Funny things

Extras.
I can't figure out how to link to it in Netflix. You're smart people, you can find it. Loon turned me on to it, and I laughed myself silly. That is, when I could stay in the room, because the kind of humor where people are doing things they shouldn't do frequently makes me squink, and I have to leave and then bug Simon from the kitchen- "What is he doing now? He didn't say yes did he? Did he? Is it over? What is he doing?". I can watch spouting blood, scary monsters, things that go bump and boo, but a person lying for comedic effect is just too much. You should have seen me try to watch Borat.

Dried Apricots.
Mimi has pointed out they look like little monkey scrotums. I completely agree. And now I shall say that to myself when I eat them. "Nom nom the mon key balls." And when next you see them, you will think this too. Ha! Your brain has been polluted.

Elmo, Zoe and Telly Monsters
At least, the Bean think so, because when they were trying to figure out how to line up with Elmo Between, she was ROFL. She can't talk, but she can laugh at Sesame Street. I think it's a good sign.

Someecards.com












Well, they make me laugh, at any rate.

snicker snicker,
ephelba

If you gave a witch some money...

If you gave me more money, I'd go buy children's books on Amazon. If I bought all the books I wanted on Amazon, they'd bust the shelves and fall through the floor. If there was a hole in the floor, the land lord would get mad. If the land lord got mad, he'd kick my book buying butt out onto the street.

So it's a good thing I can't afford to buy books like these:

On the usefullness of attics.

Most of our stuff is up in our attic. I'm guessing half of it will end up going away. Right now, the downstairs is almost pulled together and it has all the stuff we need in it. It is very freeing to be able to put everything away in a home just for it.

Ahhh.

In truth, I am alternating between the joy of creating an uncluttered house, and the crushing weight of the sheer volume of work required to get there.

I think listing some achievements will help.

1) I've organized the girls' toys into bins and will only have one bin down at a time, thus preventing clutter and toy-overload. I am pleased, because in doing so I realized they don't have too many toys. I hope I can keep it that way. My plan is to get/make open ended toys, like blocks, play scarves and boxes. They'll have to use their imaginations. Plastic fantastic stuff will have no home here. Now, if I can just get the grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and relations on board:)

2) You can get to the pantry now. The pantry is organized. Thank you, ancient architect, who designed it to perfectly hold a Clementine's box. Thanks you, crazy self, for having two hundred Clementine's boxes to put in there.
This is, of course, a mixed blessing, because now when I want to throw something away my crazy self will say "But maybe you'll come up with a use for this, like you did with those Clementine's boxes".
I would like to achieve Farm Status with my stuff. That is, there are no useless animals on a farm, there should be no useless stuff in my house. I am a long way away from this, but getting closer.

3) The living room is good. The furniture is arranged, the toys are set, the floor is clear. Lovely.

4) Boy's room is arranged. It has issues, but they are the issues born of a room too small for the furniture in it. It's as good as it can be till we build a loft or some such.

5) The end is in sight in the dining room and foyer.

6) Boy met a kid across the street who is his age, going into the same grade, and isn't a hoodlum. Super!

I will take a deep breath and do one thing at a time. Eventually, it will all be sorted, put away or gotten rid of.

Feeling better,
ephelba

Surprisingly Traumatic

Somehow I thought we'd move, and the sun would come out and angels would sing and life would be perfect, because we would be living in a better house. I know this is teddy bear thinking*, but I did expect that when we got here the worst of the stress of the move would be over.

Nope.

In an attempt to cope I've been trying to think of things as adventures. Alrighty! A new grocery store! What an adventure! Where is my granola?!? And then I realize they don't even have it, Quaker's granola, for crying out loud, and I start to feel a little panicky, because what if they don't have my favorite noodles or my toothpaste or anything? Going on an adventure to find your stuff is one thing, going on an adventure where you have to learn about all new stuff is quite another.

I left feeling completely wrung out. Silly, but true.

Yesterday we just drove around to see what we could see. We found another grocery store, the local Y and a community arts center. We did not find a bookstore. Not even a jinky one that sells used romance novels. What does this mean?

After lunch we made our first trip to the local park. Lovely equipment, sat upon by a bunch of middle school twerps swearing in front of the Bean**. No doubt they're the same ones who wrote the same swear words on the play equipment. That night I couldn't sleep for thinking about the fact I'm sending Boy off to school with those twerps (or twerps just like them) next year.

And then it hits me that we've moved. OH YEAH BABY! I know I'll end up loving this town, and this park, and these twerps. I know I'll make new friends. The sun'll come out. Whatever. But just now? I feel slapped in the face by the enormity of what a move means.

Going to unpack a box,
ephelba

* Teddy bear thinking - the belief that a chance in circumstance will make a chance in the substance of your life. Example- "If I move to Chicago I'll be happy, even though moving to Chicago will do nothing to fix my low self esteem, perfectionism or halitosis."

** Yes, we swear around the Bean, but I expect at least a "Oh gosh, sorry!" when others do.

Time for something completely different.

Are you gearing up for the upcoming election? I feel a nail-biter coming on. Whether you're voting for McCain, Obama, or Mickey Mouse, I think you need to see this. It needs to be said.

Sorry, I couldn't help myself,
ephelba

PS,
If you need an explanation, one can be found here.

Bye Bye Old House.

This is the view from the entry of the apartment we lived in for the past two years.

