Our Thanksgiving was awesome-I truly have so much to be thankful for. The Lord has blessed me beyond words. My mom came with my brothers and we all had a blast-we even busted out the Christmas decorations on Friday and after they went home Sunday morning I finished the entire house. The house looks great and I now have a greater appreciation for all the hard work that Rick puts into getting those lights untangled and strung every year...it really isn't easy.
On Sunday afternoon I began to feel a pain that I have felt before and knew from experience was not a good thing. The fun of Thanksgiving was coming to a screeching halt... It was no surprise to me when I woke up in the middle of the night freezing my buns off and feeling the need to puke. I checked my temp. and it was a little over 103. In case anybody out there wanted to know WAAAAY too much personal information about me, I have been suffering from what medical professionals refer to as a "clogged milk duct". Now let me break down that medical jargon so that all the non-doctors can better understand what that means: excruciating, constant, ceaseless, stark-raving madness-inducing pain in the boob that renders the patient immobile and crying on the bathroom floor for hours until her husband comes home early from work to scoop her up and stick her in bed. It also makes one feel as if they have the flu. All kinds of fun. Rick promised he would come home at 1 o'clock so at 1:10 when the phone hadn't rung yet I called him. I already knew what he was going to say..."I'm stuck here till at least 2." So I tried my best to be a good, strong, understanding wife, but that didn't work out so I sobbed and yelled at him for lying to me and giving me false hope of a reprieve, and shamelessly begged for him to quit his job on the spot. Hey, he can always find another job! When he finally came home (1:52) he brought me my cell phone (I told you I was in bad shape) and I called the midwife to get an antibiotic.
So today I was feeling well enough to shower and put fresh clothes on (yes, it was that bad) and I went to visit the midwife. As I was explaining the severity of my close encounter with death, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Yes, but you are improving." Umm, because I no longer wish to die doesn't really count as improving, does it? "Yes, technically I guess I am improving, but the pain is still so bad that I can't move my arm without flinching and..." Her response: "Yes, but you no longer have the fever and you drove here so you are getting better." GGRRRRRRR. So if I had crashed my car on the way here you would take me seriously? "This amount of pain can't be normal-remember you are the one who caught both of my babies--the babies that were labored and delivered naturally-no drugs!-and the second one with PITOCIN!!!" If I'm telling you I'm in infinite amounts of pain, Lady, trust me I AM! So then she went out and got a book with lots of pictures of breasts in it (just in case I'm not familiar with that part of the female anatomy) and showed me a picture of a "healthy" breast and a picture of an "abscessed" breast (very disgusting stuff, folks!). So clearly, according to the pictures, I am fine. Just fine.
As soon as my fake, hallucinated pain goes away I am going out to buy a bunch of picture books so I can charge people insane amounts of money to tell them they are fine...and crazy. But hey, at least I'm not bitter. :)
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Adventures of a Church-Going Mommy
Before I start writing about my most recent fiasco, I would like to be serious for a minute and explain how proud I am that I have the opportunity to teach youth about our Lord. This year I have Kindergarten, which is PERFECT for disorganized, procrastinating me--I can improvise if I have to. I cannot tell you what an honor it is to share God with little children; seeing joy in their faces and understanding in their hearts. Being a part of that is unlike anything else I have done, and I can only pray that God will guide and help me be an effective mentor for His precious children...because I definitely can't do it on my own!
Having said that, it is hard to conduct a CCD class with a tiny room full of 5 year olds and my 3 and 1 year old at my feet, usually fussing and crying. What normally happens is I get the class under control only to have my own kids create disorder and upheaval, which gets the class going again. It is a very noisey-and hard-cycle to overcome.
This past week was no different than any other week. Patrick was tired (he wakes up at 6:30 am so by our 10 am class time he is ready for a nap) so he cried the entire-and I do mean entire-time. Sarah was actually pretty good, except for the occasional attempt to hurt her brother. Somehow, we managed to get through the lesson on God's limitless love for all things living, and we moved to the church building for Mass. Before we went in I gave Sarah a pep-talk and felt absolutely sure that I would (like each and every week that came before) have no effect on her and would definitely be taking what I refer to as "The Walk of Shame"--you know, where you have to drag the screaming child out by one arm while clutching the other kid-who decides to get in on the act as well-upside down, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately for me, our Church community is full of children, fathers and mothers, grandparents, and other kind-hearted folks so instead of the dirty looks that one may fear, I usually just get knowing, sympathetic smiles, or grateful glances that it's not their kid this time.
