First blood - March 31, 2005 -
There is nothing, absolutely nothing, more completely primitive than a 12 month old with the vomit virus. They do not understand toilets, trash cans, or bowls.
I feel like Rambo in the mountains, covered in gunk, oblivious to the smell and how hideous I look.
It has been one hell of a night and day. My husband came home and asked if I could put away the Easter baskets. He lived a good life while it lasted.
He drew First Blood.
The HORROR - March 28, 2005 -
I have this thing I do every evening.
I go to the outside refrigerator, get a nice cold beer and bring it upstairs.
Then I open the freezer and get out my frozen mug.
It is not just any old frozen mug, but a bright blue, miniature kid mug with water in a section surrounding the mug that freezes and makes your drink REALLY cold.
This little mug can make a beer better than sex, and it holds a mere 6oz, so it is all I need.
I pour the beer in and watch as a small amount of slush forms on the top. Ahhhhhh, cold, cold beer. I am in Texas, with a cold beer and life is good.
Tonight, I open the freezer and, God of Heaven and Earth, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, WHERE IS MY TINY MUG FOR MY BEER!!
Remember, my mother was here. She hides EVERYTHING. She is a huge help to me, but when she puts stuff away, it is never where it should be.
My little, child’s freezer mug for my beers? She put it in the cabinet with the sippy cups!!! Go figure! So, it is not frozen as God intended it to be, but warm and…….not frozen.
So I sit. The kids are at Scouts with their dad, and I am waiting….for water to freeze.
Sort of like watching a flower grow.
How to break a camcorder without really trying - March 24, 2005 -
Eat a huge piece of birthday cake. Run around the house like you were just infused with epinephrine. Tap the little miniature pincher dog, that your grandmother loves more than life itself, on the head and make it chase you. Go ahead. Take your shoes off so you can slide on the wood floors, as the miniature pincher yaps at your heels. You yourself must yap like the dog, but it really doesn’t sound like a dog, it sounds more like ear piercing shrieks that can shatter glass. Slide around the kitchen, shrieking, even though you have been told to stop 10 times. Slip and slide past Grandma. Be sure and grab the camcorder strap that is hanging off as you slide under the kitchen table. Now the important part……..begin crying HARD before mom even has a chance to yell, as she kneels on the floor picking up the shattered camcorder. See, if you cry hysterically, Grandma will come and pick you up and cradle you, and tell you "Oh, honey, it was just an accident" and mommy will feel a tremendous amount of shame if she allows her head to spin around as she bellows REDRUM.
The good news? Why, that would be the upgrade to DIGITAL recording. Video feeds to come!!
Uno - March 22, 2005 -
Tiny fingers, tiny toes,
A rosebud mouth
And button nose.
Life for her has just begun.
Our little Angel’s
Just turned ONE!!!
It was a great day. Very overwhelming, but so much fun! Here are a few pics to end the day with:
She’s one this morning!!
Mia’s cake.
I’m overwhelmed, a mess, and you have this goofy hat on me. Whaaaaa.
Figlia mia - March 21, 2005 -
My mommy is here! We are having so much fun!
Tomorrow is the b-day party for my baby! I can’t believe she is a year old!!! Such a big girl, walking around everywhere! My sweetheart! My daughter! Figlia mia!
Today my boys came home and Cody made a beautiful card for Mia with her picture on it. They are so excited about her birthday.
Life is so good. Yes, at times it can be challenging, but man, are we grateful for all that we have. Even the PMS.
Okay….well, maybe not the PMS, but you get my drift.
ITS ALL GOOD!!!!!
Multo buono!!
A little questionnaire - March 18, 2005 -
Are you a Stepford wife, or the antichrist?
1. Your husband calls out to you from the other room , as you clean out drawers and closets, , "The baby is crying and wants down from her highchair". You:
a. Say "Oh, thank you for letting me know, I will be right there!"
b. Say, "Is that an announcement, or do you want me to stop what I am doing and come get her, even though you are sitting right beside her"
2. Your child knocks over and spills a pitcher of milk all over your waxed oak floors as he WALKS across the counter top. You:
a. Say "Don’t worry honey, it was just an accident. Just a little spilled milk, that’s all."
b. Your head spins around, you bellow and demons rush out of your mouth in a whoosh of incomprehensible words .
3. As you continue the cleaning project from hell, your husband says he will feed the kids lunch. After a bit, you go into the kitchen and find the sink overflowing with dishes and Tupperware containers, with dried food cemented to them. After chasing the cat off the counter top where she has been gorging on the leftovers, You:
a. Thank your husband for feeding the kids, fill the sink with Dawn and while humming, begin to clean the dishes.
b. Stand there in utter disbelief at the mess and say out loud, through clenched teeth, to no one in particular "Um, when we teach the kids about FOLLOWING THROUGH it might be a good idea to show them how the dishes magically get sparkling clean in the cabinets every day. Did you know that you can make cement out of wet Cheerios, DEAR?"