This is where the Bean grew from a five pound baby ball into a giggling toddler. Her first steps were here. Her first words too.

This is where her sister was conceived. Where the Bug had her first bath. Her first bite of cereal.

The Boy had three birthdays here. Two years of homeschooling. One and a half broken bones. Lots of growing up.

Mabel the dog is buried in the back.

As glad as I am to be out of there, I can't help feeling a little sad. It was our home.

Going to go unpack,
ephelba

Too many Posts!

I know you can't see the posts yet, but moving has given me much to say without giving me the time to say it in. Suffice it to say we are done putting the stuff into this building. We will now commence with saying "Has anyone seen the ???" for the following, ummm, year.

Enjoying saying "Hello there!" to all her things, and planning on saying "Goodbye" to many of them,
ephelba

The Aerobed

Feeling like I'm going to slide off the side - One and a half hours of sleep.
Having the sheet ride up under me, leaving me stuck to the rubber mattress - One Straw*.
Discovering we were sleeping on the thing upside down - Priceless.

Feeling much better now,
ephelba

* The last I had. I went and slept on Boy's bed after that.

These days

The Bean is always squealing. Either she's running through an empty house and enjoying the echo, or she's bewailing our state of non-stop transition. She's actually been having a lot of fun. Hiding in closets, exploring our new yard, getting into EVERY BOX TWICE - once in this house, once in the new house.

The Bug is frequently dismayed. She is 7 months old and doing what 7 month olds do, namely, crying every time she sees me leave the room, edge toward the room's exit, or think about that one time I was in another room by myself.

The Boy is very helpful. He is 13, did you know? That means he can go up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs and not get as tired as we do going up and down once.

Lucy the Dog is delighted to discover our new neighbors have cats. She's not so fond of other dogs with their nosing of her nethers and their friendly attempts at playing. She prefers felines, which she expects to befriend her, cuddle up with her and clean her ears. I doubt the new cats know what she has in mind, despite her attempts to explain.

Simon and I are hot, sticky and tired. Sometimes we switch it up and become tired, sticky and hot.

Today Simon and Boy got their asses soundly whupped by me and my fun noodle*. They will tell you otherwise. Do not believe them.

Just now I must go empty the local ice cream parlor of a family's worth of kiddie cones,
ephelba

*You know, the swimmy things....

The latest suck

If you're going to give your baby up for adoption, chances are, there's a fair bit of drama in your life. Drama and suck. If there weren't, you'd probably be keeping your baby, no?

The baby momma has drama, which, sadly, is not of her own doing, and the whole thing may collapse in a heaping pile of suck. Which sucks for Loon and her wife, whose heart strings are wrapped around the tiniest fingers you ever saw, but much much much much more for the owner of the fingers, and her sister, and her momma. It's just a really sucky situation.

Loon and her wife are focusing on alleviating the suck for this little family. This is good and healthy.

The whole thing still sucks, though.

Ouch.
ephelba

I'm an Auntie!

Loon has a baby! I'M JUST SO EXCITED!* Bet I'm not as excited as she is. I'll leave it to her to tell the story, but she's too busy by half right now. Sooner or later, it will be up here.

It's a tiny little girl. She will grow up and play with my girls and it's just going to be great. Wish I lived a lot closer.

Going to send her a ham**,
ephelba

* (!!!!!1111!!!11!!1!)
**Like flowers, only tastier.

My new favorite song.

Rats and Pizza.

I heard it on Pandora, and will be buying the whole album soon. I fell in love with it even before Boy pointed out it was about Upchucky Wheezes, and now that it's obvious I love it all the more because I completely concur.

Enjoy!
ephelba

Things to be grateful for.

I'm grateful I live in a mostly functioning democratic country.

I'm grateful that we have so much money that we can afford such things as light up balloons. As Boy said, they are the Best Balloons Ever.

I'm grateful we're all pretty healthy.

I'm grateful we got to see the fireworks and no one was hurt, even when one seemed to go off awful low.

I'm grateful Simon cajoled me into folding laundry. Stupid, poopy laundry.

I'm grateful for public schools.

I'm grateful I have a son who isn't lazy.

I'm grateful I have a warm comfy bed to sleep in,
ephelba

PS
Loon may be getting picked to have a baby! I'm just so excited!

Firsts.

Today was the first time I paid more than $4 a gallon for gas. I honestly thought the sign was wrong. I had to think, have we already gone all the way through the $3s? And then I decided yes, we had, and now the suck is here.

Yipes.

I can remember when the first Bush made a mess in Iraq and the price of gas jumped. I was cleaning out my car for cans because you had a hope of getting a gallon of gas with what you might find. I also remember thinking gas was expensive then. Now,here in NY, I'd have to have 85 cans floating under my seats to get a gallon.

On a happier note, today was the first time the Bean had her own ice cream cone. She knew just what to do with it. It dripped on her hand, and she couldn't have that, so she tried to wipe her hand on her pants and she dropped her cone. Simon said "She can't eat that now, can she?" I said "You can't stop her, can you?" and it was back in her mouth just like that. Then she got a napkin and tried to clean up the ice cream that was on the ground.

She's terribly cute today. She saw some paint on the ground and said "LELLO!" I said "Blue." She said "BLOOO!" and then I tried to teach her the Blue song. She's been working on the katamari damacy song all day, and proceeded to sing that instead (You can hear it here.).