We had to do The Walk of Shame pretty early on, even before the Opening Rites were finished so I felt that it was not a good sign for the rest of the service. When we took our seats again Patrick fell asleep after only minimal fussing, and Sarah played with her friend Maggie. Thanks Be To God! See, miracles DO happen! Guess I'll have to wait till next week to have any good stuff to write about. ;)
Having said that, it is hard to conduct a CCD class with a tiny room full of 5 year olds and my 3 and 1 year old at my feet, usually fussing and crying. What normally happens is I get the class under control only to have my own kids create disorder and upheaval, which gets the class going again. It is a very noisey-and hard-cycle to overcome.
This past week was no different than any other week. Patrick was tired (he wakes up at 6:30 am so by our 10 am class time he is ready for a nap) so he cried the entire-and I do mean entire-time. Sarah was actually pretty good, except for the occasional attempt to hurt her brother. Somehow, we managed to get through the lesson on God's limitless love for all things living, and we moved to the church building for Mass. Before we went in I gave Sarah a pep-talk and felt absolutely sure that I would (like each and every week that came before) have no effect on her and would definitely be taking what I refer to as "The Walk of Shame"--you know, where you have to drag the screaming child out by one arm while clutching the other kid-who decides to get in on the act as well-upside down, and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Fortunately for me, our Church community is full of children, fathers and mothers, grandparents, and other kind-hearted folks so instead of the dirty looks that one may fear, I usually just get knowing, sympathetic smiles, or grateful glances that it's not their kid this time.
We had to do The Walk of Shame pretty early on, even before the Opening Rites were finished so I felt that it was not a good sign for the rest of the service. When we took our seats again Patrick fell asleep after only minimal fussing, and Sarah played with her friend Maggie. Thanks Be To God! See, miracles DO happen! Guess I'll have to wait till next week to have any good stuff to write about. ;)
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Humiliation
Last night we went to Wal-Mart to fill up our gas tank because gas was supposed to go up 10 cents (to $3.18/gal) before the next day. I figured after dinner I would bathe the kids and get them into their PJs so they would fall asleep on the ride home, and all we'd have to do is transfer them into their beds. When we got to the store I realized I needed a few things that couldn't wait until the next trip so we (yes, Rick was actually with us for a change!) got the kids out of the car and went in.
Sarah was in the big part of the cart (where you're supposed to put the groceries), and Patrick was in the seat. Among the few items in the cart were chap-stick and a box of...um, feminine products. Patrick started crying so we gave him the chap-stick to keep him occupied. That upset Sarah, who felt slighted, so she grabbed the item away from Patrick, which in turn upset him. So Rick (trying to be helpful) snatched it away from Sarah...now both children were crying and I just kept walking because I knew that in just a minute something would catch their attention and the crying would cease. I walked over to the next aisle to grab something (and yes, also to pretend I wasn't part of that nutty clan), and I was gone for maybe two to three minutes.
Something did catch Sarah's attention. And within a few moments of peaceful silence, I became aware of this silence...and got that uneasy feeling that we moms get when kids are being quiet and good. I walked bak over, peered into the cart, and there was Sarah...sitting amongst a small pile if plastic wrappers and covered in pantiliners. The cart had liners stuck all over it, there were some balled up, sticking to surfaces on the railing of the cart, they were stuck to her body-my favorite was the one on her forehead. Talk about an embarrasing moment. I was stuffing the opened liners back into the box as hurriedly as I could, praying that no one knew what was going on. I blamed Rick, of course, for allowing this to happen. He thought it was the funniest, most hysterical thing ever, which angered me even more.
I made up my mind at that point that anything else I may have needed could definitely wait until next time and we made a bee-line for the cashier. I handed her the barcode side of the box and crammed it into a bag myself. Needless to say, it was not my all time best parenting experience.
Sarah was in the big part of the cart (where you're supposed to put the groceries), and Patrick was in the seat. Among the few items in the cart were chap-stick and a box of...um, feminine products. Patrick started crying so we gave him the chap-stick to keep him occupied. That upset Sarah, who felt slighted, so she grabbed the item away from Patrick, which in turn upset him. So Rick (trying to be helpful) snatched it away from Sarah...now both children were crying and I just kept walking because I knew that in just a minute something would catch their attention and the crying would cease. I walked over to the next aisle to grab something (and yes, also to pretend I wasn't part of that nutty clan), and I was gone for maybe two to three minutes.
