bored. I challenge her with everything I can, but when she's reading "Will We Win?" at school, there's not much help I can offer. She read one of her cheesy little books the other day, frowned in her oh-so-eloquent way and announced "There was no STORY to that story!"

Why do I sometimes feel like I'm raising myself?

One Down, One to Go

2008-11-30T19:58:00.000-08:00

Big, end of year holidays, that is. There was some chaos with sorting out where one of the kids was supposed to be this year, but we made it. I am exhausted with all the nonsense, though.

Now we're dealing with a situation that I suppose isn't really so strange: how do we celebrate holidays when we don't always have all the children? Does Santa make a stop early (and ohhhhh how I hate "doing" Santa! But that's a whole 'nother blog post)? Do we have our family celebration early and then let the fat man make an appearance on the day, current child population of the house be hanged?

I don't know. I wish... Well, I wish a lot of things. But mainly I wish Tyrannosaurus weren't the only child of "ours" here. I find that I already miss the twins most with the thought of Christmas. I wish they would be here for Tyranno-Manz to share those every-other holidays with. And I wish them for me, too.

2008-11-26T20:07:00.000-08:00

Everyone from Mumbai, everyone in Mumbai, everyone with friends or family there now, facing the fear and confusion, everyone with a heart: I am so sad for you. My own city was hit (but only once, I grant) by a terrorist. I was several hundred miles away then, and it was the most frightening day of my life. I cannot fathom what has happened, and is happening, there right now. The use of destruction and fear, death and pain as a weapon on the human spirit is beyond my comprehension.

I can't politicize this. I can't make some grand moral statement. All I can do is watch the coverage, read the articles and weep. I am so very, very sad for you. And so very, very sad for us all.

on being a bad mother... Updated

2008-11-26T19:15:00.000-08:00

Question: was Bob the Builder created by someone on acid?

Observation: when making up one's own lyrics to the Thomas the Tank Engine theme, "masturbate" rhymes much too easily with "eight." And, no, *I* have not been the one singing that...

While I agree in theory with all concepts of no television for the mini set, I also don't believe in punting them like footballs. So, tonight, when I am so tired from cooking and cleaning, and so frazzled from the kids and husband and animals all going bonkers over tasty food or smells (we celebrated Thanksgiving today, since pesimst has to work tomorrow), I have switched on children's programming for a bit. Bob the Builder, which Tyrannosaurus doesn't particularly like and Thomas the Tank Engine, which he LOVES! Thank goodness for commercial-free television that airs 15 minute segments, rather than 30 minutes...

*update*
So, after two poopy diapers (and one bad dirty baby event that reslted in a bath), snack time all around, tooth brushings and pj time, and, of course, the aforementioned tv time, I think we're all going to make it. The big kids were sent off to bed with hugs and kisses, the baby is settling in for sleep, and pesimst, well he's been crashed on the couch since the whole mess began. I'm already in MY pajamas, and have decided to put off the last load of dishes until tomorrow.

Ah. Domestic bliss!

belated, but beautiful

2008-11-24T09:54:00.000-08:00

It's been nearly nineteen months since the event that permanently sealed the raging individuals in this house into a solid family unit. In a moment, we went from being a group that was learning to love and live together to a family, bonded by blood and a mutual goal and concern. That moment was the (beautiful, perfect, magical) birth of the Tyrannosaurus.

I have put off writing his birth story for several reasons. One is a lack of time. Two is not wanting to be "that woman," who seems to be saying something about doctors and hospitals and women who use them. In spite of being some loony, hippy nut-job, I'm not really :)

When I found out I was pregnant, I was a bit shocked. The timing was... awkward at best. But it was okay and the problems could be worked around. I hoped.

As I saw it, there was one problem: I did not want to go back to a hospital unless there was a real need. But I didn't know how pesimst would feel about that. We had never discussed birthing options, as we each had had one child and figured our family was complete. So I was hesitant about bringing up a homebirth. I decided to ease him into it. First I said "midwife," which, since he's not big on doctors, he was cool with. Then I said "not at a hospital." And he was fine. But then he asked me where.

"Wait, WHAT?!" he said. "Like in this house?"

Yeah. That part didn't go too well. But he listened. He did his own reading. It was at our first midwife appointment that he first told me he was not just okay with the idea, but quite in favor of it. Whew. One obstacle down.

The second battle came over hypnobirthing classes. He was fine with them, until he found out he had to go, too. And then our first real fight ensued. He considered it "hippy bullshit." I was so mad, I threw the only thing close at hand: I was sitting in the bathtub, so I flung a handful of water. Yeah. It was that bad.

I screamed at him, finally admitting that I was afraid of labor. Homebirth was not my first perfect option, but there are no birth centers nearby, so it was hospital or home. I wasn't afraid of some catastrophic emergency, as my midwives are all very skilled and there's a hospital minutes away. I was afraid of not being able to handle labor and birth with no out. This was the straw I was grasping to try to avoid the fear and the pain and the fear of the pain that could land me in the hospital. And he was angry at getting wet and at my shouting, but he listened, and he began to understand how important it was. And he agreed to go.

By the end of the first class, he began to see the point. He found that it wasn't not quite as "loopy" as he had feared, and I was very soothed.

Flash forward a few months to April, a week or so before my due date. I was in labor. The surges were coming steadily, about 12 minutes apart. Getting a bit stronger. There was some last-minute catbox scooping by pesimst and some dishwasher filling by me. I picked up the phone and carried it with me to the bathroom, where I curled on the fluffy bathmat and waited to time a few surges.

And they stopped. Completely. Not faded. Just stopped. Drat.

It happened a few days later, with only four or five STRONG surges. And then it stopped.

My edd crawled around. I labored that day, too! For about three hours. And it stopped. Again.

That week, pesimst and I had our last "new baby battle." He called home while driving to work to say he had just thought to ask, if this was a boy, who was going to circumcize him. To which I replied with a snap:

My son? No one.

He had just heard that bunk study saying that circumcision prevented AIDS. So I went online and researched and sent him links and an email stating my opinions and a few more links. He sort of agreed, but mostly he just dropped it.

My 41 week appointment rolled around. I was starting to get nervous. Would they keep me past 42 weeks? My first pregnancy went to nearly 44 weeks. Would I end up in the hospital for having a slow-cooker instead of an oven?

My heart sang when I found out that all my midwives needed was a post-date ultrasound and a non-stress test. It was also suggested that I start pumping. So I bought a new hand pump on the way home and used it that afternoon.

I had twitchy little surges all evening, but nothing "real." My sister called to see if I'd be at a meeting the next morning, and I told her "sure, unless I'm in active labor" hahaha

At 4 the next morning, I woke up in labor. Remember, I'd been there before. Three times. So I didn't get my hopes up. I sent pesimst on to work and rested until the big kids got up. I got Van off to school and settled in to wait. I called my sister, finally, and told her I wouldn't be coming, but not to get her hopes up. She squealed :)

About 10 am, they surges died down a bit, and I curled in the recliner to take a nap. At 11, I woke up, got lunch for DC and myself, and then, minutes after I finished eating, it started up again!

I called the school to tell them DC wouldn't be there, as I couldn't drive, owing to being in labor. Then I called Van's school to have him put on the bus in the afternoon.

pesimst got home a bit before Van, and my surges tapered off again, so I went back to bed to nap. When I woke up, I fixed supper for the others, but didn't feel much like eating. When the kids came to kiss me goodnight (pesimst had kept them out of my hair all evening), I told them they'd probably have a new baby brother or sister before long, and I promised we'd let them know, quickly, which it was. They both actually went to bed and went right to sleep.

Which was good, because things got a bit more intense after that. The baby's head was so low, I couldn't empty my bladder. Not a drop. And I HAD TO GO!!!

I called my midwife to let her know it was getting close, but not there yet. I managed to lift the baby's head enough to "go." And then I tried to get the bed ready.

Moments later, I was curled on the floor, crying, because I could not do this. It hurt, and I was scared, and I COULD NOT DO THIS THING!!!

I called my wonderful CM back and told her to send her assistant, and perhaps to hurry.

The asst, Y, arrived, got me off the toilet and onto a comfortable nest she had made on the bed to check me. Her phone rang, and it was G, the midwife. Y advised her to hurry a bit more...

Y and pesimst got the birthpool filled with Y stopping to soothe me through each surge. I relaxed and calmed, and it didn't hurt. pesimst put in my thunderstorm cd, and I went to sleep, only vaguely aware of waking enough to relax further through each surge.

My labor slowed, but kept moving forward. Before G arrived, I started to feel "pushy," but I kept relaxing, waiting. pesimst curled onto the bed behind me, holding one hand above my head and resting his other hand on my shoulder. We both dozed, although I squeezed his hand after each surge and received his squeeze back to tell me he was there with me. G noticed and commented on how we were truly laboring together.

I dreamed while I was in labor. I dreampt I was in the swamps of Florida, riding a fan-driven swampboat, looking for a flower. Moments before each surge, I would stop the boat to examine a flicker of color, and, when the surge was over, I would sadly conclude that was not my rare flower. But I knew I would find it.

Then, in one moment, I woke up and was ready. Pushing felt GOOD! I breathed down the baby, literally feeling it slide lower, deeper. The surges were powerful. They no longer caused pain, because they were working for me, and I wasn't working against them at all.

I roared. I growled. I shouted down the baby. There was a moment, and only a moment that lasted an eternity and was still gone before I knew it that burned and ripped a scream from my throat. And I knew. I knew it was over, and I knew I HAD made it. The pain disappeared, but, instead of numbness, I felt energy. I reached down to pat the small, damp head. That moment, feeling the scalp and the delicate skull is carved in the nerves of my palm. I will feel the sweetness of that head for the rest of my life.

There was no pain as the baby turned and slipped out.

My arms were already reaching, clutching, desperate to hold this one who had been held so close for so long. I hugged the wet little form to my stomach (very short cord) and turned to scream over my shoulder to pesimst, who was grinning and weeping and reaching to stroke the baby and me, "I DID IT!!!"

Then, when asked what the baby was (by G who could see quite well), I clapped my glasses on my face... and went even more blind: my lenses had fogged from the heat of my face! LOL

So my first discovery of gender happened as a grabbed handful of boy bits. A son! I had another son, this time a baby, and this time, mine all mine.

By the time the kids came in to see the baby, I had been to the bathroom, Y had made the bed, Tyrannosaurus had nursed to full and happy, and I was starting to get sleepy.

Van and DC crawled up with me to touch nose and toes. They each hd their pictures taken with the wee one, and they both had the stuffing hugged out of them by me. DC got past her disappointment of not having a girl as soon as she kissed his peach-fuzzed head. Van was in heaven! And I? I was thrilled. My children were all connected by blood and love, and they were all mine all mine.

What Joy! What Bliss!

2008-11-21T17:55:00.000-08:00

Tonight, Van, who is in the fourth grade and had a "rough" first semester, brought home his five week grades. I had my hands in soapy water, and, as he held it in front of me, I closed my eyes and held my breath. When I opened my eyes, I nearly cried. The boy who cam thisclose to failing social studies and science had an A in one, and a B in the other. The rest of his grades were pretty fab, too. Four As and 4 Bs. I was so proud! I know he's really buckled down to work and study. I have always known he was capable. BEYOND capable. He's quite smart.

But...

He has some very serious hyperactivity going on. When things are settled in his life, he is pretty good at controlling it. Things have been so haywire for him lately, though, and his head is twisted up so tightly in worrying about things much too big for a 9 year old to worry about, he has had changes happening all around him that are beyond his control, some of his core beliefs and foundations have been shaken. And he's been WILD! I've tried to offer shelter and security. I've tried to offer firm boundaries and unwavering love. His dad tries to offer the same. But there's only so much life we can protect our children from.

But his grades weren't the happiest part of the day:

Tonight, as we worked on his math homework, something magical happened!

When he's working on something that is difficult for him, I get out paper and work beside him, so we can "learn it together" and "check each other's answers." The first problem was division. He is still struggling with multiplication, so I knew we'd have a time with it. I had him work it as a picture problem, and he finally found the answer. And, all of a sudden, he GOT IT. I watched the light come up in his eyes. His shoulders lifted, and his chin came up proudly. He KNEW THE ANSWER.

He understood division, and multiplication became easier. He really, really saw the reason behind the facts. That moment, the strength and confidence I saw in him, the glow to his gorgeous, exotic dark-hazel eyes, the triumph that hovered around his lips like a victorious war cry - it's all stuck in the photo album of my heart and mind.

How I love that boy! He has added so much to my world, broadened and deepened every experience in so many way in the (almost) three years he has been "mine."

Sure, there were some rough spots at the beginning. He was such a shock after quiet, self-sufficient DC! We had some mutual suspicion and hesitation, of course. But, when I opened my heart to him as a part of his father (to whom my whole heart belonged), he responded to it with a welcoming friendship. And, as I got to know him and love him for being his own unique (soooooo very unique!) person, he came to love me for loving him and for showing him love and caring.

And now he is mine. He is my child as certainly as DC and Tyrannosaurus. His father has never been stingy with sharing Van's early years, until I know his stories nearly as well as DC's. I am always thrilled when he refers to me as "my mom" at school, and I'm also glad that he willingly makes the distinction between his mother and me at school.