On a completely random note, our local brewery is afire even as I type. We are sad. It made pretty good beer, and I was hoping to go on a tour with the whole family this summer. Instead, I went to the grocery store and bought two kinds of their brews. It'll just have to do.

Going to bed before the beer wears off,
ephelba

Wrastling with donkeys.

Myfarmer is off to go see the big mouse down in FL, so the Boy and I are doing the farm. This is, by far, the easiest round of farm chores ever. There's grass, so we don't have to haul hay. She has a spring on her farm and lots of water here and there that they are penned around, so we don't have to haul that either. Boy collects the eggs and washes them whilst I take grain to the chickens and geese and do a walk about to see that everyone is hanging loose.

We're waiting on two sheep to lamb. They got into the game at the last possible moment. Everyday I walk out there and stare at them and feel really stupid. My goal is to notice when they lamb, catch the lambs so I can sex them, and check on the mom. The honest to goodness truth is that every time I go down there I have to figure out who the pregger sheep are all over again. You'd think tt would be really obvious- they're the two fat ones, but I swear some of the nursing moms are pretty portly too. I always end up staring at each sheep in turn "Ok, that one is a boy, that one already has lambs" etc etc until I get it figured out.

The donkeys and the horse have a history of taking advantage of my good nature and conniving me into feeding them more than they need to eat. Last winter I was worried we were going to run out of hay before Myfarmer got back, because they were going through 8/9 bales a day. Myfarmer said that was ridiculous, and I should cut them back to three or four bales. When she came home there was hay on the ground around the hay-holding-thingy, which the critters usually eat up when she was on duty. She expressed dismay, and the horse started picking up the hay and putting it back in the rack, as if she was shamed of how they'd played me.

Of course, I was again worried they were going through the grass sort of fast, so I decided I'd just set up more fence and then I wouldn't have to worry. I'm like a farming Jewish mother "Eat! EAT!". So in the process of laying out new fence, I lay a section on the ground for a second, forgetting what the purpose of a fence was. The donkeys did not forget, and promptly traipsed through to the fresh grass. They completely ignored me yelling "NO NO YOU FUCKING BITCHES! GET!" Maybell the horse heard me beg, "Please, Maybell, Stay in there. No! NO!" but she was all like "What? Huh?" as she walked past. I can not figure out how to tell that horse "No".

So. I figured, if I keep one donkey here, the other won't go too far. The donkeys don't care about the horse, but the horse cares about being near the donkeys, so if I've got them She won't go far either. It was a sound plan, and in the end it worked, but in order to put it into play I had to grab a donkey.

Donkeys are smarter than sheep. If the sheep are out and you show up they go the other way. Sometimes it's tricky, but you use this fact to herd them to where ever you want them. When they reach the edge of the pen they say "Rats! Foiled again! A pen!" but because of the herd's inertia they go in anyways. Donkeys are clever. When they see you move they say "Why is she going that way? OH! Because she wants to get in my escape path, cut me off, and put me back in the pen. Bet I can take her." and then they run. With stealth and speed I did manage to catch the younger of the two. I put her in a head lock and yelled for Boy to hurry. She expressed her frustration by stepping on me. She really wanted to kick me, but she'd have to get loose to do that. Thinking things through she decided to try and bite me. When that proved useless she decided she'd just drag me along wherever she intended to go. Of course, I weigh enough to be annoying, so when she got annoyed enough she'd try again to shake me off and bite me.

Eventually Boy brought the grain and things went according to plan. In the meantime? I spent a lot of time wondering just what donkeys were for, and how they'd taste*.

Oh! I forgot to mention, we took a neighbor kid with us on this adventure. He's never gotten to hang out on a farm, so it was a true adventure for him. He said several cute things, such as "I wonder if the wind is alive..." and "The geese hissed at me. I guess they learned that from hanging around with the cats." When he gathered the eggs I told Boy to make sure there were no hidden eggs- the hens are trying to go broody. When we explained they were trying to get the eggs to hatch, he asked if that meant these very eggs would hatch if you kept them warm.

Possibly.

He kept one egg in his hand the whole time. I gave him a dozen eggs, including two turkey eggs, to take home and eat. They came from the batch that included some eggs that had chicks in them, because he seemed to think that was neat. Not that you want to eat those, but because he could see what goes on. Instead of eating them, when he got home he put them in a muffin tin and put a lamp on them. Honestly, I have no idea what will happen. The ones that had gotten started and then got put in the fridge are already dead, I'm pretty sure. But the ones that hadn't started yet might still be viable. If he doesn't get bored turning them. I don't know. I do know the turkey eggs are duds. The Tom likes to hump anything with feathers, including the chicken hens, but he just can't get the hang of how humping works. He's very serious, but when you watch him his tail is miles away from the girl's tail. Miles and miles.

I do hope that someday we end up with the space to some farming of our own. Not enough for other people, just enough for us to have meats and eggs and veggies, and maybe milk.

I've been spending a lot of time day dreaming of how much farming we can legally do in our little city yard. Plants are easy. I've been wondering about rabbits. Myfarmer says they're the most efficient meat to grow. Can we use them for lawn mowers? Am I strong enough to break a rabbit's neck?

Simon is reading over my shoulder, and says no.

Simon also accuses me of mommy blogging. While ignoring the children. I counter this is not a mommy blog.

going to feed the children,
ephelba

* I do not have the visceral response to the thought of eating horse/donkey meat that most of you have. When I was little I asked what hamburger was made out of, and somehow I got it into my head that the answer was cows and horses. It wasn't until I was almost in high school that I learned otherwise. The upshot is that the thought totally does not gross me out at all, and I find it slightly amusing how gross other people think it is.