Something did catch Sarah's attention. And within a few moments of peaceful silence, I became aware of this silence...and got that uneasy feeling that we moms get when kids are being quiet and good. I walked bak over, peered into the cart, and there was Sarah...sitting amongst a small pile if plastic wrappers and covered in pantiliners. The cart had liners stuck all over it, there were some balled up, sticking to surfaces on the railing of the cart, they were stuck to her body-my favorite was the one on her forehead. Talk about an embarrasing moment. I was stuffing the opened liners back into the box as hurriedly as I could, praying that no one knew what was going on. I blamed Rick, of course, for allowing this to happen. He thought it was the funniest, most hysterical thing ever, which angered me even more.
I made up my mind at that point that anything else I may have needed could definitely wait until next time and we made a bee-line for the cashier. I handed her the barcode side of the box and crammed it into a bag myself. Needless to say, it was not my all time best parenting experience.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Home Improvements
It's funny how my husband (and I'm sure many other husbands out there) feels the need to "improve" the house so he starts 9 projects at one time to accomplish his goal. We are not talking about little, simple projects like changing the lightbulb in the closet that I've been begging him to do for almost a month or finishing the baseboards in the bathroom that he started a year (yes, a YEAR) ago. No, no. Nothing that trivial. We're talking about projects like adding a room to the house, tiling the patio, painting the utility room, and closing in the carport. Stuff like that. I also love his timing. Like when he painted the entire house two days after I gave birth to Patrick. Let me tell you how easy and fun it was to entertain a two year old and care for a brand new baby while confined to my bedroom with towels shoved under the door for 8 hours a day for three days straight.
He recently transferred to a store closer to home (which is nice since we're saving so much gas money) and is working 6-sometimes 7-days a week. Clearly now is the perfect time to start very involved, complicated home improvements. Two days ago he replaced the faucet in the kitchen. Since he is not a plumber, whom I begged him to call in the first place, the job he claimed he could finish in an hour ended up taking three. Then he had to go to work and come home on his lunch break to complete it. So I had to run down the hall to the bathroom every time I needed water throughout the day. Thanks, honey!
I think all these unfinished labors are starting to rub off on the kids. The other night I was getting ready to give baths. "Getting ready" refers to the process of laying out PJs, putting toothpaste on toothbrushes, getting beds prepared to be slept in, and wrangling the two kids so I can pin them down and desperately try to pry the clothing off of them. That last part is the most time-consuming because usually what happens is I get Patrick undressed (he's the easiest) and while he is busy taking his diaper off I find Sarah, who knows to hide when I start getting Patrick undressed. By the time I find her, Patrick usually has removed the diaper and is happily "exploring" himself. Then, after a lot of crying, begging, and argument, she feels sorry for me and lets me get her clothes off. Now enough time has elapsed for Patrick to have peed on the carpet-on a really good night for him he can also manage to poop-so while I clean the mess up Sarah picks out an outrageous outfit that generally includes a purple boa and a strange hat. After I clean up Patrick's mess and wrestle the interesting outfit off of Sarah (again) I can finally get them both in the bath. Believe it of not, it is actually easier for me to bathe them at the same time. So back to my story: the other night I was getting ready to give baths, and on this night instead of re-dressing herself as usual, Sarah decided to do a little home renovating herself. (See picture now)
Where was Rick? You know, I asked the same question! He was sitting on the other side of this wall, watching TV on the couch. Since he was sitting less than 12 inches from the scene of the crime, one might expect that if anyone is at fault it would be him for allowing our daughter to bite a chunk out of the wall. Not so; apparently it is MY fault. See, according to Rick, I "let" her do this. Don't worry-I will remember his words tomorrow night when Patrick pees on the floor. ;)
So now we have this wall to add to the list of ambitions. I'm sure it will stay this way for many, many months-if not years. ...Like the rest of our house that is full of started-but never quite finished-tasks.
He recently transferred to a store closer to home (which is nice since we're saving so much gas money) and is working 6-sometimes 7-days a week. Clearly now is the perfect time to start very involved, complicated home improvements. Two days ago he replaced the faucet in the kitchen. Since he is not a plumber, whom I begged him to call in the first place, the job he claimed he could finish in an hour ended up taking three. Then he had to go to work and come home on his lunch break to complete it. So I had to run down the hall to the bathroom every time I needed water throughout the day. Thanks, honey!