4. The cat, having jumped up on the counter and eaten every scrap of food that hadn’t glued itself down, from the dirty dishes your husband left rotting in the sink, starts GAK, GAK, GAK, GAKKING and vomits all over a kitchen chair and onto the pine floors that have 1/4 inch gaps in between the boards because, by God, your house is authentic, you:
a. Run to her, stroke her and croon to her that it is okay.
b. Pick the cat up as she GAK, GAK, GAKS and hurl her onto the back porch as you scream, "Not in my kitchen!! Not today, P_ _SY (because P_ _sy is really her name, and no, you didn’t name her)**
5. Your husband turns on the vacuum and starts cleaning the floors AGAIN (because this is what he does, cleans floors every 5 minutes), while you, baby crying at your feet, are on a Relay Texas call to your deaf, Italian mother, who insists that she has perfect vision even though the relay operator has to type in each thing you say at least 3 times including background noise for ambiance (example: BIG SIGH, vacuum noise, baby crying "No, mom, I do not think you are an invalid and incapable of driving". Mom: "Why are you sighing at me!!! And who is vacuuming while the baby is crying so!"), you:
a. Cover the phone, give your hubby a cute little nose wrinkle, wink, give the thumbs up sign, and mouth "thank you for vacuuming sweetie"
b. Yank the hand vac out of his hands, wrap the cord around it, hang it from an inverted cross, ignite it and dance naked around it screaming "STOP VACUUMING AND COME GET THE SCREAMING BABY FOR ME"
Unconscious mutterings (menstrual cycle) Day 1:
rain::kid induced insanity
cat::GAK
husband::vacuum
sleep::ha ha
eyes::bags
mouse::mange
diarrhea::green
laundry::hiking Mount Everest with ankle weights
surfing::not happening
running::what one does as she dives to a milk flow heading to the waxed wood floors
PMS::C2H5OH
**>**this was edited because some weird freak did a search for "kid p_ _ sy 6yo" and came to my site. This makes me sick, scared and appauled by the sicko’s that are actually out there. It gives me pause and makes me wonder if I should continue this blog.
A wee bit o’ green - March 18, 2005 -
My kids didn’t wear green yesterday. They didn’t pinch one another. We did not have corned beef and cabbage.
Instead, my kids went to a friends house and made Play-Doh cookies. Apparently, it is cookie dough that looks just like Play-Doh and you can mold it into various shapes prior to baking. It has lots of colors such as purple, lime green, and blue.
It is our belief that Quinn sampled more than his fair share of the raw dough. How do we know this, you ask? Why, just a wee bit o’ lime green diarrhea, me lads. In his pants. In his bed. Just before the stroke of midnight.
There is something magical about lime green, runny diarrhea EVERYWHERE to ring out St Patrick’s Day. Oh, I’ll say so, my lil’ leprechauns.
Top o’ the mornin’ to you!
In which Pooh finds out that the “Break” in Spring Break is actually a hypothetical - March 16, 2005 -
Bill survived. Spewing with broken ribs has gotta hurt. By that afternoon he was out mowing the lawn.
Not one other person in the house has come down with it……yet. There was much rejoicing and dancing.
It is spring break here, which does not mean much, except for the spring part, and even that is in question today as I type this in front of a roaring fire place.
Cory’s science teacher decided that she would send home a project for him to do over SPRING BREAK. Not a small project, but an elaborate project. He must put together a solar system mobile, label everything according to order of size and proximity to the sun. All moons must be present too……like, in EVERY MOON on EVERY PLANET. Styrofoam balls and such have been purchased. We got everything at Hobby Lobby, and left the store $40 poorer.
Gosh, its a good thing that spring break isn’t actually a BREAK!
Ahem.
I realize that this teacher is at home enjoying her break, and we are home, not surfing on the coast as planned, but stressing over Creation. So, since she asked for a solar system, she is getting THE SOLAR SYSTEM FROM HELL. I bought some 3 foot long dowels to suspend the enormous, styrofoam, glow in the dark painted, balls. It will be two tiered, with loooooooong hanging strings attaching the planets.
She is going to be so impressed. Don’t ya think?
Okay, so we will have a bit of fun doing it, but, I have to ask. What kind of sadist would send home a huge project like this over spring break? Does she know what the purpose of spring break is? It is to clear their minds, hence the name BREAK.
Would this post qualify for a rant?
Excuse me while we go explore God’s mind and make a VERY LARGE mobile.
Did I mention it was spring break?