Yay!

Last week I was hustling the kids up the stairs, and when I opened the door both Boy and I were like, WHOA, because there was the most overwhelming smell of bandaids. I'm making the Boy open his window and putting the girls to bed and then running through the house like a hound dog, sniffing the air and saying "Do you smell it in here?".

The Oracle says it could have been heroin. Crack and crank have more of a burning plastic thing going on, apparently. Truly? I don't care, I just want OUT.
O!
U!
T!
OUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUT

I spend so much effort into making sure my family eats healthy foods, and does healthy things, and then to have some kind of vile smoke invade my baby's lungs just makes me crazy.

As does the toxic waste in our backyard. See, back in the day, every building in this town had something to do with the mills. Either it was a mill, or it housed the mill's workers, or it sold things to the mill workers, etc etc... Then such things went overseas. The mills closed. Before selling the bits and pieces of the mills, they used solvents full of polychlorinated biphenyls to clean them up. I ask you, how is that cleaning? Especially when you just throw the runoff out the back door? I wasn't there, maybe it was an accident, but the up shot is that the dirt that blows around from the empty lot behind our house has PCBs in it. So does the creek that runs through there that the children played in all last summer before the announcement in the paper about the PCBs.

OUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUT

So, it is with great relief that I announce our move.

Except, of course, that it means moving. What a load of suck that is. The packing, the sorting, the finding of new grocery stores, new gas stations, new friends and neighbors, the unpacking, the more sorting, the losing of things for at least a year.

At least we'll be doing it smoke free. Whilst enjoying having our own bedrooms, a second toilet and a basement. And a yard. A yard AND a porch. A YARD and a
PORCH and a GARAGE.

I suppose I shall look at like this: Whee! We get to sort through our stuff and get rid of crap! (I do, actually, like that part. It's very liberating.) And then we get to have adventures and check out all these new places! Super! New stores! New people! Alrighty! And I can stick everything we own into our huge attic and only let it down when it's learned to behave! Yay!

Thinking it's definitely worth the suck,
ephelba

Ready or not? (A brief swinging of the arms at the monster of ignorance)

If you ask a white West Virginian if they are ready to have a black man for president, they say "no".* On camera. They say they don't want a Muslim for president. That they want someone who knows the pledge of allegiance. That they want someone who was born in America.

Essentially, they say "I am ignorant."

A. Obama is not Muslim. That is not a matter of opinion. You can't just say "I think he's a looking a little Muslim-y today. A little Islamic around the edges.."

B. Obama knows the pledge of allegiance, having had to say it everyday in school like everyone else because

C. he was born and grew up here. You Can't be president unless you were born in America, you big fat-heads.

How bout this. How bout you decide if you want a president who gradated from Yale with better than a "C" average.** Who can actually speak coherently.*** Who organizes things.**** How bout you get over his dermis and pay attention to his mouth.

If you vote McCain because you want four more years of Bush, that's fair, ok, whatever, but don't you dare vote for McCain because he's not black, you dumbass mother fuckers.

And lastly, can we all quit saying "Hard working white voters" as if the ones who aren't white aren't hard working? For less pay?

Thank you.

* I suppose there are exceptions. I also suppose many of them ain't from round there, and are sorry they ever did move there, bless they hearts. I bet they's fixin to move.

** I don't know this for a fact. Having listened to him speak, I'm willing to bet on it.

*** I'm not saying "My, isn't that wonderful diction from a black man!" I'm saying "What a relief to hear ANYBODY give a speech WELL for once!" I have to turn the radio off if I hear the Bush talk, because he's just such an awful speaker.

**** Hillary and He were in, umm, Ohio? Maybe? He had headquarters all arraigned ahead of time, with his number in the phone book and everything. She had to take what rental space they could find. Her number in the book? Not so much.

***** Yes, I swear much. The Bean can now say "Shit" perfectly, and at the appropriate time.

saddened by the truckloads of stupid she heard and read today,
ephelba

How cool is this?

Ok, So I could do with a little less of the Music Video , but the idea can't be beat. What do you think?


Carrotmob Makes It Rain from carrotmob on Vimeo.

Aha!

I think I finally figured out how to force the bitrate and convert my .mov files to .avi without any hiccups, and also how to compress the files so they're a manageable size. Which is all to say, you can now see the Bug suck her toes.

Just to give you a better picture...

So I walked down to the family dollar wearing my "I make milk, what's your super power?" T-shirt. Two dudes were in there putting plastic fantastic stuff on the shelves. One reads my shirt, starts giggling, and tells the other what it said. Then he says, "Wait. But that's not right- she can't make milk..."

Wondering where the cavemen got their formula,
ephelba

What doesn't work.

Making a conscious effort to choose what I'm doing and piddling away at things a bit a time works, but only if you're in a physical state of functionitude. Functionitude can not be attained if you stay up too late, the baby wakes up, the toddler wakes up, and then you don't go back to sleep.

So.

I'll be the kind of mom who tries really hard to go to bed on time.