I think all these unfinished labors are starting to rub off on the kids. The other night I was getting ready to give baths. "Getting ready" refers to the process of laying out PJs, putting toothpaste on toothbrushes, getting beds prepared to be slept in, and wrangling the two kids so I can pin them down and desperately try to pry the clothing off of them. That last part is the most time-consuming because usually what happens is I get Patrick undressed (he's the easiest) and while he is busy taking his diaper off I find Sarah, who knows to hide when I start getting Patrick undressed. By the time I find her, Patrick usually has removed the diaper and is happily "exploring" himself. Then, after a lot of crying, begging, and argument, she feels sorry for me and lets me get her clothes off. Now enough time has elapsed for Patrick to have peed on the carpet-on a really good night for him he can also manage to poop-so while I clean the mess up Sarah picks out an outrageous outfit that generally includes a purple boa and a strange hat. After I clean up Patrick's mess and wrestle the interesting outfit off of Sarah (again) I can finally get them both in the bath. Believe it of not, it is actually easier for me to bathe them at the same time. So back to my story: the other night I was getting ready to give baths, and on this night instead of re-dressing herself as usual, Sarah decided to do a little home renovating herself. (See picture now)
Where was Rick? You know, I asked the same question! He was sitting on the other side of this wall, watching TV on the couch. Since he was sitting less than 12 inches from the scene of the crime, one might expect that if anyone is at fault it would be him for allowing our daughter to bite a chunk out of the wall. Not so; apparently it is MY fault. See, according to Rick, I "let" her do this. Don't worry-I will remember his words tomorrow night when Patrick pees on the floor. ;)So now we have this wall to add to the list of ambitions. I'm sure it will stay this way for many, many months-if not years. ...Like the rest of our house that is full of started-but never quite finished-tasks.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Why I love frozen dinners
I would like to take some time to show people why I make the same things for dinner every time I cook: spaghetti, lasagna, hamburgers, cereal...you get the idea--super easy stuff. Rick likes to make fun of my seemingly lacking culinary talents; he thinks I don't enjoy, or just don't know how to cook. Ah, no. That's not it at all. You see, the reasons I don't spend hours in the kitchen preparing masterpeices on a nightly basis are SARAH & PATRICK.
The other night I decided to be a Stepford Wife and have the house cleaned and dinner steaming on the table when Rick walked through the door from his longvacation day at work. So I set Sarah up with one of her cartoon movies in the living room and gave Patrick free reign of the Tupperware cabinet in the kitchen with me.
Wow, why don't I do this every night? This isn't so hard! What luck! Not a peep from the living room (I checked to make sure she was still there-just in case), and Patrick was content. About halfway through dinner preparations, Patrick crawled into the other room. Since I didn't hear any squeals, crying, or yelling, I figured I'd better finish dinner while I could.
So I finished the cooking and just kept it on the stove to keep it warm while tripping over random bits of Tupperware to set the table (I should mention that all of 10 minutes passed). The headlights from Rick's car lit up the door for a second and I ran around putting together finishing touches, knowing I had maybe another minute until he came in. The door opened and I smiled proudly, acting like I didn't just kill myself to get this supper ready in the nick of time. I asked, "Isn't the kitchen clean?...You know, besides the laundry in the corner and the Tupperware on the floor...and the juice puddle, and the garbage that missed the can..." My husband may not be the wisest man who ever lived, but he is smart enough to answer, "Yes! Looks great! You're amazing!"
So after the table was ready with the food and drinks I went to get the kids undressed (all moms know it's best if kids eat near naked)...this is what I found:
So that is why I don't cook more fancy meals. I prefer my baby to not be covered in Crayola. Note to other moms who don't know this yet: "washable" just means it's not supposed to stain forever. It doesn't mean you can just wash the baby and it comes right off. The only remedy is time...
The other night I decided to be a Stepford Wife and have the house cleaned and dinner steaming on the table when Rick walked through the door from his long
Wow, why don't I do this every night? This isn't so hard! What luck! Not a peep from the living room (I checked to make sure she was still there-just in case), and Patrick was content. About halfway through dinner preparations, Patrick crawled into the other room. Since I didn't hear any squeals, crying, or yelling, I figured I'd better finish dinner while I could.