But, today, I am happiest that I got to be there, to see his eyes light up, to watch his face transform, as he developed a love and excitement for my own favorite part (and, in fact, the only part I like at all!) of math.

Congratulations, Van. I am SO PROUD OF YOU!!!

the wind comes sweepin'

2008-11-14T13:01:00.000-08:00

It's a cold, blustery day here in Oklahoma. There's a stripey, grey-on-grey cloud cover hanging so high in the sky that birds flying below it are as tiny as fleas. The nearly-empty tree-branches are groaning against each other as if they are being tortured by the gusty, cold wind that has rushed in to drop our temperatures from a fairly comfotable 60 to a bitter-seeming 45. And, of course, as it gets colder through the night, I have to go out in it and take the children with me.

Van, the eldest, has basketball practice tonight. DC, Tyrannosaurus and I will go perch ourselves on hard folding chairs or a rather grubby floor while he runs around and attempts to learn the basics of the sport as if through osmosis, since, goodness knows, he's too busy running and squealing to actually listen to the coaches. On Tuesday night, I had a merry laugh at his expense, watching him run laps around his half of the gym. Dear boy! There's such a rather lot of motion for so little forward progress. His elbows fly around him, and his knees don't bend, his head flops up and down like a shaken ragdoll, and his back pops from ramrod straight to a funny, humpbacked curve and back. I simply MUST make the time to take him for a few runs with me some evenings and teach him a more comfortable method of moving.

I hope Tyranno-Manz is willing to settle down for a bit tonight, so that I might get another chance to read a chapter or so to DC. She so loves to be read to, even though she is doing quite a good job of reading for herself, now. When pesimst is with me, I can leave the baby to him for awhile and sneak in at least a few pages. It's vastly satisfying! I sometimes jealously miss the days of just DC and I, when we had hours to fill with nothing but one another. She was the best friend I ever had, from the very minute she was born, and I sometimes feel that closeness has been banged around by all the changes and the addition of two siblings with whom she must share my attention. That said, I'm also convinced she wouldn't trade her brothers for the crown and adoration of the entire Universe. The three are best friends, and I don't believe they would long survive without each other.

I think I see a sleeping babe, curled into the corner of his playpen. I've taken him out to let him run and play, but he keeps tossing a toy into it and trying to climb back in. So, I've let him roll around on its soft, cozy floor while I've worked the afternoon away. I was never a fan of the pen when DC was a baby, but she did prefer to spend every moment attached to my hip. Tyrannosaurus is content to play quietly where he can see me, and then burn his energy off chasing the big two when they return from school. I first put him in it one afternoon to keep him safe in the garage room while I began to get it put in order as play space (it's still not done, but it has a setback every time I clear out one of the other rooms. When the rest of the house is done, it'll be doable). He LOVED it. It became his very own space, where no one but the cats could follow him. He naps in it during the day and goes into it at bedtime (and is taken to his bed beside mine at my bedtime). When he's too tired to cope, he'll tearily grasp the edge and say sadly "halp!" And I lift him in with a toy or book and his blanket. He'll reach up to give me a hug and a kiss, and then settle down against the mesh to relax. Eventually, he flops over and pulls his blanket across his belly or tucks onto his belly with his diapered bum in the air. And then he sleeps and dreams, and all is right with his world.

And now, after a ridiculously long, rambling post, I'm going to carry myself back in to do some dishes and begin a healthy, filling supper for my "little athlete" and my professional observers. May you all be warm tonight and full inside of the quiet joys of home and family, whether your family consists of two-legged creatures or four or a delightful combination of both.

Ah! Peace!

2008-11-10T08:03:00.000-08:00

pesimst returned to work today after 9 days off for vacation. It was so good to have him here. And it's so nice to have my schedule back.

This has been an odd week for me. I've gotten to sleep in for at LEAST an extra 30 minutes each morning, as pesimst has gotten the kids up for school, dragged the toddler off my head and let me rest until time to pack lunchboxes. And I've had a cold. Nothing major, but irritating. And I've accomplished so much nothing. Ah well.

Add to that the euphoria of the election, the frustration with my mother, the aggravation of prop 8 (we passed that same shit several years ago, and it just makes my blood boil!), some frustration with non-custodial parentage, allergy meds that have left me groggy, a non-napping baby, and you have all the ingredients to leave me out of it.

Oh, lovely. Tyrannosaurus is waving a diaper cover at me and growling, so I'd best go see to his needs and then start helping the house recover from having a man in it all day, every day for a week :)

Happy Monday, all right!

ouch

2008-11-06T08:20:00.000-08:00

This is a hard thing to write.

I am hurting a lot right now. Yesterday morning, my mom called me in hysterical tears. She is "so afraid" of what's going to happen now. She is afraid of the coming of "Socialism," and she's worried about their explosion of taxes. She told me that she and my stepdad are considering moving their money offshore and moving overseas. She told me that "we will live to regret" the outcome of this election (and I managed not to reply "does that mean we'll survive Bush?").

First, if they have so much income, why is she always moping over how broke they are and how she just doesn't know how they're going to afford to survive? Second, she told me she would read Obama's platform and listen to his policy speeches. She obviously hasn't, since she keeps going on and on about how we don't know what we're getting. Third, she, rather obviously, only watched Fox news for the entire election season. And fourth, she showed very plainly that she doesn't give a rat's ass about her grandchildren's future. Or mine.

When I pointed out that we have no health insurance, she told me that we shouldn't have three vehicles.

pesimst's truck is paid off. The gas mileage on it sucks, but we can't afford to take on another car payment, and his work hours require that I have transportation of my own. So we're stuck with it for now. His motorcycle and my car payment together are quite small. He has the bike to help with the mileage issue for his truck. The insurance on all three for 6 months is less than one month of insurance premiums. So, if we had no cars, we STILL wouldn't have enough to pay for insurance. By about $4000 a year. Really.

And that doesn't take into account that the benefit caps out at $500 more than it costs a year. So it doesn't pay for itself. At all.

The only place we could cut nearly that much out of the budget is by selling the house and living in a cardboard box. Seriously. The premiums are just over $100 less a month than our house payment.

The problem is that his work pays nothing toward insurance. Not one penny. It's "cheaper" because of its "group policy" status, but it's still miles out of reach. That's not right.

And yet she considers US irresponsible for not having insurance. The insurance company and my husband's employer are absolved of guilt, because to require coporate responsibility would be "Socialism." And she's in favor of the bailout (so am I, and for the same reaons, but she doesn't see the double standard).

As long as she gets what she feels is owed to her, the rest of the country can fuck off, apparently. And she doesn't trust Obama because he's biracial. Seriously, she has more bigotry over that than anyone of any single race. Huh?

Her other problem with Obama? In his speech, he said he would be President to gays and straights. And tolerance will make God mad. "He's not finished with America yet!" she scramed into the phone.

Oh, and we're going to be attacked. We're not safe now. The infidels will be allowed to attack us, because Obama is a wuss and God won't protect us anymore. Because of the gays. And because we let just any damn religion into government.

I have never heard her spout such hate and vitriol. I didn't know that woman, and I don't want to know her. I wanted to just hang up the phone, keep my children away from her and never speak to her again.

I feel bereft today. It's like I lost my mother. I knew she could be close-minded and backwards. I knew she had some simmering racism in her heart. I knew she found homosexuality repugnant. But to hear it boil over, to be told I'm wrong for being the fair, open-minded, tolerant person that SHE raised me to be, it was too much. The woman who I have always credited with one major thing, intentionally raising me to be more tolerant than herself, is gone. In one show of ugliness, she has pushed me so far away that I can't ever get back to her. I don't even want to...

WOW

2008-11-04T21:25:00.000-08:00

He won. My candidate, who I have been supporting since BEFORE he announced his candidacy. The first man I have ever voted for, for and for, instead of voting for, but partially just against the other guy. This time I owned a part of this. I have worked. I have donated. I have campaigned. I have fought and believed. I trusted and hoped.

And he won.

But it's not over. There's still work to do. There are people in my family who are afraid, AFRAID of him. And there are so many unpopular decisions to be made. So many hard choices ahead.

And I will do my part. He is my president, not because he was my candidate, but because he won the election. So I will do my part. I will support him. I will argue for him. I will continue to hope and continue to believe.

I'm ready for change. I'm ready for healing. I'm ready for the future.
Will you join me? No one can do this alone. Are you ready? Let's get to work.

YES WE DID. YES WE WILL! YES WE CAN!!!

am I alone here?

2008-10-31T10:46:00.000-07:00

Is it Wednesday yet? I've been waiting for next Tuesday for 2 (more like 8) years now. I have thought that, if I could just survive a wee bit longer, I'd make it. But now I'm not so sure Tuesday is going to bring any relief.

For starters, my son's first basketball practice is 6 to 7 that night. And there's a parents' meeting, so I can't just dump him out and run home for the latest poll-closings. And, although I have internet on my phone (which I'm using to type this, so please forgive spelling or punctuation errors, as it's impossible for me to thumb-type and watch the screen at the same time), I really shouldn't carry booze into the school to either keep me calm or to celebrate. It's so not fair...

Second, this thing is such a nail-biter, I am not being optimistic. At the very least, I expect a long night. At worst, I sort of expect a long month... Again...

pesimst starts his vacation tomorrow. I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing. On the one hand, it'll be nice to have my husband home for a week. On the other, we're both so invested in this election that we're sort of feeding on each other's neurosis.

Everybody, go vote. Just do. On Tuesday, if not earlier (I am forsaking early voting in favor of being able to have pesimst with me to help wrangle the children; they HAVE to be with me for this one. I want them to know and remember). Besides, the lines won't be too long out here where I am. I really wish they would, but they won't be.

I think the baby dinosaur has fallen asleep, so I'd best get go check. If he has, I'm going to follow his lead. This migraine is getting worse, no matter how much I try to ignore it...

the thing about the Kitchen Cat

2008-10-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to worry about the ancient, terrifying beast that lurks beneath the edge of my table cloth, waiting to chomp firmly upon the buttocks of any unsuspecting diner. That monster is the smallest adult cat, with soft fur, a tiny pink nose, and delicate grey marks that trail into kohl lines around her wide, innocent-looking green eyes. I'm, obviously speaking of the Kitchen Cat.

For those who don't know, the Kitchen Cat was inherited from my former grandma-in-law. Grandma and I bonded over our mutual love for bad-tempered, ornery, seemingly misbehaved cats. A long time ago, I had a cat that was often refered to as P.M.S Kitty From Hell or just Church. He was a nightmare and my best friend. He used to sit on the back of the toilet and smile at male visitors.

Her cat, who she called "Princess" in a falsetto Okie twang, introduced herself to my ex's uncle by dropping on his head out of a closet in the hall. Grandma had marks on her arms where Princess would occasionally get irritated with grooming, or messing about, or random petting...

So when Grandma was admitted to a nursing home with Alzheimer's disease, I, naturally took on her cat. My primary reason was that my former in-laws had decided to have the cat put down. Their reasoning was that "there is something wrong with that cat. She'll never be normal."

Well, all cats are "not normal." It's a natural part of being a cat. But Princess had been a faithful companion, determined caregiver, and the only being who seemed to notice that anything was really, really wrong with Grandma. For that, she deserved a chance at life and love and a happy retirement.

When she first lived with me, she moved into a kitchen cabinet and flatly refused to come out. After a year or so, she finally moved out of the cabinet to occupy the rest of the kitchen. And the kitchen is where she lived. When she moved here with me, she moved into the kitchen, and that is where she lives.

Princess, whose name has been changed to something much more appropriate, has proven me right, over and over. In the wee hours of the morning, when I can't sleep, she will sit in my lap at the kitchen table and purr. The rest of the day, she grumps, growls and hisses at everone who comes near.

But she is beginning to fail. She is old. Grandma told me that Princess was 7 years old in 1999. She continued to say Princess was 7 years old until her own death in 2005. Yeah.

Her fur has taken on old cat softness, and her joints are losing their flexibilty. She is crosser than ever on cold or rainy days, when she aches, and, I think, when she misses Grandma most. She is drinking more water, and spending more time in the litterbox. I would take her in for tests, but she would likely die if she were gone from home comforts overnight. She hates strangers, and I won't put that stress on her ancient heart. I have lowered the protein in her diet, and I keep her well-watered. I try to give her warm, comfy places to sleep, but she insists on the kitchen chairs (at least they're padded, and the tablecloth keeps off most of the drafts) or the windowsill.

At this point, I think her problems are all related to age. So all I can do is love her, from a safe distance, so the teeth can't get to my ankles, give her all the care I can, and try to make her life as pleasant as possible for as long as I have with her. I wish cats lived longer...

GET MOVING!!!

2008-10-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

***UPDATE***

Okay, I'm talking to myself here. I am suffering from a near-critical lack of motivation today. I spent the last two days getting the kids' room thoroughly cleaned - cleaning carpets, sorting out broken-to-the-point-of-useless toys, washing bedding, vacuuming mattresses. Then, yesterday evening, I asked for some help to get the rest of the house tidied. And got no takers. Gee, family. Thanks.

So today, after not enough sleep, I'm grouchy. I don't want to work. No one else cares, so why should I? Of course, a scattered house contributes to my depression. So that might be part of the problem.