This weekend Boy had an event to go to. The Oracle told us to go here, turn there, take a "slight right" there and lo and behold we arrived in the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere has its own high school, did you know? On the way there I felt bad because we drove past some Amish who were having trouble with their carriage thingy. It was right in front of their house, so I didn't feel too guilty about not stopping, but still. I knew it was their house because a little girl was holding the reins, the Dad was walking up the road, and every last one of their other kids was running running running to go help. Nothing on this planet is cuter than their youngest daughter running twice as fast as everyone else just to keep up. Boy asked if he would be that cute if he ran, and I said he was that cute when he was little, because he was.

We spent a large part of the ride discussing the Amish. Not that I know much. I've read a book (which I recommend). I buy cheese from some. I've heard stories. I've got a healthy respect for the wonderful communities they have, and for the way they make their living. I tried to explain that to Boy, but he's too stricken with the limitations they've accepted for themselves. They give him the creeps.

Wondering if she should sew some bonnet thingies for her little girls,
ephelba

Things that work.

Parents can't do everything. There's too much- too much to do, too much to teach. I didn't learn everything I needed to know from my Mom, but I can't fault her for it. I just have to teach myself. I have been trying to learn, but sometimes when I look around and I look at how much I want to improve I feel guilty and overwhelmed.
For years I've been trying to work on the guilty part. I figure I'll beat it sooner or later- guilt doesn't get anything done and I'd rather be productive. As for the rest: two things have been working for me lately. The first I learned rather recently from playing Zelda. If you work at something a little at a time you will get even huge intimidating tasks done. So. Instead of doing the perfectionist's freak out because I can't start and complete a task like I want to, I just do a little bit. I haven't finished much yet this way, but I am confident I will because I'm plugging away at it. The second I got from a fellow blogger's post. She was saying if you don't want to be the kind of person who has a messy house, go clean it. Which is sort of obvious, but the thing that got me was the wording. The "kind of person" part. So now and then when I'm faced with a choice, I asks myself does I want to be the kind of person who (fill in the blank). And then I know what I will do. Can't honestly say the house looks much different, but I sure feel better about things.

Just thought I'd share.

going to be the kind of person who runs the dishes and goes to bed on time,
ephelba

Hi.

How are you? What's new with you? What's the best thing that happened to you today?

Me? I'm good. I did not get a speeding ticket yesterday. I did this by not speeding. Duh. I didn't see the copolice hiding behind the sign, and then I was automatically afraid I was speeding, even though I hardly ever do, and then he pulled out, and I was all "Oh Shit", and then he pulled somebody else over. I felt so smug. I was all "Ha! Take THAT for Speeding! Yeah! Bet you wish you weren't all up in my business now!" because when you don't speed, everyone passes you and you begin to feel like they're all commenting on you somehow. Ok, so maybe it's just me.

ANYWAY.

Apparently clothes take away the Bean's superpowers or something. Like, if cloth touches her skin she'll melt. Some kind of Samson-esque thing, with the addition of clothing = the cutting of hair. She's convinced, at any rate, because the worst tantrums for the past few days have been over clothing and diapers. Usually I just give up and let her run around butt naked. Of course, hilarity ensues because she isn't potty trained. Yesterday she comes up to me saying "Butt?" and holds out a hand full of turd. I shriek "Uk!", to which she replies "Uk!" and drops it, splat. I laughed good and hard at that. No really, I did. It was funny. Last night and today she's decided a better idea is to poop in the diaper, then take the diaper off and bring the whole mess to the grown up in charge. Hilarity, folks, hilarity! It's like Easter, only the eggs aren't chocolate.

I miss my husband. I know he's around here somewhere. I've been carting the Boy to acting rehearsals and what have you, and he's been home finding those special eggs. It's funny, because it's not like we've spent That much time apart, it's only been, maybe, three days this week, but it feels like much much more. I love him and I miss him.

My little baby sleeps with her feet in the air, like this:


I ask you, how?

It is warming up here in New York. I'm still wearing sweaters, but I usually do that till about 75 degrees. I'm just pleased there's no snow.

ASIDE:
Die, snow, die! Hahahaha! You've melted! I fart in your general direction!
I FEEL MUCH BETTER NOW, THANKS

Tomorrow we're going to be drinking margaritas in celebration. Simon has made a bet with Boy that he can get me to eat the worm. He can't believe I've made it this far in life wormless. He says three drinks and the money is his. I say, I can't have three drinks, I'm nursing, and even if it were thirty drinks I still wouldn't eat the worm. The bottle says the worm is there because it's traditional blah blah the worm is a key blah blah blah something something it's not there for looks. It does not say "Super tasty! Doesn't even crunch like bug! Yum!" I say it's there because a bunch of Mexicans are chopping agave and thinking "The sun sure is hot, and these things are prickly, but at least I can get a chuckle out of the notion that some drunk idiot gringos actually eat these nasty ass grub bugs". I refuse to be pwned thus.

Imagining how hard it is to get those little pincher things out from between your teeth, whilst apologizing for the randomness and atrocious run-on sentences,
ephelba

Definately a bad witch.

So, the night before I cooked some spag sauce for the folks staying home, insisted the Boy make a dinner to take with him to his play rehearsal, and forgot to feed myself. I got some fast food and opted for Coke to drink, thinking I'd get some shit done when I got home. What I hadn't counted on was the caffeine high lasting till two in the morning. Or the Bug going on some wild sleep strike, waking up at six in the morning, and pretty much not sleeping the rest of the day. I was whupped.