So I finished the cooking and just kept it on the stove to keep it warm while tripping over random bits of Tupperware to set the table (I should mention that all of 10 minutes passed). The headlights from Rick's car lit up the door for a second and I ran around putting together finishing touches, knowing I had maybe another minute until he came in. The door opened and I smiled proudly, acting like I didn't just kill myself to get this supper ready in the nick of time. I asked, "Isn't the kitchen clean?...You know, besides the laundry in the corner and the Tupperware on the floor...and the juice puddle, and the garbage that missed the can..." My husband may not be the wisest man who ever lived, but he is smart enough to answer, "Yes! Looks great! You're amazing!"
So after the table was ready with the food and drinks I went to get the kids undressed (all moms know it's best if kids eat near naked)...this is what I found:
Yes, that's purple eye shadow she's wearing...she did a better job than I could have done, too! It gets better: 
This is my precious, innocent Patrick (I admit, not his cutest picture ever) from the front. Now check out the back:
So that is why I don't cook more fancy meals. I prefer my baby to not be covered in Crayola. Note to other moms who don't know this yet: "washable" just means it's not supposed to stain forever. It doesn't mean you can just wash the baby and it comes right off. The only remedy is time...
Saturday, November 3, 2007
When Daddy Watches the Kids...
Bad things happen when Daddy watches the children in our house. This past week I was so sick I was literally wishing for death for sweet relief. So on Tuesday when my husband came home from work I was sure that he would step up and offer to take over childcare duties so I could get some much-needed rest. Nope.
I finally guilted him into taking the kids outside for some playtime and when they came back inside (I'm going to point out that they spent a total of maybe 35-40 minutes out there, tops) both kids were completely soaked from playing in the hose, dirty from making mud soup, and crying because they were cold.
So I reluctantly got up from my place on the couch and put their wet, filthy clothes in the washer while bathing them in the kitchen sink. With the clothes being washed and the kids cleaned up I felt like I could sit down again. I should have known that was a BIG mistake. Rick claimed he was getting drinks for the kids and himself, but when I heard chaos in the kitchen I looked to see
what was going on and he was no where to be found. I was not the least bit surprised to find him in the bathroom (husbands seem to spend a great deal of time in that particular room). After making sure he saw the eye roll I gave him I headed back towards the kitchen to round up the kids...Too Late.
Sarah was enthusiastically stomping Goldfish crackers into the floor at lightning pace. How chi
ldren manage to create such big messes in so little time and with so few supplies, I'll never figure out. I went to get the vacuum-meanwhile my sweet 12 month old, Patrick, was busy emptying the Tupperware cabinet and chewing sidewalk chalk. Goldfish and sidewalk chalk drool make an interesting substance that likes to get stuck into grout. And not come out. Ever. The included picture shows a part of the mess I got to enjoy. Now, I knew better than to leave two toddlers in an unattended room for more than 11 seconds, but on this day I was just so sick all I wanted was a little peace. My less than 45 minute "break" (that's what Rick likes to call it) from the kiddies wound up taking me an hour and a half to clean up!
I finally guilted him into taking the kids outside for some playtime and when they came back inside (I'm going to point out that they spent a total of maybe 35-40 minutes out there, tops) both kids were completely soaked from playing in the hose, dirty from making mud soup, and crying because they were cold.
So I reluctantly got up from my place on the couch and put their wet, filthy clothes in the washer while bathing them in the kitchen sink. With the clothes being washed and the kids cleaned up I felt like I could sit down again. I should have known that was a BIG mistake. Rick claimed he was getting drinks for the kids and himself, but when I heard chaos in the kitchen I looked to see
what was going on and he was no where to be found. I was not the least bit surprised to find him in the bathroom (husbands seem to spend a great deal of time in that particular room). After making sure he saw the eye roll I gave him I headed back towards the kitchen to round up the kids...Too Late.
Sarah was enthusiastically stomping Goldfish crackers into the floor at lightning pace. How chi
ldren manage to create such big messes in so little time and with so few supplies, I'll never figure out. I went to get the vacuum-meanwhile my sweet 12 month old, Patrick, was busy emptying the Tupperware cabinet and chewing sidewalk chalk. Goldfish and sidewalk chalk drool make an interesting substance that likes to get stuck into grout. And not come out. Ever. The included picture shows a part of the mess I got to enjoy. Now, I knew better than to leave two toddlers in an unattended room for more than 11 seconds, but on this day I was just so sick all I wanted was a little peace. My less than 45 minute "break" (that's what Rick likes to call it) from the kiddies wound up taking me an hour and a half to clean up!
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