But right now, I vow to get off my duff and do some work. I will get the kitchen cleaned, do two loads of laundry. Get the rest of the clean put away, and scoop the cat boxes.

Can we fix it? Yeah, sure, ya betcha...

Edit:
Two loads of dishes, one load of laundry, put away half the clean laundry from everywhere, the front bathroom, and feeding kids lunch down!

Edit # 2:
Library cleaned and sweetly scented, clean laundry put away, living room half cleaned, another load of laundry

free time?

2008-10-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

My big kids are gone. I dropped them off with my parents yesterday, and they won't be home until tomorrow. And I can't tell you how happy I am about this!

Now, if I can only finish the floors, the laundry and their rooms before they come back...

I was cleaning Demon Child's room a few minutes ago. Now, DC is a sweet, quiet, gentle little thing. Yes, prone to drama and saying really weird things for being such a mite, but her room! I swear, it's the most horrible mess I've ever encountered. She wrote all over her furniture, shoved ALL of her socks behind and under the bed, and hid underwear in any space not occupied by a Princess or a Pony! What frightens me is that she's usually tidier than Van, and his room is next on my list...

Can't Fall Break last a month or two?!

waxing political

2008-10-14T18:41:00.000-07:00

I don't usually "go there" on this blog, but I'm relaxing my rules this time. Why? This time, it's personal. This time, my vote is going for a candidate, rather than voting against someone or against an ideology. This time, I'm voting for Barack Obama.

There are quite a few issues where I have a difference of opinion from that held by Senator Obama. In the main, however, I agree with his policy ideas, and I do believe in him as a man. He very much wants to be one of the "good guys," and, rather than assuming he knows best, he is willing to seek out those of thoughtful discourse and cool counsel to advise him. He asks "what do you disagree with?" and then tries to find ground where everyone does agree. And that is something I respect.

My mother pointed out his liberalism. I told her that was one of the key points in his favor. I'm tired of conservatism that isn't. The right in this country aren't conservative, they're mean, petty and selfish. I'm tired of policies that sound like they offer a chance for personal responsiblity, when they trump basic human decency and generosity. The poor are always with us, and it's time we were with the poor.

I read an article earlier where some loon was blasting the "liberals" for wanting to pay for everything for the poor. The writer accused the poor of "expecting" taxpayers to pay their bills. Give me a break!

Why should we help the less fortunate? Because there are more of them than the rich. If the poor have basic needs met, they have a chance to become productive. They don't catch and carry diseases that sweep through the population, regardless of class. They don't further drain the economy by needing critical care when an ounce of prevention would have kept the worst from happening. They have options other than crime or starvation. They are allowed to pursue life and happiness, just like everyone who is not wallowing in poverty.

And the best reason to offer socialized support to the poor, ill and "the least of these" in our society? The mighty beast of capitalism runs on having money to spend. And, as I said, there's more of them.

Another reason for my vote this year is basic human decency. We've let our government and the major coperations rape the American public for years. It's time for that to change. It's time for morals to apply to more than religious belief.

And there's a bit of selfishness mixed in. I am middle class. pesimst makes a good living at his horrible job. It has provided us with a comfortable home, food, transportation and the ability to keep life and limb together - so far. Because the things it doesn't provide are health insurance, a chance for further education for us or our children, or a very solid safety net should something desperate occur. That is not right. That is not fair. And I am voting to see that change.

Obama's healthcare plan is not perfect, but it is better than the pittance McCain is offering (which would pay less than 4 months insurance premiums for us). His education plan is daring and would turn out a generation that is educated and responsible. His tax breaks would ease our burden and let us save more. And his hand on the wheel of our economy would be solid, steady, and give me a bit more faith in our retirement policies that are festering in the current uncertainties.

I have a belief in the man behind the politics, and that makes all the difference.

so long

2008-10-02T17:49:00.000-07:00

So it appears Steve Fossett died in a horrible plane crash on the side of a lonely mountain. I mean, well, we "knew" that, but still, proof and all.

There was part of me that kept hoping he'd just gotten fed up with fame and planned to vanish. Another part of me hoped he wouldn't do that to his family.

You see, Steve was one of my great heros. He was a fairy tale adventurer in a modern day world. He quested for dragons and grails in a time that such things held no credibility. He marched to the beat of a medieval drum, and he dared to dream that there was another horizon beyond that which modern thought acknowledged.

His many triumphs, in finance, mountaineering and ballooning, in flight and on skis, sparked my imagination. His daring even led to the creation of one of my favorite characters who has appeared in at least twenty short stories of mine. For all the ways his life touched mine, even though we never met, I thank him.

Steve, I'll miss you. My heart goes out to your family, and I'm grateful they may find closure. May time bring them peace and may memories bring joy and laughter. And I hope, wherever you are, there are still dragons to slay and grails to find. So long, my friend.

My Perfect Life

2008-09-27T20:58:00.000-07:00

I was told something yesterday that I found absolutely delightful, and a bit funny. I was told I have the perfect life. Now, obviously, I would never claim any such thing for myself. But, you know what, in a lot of ways, she was right. My blessings far outweigh the negatives in my life, and I am, overall, very content.

Thinking about it made me want to ask, and answer for myself, a question: in detail, what three ways is your (my) life perfect. And the flip side is, in what three ways does it lack.

So, if there's anyone who still reads after the whining I've done lately, consider yourselves tagged.

My three perfects:
1. My children. My children are my reason to get out of bed every morning. Yes, that's in large part to insure they don't burn down the house while I'm lying in bed, but still... LOL

They're all bright and creative, funny, independent, willful and curious. They love each other, even when they seem to be trying their level-best to kill each other, and they try to spend every waking moment together.

They love me, even when I'm "Mean Mom," and they forgive my impatience and lack of perfections. They make every triumph sweeter with their grace in cheering for me, and they make every failure easier with their hugs and unconditional, unquestioning love. Without them, I would not live and my existence would be dull, indeed.

2. My husband, confidant, lover, partner, best friend, soul mate and the reason I can face anything, pesimst. He is the foundation of my world. It takes my breath away, the frightening, enervating, inspiring, peaceful way I love him and he loves me.

I have never really believed in that whole story of "true love" before. I thought only the weak could lose themselves in the heart of another. And when I loved him, I lost my heart and found my soul. I never knew that giving myself completely to another person could give me so much freedom and power. When I suceed at anything, the extra gust of his joy helps me soar even higher, and when I screw up and flop, the tenderness and understanding, the unshakeable strength of his love gives me a safe place to land. The richness of having someone who freely shares life allows me to see the world through two pairs of eyes, and that makes so much room for discovery.

3. A real, true home. I have never known a home before. I am a wild gypsy at heart who has always just drifted around, home simply being the place my cat lived. But this place is home. And it's not just the house that I've spent so many hours personalizing. It's not our quiet corner of land with its broad terraces, protective trees and rickety old barn. It's the way I feel here, peaceful and centered and belonging. This place feeds my soul. It is safe and welcoming. It is home.

My three imperfects
1. My mess. I never have the time, drive or energy to keep the house and yard to the standards my mother tried to instill in me. I try to get organized, but I can always find something I'd rather do.

2. My lack of personal security. Until I finish college, my earning potential is very limited. Having three children, I MUST change that. If I should need to support them on my own, I must be able to do so. Having a husband who drives at night and has a job with a certain amount of risk who also rides a motorcycle in sometimes heavy traffic, it would be foolish to not have a plan b in place. This is my biggest worry and the thing I most desire to change.

3. Influences on my children over which I have no control. I cannot, in this forum, explain this very much. But there is a specific instance where this is a big problem. And I am helpless to do more than offer a safe haven from it at home and hope it all comes out in the wash.

Well, what do ya think?

2008-09-24T22:29:00.000-07:00

The first pic, about 15 minutes after my appointment. Yes, I am every bit as high as I look. This time I remembered to take a pain pill BEFORE having any work done. Good thing, too. Not so much pain, and I really didn't notice what Uncle Dentist was doing to me. But, boy, did he give me some pretty toofers!

My hair wouldn't cooperate for pictures tonight. Oh well, ignore the hair. Check out those teeth!

They look a LOT like my teeth did after I got my braces off, only whiter and smoother and prettier. I am enchanted! I have had this weird tooth fetish for the last, oh, eight years or so. I stared at the mouth of anyone with nice teeth, feeling jealous and humiliated. I seem to still have that fascination, but now it's my own teeth I'm staring at. They're amazing, and I can't believe it's ME! I haven't smiled, like this, a real smile, in public for at least the last five years. I practiced in a mirror to learn to smile without showing my teeth. It always killed me, because, before all the dental problems, I ALWAYS had a smile on my face. I am starting to feel like ME again!

Okay, they're not really green. The only place I could get decent light and have a mirror to see where I was aiming the camera was in the bathroom where I just painted the walls a lovely bamboo-ish color. Good news: pretty bathroom. Bad news: not good for complexions or teeth.

I continue to be amazed by this. Unless you've been there, you can't imagine what ecstasy, what joy I feel right now. To get up yesterday morning feeling ugly, disgusting, scared and worn out with worry and, after about 15 short, not-too-horrible minutes, to walk out feeling like a real human being. To actually WANT people to look at me, at my teeth. How incredible!

I'm still not entirely certain how I feel about my dental nightmares for the past fourteen years. Sometimes I felt like I was living behind a one-way window, where everyone out there could see me, could judge me or be disgusted by me, but I could only see a reflection of myself with every flaw amplified at least ten times. There were people I knew didn't notice, because they were too busy looking past my teeth to see me. But I could never convince myself that they didn't SEE, because I saw it as if through their eyes. My entire opinion of myself was wrapped up in the condition of my ugly, horrible teeth.

When I was trying to lose weight after DC weaned, I had a hard time focusing on my health and overall fitness. It didn't matter to me that I was slimming down, getting healthy, feeling better. All I saw was that, no matter how thin I got, no matter how fit I became, I was still ugly because of those teeth. What man would ever want me with teeth like that? Who wants to kiss trailer-trash mouth? Even with so much evidence that pesimst loves me and adores me and thinks I am beautiful, good teeth, bad teeth or no teeth at all, I was always afraid he'd be turned off and turned away by my frightening teeth or fake smile. How healthy would I ever be, weight-be-damned, while I fought infection after infection in my mouth?

We still don't know exactly what caused all the problems. There are so many factors that play into it, and it could be one or all. The odd thing is that, although my teeth were SO BAD, the bone was and is still very healthy. That may (and probably will) change, now that I have all my top teeth out, but that is something I'm willing to deal with later.

I'm having a hard time coming to terms with myself with no teeth in. Tonight, while rinsing my plate after supper, I stared myself down in the mirror until, if not coming to peace, exactly, I at least began to accept that this is me. Yes, I do look like that. But, thanks to the marvel of modern materials and a highly-skilled denture sculptor, I don't HAVE to look like that. My mouth is no different than my eyes; without contacts or glasses, my eyes are worthless. Without my denture, my mouth is, well, it's just weird. But I have contacts and glasses to give me vision, and I have a denture to make my mouth normal.

Normal, something I never thought would sound so wonderful! Yes, I think my teeth are beautiful. Yes, I am thrilled beyond belief that they look so nice. Honestly, though, the part that I like the best, the part that has me grinning at everyone that walks past, is that I feel like they DON'T stand out. The carnival mirror is gone, and I am free to be just another smile in the crowd.

Drat and Blast!

2008-09-22T10:37:00.000-07:00

Can a girl catch a break around here? Saturday, my beloved Sidekick pooped out on me. I don't know what happened, but it's not working. So I'm without my cell phone and my usual internet connection. Hopefully, I'll have my replacement by the end of the week, but I'm not holding my breath. For one thing, I'd turn blue and pass out...

Anyway, the next horrible dentist appointment is tomorrow. Urgh. I'm veryveryveryvery nervous about it. Not much longer, I hope.

And there's some truly fun and frolicsome legal nonsense happening in my world. I wish I could go into detail on here, but right now, I just can't. Suffice it to say that I'm not worried, just amused.

Well, I'm off to the store to fetch allergy medicine for DC, who came home sneezing and blowing with runny eyes and a tickling throat. She went on to school, as she had no fever, but she will need another dose in the morning, I'm sure. I think the allergy attack started while visiting her paternal grandparents, who live in the middle of an evergreen forest. Hey, it's fall in Oklahoma!

There were two other things that I HAD TO HAVE from the store, and now I can't remember what they were. Hmm, well, time to go check the cabinets and supplies and see if I can figure it out!

Hope you all have a great week, and I'll be back to check in when I can either sit up without falling over (time for more good pain meds), or internet surf lying down (when my new phone comes in). 'Bye!

Root Root Root?

2008-09-19T13:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it can be embarrassing to be a Cubs' fan. Now, don't get me wrong; I'd never abandon them. I will never forsake them. But, damn! I'd really love to see them win a World Series!

100 years. That's how long it's been since we won. we've been since then, and, please don't make me talk about it. Suffice it to say, even my mother doesn't remember that one.

So this year, with this team, they have a chance. They're good. Really, really good. They're scrappers. They keep on fighting.

So days like today are even more painful by contrast. It's only the bottom of the fifth inning (in Chicago), and the score is (oh yay! Another run for the Cubs) 11-2. And to whom are we losing? The Cards. The freakin', suck-so-bad-this-year, our very worst enemy Cardinals.