This would also be the day that the Bean doesn't eat breakfast. She throws a record tantrum at lunch, but in the end consents to eat. Because of this I have high hopes for her demeanor after her nap, but Boy has Jazz band practice smack in the middle of her nap time. After much heart ache, I decide she needs the nap too much, and he needs the practice too much, so I'll put her down and pray the house is still standing when I get home. Only she won't go to sleep either. So. I pack everybody up and we all got to the school to discover there is no practice.

Ooooo Kay.

Later I drop the Boy off at his rehersal. I'm really hurting by the time I get home, and as I open the door I listen to see what kind of mood the Bean is in. She's nearly always throwing a fit over something lately. I didn't hear her, so I listened for the baby, and that's when I realized she was downstairs in the van.

Horrors!

Simon and I watched a few episodes of the Wire, and then I was getting the Bean her medicine and changing diapers and trying to get the silly baby to sleep, when the Boy called to ask why I wasn't there to get him. Oh, sorry, it's because I have forgotten you.

Shit.

I blame the tired. I just can't beat the tired.

Going to bed now,
ephelba

Book Slut

Simon has accused me of being a book slut. He says I'll read anything with a cover on it. The truth is, I don't even need a cover- I'll read blogs, pamphlets, even cereal boxes. However, I counter that because Simon reads the same books I read, he must be a book slut too. He says he's just slumming.

Mostly, he picks on me because I read YA novels. YA novels rock because they're an easy, quick read. When you're too mommy brained to remember to put diapers in the drier, an easy read is good. I do read adult books, but I find myself frustrated. Take, for example, The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I'm reading it, and I'm very pleased that I catch almost all the Geek references. I know enough Spanish that I can make most of those references out too. I do have a basic understanding of the literary tools used- the author uses other characters to narrate Oscar's life because he wants to emphasize Oscar's singularity. I think. And there's obviously symbolism employed, because there's a great golden mongoose that keeps showing up, and large animals that aren't really there have to symbolize something, I'm pretty sure. My problem with the book is that once I'm done reading it I can't tell you why everyone thinks it's so great. I don't get it. What was the point of Oscar? Why do we spend so much time following his mom? What the hell does the mongoose mean? I'm not left with the warm fuzzy feeling of having read a great book, I'm just left feeling stupid.

Taking refuge in the fact she was a chem/math major,
ephelba

Children

What an odd day. The first half went sooo well, and the second half soooo bad.

Morning: got the kids together enough to go eat lunch in the park. Even remembered the camera. Remembered to wash and dry the diapers. Folded laundry.

Evening: I took a much needed nap with the girls, and woke up with a sore throat and a general craptacular feeling. I told the fam it was cereal for dinner, then took the little one with me to the grocery store. Did not cook for the family. Did not make a list before going to the store. Was not the kind of mom/wife I want to be.

I am totally fighting a cold, I can tell, but I have high hopes that I will win.

On another note, there was a dude at the grocery store wearing a t-shirt that said "Fuck you, You Fucking Fucker". It is my opinion that such a t-shirt was meant to be worn at, say, an adult party, perhaps, or maybe at a bar. It was not meant to be worn at a grocery store where one is likely to run into nine year old kiddos. At such times, the meaning of the shirt changes from "Fuck you" to "I'm a Tremendously Large Asshole". And that's what I have to say about that.

Hoping to wake up feeling snappy,
ephelba

Well, she's ours.

Ain't she pretty?

Myfarmer took me to get her. When I saw her I felt so, hmmmm, awed. Yes. I was in awe. I knew I was going to buy her and she was going to be the most awesome vehicle I had ever owned.

ASIDE:
I say "I" but I mean "We". You know. I'll be driving it the most though.
BECAUSE I LOVES ME SOME SIMON:

The Nissan? I loved her. But. Imagine if you will, being nine months pregnant. You've put your daughter's carseat behind your seat for ease of putting her in the car, but that shoves your seat up. You have stand on one leg, fish the other leg around the steering wheel, lower your rump to the seat, grab the wheel and haul yourself into place. Getting out is just as fun. After the baby arrives you add her carseat to the mix. Now both of the front seats are shoved forward. The Boy has to inhale to reach his seatbelt buckle. Every time you go anywhere you know that a car wreck means your legs are going to be soooo screwed, but you know you won't care as long as the children are safe. Sadly, you're not sure you can count on that either. Then the littlest one needs a new carseat, and suddenly you have to take two cars to go anywhere as a family.

So. It was time. Now we've got sooo much room it's like driving a house. I can rest easier about the kiddos being safe. The little things are nice too- like having a heater and a cd player and lots of pockety places to put things. Oh! And it's a great excuse to get some flash new deedley balls. Behold:
Detail:
And today I got some matching placemats to put over the seats where the girls put their feets, because we want the seats to stay nice.

In other news: The littlest girl grows a tooth. Apparently she plans on using it to take my nipples off.

The house is still clean (Yay us! Everybody, even the Bean, has helped with this.)

I am not pregnant. Hormonally bitchy? OH YES.

The dog has received her annual spring haircut and is on her way to looking fly. Or at least, not matted.

And with that, I go to bed.

Goodnight,
ephelba

We might have a winner!

A 2000 Honda Odyssey with slightly less than a million miles on it. If things work out, as soon as we buy it we'll have to take it to the shop because it's due for its 100000 mile maintenance fest, but they are good vehicles, they are, and the price is low, it is, so we're calling it good.

It took me more than 30 years, but I've turned into a minivan-driving-mother of three.