How to convince myself that it is all worth while - March 11, 2005 -
One look at these beauties, and I know there is a God.
If you give a mouse a cookie - March 3, 2005 -
My kids have a pet mouse. Her name is Mousy. Original, huh? We have had her for almost a year now, and she really is a great amount of fun. She is clever, and the kids love to watch her.
She also has several lives. Her first one bit the dust when one of the kids left her out of her cage. It took 24 hours to find her. The kids and I were frantic; the kids because they love her, and me, because the cat also loves her. We found her in the lego drawer. She could not have climbed in there herself, and not one child would fess up.
Her second life bit the dust when she contracted some kind of mouse flu. She was cold and lifeless in her cage, and the kids begged me to save her. I placed her on a towel, and wrapped in in a heating pad set to low. I then placed her in a box on the desk in the kitchen. She revived, but I didn’t find her until after she peed and chewed up the heating pad. I did not realize about the pee until I fired the heating pad back up a few weeks later. I can tell you that heated mouse pee stinks like there is no tomorrow.
Her current malady is some kind of mouse neurosis. She is scratching herself raw. As in, no fur and bleeding. Ick. I have changed the bedding and she still scratches. The kids are very upset, and asked me to take her to the vet. A mouse. To the vet.
I asked the vets wife (at body torture exercise class) if Dr. Dan saw mice. "Um, no, we don’t see mice. We only do large animals….such as cows, horses, pigs, cats and dogs. Dan does not do mice" But she did refer me to a vet……45 miles away…..who does exotic animals. When a mouse got exotic, I will never know. I called the mouse vet, and he told me to put some antibacterial ointment on her boo boos, put shredded newspaper in her cage instead of the pine shavings, and bring her in Friday afternoon.
My husband just stared at me when I told him I was taking the mouse on a long trip to the vet. "The mouse?" he said. "Yes, the mouse. They love her, and don’t want her to hurt. If the vet thinks it is not possible to help her, I will have her put to sleep". "Jody, it is a MOUSE. That’s ridiculous."
The thing is…my kids love her. I have to do something. She is our pet. I like her too. She is part of our family. Okay, maybe not part of the family. But I can’t let her die.
So, off we go tomorrow afternoon to take the mouse to the vet. Yes you heard me. It will probably cost a fortune. Add to that the cost of the heating pad, and well, we have a very special mouse.
Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the vet bill.
The crevice of hell - March 2, 2005 -
I can say this with certainty; the makers of fine furniture DO NOT have small children. If they did, they would not make cabinets, book shelves, dressers, couches or beds with spaces underneath them.
Every toy in our house, every pacifier, every Lego, every ball, every puzzle piece will at some time, in it’s inanimate life, find itself under a piece of furniture in my house.
I am not sure about the rest of the old home owners that read this blog, but our old home is a dust magnet. No matter how clean I am (anal would describe our cleaning habits), the space under the furniture is filthy with dust, crackers, a random shriveled grape, or a 1/2 eaten cookie. Not to mention, at the end of the day, at least 20-30 toy items.
I have come to cringe when it comes to reaching under the furniture to retrieve toys in the den, which is our main family room. It is sort of like a grab bag….you never know what you will find. I peek first, and see a variety of shadowed objects. Then comes the blind grab. I swoop out numerous lint covered objects, then peek again. What’s that in the very back? Is it Mia’s missing sock? Or another dolly hat? Is it yet another Bionicle piece?
I reach in and pull out, Holy Mother of God, a dessicated palmetto bug. I scream, jerk my hand back, flinging it into the air where it finds a nice spot in the ends of my hair. Swatting and screaming, I slap it out. There is NOTHING I hate more than those nasty, flying cockroaches. Never mind that it is dead and covered in lint. Gag, shudder.
No, furniture should be solid all the way to the ground. There should exist no toy caves. No palmetto bug tombs. No crevices of hell.
Only a childless carpenter would produce something with a space underneath it.
Spasmotic coughing and other fun. - March 2, 2005 -
I think my entire family is immunocompromised.
We now all have pink eye….more like "crusty, goopy, swollen, red eye". I am on day two of little or no sleep.
And, yes, Mia is sick again. With pink eye and gobs of snot. And cranky as hell. I haven’t slept in 2 nights. She wants to be bolt upright so she can breath past the snot, which makes horizontal sleep impossible. Ditto for nursing.
Did I mention the coughing? No? Oh, well, let me mention it then. It sounds like a TB ward here. It is the "cough ’til you barf" marathon here, with 3 out of 4 kids sick with it. Add to that the groaning I hear Bill doing…..have you ever tried to sneeze and cough with broken ribs? Me neither, but Bill tells me it sucks.
It has been one long winter.