Two wins. We're just two short wins away from the play-offs. Seriously. So close. Do I think it's all wrapped up? Am I certain that, with such a small magic number and over a week left, we're in? Am I positive, hopeful and excited about our chances for an appearance or win at the Series?

No. Because I am a Cubs' fan. They may be the best team in baseball (which is arguable, I grant). They may have fantastic pitching (well, obviously not today). Their batters may swing with power and precision (again, not today). But they're the Cubs. I have seen them lose a game in the bottom of the 9th after leading by 8 runs. I'm convinced of their ability to lose anything, at any time.

Now, before you jump on me for being pessimistic, you have to remember, I have been a Cub fan for a long, long time. I'm not negative, I'm just a realist.

(And, for emphasis, the Cards just made it 12-2. Do I have to watch the last three and a half innings?!?

the fascination starts so early

2008-09-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

Tyrannosaurus has a new word. It's perhaps the clearest word in his vocabulary (well, it might be a toss-up with "BarackObama"). And, of course, it's one he likes to use at odd moments when we're out in public.

That word is "penis."

You see, I was changing his diaper one evening when he grabbed a handful of boy parts and announced "Bum!"

"No, honey," I said. "That's your penis."

"Penis!" he said.

"Yes, penis."

"Penis! Penis! Peeeeeee-nis!"

"Yes, dear. Indeed."

"Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-nis!"

Oh boy, I thought. Now I've done it.

Ever since that evening, during diaper changes and baths, or if he's feeling bored, or when he wants to show off, he slaps a hand to his crotch and says a carefully enunciated "pee-nis!"

I do hope he grows out of this one soon, but I'm not holding out too much hope. After all, the fascination starts so early and doesn't seem to fade just because a little time passes. What's a decade or nine to an obsession like that?

Frustration!

2008-09-12T12:55:00.000-07:00

So I'm not going to school in the Spring, and, very likely, not going back at all. There just isn't money available for it. I can't work and go to school, since that would go against all my parenting philosophies. I'm not going back at 50, because I don't want to. So there's another little dream for the future gone. Well, time to make new plans.

Someone Save Me

2008-09-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

from the overly passionate advances of a Siamese cat!

The cross-eyed little cat has been quite worried about me lately. He spent the better part of the last two days curled into my arms, sleeping with me. Right now, he's draped across my throat, making it hard to type with my thumbs, and even harder to breathe.

Love and dedication are all well and good, but does anyone have a shoehorn I can use to remove this cat?

ouch.

2008-09-09T09:08:00.000-07:00

Had my first dental appointment. Well, the first of the big badda work they're doing now, not the first ever. It hurt. A lot. I am seriously wishing we hadn't ever started. This is worse than I expected, and I am not sanguine about the end result.

Okay, so when I posted earlier, I was in horrible pain and feeling very low. The pills have kicked in, and I'm brighter now.

Tyrannosaurus's appointment yesterday was not pleasant, but it wasn't too bad. Dr. Baby-Dentist was his usual fabulous self, and he took good care of the poor lil guy. He's very gentle and slow during the exam, and really deft and fast during procedures. So the bad part lasted about five minutes, and then we were done.

Today for me was just horrible. And I wish I could say it was over, but it's not. I still have two or three more really unpleasant appointments before I'm done.

When I am done, though, the result should be beautiful, and, if it is, I'll post pictures :)

Positive Thoughts, Please

2008-09-08T08:05:00.000-07:00

I can't remember if I posted this before, and I'm too lazy to go look, so if you've heard this story, feel free to let your attention wander for a paragraph or so.

Tyrannosaurus fell and broke a top front tooth and chipped a bottom front tooth when he was right around a year old. Nightmare day. Absolute nightmare. It was a Sunday, of course, so there was no dentist open, and pesimst's uncle, who is our family dentist, has no emergency number. After a flurry of phone calls, we finally found pesimst's mom at his sister's house, and she gave us a cell phone number to reach Uncle Dentist. He passed us a number from a guy he went to school with who specializes in pediatric dentistry and HIGHLY recommended this guy. So we called. Dr. Baby-Dentist met us at his office, on a Sunday afternoon, to treat the poor lil guy. WONDERFUL man. Absolutely marvelous.

There wasn't much he could do, as Tyrannosaurus was so veryvery young; there aren't a lot of good anesthetic options for bitty ones, not for something like a tooth, anyway. So he cleaned out the hole in the worst tooth (the root core was exposed), slapped some filling material over the top and sent us home with orders to bring him back in two weeks. When we went back, everything looked fine, so he sent us back home to wait for six months.

Flash forward to last night. It's only been three or four, or maybe even five, months since the accident. I went to brush Ty's lil toofers before heading to bed, and the broken one started bleeding; the filling appears to have fallen out. Cute.

So, an emergency phone call later, I called this morning and have an appointment in about an hour. The last one was absolutely awful. I am dreading, dreading, DREADING this one. There's just so little they can do to make it not hurt, and he's so sensitive about his mouth (after the crash-landing). pesimst can't come with us, as he's stuck at work (Mondays, he just can't miss. Ever.). So I'm on my own. With a baby that's going to hurt.

I wish it were me, instead.

motivation

2008-09-06T15:35:00.000-07:00

As evidenced by yesterday's list, I'm in go-go-go mode. I feel some better from my nasty coldy-virusy thing, and I only have a couple of days to get things into a self-maintaining mode. Tuesday morning, I'm having the first of three very unpleasant dental adventures which will all leave me pretty much incapacitated for the month. I am glad to be having it all done, but I am NOT looking forward to this in any way, shape or form. Gurgh.

As I mentioned yesterday, school just isn't I the cards for pesimst right now, and he is veryvery down. So down, in fact, that, for the first time since we met, he is really and truly depressed. And he's off work today and being very much an energy suck.

So I have a question: does anybody know a way to wedge a pessimistic pesimst from the livingroom couch? I've offered food, beverages, and even turned the television to obnoxious children's programming to try to budge him. But he's unbudgeable (how's that for making up fun to say words on the fly!). Urgh.

I just have a feeling this is going to be a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong month.

Today: a list

2008-09-05T16:53:00.000-07:00

(NOT IN ORDER)

1. nine loads of laundry (if you don't count the one still in the dryer, waiting to be folded)

2. Two loads of dishes (and even the hand-wash only like the iron skillets and the tray for the highchair)

3. Vacuum the carpet

4. Scrub the counters

5. Sweep the kitchen

6. Accept the big dissappointment of pesimst not being able to go to school (finances. Blah)

7. Write two checks to the school so I don't have to pack lunches today.

8. Change 5 diapes, two of them really icky

9. Check the time for The Dog Whisperer. I have a date with a DC

10. Finish typing this list so I can get my youngest two kids and curl up on the couch for our (every other) Friday Night Date!

the weekness in me

2008-09-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

In the days and weeks following the birth of my youngest son, I was invincible. My astonishment at the power of birthing that beautiful creature, my way, made me feel mighty, sexy, dazzling. I did that. I rode the waves of labor. I grunted him into the world. My memories weren't clouded by drugs or fear or orders I didn't want to follow or procedures and medications I wasn't allowed to refuse or even discuss. My body was mine, and I had learned to trust it fully.

Now, I hate this body. It failed. It lied, it was broken, and I don't know what any feeling means, anymore. Am I thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Sick? I don't know. Is it any surprise I have had three viruses in two months?

Will it always be this way? Will I ever trust myself again? Will I wake up one day and own this flesh and no longer feel like I'm just wearing a Pixie-shaped suit? That plays into my hunger for another baby, I'm sure. Can I ever get past this without giving birth ever again?

bumma!

2008-09-02T07:19:00.000-07:00

No dentist appointments today. DC and I are both rather sick. She threw up breakfast, and I can't breathe and have no voice. Ew.

So I am giving up and going back to bed while I have a pesimst here to watch the baby. Good night

GROUCHY!

2008-08-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

I am in a bad mood. Everything I was hoping to accomplish today did not happen. Things that looked like might work out did not, and none of my fondest dreams are going to come true. I don't feel like being optimistic tonight. I'm tired and discouraged and very much feeling like the most unimportant person in the world. I can't do anything right or get anything I want. I hate the world, and I don't like my life.

Or maybe I just have a broken heart and pms...

hope at last?

2008-08-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it seems impossible to have hope. The world as it is becomes too discouraging, too overwhelming, too stuck in its own, gloomy rut. But hope is something in which I have always believed.

Growing up as a pastor's daughter, I was taught that there is a hope for a better place for believers. But I always rather took issue with that concept. You see, I find the world a dazzling place, full of wonder and possibility. The turning of the seasons, the growth of a single seed, the might of a crashing thunderstorm are as magical as any deed done by a bespeckled boy wizard and his kind. I never needed a musty-seeming story read by a fat lady in a bad dress at Sunday School to tell me miracles existed. Ever witness the birth of a kitten? Ta-da! New life! Magic!

Lately, my belief in the future and my desire to believe the best will happen has been sorely tried. I have been surrounded by sadness and death, by defeat and grief. My husband, who is not noted for sharing my optimism (hence the name pesimst), has even noticed the downturn. If any would have expected it, you'd think it would've been him. But not so much.

His job has been horrible. Really, really horrible. There is no stability left there, and there doesn't seem to be any place left to go with it. He was facing a future of simply marking time for a couple more decades and then retiring to a few decades of boredom. And this was the best-case scenario, provided he didn't get canned for circumstances beyond his control!

But lately, things are starting to look up a bit. You see, he might be able to find a way to go to school in January to go into a profession he would be passionate about where the sky's the limit on advancement and opportunity. All this for only big heaps of debt and several years of hard work!

There are a couple of big pluses for me in all of this. One is that he would be finishing about the time I want to go polish up my degree. It'd be nice to be able to afford some help instead of doing it all myself while going to school. Two is that he would gain an understanding of what I was facing by going back. Last time, he had no idea and didn't realize there was slack to be picked up. Three is the possibility of having a happy, fulfilled husband, instead of the grouchy, nervous facsimile that his current job sends home to me each night. And, lastly, is the likelihood that this could make some of my fantasies (those that would have remained forever beyond my financial means, or outside my capabilities as a housewife) actually become possible.

The only dark spot on my horizen is that, should all this work, it puts another baby forever out of reach. That is something I am struggling to accept. Life is all about choices, and sometimes there so much harder than we ever thought they could be.

Nonetheless, I have hope. I can see a way to dream again. I can see a future.

a day in the life of a pixie

2008-08-25T08:46:00.000-07:00

Or "welcome to hell, here's your accordion"

No, seriously, my life's not that bad. Sure, it starts about three hours earlier than I'd like with my phone singing Flogging Molly's peppy tunes and vibrating around my nightstand so much that I usually just get up so it won't fall and break. And, sure, the mad scramble to get lunches in bags and backpacks on backs before the big yellow bus pulls up can get the pulse racing and tempers flaring. And the mad shrieks of an angry Tyrannosaurus can cause temporary deafness and make the dog pee on the floor. But it's not TOO bad...

At least, it's nothing I'd trade for money, power or fame. Because, you see, it's me that gets to make those lunches, rather than trusting to the processed garbage the school likes to pretend is healthy. And I am the one who gets to play goalie when the baby is throwing his little round cereal bites and laughing like a hyena. When my kids have a program during the day, I get to go and take pictures certain to embarrass them in years to come.

Now, that's not to say that there aren't times I don't want to chuck it all and have my own work schedule for other people to work around. There is always a mess in my livingroom floor from having cats and a dog and a baby playing there all day long. And there are always dishes and laundry and the grocery store and bathrooms to clean and meals to cook, and if I get bored, I can strip beds to wash sheets, or go hunting for that missing library book. And, being the only stay-at-home parent out of five parents (including exes and steps), I get all the fun of appointments and practices and meetings with teachers. I like to say that the only present I want for any gift-giving occasion is one day OFF.

But my afternoons, when the baby takes a nap, in the few minutes before my husband and big kids get home, I have a second to catch my breath, put off thinking about supper, ignore the lunch dishes in the sink and just enjoy it: it's busy and messy and loud and runs entirely on the loosest, most fluid schedule. But it's my life, and I wouldn't give it up for anything.

in the interest of fairness...

2008-08-22T06:33:00.000-07:00

Did I spell that right?

So, to be fair, and as a result of feeling more like my perky old self today, I thought perhaps I should list the things that went right this summer.

Since our wireless phone service expired in July, pesimst got us each new phones, to go with our new provider. And he got me a Sidekick. I am in love. With the phone. Well, and, obviously pesimst, too. However, this thing is the device I have been searching for all my life! I have email, a great little writing program, the internet, my calendar, my address, plus games and fun, and, of course, conversation, all at my fingertips. No more trying to get the kids settled to run to the back room so I can fire up the computer. Well, okay, rarely. And the unlimited data service is dreamy! pesimst, my older sister, a friend in Texas, and a cousin of mine can all be reached, any time of day, free. If something funny happens, a quick text to my sister, and she'll have a laugh on lunch break. Need something from the store? Text pesimst any time, and he'll check it when he has time, no work interruptions. LOVE it!!!!!