Huh.

I think I'm ok with that.

Guess I'll have to sign the girls up for soccer next,
ephelba

Can Zofran get you high?

Ok, so, like, No. It's for nausea. Nausea is a fancy way of saying "feeling like you're going to throw up and wishing you could just die". Zofran doesn't make you feel high, it makes you stop feeling like barfing.

It's twenty dollars for 4 milligrams. You can't find a cheaper way to (try to) get high? Might I suggest cough syrup?

How bout you check out 52 projects, or Learning to Love You More, or the Generosity Game or You Are Beautiful. How bout you go for a walk. How bout you learn to be happy with the life you've got?

Who am I kidding? I'm talking to the kind of asshat who steals Zofran from their grandfather who's dying of cancer.

A little tired of people finding her blog this way,
ephelba

Things to be proud of.

Today I could have taken a nap, because the planets aligned in such a manner that both the girls slept at the same time for nearly three hours. Instead of taking a nearly three hour long, lovely, golden, sweet, delicious, warm, fuzzy nap, I cleaned the kitchen. I even mopped the floor a bit.

Damn skippy.

Also? I made dinner, including the cooking of the eggs* all by myself, on time and with more than one item.

Also? I kicked the monkey off my back and didn't drink any coffee. Of the caffeinated sort.

Also? I researched, called, emailed about and dithered over, like, a million and a half cars, minivans, suvs and such. Yeah. They're still sofa king expensive. And how.

Also? When the Boy got upset about whether he'll be able to hack going to school, I didn't beat him with a chair whilst shouting "WTF? Dude! Quit thinking up things to upset yourself with and go to sleep because guess what! You're homeschooled!!!" I wasn't super sensitive caring Mom, because this kind of shit pushes my buttons, but I was nice enough to talk him down before I sent him back to bed.

Also? I was tempted with the Hanging Out With Friends after the meeting, but I knew Simon and the girls were waiting and I didn't want to let them down, so I came home right away. Even though I really wanted to stay and play. I didn't. I was good.

Ummmm. I think that's all. Cleaning your house, feeding your family and not beating your children is supposed to be a given. It's sort of sad that I feel like it's an accomplishment. Seeing as how that's what I want to have happen in my house, though, means I can be glad that I got what I want. I would like to think it only gets easier.

Going to go to sleep in her cleaner house much earlier than usual, thus earning even more bonus points,
ephelba

* I can and do cook, but Simon is the Egg Master. I know eggs seem like a simple thing to cook, but I generally cock it up somehow. They're always edible, but rarely super. I did pretty good tonight.
The other thing I tend to do is cook one food and call it dinner. Like, if I said "We're having pancakes for dinner" then we're having pancakes. No bacon, no eggs, not even syrup. You think I'm kidding. Simon knows I'm not, and wishes I'd consent to at least using plates on pancake night....

Kirikou and the Sorceress

This takes the prize for The Cartoon With The Most T1ttays Ever! Some are round, some are flaccid, some have pasties, but none are covered. This is appropriate, one could argue, given the setting of the cartoon. They aren't really sexualized. Seriously though? for us Mericans it takes a bit of getting used to.

The actual story line is ok, but I was bothered by (what I took to be) the blatant message "Sex makes you a man". The baby Kirikou heals the Sorceress, then talks her into kissing him and grows instantly into a handsome man. She, of course, is still kneeling, which creates a tableau that made me and Simon laugh heartily. Then she and he decide to "Stay in the forest a while". Oh yeah they do. Boy says I'm blowing things all out of proportion, and anyways, sex does make you a man.

Obviously needing to do some more parenting,
ephelba

PS
Cars? They are sofa king expensive, and I'm not even kidding. I'm going to end up driving a cozy coupe.

I R HAZ STOOPID

Alright, so it's a given that I can't be trusted with my own fertility. No news there. And we know that, although the plumbing has been rerouted, the baby juice is still lingering in The Mister's pipes. OK. Yeah. So. See, even though I'm nursing, my body kicked into "We could make a baby"gear last month. Cool. I was down with that, because This time we would be Good and use condoms and stuff when we were supposed to. Yeah. Which would have been on such and so date. Which means that yesterday my Aunt should have come to visit. But she didn't. Nor did she come today. Ok, Fine, Shit, Whatever, I take a pregnancy test and it says "Hey! You passed! Alrighty! No Baby for You!" except I'm like "Hey? Where's my Aunt?" so I consult the Oracle and it says "You big dumbass- nursing can cause random wacky cycles complete with extra fun fertility at unpredictable times" and I'm all like "Shit! How can I not know this !?! Because ACK- Like there's been so much fun lovin lately and who the hell knows what is going on!"

If I make it through the next two months without getting pregnant it will be SUCH a miracle.

Going to look at minivans on Craigslist,
ephelba

Indeterminate

When you're talking about a system of linear equations, indeterminate means you've either got infinitely many solutions or none at all. Our life is indeterminate right now.

Our apartment is perched at the intersection of four other functions. We smell the smoke from one neighbor's apartment, hear the music from the other, wake to the parties and door slams of the bar next door, and worry about the PCBs from the old factory site behind the house. The solution to this system? We could move. Anywhere. Somewhere warm, maybe? To the neighboring town? To the town where Simon works? That would be the set of infinite solutions. We could stay here and suck it up like we have been sucking it up for the past two years. That would be No Solution.