Another good thing that happened is that I got all of my appointments set up to get my dental problems fixed. It's going to take a month (next month), but I'll be able to really smile again. I am so giddy!

The kids are healthy and happy. Van, the oldest, is in fourth grade. He has the only male teacher in the school this year, who is the one he was hoping to get. The guy is really cool, very nice, and has really inspired good behavior and hard work, so far. DC is in first grade, and taking some time to adjust. She's not great at the follow-through on her work. But her teacher is patient and kind, and seems more interested in cooperation than obedience, and DC loves her. Tyrannosaurus is 15 months old, and a SCREAM! He has a delightful sense of humor, and a spicy-hot temper. When he's happy, he's very, very happy, and when he's not, he's loud. Of course, he's loud when he is happy, too...

Tyrannosaurus still has his bad habit of beating his head when frusterated. Right now, he has one big bruise on his forehead from walking into the corner of a table. The other four bruises were self-inflicted, when he just got mad.

The other good news is that he doesn't appear to have food allergies, although he's a bit sensitive to dairy. But I have reason to hope he'll outgrow that. Thank heaven, since I cannot live without cheese! LOL

Last June, pesimst and I took part in a charity poker run. Now, for those of you who, like me before we signed up, have no idea what that is, we took the motorcycle out to five different places and got five sealed envelopes with a playing card inside. We then returned to the park we started from, got another card for a small donation, and then made the best poker hand we could out of our cards. The best part of the day was getting to spend it tucked on the back of the bike with pesimst, just being together for several hours. The second best part was winning the grand prize! :) All of the burly biker guys thought it was hysterical that the tiny girl on the bike with the skinny, very non-biker boy won a $500 Harley-Davidson gift certificate! And I had the perfect Father's Day present for pesimst! He was thrilled to finally get a luggage rack and bag, plus lots of decorative accessories for Doreen (the Harley), so he didn't have to wear the backpack that was hurting his back to work anymore. And he got me a cool new diaper bag!

We're planning on another afternoon out on the bike in a week or so. I really can't wait. There's something so liberating about riding. There's just not room on there for emotional baggage. Not to mention the fact that it uses so little gas and has such low emissions! I also love the togetherness we get from curling up on her seat and just being.

Oh yeah, and I'm going to be an aunt again :) That's the happiest part of all for me. My younger sis, who has had her own summer of hell, is pregnant, after not being sure it would ever happen again. She's a great mom, and she's always wanted a busy family. I'm so excited. Some days, it's a little hard, but mostly, it's just very healing to have another baby coming into the family. Especially since she uses the same midwives as me, will nurse well into toddlehood, and gently parents in an attached fashion. It's nice to get excited, know I won't have to bite my tongue a la "why are you doing THAT to that baby?!" and knowing this baby is an answer to a dream and a prayer. What a blessing!

So life is never all bad, even on the days it feels like it is. There are little things like new phones, fun things like big, expensive prizes, and awesome, magical things like children and new babies to be celebrated. And today I celebrate, and I am humbled and grateful.

They're Baaa-aaaaaack!

2008-08-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

Hi all. I'm back. It's been a rough summer. At this point, I'm just glad it's over, trying to pick up the pieces, and trying to find a new definition of normal and just get on with life.

To catch everyone up: I was cat-sitting three cats for someone who was out of their home for MONTHS due to a flood and insurance issues and bank issues and a work crew that was all crew and no work. Their lives sucked. The cats, however, pissed. And pissed. And pissed. One of these days, I'll quit finding tinkle spots, and my nose can come back to life. I hope. LOL

Just before my birthday, I found I was unexpectedly pregnant. However, before I had even really begun to process it, I miscarried. On my birthday. Each year, I tentatively begin to celebrate my birthday figuring it just can't be THAT bad, can it? And it is. Every year. This past May, a friend called me to wish me happy birthday. After she said it, she asked "It is a happy one, isn't it? Yours get weird." Yes, they're really like that. So I'm done now. I have learned my lesson. From now on, it's a day. Just an ordinary day, although, it will probably be an ordinary day which I will spend in bed with a mixed drink in one hand and a few bottles of wine under my pillow, just in case it should be one of THOSE again.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the house began to fall apart: a glass door got broken, and our carpenter has gone MIA, so we don't know when it'll get replaced. The front porch post came down due to a dog. The drain in the bathtub broke. The hot water heater has begun to act weird. The house filter assembly (we're on a well) is acting screwy and keeps trying to spray water around the utility closet. The un-stretched carpet has gone from beginning to wrinkle to HORRIBLY wrinkled - like don't walk across the livingroom in the dark, for fear of tripping and dying. We had to replace the couch, the baby's mattress, his playpen, several items of clothing from everyone, shampoo all three of the other mattresses, shampoo the chairs, the chaise, the carpet, the carpet and the carpet, find a gentle way to clean the felt on the pool table, and throw away more than half of my shoes from cat pee. The two outdoor dogs got into a huge fight, leaving one of them pouring blood onto my kitchen floor and the other with a roughed up neck and a hole in the skin of his chest that nearly killed him. One of my cats was bitten on her back, which led to an abscess and a very sick kitty. One of the cat-sat cats was allergic to something in the house and ended up half-bald on her neck and legs. I still don't know what it was that got to her, but I felt SO BAD! And then we hit the middle of an Oklahoma summer, and started to have to fight fleas. Urgh.

In June, I began to feel strange. I figured, no way. We've been SO CAREFUL. No way. Well, yeah, way. I was again pregnant. I wanted to sit on it and not tell anyone, but I started showing really early. So I started to tell people, started to get happy, started to feel hopeful. And then, the day pesimst first referred to my pregnancy with the words "The Baby," I started to bleed. It was twins, and I lost them. I was 8.5 weeks along.

At this point, I've come to the conclusion that we won't be having any more children. We had tentatively begun discussing the possibility of trying in a year, and then pesimst's job went rather south. Things there are not good, not stable, very frustrating and very frightening. Plus, I need some serious dental work done. We had planned on doing it a year ago, but we had a baby, instead. So we're planning on it before too long, but I honestly don't know if it'll happen, what with the job problems and the cost of gas and groceries (amended: and the phone just rang. It was pesimst, and we're going to the dentist tomorrow to schedule the first part of the dental fix!). So, since I want to go back to school to finish a library degree, and I don't want to wait too long, since pesimst wants to retire early, and I don't want to work through his retirement. When he retires, I wouldn't mind working a bit longer, but I want time with my husband. We never had time with "just us" in the beginning like so many people have, we came into this marriage with kids already in tow. So we're planning on, and working towards that as a goal.

Anyway. I'll stop rambling now. Long story short: the summer sucked. It's over. School is back in session, and I like both kids' teachers. I'm back at the keys on this blog. Hope to "see" you all back here soon, too!

Please come visit!

2008-06-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

Most of you are aware of my sweet baby boy, born one year ago. Well, my sweet baby boy is growing up so quickly. He even has his very own show in which I am but a bit player. ;)

Come visit us at

The Mr Manz Show!

Well, obviously...

2008-06-09T16:43:00.001-07:00

Sorry, folks. I've been lax. Now I'm officially putting this blog on an extended hiatus. My life just isn't here right now. I've been so busy with everything else, that I don't usually get on the computer more than three times a month lately.

So, when I have the "other" project up and running, I'll come back by and put up a link. Until then, be well, take care, and feel free to email me sometime!

Mewwiage...

2008-03-21T08:14:00.000-07:00

Is what brought us together a year ago today. I never thought it would happen. I never thought I would want it to happen. But it happened, and I wanted it, and I have been glad ever since!

Last night, when I saw it was midnight, I ran to pesimst and told him, "Happy Anniversary!" He swooped me up in his arms, swung me around and squeezed the stuffing out of me.

I asked, "Did you ever think we'd be celebrating and saying 'Yea! It's out anniversary! We're so happy we got married!?'"

And we are. We both are. I love him like mad, which is an abnormal state for me. There are days he makes me so mad, I could thump him with a shovel. And an hour later I am so excited that he's coming home from work that I am actually giddy and giggling. I carry on a running conversation with him in my head. I filter so many things through his eyes. I'll see something bright and pretty and feminine that I like and I'll picture the look of horror on his face at anything "girly" and laugh and laugh. I know he does the same, since he calls throughout the day to talk for about 45 seconds, just to report something he saw, heard or thought of. And I adore him for it.

My love, my darling, my pesimst, thank you for the last year. Thank you for holding me during the birth of our son. Thank you for backing me up with the difficult bits involving the school. Thank you for sometimes seeing things my way and sometimes sticking to your guns. Thank you for laughing with me lots, fighting with me a little and loving me every minute. May every anniversary see us celebrating a year that, no matter how hard on each of us individually, was so wonderful for us together.

I (still) do.

I'm not supposed to write this post

2008-03-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

Quite obviously, since the baby has woken up every single time I've sat down to write it today. Of course, he also didn't nap this afternoon, which is why I'm trying to write this now, when I'm supposed to be at my sister's theatrical-type function (sorry, that's all the detail I can give you. Yes, I know the rest of the details, but you only know if you know who my sister is). He hasn't napped today. He took a beautiful nap this morning before his daddy left. You know, when I still had help and had someone I could have given him to for the time it would take to fold that last load of freakin' laundry or maybe eat a sandwich. Since then, he's fallen asleep for about 5 minutes at a time, just long enough for me to be CERTAIN he's asleep so I can wander off to prepare food (I put it in the microwave for 2 minutes. It sat for about an hour before I remembered it). My face is literally bleeding from where he's clawed at me in his frustration. My eardrum hurts from having him scream in it for an hour.

I got him to nap at 5 (only two hours later than he usually does), and I decided to dye my hair very quickly so I'd be ready to leave here by 6:45 to make it into the city by 7:30. He woke up the moment I put the first swipe of dye on my hair. And screamed. The whole eight minutes it took me to coat my hair. Then I set him on the floor in front of my chair and patted him with my foot (hey, give me a break, I didn't want to hold him by the dye). I put him in his swing while I went to rinse the color. And he screamed the whole time. Again. But I wasn't left much of a choice.

When I picked him up after that, he just twisted and clawed at me for some time, until I got irritated and had to put him down. I offered him some banana (which he spent more time squishing into his fat rolls than eating) just to make him not scream. I tried about three different foods, wondering if he was hungry for something other than milk (and my supply is down thanks to hormones). No. He was not. Just ask my carpet.

I'm so tired right now just from having to wrestle him all night long that I could honestly lie down on the floor and go to sleep, even with the idiot dog climbing over me, the baby pulling my hair and the possibility of being peed on by a cat. Hey, the baby isn't screaming. He's not sleeping, but at least he's standing on his bed and not screaming. Oh. Wait. He's trying to eat the stuffing out of my comforter. Guess I should put a stop to that. So maybe you'll get the heartfelt, tender, loving post I was getting ready to write a little later on...

A Love Letter

2008-03-16T09:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Van, DC and Tyrannosaurus,

Do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know how amazing I find it that you're all growing into the people you are? There's not a dud in the bunch, and you are my very favorite people.

Van, you're learning how to work so hard, so hard on your school work. I'm proud of you for learning how to get your homework together and get it all home. It's hard to break sloppy work habits, and you're trying very hard. I just know you're going to have great successes in these last nine weeks. Just look at how far you've come on reading. I am dazzled by the way you have caught up and surpassed everything you were expected to do. You can do it!!!

DC, you're becoming quite the little lady. You're room looks just lovely, and that's thanks to you. You have really learned what it means to be clean and organized in your belongings. You're reading so well, and your writing is really starting to look better. When you take the time to watch what you're doing, you make beautiful letters and numbers. Good job!

Tyrannosaurus, you are one cool baby. You know so many words, and learning how to argue is quite a skill for one so little. I hope I never forget the "Bite?" "No bite!" conversation. How precious you are! These days with you by my side or at my breast are rare and wonderful and gone much too quickly.

Kids, I love you. I love all so much more than I ever thought I could love ONE person, let alone three! You fill my life and my heart and make everything I do special. I hope I can be the kind of mother that encourages you, builds you up, gives you a safe place to come when life gets rough, and the kind of mother who helps you go at the world with gusto. There's so much out there I want you to see and know. I promise to try to give you the foundation you need to achieve any goal, reach any prize and know how to try again should you fail.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will always be your
Mother

The Guilt Trips

2008-03-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

I am suffering from a big old helping of Mother Guilt. First and foremost, I am feeling very down that I can't spend a week cleaning out the garage, another week preparing for a birthday party and ANOTHER week painting the Birthday Girl's bedroom (Can you believe it? DC turned SIX last Thursday!) and STILL KEEP THE HOUSE CLEAN. I mean, let's be reasonable, Pix. You've worked your butt off and you're moping over a pile of laundry and a few dirty dishes? Really?

Yes. Really.

Somehow, I feel like I'm supposed to be Superwoman (thanks, Mom. She really DID believe I was supposed to be Superwoman. I was once grounded for leaving a penny on the coffee table... after having cleaned the whole damn house). No one around here helps much with housework. pesimst really sucks at housework, so, even when he tries to help, he's not. The kids are... well, the kids DO keep their rooms pretty well. That's how DC's room is getting it's fresh coats of bubblegum pink and grapalicious purple, plus pretty princesses and a castle on the wall.

Both kids had a deal with me to keep their rooms clean for a set amount of time, and then, because they had obviously learned to care about their rooms' appearance, I would paint them. The rooms, I mean. Not paint the children. Van didn't quite make it after three months, so he was given five months to work on it. Right now, as he has very few toys for screwing around so much with school work, you'd think it'd be pretty easy for his room to stay perfect. Not so much. He's on strike two, and he has until May...

The rest of my guilt comes from being a stay at home mom. "Momming" is all I accomplish in a day. I would like to get my business up and running, but I don't have time. I have thought about when I'd like to go back to school, but that's so far off that I can't see that far right now.

Sometimes I feel like I'm selling myself, and therefore my kids, short by not working. The main reason I stayed home in the beginning was that I couldn't afford to work. With no college degree and no decent work experience, I couldn't make enough to pay for childcare. So I stayed home. I'm glad I did: I do believe in staying home with babies, if it's at all possible. But now my last baby is nearly a year old, and I just don't know how I feel about working.

I want to be one of those women who has it all, but right now, I feel like a woman who only has all the laundry.

Where's the magazine for women like me?

Sick

2008-02-01T20:31:00.001-08:00

For the second time in my life, I have had to walk away from a movie. Sure, there have been times I've gotten up here at home to fix supper or picked up my book in boredom at whatever pesimst is watching. But tonight I stood up, walked away, and turned on the computer to write this post. The movie is No End in Sight. It's about how badly we fucked up in Iraq.

The part that finally made me leave the room, bawling, was our lack of protection for national sites in Iraq. The fact that we, yes, WE (even though I didn't vote for the guy in the White House, and even though I have been adamantly against the invasion and occupation of Iraq from the moment it was suggested we might go there, I still consider the mess created there to be Ours), allowed the destruction of so much of human history by ignoring the looting and desecration of the Iraq National Museum and in the burning of the national library. Books, people. Books and manuscripts dating back thousands of years. History of so much of human existence. Gone. Ash. Fragments, crushed to powder. It makes me physically ill.

I am so tired of war. I am sick to death of violence and the sight of dead bodies and anger and
hatred. I am worn by the pain of desperation that would lead someone to strap explosives to their chest, walk into a crowded building and die, just to convince an uncaring, faceless nation to remove their troops from the streets. I mean, how much must they have lost to be willing to sacrifice so much more? They're people. They're people just like me, who have grandmothers who are aging and not well, who have mothers and fathers that they worry about, have children and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and cousins and aunts and uncles that they love and wish only the best. And they're watching those relatives and their friends die. They see a city demolished by bombs and abject poverty everywhere. They have jobs that no longer exist because their office or factory or school is a heap of rubble. What do they have left but anger and hatred?

I've said it before: it's hard enough for the human race to survive without trying to kill each other. I just wish everyone realized that and cared for the rest of humanity as they care for themselves and their families. I wish there was an end to war.

And, since I haven't posted pics in a while, here's a quick glimpse of my main reasons for wanting peace. Look at these faces and tell me you don't wish the same:

I loved you first between the sheets...

2007-12-20T07:56:00.000-08:00

The title is from a Regina Spektor song, "Samson." This song is mine and Tyrannosaur's. It soothes him, relaxes him, and has some lines that have meanings to us that are not remotely related to the meaning of the song.

But this line, oh, this line!

When my daughter was born, it was passionate adoration from the moment I laid eyes on her. She was my best friend, but even more, the moment she was born. She still is, in spite of being five and full of her own personality and individualism (and in spite of my having to scold her twenty times a day for not listening).

My son, however,well... I loved him before he was born, obviously. I wanted him and was anxious to hold him, see him, kiss him. But, really, I fell in love, the passionate, can't-breathe-without-you kind of love during those night nursings in his early days. Those times, it was just the two of us, and sometimes a cat, were the moments when I learned his face, his smell, the way his fat little cheeks tasted to kiss and snuggle.

And now, when he wakes at night, crying like he's moments away from starving to death, I love to pull him close and smell his warm little head, feel the tickle of his eyelashes on my face, taste his tears when I kiss him. I love the bliss in his relaxation as the milk hits his stomach. I love the way his hand knots in my pajamas or the sheets, trying to pull me closer when there is no closer. I love the way he sighs when he's done, and how he rolls over, making certain to keep at least one leg against me. Night nursings are my favorite, and I'm sad to see them tapering off (granted, the extra sleep is nice, though).

Nights, cuddled together in bed, keep building the closeness between us. The dinosaur and I understand each other. We're still one person, and, I hope, as he grows older and becomes his own mighty person, that our oneness will remain under his skin, in his heart - and mine.

Holy Carp, the Sacred Fish!

2007-12-17T15:48:00.000-08:00

So wow! This has (obviously) been a rough week. Last week was surreal. This week, the shock is wearing off, the adjuster has been by and made his estimate, the loonies are knocking on the door, trying to con us into giving them money they don't deserve to do a job they won't complete, etc, etc.

The kids went back to school today. It was kinda cool to have them for a little extra time, but oh. my. word! My house is a pit after chasing them for a week! The baby cut his first tooth this week: Tyrannosaurus is living up to his Dino reputation. Poor guy hurts. He's tired. He's cranky. And the entire county knows about it...

And then, tonight I signed on, just to catch up before I get supper (leftover Chinese carryout, to be specific. Aren't I just the healthy one...). I clicked through my usual blogs and discover, much to my shock, delight and unending bliss, I won!

If you do not read this blog, The Black Breastfeeding Blog, get over there and read it. She is an excellent writer who brings up topics that all supporters of breastfeeding, children, and, indeed, women and their rights in this country and around the world, should know about and discuss. Go! Read! And not just because I won a wrap I've wanted for YEARS! :)

Ice

2007-12-11T19:26:00.001-08:00

My yard, August 2007. Notice my gorgeous crepe myrtle.

My yard, yesterday afternoon. Notice my flat crepe myrtle.
The end of my driveway, September 2007. I love my Rose of Sharon bushes. They're COVERED in flowers every spring and summer.

The same view, yesterday evening. I can't find my Rose of Sharon bushes. One of them was gone yesterday morning. The other, if you look carefully, you can see is still partially standing.

My barn, October 2007. Unfortunately I don't have a good picture across my back yard. I call the lowest terrace of my back yard the Fairie Glen. There is a ring of immensly tall (especially for Oklahoma) trees surrounding the most beautiful, peaceful carpet of moss and clover. It's shaded and quiet, full of birdsong and the darting shadows of leaves.

Looking across my back yard to the barn yesterday, early evening. These trees are the guardians of the Fairie Glen. I cried when this picture was taken; I should have saved my tears for the view this morning...

The roof took a pounding - note the limbs over the front door.

Yesterday evening.
The carport took a huge beating. The beams were bowing from the weight of the branches and ice. There was a giant dent where the big tree (that squashed my Rose of Sharons) came down just out of the frame to the left. Notice the tree to the right of the car port. The branch in front is the Sword of Damocles. It drooped lower and lower, right over the line that carries power into the house. It never came all the way down, but it did try to pull out the cable.
The tree by the barn:
The power finally went for a short while, so here's a quick picture of a moment's peace.

And then we woke up this morning. .

Sorry these are so dark. I didn't have the heart to try to take any pictures until this evening. I am in shock. I am thankful that, when it came down, the dog got out from under the car port (he was there to avoid the falling limbs in his yard). I am thankful that no one in my family was hurt or killed, as several people were. I am very, very thankful that we only went without power for a few hours. I am thankful that we all came through this safely. I am also, however, heartbroken by the damage to my home and to the trees that I love so much. The carport and roof can be repaired. The broken window in the back can be easily fixed. Those trees, though, took years to grow into the beauties they were, and they'll never lose the scars from this horrible storm. I wish I could wake up from this nightmare.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

2007-11-28T18:10:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, mother. You owe me.

Tonight I took the family for pictures. Yes, my mother asked for a single family picture from each of the little family units in her family. I could choke her for that, quite merrily, to be honest.

You see, my kids do NOT take pictures. DC doesn't smile in pictures, which is weird since the kid smiles all the time when a camera is not pointed at her. Van doesn't say cheese, he looks like he CUT the cheese. Tyrannosaurus is the easiest to get a decent picture, but it's always iffy, and sometimes he doesn't cooperate. Add to that the fact that I refuse to really smile, until such time as I can afford to get my teeth fixed and pretty, and pesimst hates having his picture taken (he's much more photogenic than he credits, but he's picky and stubborn).

It was not a good experience. The chick taking the pictures was massively click-happy. She wouldn't wait for anyone to get ready, and then she bitched about how bad the pictures were turning out. Then she bitched out my kids. Seriously. Talked to them so rudely, so hatefully. I stepped in front of her and gave her the "Oh, bitch, you did not just say that" look. And she kept going.

"Well, we couldn't get a good picture of you because none of you would smile or do what you were supposed to. If you'd all sat still and smiled before we could take more pictures, but we just have to have that bad one of you because you couldn't do what you were supposed to."

That would be when I blocked her from following my kids into the hall and said "I do NOT appreciate you speaking to my children that way. It is NOT your place to chastise them, scold them or tell them how to behave. I am on the verge of walking out of here right now and calling your superior."

She apologized, but she did not realize what she had done wrong. I bet she still does not have a clue.

I bought the pictures I wanted, mainly so I wouldn't have to go through all of that again. I think I will send an email to the corporate offices, however. NO ONE gets to scold MY children for their own short-comings.

The only people, aside from their parents, who get to say ONE WORD of correction to my children are those people who are helping me raise them, namely, my sisters, my best friend and, occasionally, their grandparents. Why? Because these are all (for the most part, with the occasional exception of the grandparents) people who love my children and will provide guidance, not a lecture in an annoying, patronizing voice. AND, these people who help with my children respect that I am their mother and correct them according to my rules.

Yes, it takes a village. Photo Lady, you are NOT part of my village; you're just an annoying stranger who really, really pissed me off.

At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaast...

2007-11-01T07:47:00.000-07:00

November's come around...

I'm so glad Halloween is finally over (note: I wrote "I'm so glad Thanksgiving is finally over." Freudian slip, perhaps?) We trick-or-treated last night. It was horrible.

What has happened to Halloween in this country? I hear over and over and over and over again that it's "Satanic" or "occult." Now I'm perfectly willing to grant that many of the Hallowe'en traditions are, in fact, pagan in origin. Duh. So are many of the traditions of Easter and Christmas, and so are many of the silly things people do, say or think, without wondering what they mean. Do you ever throw salt over your shoulder if it's spilled? Do you say "Bless you" when someone sneezes? Ding ding ding!

But Hallowe'en, specifically, is actually Christian in origin. In their usual fashion, when the Christian (specifically Catholic) church moved into a new area, they tried to either challenge a "local" pagan holiday, or at least not get rid of someone's feast day. Not really a bad idea, really, since who wants to give up a day off work to convert? No, I'm not making any comments here about any religion, denomination or doctrine. I'm just saying it's good politics.

I LIKE Halloween! I MISS Halloween. The candy grab and traffic jam on the streets last night, with half the houses dark and the other half being mobbed until they ran out of candy was NOT Halloween. It was a nightmare. It was crowded and rude and loud and unpleasant. I was afraid that my tiny DC would get trampled in the crowd, or shoved off a curb in front of a car (granted, the cars didn't move much, until someone came out to direct traffic, but still...).

The only bright part of the evening was watching my little girl, who had never been trick-or-treating before (and may never get to go again) run, grinning, up driveways shouting in her tiny little voice "Trick-or Treat!" and run back, grinning even more, occassionally remembering to shout back over her shoulder "Thank you!" That, at least, was really Halloween.

He's a Hop-Hop Tyrannosaurus...

2007-10-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

And he's trying really darned hard to hop-hop-hop along! Yesterday, he grabbed the front of the chaise and just stood right up. Then he freaked out and sat down very quickly. Today, he used my shoulder to stand up and then waved one hand around until he bopped my nose and fell over. He MUST slow down this growing up thing! I really wanted a chance to enjoy my last baby before he became a big boy, but Tyrannus had other ideas. Please note the green, laughing stegosaurus in the floor that he is hunting. See, I TOLD you he was a Tyrannosaurus...

And this is what I've been doing. The website still isn't up, but the slings are already starting to sell. Woo and hoo!
And Tyrannosaurus is making lots of friends. Some of them have four feet and tails. I try to stop him from eating the tails.
And here he is, sleepy. With a Great Big Tyrannosaurus on his shirt in honor of National Dinosaur Month (October, that is).

The Joys of Nursing

2007-09-26T18:06:00.000-07:00

Including an uncovered breast and that bizarre slurpy noise when latching happens in the WRONG PLACE.

Well, the wrong location on my body, anyway.

Today, Tyrannosaurus has been crabby. Not all day, just crabbier than his usual grin-and-laugh self. I put him in a bodysuit that read "Gigglesaurus," which might be the problem. All three of my kids like to prove me wrong. I think it's genetic.

So, while grocery shopping, I wasn't surprised when Tyranno-baby asked to nurse. Granted, I was a bit surprised at HOW he asked to nurse...

I was wearing my favorite Bravado nursing tank and shrug. Wonderful invention, that. Especially for nursing in the sling. Comfortable. The ties offer plenty of coverage. Well, this lovely tank leaves plenty of my rather generous cleavage out the top. Not enough to be indecent, mind you. But enough.

Enough, that is for the boy to try to latch on... to the top of my breast. It made weird slurpy noises. And then weird raspberry noises as he blew out in frustration. Well, it's where the milk comes from, Mama. Why won't it come out HERE?"

The entire aisle of people turned to see what the heck was going on (come on, wouldn't YOU turn around for a noise like a fart in reverse? Maybe it's just me...), and the hyena-like laugh of my amusement probably got a bit of the attention, too.

So I latched him on, hoping for quiet.

Well, he was quiet, but the merrily kicking legs sticking out under my arm might have suggested to a few people that the baby was not asleep. That, combined with the strange purring noises he makes when he's really glad to nurse...

And he fell asleep. So sweet, when a nursing baby falls asleep with that little milky face. So I draped the tie of the shrug over my breast and went with it...

We paid, we left. I got to the car to load the sleeping bundle into the car seat, lifted off the sling, buckled the buckles, and only THEN did I notice I hadn't lifted my tank flap.

*sigh*

My life would be easier if I became LESS distracted upon having children...

Count me in!

2007-09-26T18:02:00.000-07:00

Veggie Way: Amber teething necklaces and a contest

I'm in this contest,well, because I've been really curious about these necklaces. This example is from a REALLY cool store called Little Sunflowers (I love, and MUST get these shoes). Tyrannosaurus is having a horrible time with his poor, drooly gums lately. Many thanks to Isil (and to Pixie at Half Pint Pixie, who first introduced me to Veggie Way) for the great information on the properties of amber!

Let's Make Daiquiris!

2007-09-16T12:56:00.000-07:00

My family is so blended, it'd take a molecular physicist to sort us all out. Both of my parents are remarried. I'm remarried. I have three step-sisters I have met fewer than 4 times each (one I've only met once). I have another step-sister that I know fairly well, but we're not remotely sisterly (I was 18 and she was around 40 when our parents married). I have one stepbrother that I barely know, but like. His wife (second wife) is a hoot, and I like his step kids, although I barely know his daughter from his first marriage. I have step nieces and nephews, step-step nieces and nephews, step great nieces and nephews, a step kid... You get the idea: we're all mixed up.

So having three kids with two separate moms and three separate father figures doesn't really phase me. I get along quite well with my son's mom She and I both figure that we're much better off trying to raise our boy together than fighting, so it works out pretty well. My ex and I are on surprisingly good terms; we get along so much better when we're NOT married to each other. Shoot, we occasionally speak on the phone, just because, even. And now things get a bit weird. My ex is playing bass for my husband. It's odd, but it works musically, and they get along, so why not.

My mother, however, sees things a bit differently. She freaked out when she heard my ex was here last night to rehearse with the band (how else did she think they'd be able to play together? NOT rehearsing before taking the stage?). She asked "well, will that start to bother you? Can you stop them if it does?"

*blink*

*blink*

*blink*

Okay, Mom. Whatever. Because it's going to get stranger than the first time around. Because my husband and the guy who was my best friend in high school being around one another is going to be so sucky. And because I have to see my daughter's father, the guy who I see every Sunday when he picks up our daughter, and Monday morning, when he drops her off on his way to school, and every Monday evening when he picks her up again, and every TUESDAY MORNING when he drops her off before heading off to school again! Oh, no! I might have to see him on Saturdays, too...

So, my mom's strange, my life is strange, and my family is mixed with a blender. Let's make daiquiris!

Sometimes I find myself

2007-09-11T22:02:00.001-07:00

Bored and with a pair of scissors. And then the electric clipper. This is that story. In pictures.

Idiocracy

2007-09-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

Has anyone seen that little gem directed by Mike Judge? It's hilarious, tacky, and so, so frighteningly true.

Last night I couldn't sleep. At all. I got about 30 minutes. You see, a friend, someone I care a lot about, told me she stopped nursing last week. Her baby is less than a month old. Her two older children have horrible, horrible food allergies. Her baby is being tested for possible breathing problems or a seizure disorder. She KNOWS that formula can aggravate all of those problems. So why did she stop?

I'm not sure. I think she had sore nipples from a bad latch (the baby got a pacifier). Possibly it was normal nipple adjustment. "Formula was easier." The usual. "Well, I tried," she told me. I nearly cried. Ya know what? Nursing is hard work to learn. It's hard to keep going. But it's so damned much easier in the long run! Nothing to wash. Nothing to prepare. No time wasted with a screaming-hungry baby. And then there's this.

Why do I care so much? Why am I personally offended by the "organic section" in the baby store ad that came in the mail today that contains "organic" disposable diapers and "organic" chocolate milk for toddlers? Why do I find their "environmentally friendly" glass bottles a joke? Why am I so pissed off that my friend said she's using "that new formula that's so much closer to breastmilk. It has the immune stuff and all."

Hey, what comes out of a cow's udder and my udder is not really similar at all, especially when it's been processed that much. And my milk is alive. It's full of LIVING antibodies. It has proteins that have been broken down in a natural way to keep from irritating sweet baby bellies. It's customized for my own little Tyrannosaurus. You can't get that in a can!

I'm so tired of feeling so broken down, fighting against a cultural norm that's just plain WRONG. And yet, I'm considered the weird one because I nursed my daughter to age two (and was surprised that she weaned "so early"). I'm insane and a risk-taker because my second baby was born at home, in the bed in which he was created and in which he sleeps now (which would be where he's napping at this very moment).

I have done my research, fought to find where "what's best" fits with "what works for me." I battled to breastfeed the first time around when people kept telling me "if it's so hard, just give a bottle." I learned to cosleep in order to get sleep and found out that it has so many other benefits. I sling, not only for the convenience, but also for the help with language and interaction with the baby. I cloth diaper, not just because it's better for the environment, but also because it's better for tiny dino bums. I don't give vaccinations, because I just can't convince myself the benefit outweighs the risk. I fought not to circumcise my son because I believe babies come just right and that I have no right to alter his body without his permission (thankfully, I won that fight). And yet I'm the one that's strange!

I'm just tired of being "wrong" in a world that doesn't know it's a mile off base and heading quickly in the wrong direction.

Pea Green Soup

2007-08-28T22:26:00.000-07:00

My house is like that fourth grade joke where the questions "What did you eat for breakfast?" "What did you eat for lunch?" "What did you eat for supper?" and "What did you do all night?" are asked and the answer is "Pea green soup" for all of them.

Everything is green. The people who lived here before pesimst bought it painted EVERYTHING a horrible shade of split-pea soup green: walls, ceilings, woodwork, doors, built-in bookcases, wainscoting. Everything. And they did it all with a roller. So I have textured, green, painted doors, floorboards, etc. The only rooms not green are the kitchen (off-white with off-white cabinets, also painted with a roller) and the bathrooms (one is a sickly pale blue with rollered off-white cabinets, pink toilet, pink tub, pink sink and white-with-gold-speckles counter and tile and the other is rusty orange with white wainscoting and white sink and toilet). I've wanted to paint it since the first time I was here, let alone since I moved in.

Tonight, I began the task of creating beauty around me. I got fed up with feeling mopey and wishing I could make it better, got in the car, drove to the store and bought paint. I have one wall nearly finished (just to get the look of it), and I am THRILLED! The top two-thirds of the wall are a pale, creamy blue. It's clean and bright and surprisingly warm, for blue. The wainscot is being repainted a rich, chocolaty brown gloss. For the ceiling, I found an ivory the color of old piano keys to create the illusion of a bit of sun in the room; it doesn't actually have any windows in there.

In spite of being tired from a long day and a late night, I feel energized. I have come to the conclusion that I have to be surrounded by Beauty. Without pretty to look at, I don't feel pretty inside. By that, I mean that I get depressed, whiny, mean-spirited. It's not that I want expensive "things;" I just want the things I have to be as nice as they can be, as cared-for as they can be, and as pleasant to live with as possible.

I think I'm finally fighting my way out of the funk I've been in, thanks to post-baby hormones and general BLAH.

And, hopefully, soon I won't have to look at any more pea soup green!

I should be cleaning the bathroom...

2007-08-22T12:47:00.000-07:00

But it's more fun to play on the computer!

pesimst is out in the studio today. I think he's recording, because I can't hear anything. He runs it through the headphones, which keeps things in the house peaceful. I'm very proud of him for getting back to working on his music. I want him to be successful enough to quit his day job, which he hates. I think that place is killing him rather more quickly than I first would have imagined.

The Tiny Tyrant has been colicky, poor little guy. His tummy has been hurting, and so there has been much screaming and biting of nipples. I wish I could convince him that he's supposed to eat FROM the nipple, not just EAT THE nipple. Although the growl he gives when he's biting is adorable. Maybe I can get him to growl while biting a teething toy, instead.

It's been hard to get Van off to school the last couple of days. When it's just the two of us up in the morning, or the two of us and T-Rex, too, I never have a problem. He gets up, puts on clothes, waters his dog, and eats his breakfast while I get his lunch ready and packed to go. Then, when the bus heads for the end of our street (we're on a deadend, so it has to turn around and come back by us), he puts his shoes on and trots out the door. With his dad here, he dawdles. His feet drag. He's not sure what order things are to be done. He can't find his socks or his shoes or his bag. I'm not sure what the difference is, but it's a pain in the duff!

DC, on the other hand, is much easier to move when pesimst is here. Or maybe it's just easier for me, with another pair of arms to hold the baby. Either way, she gets there early when he's home. I'm usually the last car in line for drop-off!

Well, I think things have gone sideways in the music business; I hear swearing from the studio. I'll go see if I can help, and, if I can't, you'll probably be able to look for my freshly dug grave in the backyard. I off to beard the lion in his den...

This Fits in With Family Conversations:

2007-08-17T06:47:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Half Pint Pixie, came across this interesting bit. Great idea. pesimst and I have been talking a lot about how to reduce our environmental footprint in recent weeks, so this seems like a game way to challenge ourselves, if nothing else.

I'm a little late to the playing field, but let's see what happens:

Day 1: Stop Drinking Bottled Water

This isn't much of a problem for me: I don't drink water. No, I'm kidding! Really I just don't drink bottled water at home, since I have a perfectly good well that tastes lovely when cold. Now I need to challenge myself to never buy a bottle of water outside of the house, either. Ozarka selling to Nestle cut off about half of my away-from-home, bottled-water consumption, anyway (it was the only one I liked). I will buy a sturdy, reusable sports bottle the next time I'm at the store and fill it myself.

Day 2: Air-dry the Laundry

Oh. My. This is a challenge for me. Granted, I do keep asking for a line out-of-doors to dry Tyrannosaurus's diapers and the other white things. I figure the Oklahoma sun has to be good for SOMETHING! And none of pesimst's clothes go in the dryer, and half of mine don't. So, baby steps. I'll stop drying the rest of mine, and work up from there. Ask me where I am in two weeks...

Day 3: No More Plastic Bags

And now we've run into a hitch. I use those bags for scooping the cat box and for cleaning up dog poo. But can I cut back on how many come into the house? Surely so! Lemme think about this today and see what I can come up with. How many bags do I need for my grocery shopping, since I try to just go once a week to conserve gas?

And the baby dinosaur is awake, so I'm out of here!

I've been tagged... like a graffiti covered wall...

2007-08-17T06:16:00.000-07:00

by halfpintpixie

8 Random Things About Me

1. After being divorced from DC's father, I vowed never to marry again.

2. On 21 Mar, I broke that vow and vowed to love, honor and cherish pesimst; I'm so glad I did :)

3. My kids are Van, aged 8, in the second grade, Demon Child (so called because of her name, not her personality... most of the time), 5, who is in kindergarten, and Tyrannosaurus, who is 3 1/2 months old and gigantic.

4. Van came with pesimst, DC came with me, and Tyrannosaurus came at home.

5. I forget that homebirthing, toddler-nursing, whole-food-eating, positive-disciplining, not-vaccinating, cosleeping, and a whole host of my other decisions are not considered "normal," because I am surrounded by people who do the same things.

6. I used to be vegetarian, but that changed when I moved in with pesimst. his family runs a cattle farm where the animals are treated right and raised organically. I have a lot less problem eating meat from cows I've met, for some reason. Not to mention, I KNOW what's in those cows (grass that has never been treated, vaccinations only for local, currently-active diseases and hay from the same pastures in the winter).

7. In my non-mommy life, I'm a writer, but I can't write while pregnant, and new babies don't leave a lot of time or energy for writing. Give me a few more months, and I'll get back to work.

8. My dream, since I was 7 years old, has been to circumnavigate the globe in a sailboat. Originally, it was just because I liked the word "circumnavigate." Now I just want the chance to show my kids what a small, big world it is.

If you read this and haven't done it, consider yourself tagged. Link me in comments, please.

A Ranting Post No One But Me Will Understand

2007-08-15T19:18:00.000-07:00

I'm disgruntled tonight. Mopey. Pouting. Gloomy. Irritable. Grumpy. Bitchy.

For once, I want something that I want. Anything, really. Just one thing that I want. I don't want to wait. I don't want to delay gratification. I don't want to accept a half-assed measure. I want something new and shiny and "just right" and I want it right now.

I'm a large ball of stifled creativity at the moment, which always makes me prickly. I can't get the words in my head to come out on paper (or into the computer, as the case may be). I can't get the foggy, nebulous pictures in my head to become concrete images. Of course, it would help if I had paints and canvas on which to create those pictures...

Basically, I want things. There are several things that I've put off, waited on, been patient about. And tonight I'm tired of being patient. Maybe I just need more sleep. I'm sure that tomorrow I can be patient and pleasant and enjoy doing the things I HAVE to do, instead of hating them enough to mope and do nothing while thinking of the things I want to do.

Oh yeah, and it would help if I could just have that one thing I really want.

My Own Little Hoover

2007-08-14T13:31:00.001-07:00

Vaccuum, that is.

Tyranosaurus will latch onto anything. At least, he tries. Pillows, sheets, blankets, his siblings' arms, his father's neck, my shoulder, the dog... ANYTHING. I swear he'd try to nurse from the house if I ever left him too close to a wall. His suck needs are high, but at least he's finally found his thumb.

This is a whole different world for me from DC. She had such a rough start to nursing, and it never got all that much better. For two years, her latch was always just a bit...off. The first several weeks were a constant hell, thanks to one bottle she was given in the hospital. That and, after one bottle and a refusal to suck on the breast, I was given the HORRIBLE advice to try a binkie to encourage her to suck. Yeah, I don't know about you, but my nipples just are NOT shaped like that...

The Tiny Tyrant, though, is a very enthusiastic nurser. Sometimes it's not all that comfortable when he's trying to pull my entire body inside out through my breast, but I can handle that. What's a little "ouch" compared to the lack of tears from not being able to get a baby to eat? I'd rather have one suck "too well" than not at all.

And I do so love the way his eyes attach to my face and sparkle while he eats. I will do anything to get that big milky grin when he's mostly full and just tucking in a few more swallows. I do wish he'd figure out that breasts are for nursing, though, and leave my collarbone alone.

*Names Changed to Protect the Guilty

2007-08-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, DC did not want to finish her cereal. She came out of the kitchen stating "I'm full, but I'm not done." I sent her back in to "wait and see if more room opened up" to finish her breakfast. Several minutes passed, and I went to see if she had finished it.

"No, Mommy," she said solemnly. "There's a fly in my cereal."

Now, I can't prove anything, but, as nearly as I could tell:

She had gone to the window sill, picked up a dead fly, and PERCHED IT ON HER CEREAL.

I'm not sure what that says about her. I'm REALLY not certain what it says about me that I had to bite down the urge to pat her on the head and say "Clever girl!"

What is it? Round 1

2007-08-10T11:44:00.000-07:00

Spoiler-free Potter Post (REALLY spoiler-free. I don't mention any plot at all)

2007-07-22T22:18:00.000-07:00

Dear Jo,

Your last book was, as were all the rest of the Potter books, brilliant. You followed your own rules and tied up all the loose ends, even those I didn't know were loose. The story was marvelous, the writing good, and the satisfaction level was excellent

Thank you. You rock.

Sincerely,

A fan called Pixie

(in other words, I finished it. I laughed. I cried. I enjoyed every moment. Basically, it was a Harry Potter book)

And, no, I will NOT tell anyone what happened. At all. I don't support spoilers -- only the occasional guess-fest with my fellow fans. But I have the answers now, so don't speculate with me. I will not share secrets OR confirm or deny suspicions. Go read it for yourself!

ps

2007-07-21T10:10:00.000-07:00

I've put up a webpage for baby pics and updates. If you'd like the link and password, please email me :)

If I don't answer... (and a bonus baby pic)

2007-07-21T09:58:00.001-07:00

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows should be here today. Or Monday. Mine isn't guaranteed in today, so I'm not going to hold my breath for fear of turning blue and passing out. But when it does arrive, I'm taking the book, the baby, a few toys and a big stack of fluffy-clean diapers and draping myself across the bed. Don't expect me to answer the phone. Don't expect meals from me. Don't expect me to care if someone is hurt, unless there's blood or a broken bone, of course; I can't entirely stop myself from being a mom, after all. Someone else will have to feed the pets. Someone else will probably even have to take the dog out (or clean up the puddles if they don't).

I'M reading Harry Potter.

When OoP came out, DC was about four months old. She played on the bed beside me, nursed, cuddled, napped, and stayed with me for most of the book. H-BP came out when she was a bit older, so I had to pause in my reading to fix food for her (and I needed strength for the Event I could see was going to come to pass). This time DC is on vacation with her dad. HB can handle getting himself a sandwich and some fruit. pesimst will be off tomorrow. And Tyranosaurus is just little enough to cuddle with all day long (I've found that reading outloud to him and playing peek-a-boo over the top of the cover can amuse him for HOURS).

So, if you try to find me, but I appear to have vanished, don't worry too much. I'll come back from the Wizarding World eventually. And I won't tell you a single thing that happens until you read the book for yourself!!!

Kitten Update

2007-07-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to let everyone know that Foster has moved into a new home. He's one of those lucky few who found a family that will love him forever and ever and ever. I know he's safe and happy and will have his every need, and many wants, met instantly. Knowing that was the only way I could let him go.

And I know all of you who usually read this (all three or four of you, that is) know it already, but, in case there's a stranger who's popping in, SPAY AND NEUTER, PEOPLE. SPAY AND NEUTER.

I am eternally grateful for my beloved Miles (aka Piddles the Cat), Madame McFluff, The Kitchen Cat, Tiger, Gretchen, Anny, Creature of the Night, Kip the stupid howling Houdini, Dally, and many, many others who were at one time strays or born from strays, but NO ANIMAL should have to live like that. If every animal adopted this year and each year following were fixed, it would still be around 15 years before shelters started to have excess room. Kinda makes ya think, eh? No dog or cat should live without love (well, maybe the Kitchen Cat, but she's just a bitch).

Speaking of which, I hear KC and DC having an argument in the kitchen. I should probably get out there before the cat tries to eat the child or the other way around...

...As Time Goes By

2007-07-06T13:00:00.001-07:00

Okay, so I'm a lazy. Not in actuality, but in blogging, I'm a lazy. A bad, bad, shameful lazy.

T-Sprout is getting to be a big, big boy. He's quickly living up to his Tyranosaurus nickname, as he weighed in at 12 lbs, 24 in before turning two months. He's a BIG sucker. I'm so proud of myself. My critical lack of sleep and a messy house are starting to pay off.

I swear all I do some days is nurse the baby, cook food for the big kids (all three, if you count the husbando), feed the pets and nurse the baby. Oh well, they're not little for too terribly long. Wait 'til he's two and I'll LONG for the days when he held still and nursed!

The pet population continues to grow around here. On the third, HB, pesimst, T-S and I went out to get in the car and run errands. There was a tiny "MEW!" A kitten! pesimst asked if it was a cat.

MEW!

No, dear. A KITTEN.

MEW!

I peered under the truck. He peered into the back of the truck. No kitten.

MEW!

It was IN the truck. As in, under the hood. Behind the fan.

MEW!

I coaxed.

MEW!

He coaxed.

MEW!

Still no kitten. Fine. Be that way. We ran errands. We came home.

MEW!

Okay, we must remove the kitten before the truck can be started.

MEW!

Tuna? Tuna's always a good cat-extractor.

MEW!!!

Still no kitten. Although its tiny black and white face did appear for a moment.

MEW!

Long story not quite so long, I finally got a hand on its scruff, dragged it free, carried it swiftly to the bathroom sink and washed the HELL out of it. Poor baby was covered in ticks, fleas, seed ticks, burrs and filthy car gunk.

He is, by far, the tiniest excuse for a cat I've ever seen. That is to say, for his age, he's BITTY. He's around 8 or 9 weeks (about the same age as T-Sprout) and about the size of a 5 or 6 week old. Cute, CUTE baby. Sweet as can be, incredibly, after all I put him through, bathing him twice and digging horrible, nasty, biting things off him.

His only injuries appear to be a bang on the nose and a burn on his chin. They're both healing quickly, and he's getting plump from an abundance of good food. His name?

Foster. Foster Resque.

He MUST find a new home soon, or I'm afraid I won't be able to part with him. Madame McFluff wishes the fan had gotten him. FF wishes we'd forcibly kidnap kittens more often. Kitchen Cat doesn't give a rat's ass, provided he doesn't get in her chair, eat her food or, heaven forbid, get between her and the water bowl.

So that's the latest from my (wildly untidy, kind of overgrown, going-back-to-the-wild) garden. If you're ever in this neck of the woods, stop by and say howdy. And bring chocolate and booze. Lots and lots of chocolate and booze....

He really NEEDS a bath...

2007-05-20T08:10:00.000-07:00

But I'm afraid. Very, very afraid.

T-Sprout lost his cord stump rather early. You see, he's shaped like his daddy with a long torso and a very low belly button, not to mention an itty-bitty waist. So his diapers, no matter what we did, rode up over his cord, finally removing it the not-so-nice way. Thankfully, there was no bleeding, and it's looking much nicer now (he has a cute little innie).

Well, since that was out of the way, I decided his first bath could be taken in the big tub with Mummy. So I filled the tub, crawled in and tucked the wee baby on my lap.

He loved it. He floated and relaxed and cuddled and relaxed... and relaxed too much and SHAT ALL OVER ME.

He's breastfed, so his poo is small in volume and barely scented. But he'd been trying to go for some time, I think, so there was rather a lot. *shiver* I opened the drain to let the water out, and T-Sprout gave his opinion in the form of the LONGEST fart I've ever heard. The bubbles went on and on and on and on (he is his father's child).

Note: Try not to laugh that hard when holding a wet baby in a bathtub. I thought I was going to drop him.

I finally got the tub rinsed out and the humans rinsed off, refilled the warm water and actually got to bathe the baby. All his "I was born a bit post date" dry skin came off, leaving only wonderfully baby-soft smoothness. He's nice to kiss :)

One thing is certain, his first bath story will be a lot of fun to rehash on Christmases and other family get-togethers to come... and prom night...

What's New

2007-05-17T19:42:00.000-07:00

1. SUB and I divorced last year. A lot of people don't know why, and I don't really wish to go into all of it. There was a lot of hurt, a lot of anger, and a lot of bad times that don't need spreading around.

2. I am remarried. Things are a lot different this time around. pesimst and I are a good match, and I really, really love him. He also really loves me, which makes things just lovely :)

3. In addition to his son, Mr. van, who will be 8 in barely over a week, and my daughter, DC, who turned 5 in March, we have a baby boy, Tyranosauras (T-Sprout), who is two weeks old today. I never thought I'd be a family of 5. Shoot, I never thought I'd have another baby! Of course, I also never thought I'd marry again. Then again, I never believed there was someone like pesimst in the world, either.

4. KC, Madame McFluff, COtN and Houdini all still live with me. Sadly, Piddles the Cat was lost to old age and grief last fall. They have been joined by a once-tiny Siamese kitten, FF, who is getting to be a BIG cat now and a Great Dane I'll just call Huge.

5. T-Sprout is now yowling about the poo he just put in his pants, so this is all for now. Later I'll include his birth story (of which I am justifiably proud) and the tale of his first bath (which is kinda gross but really, really funny).

Take care and glad to see you all in the garden

The Transplanted Garden

Good News!!!

If all goes well...

HOLY CAT!

Hurt

Weariness and other excuses

Tyrannosaurus and The Blue Train

I think I'm really back!

I've changed my mind

Surely It's Hard to Be a pesimst...

Wrath of the Plumbing Gods

to do tomorrow (or, by the time I finish typing, today)

An Open Letter to the Rest of You

and almost still alive...

Let's Read!

One Down, One to Go

on being a bad mother... **Updated**

belated, but beautiful

What Joy! What Bliss!

the wind comes sweepin'

Ah! Peace!

ouch

WOW

am I alone here?

the thing about the Kitchen Cat

GET MOVING!!!

free time?

waxing political

so long

My Perfect Life

Well, what do ya think?

Drat and Blast!

Root Root Root?

the fascination starts so early

Frustration!

Someone Save Me

ouch.

Positive Thoughts, Please

motivation

Today: a list

the weekness in me

bumma!

GROUCHY!

hope at last?

a day in the life of a pixie

in the interest of fairness...

They're Baaa-aaaaaack!

Please come visit!

Well, obviously...

Mewwiage...

I'm not supposed to write this post

A Love Letter

The Guilt Trips

Sick

I loved you first between the sheets...

Holy Carp, the Sacred Fish!

Ice

Ho. Ho. Ho.

At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaast...

He's a Hop-Hop Tyrannosaurus...

The Joys of Nursing

Count me in!

Let's Make Daiquiris!

Sometimes I find myself

Idiocracy

Pea Green Soup

I should be cleaning the bathroom...

This Fits in With Family Conversations:

I've been tagged... like a graffiti covered wall...

A Ranting Post No One But Me Will Understand

My Own Little Hoover

*Names Changed to Protect the Guilty

What is it? Round 1

More Posts Soon

Spoiler-free Potter Post (REALLY spoiler-free. I don't mention any plot at all)

ps

If I don't answer... (and a bonus baby pic)

Kitten Update

...As Time Goes By

He really NEEDS a bath...

on being a bad mother... Updated