Then there's the transportation problem. Simon drives a truck that we can't all fit into. I drive a little Nissan Sentra that I Love, but frankly, when we all piled in we looked like we were in a clown car. Then the Bug grew out of the baby bucket car seat and into a new carseat that doesn't fit in the back with the Bean's seat and the Boy. Now when we go somewhere all together we have to take two cars. The water pump and possibly the timing belt have gone on it (EEEP). It's in the shop awaiting a diagnosis, but it brings home the point that, really, we need a new car. Do we spend the money to fix the Nissan? That doesn't fit us? But is cheaper than buying a new car? That would fit us? Infinite Solutions or No Solutions.

This year is setting up to be a good year for us financially. Simon got a raise. We're going to be able to pay off most of our debts. We're hoping to be good little Americans and make some long awaited purchases. It's frustrating because it seems like whenever we take two steps forward we have to take one step back.

I suppose the truth of it is that all the available solutions are good. Either we're moving to a better housing situation and driving there in a new minivan, or we're not changing a thing and we're no worse off than when we started. Somehow it just doesn't feel that way.

Right now, as I'm typing this, Chef is singing "Suck on my chocolate salty balls" and Boy is about to see Mr. Hanky for the first time. The girls are fairly entranced too. Ahhhh, South Park.... the cartoon your whole family can enjoy.

Feeling oh so proud,
ephelba

Because you, yes you, need to laugh more.

Go here.

Updated to add, there's more.

Stumped.

Can't think of a name. Ideas?

And while I'm asking for advice, on Facebook is it considered rude not to friends everyone you ever knew, or met, or maybe passed on the highway? I know more people than I have friendsed (?), because I'm picky like that. I tend to make a couple of friends and then devote myself to them like, like.... like a, um, loyal devoted thing. A squire maybe. Anywho, it seems weird to friends people that I was never that close to, or maybe didn't even like. I've friendsed people I don't know but would like to know better. That feels right. I don't know. I'm not going to bother worrying about it, really, because that's just silly.

We watched an animation collection tonight. The funniest part was the introduction, but there were a couple of good bits. Several pieces by the same folks who did Harvey Krumpet. Boy and I found a very good piece of music by way of a short about cuckoo clocks. He's tickled pink that he got an itunes card for his birthday and gets to buy songs all on his own. I just hope he picks out good stuff that I want to hear too- our world is very small and the walls are thin.

Which reminds me, a while back Boy said "The baby sure was noisy last night!" and I said "No she wa... YES. YES SHE WAS. The BABY was very noisy last night".

Going to stick a sock in it,
ephelba

In case you were worried,

I decided I'd tell you the test results. Unlike any of our Dr.s, I am capable of letting you know the results when I get them. I got the results by talking to the secretary at the Dr's office in Syracuse. She wasn't supposed to tell me, but she had mercy on a worried mom and told me I didn't need to worry.

Bless her heart.

She said to act surprised when they called. She thought they'd call today, because she was faxing the results just as soon as they were official. She said this at nine this morning.

Still haven't heard a thing from a Dr. I'd be miffed if I weren't so relieved. For once, it's not one thing or another.

In other news, I'm discovering Facebook. Many things therein are good unto me. Finding people is very fun- a bit like treasure hunting. Many things are just big-ole time wasters. I'm not too tempted by most of them, but Scrabulous is fabulous.

And in still more news, probably between the classifieds and the sports pages, it was Boy's b-day. The dog decided to eat one of the Bean's crayons and leave bright green presents for him all over the house. One day he'll look back on that memory and laugh. He wasn't laughing today. He got to watch a movie, go listen to a pianist, and hang at a coffee house with some friends, but he started to moan about the dog ruining his birthday. I threw a small fit and told him he was in charge of how well his birthday went. He could either focus on the one bad thing or all the good things. If he wanted a pity party for his birthday he could help himself, because I've spent 13 years giving him the tools to handle this sort of thing, and I was feeling done.

He came around. Please, please tell me that he learns to do this without me at some point.

Wondering if you're on facebook,
ephelba

And around we go.

So the nice lady said they'd read the EEG and send the results to our doctor that same day. Didn't hear a thing, but I thought it was a bit early yet.

The next day I call our Dr's office, who says that Dr Whosit will read it and get back to us. No one did.

Today I called that Dr Whosit's office. They said "What? We wouldn't read an EEG from there. You'll have to call your Dr's office". So I called my Dr's office again, and they said they'd get back to me.

Tomorrow I'm going to call Syracuse, and I Know they'll say they read it on Monday, would I like to hear the results?

On another note, the mister's hairs are growing back in where he had to shave. The effect, in bed, is not unlike having a menage a trois with me, him and a brillo pad. TMI, I'm sure, but I had to share.

Sigh.
ephelba

So pleased with myself.

I've just decided that I'm going to have an imaginary friend. Oh yes I have. I was out tonight with the homeschooling moms, and one of them said she was always so pissed at her sister's imaginary friend because her sister would list all these horrible things the imaginary friend was doing to her, but she couldn't fight back because she couldn't see her, and I had the sudden epiphany that I needed one. She will have a name that is great and terrible and she will help me get through my day. I'll let you know how it goes.

I am so tired and forgetful. I'm having a hell of a time sleeping for no particular reason. If I'm dead beat, why can't I sleep? Worse than being tired, worse than forgetting how to talk, is the fact that twice tonight I forgot I had the baby daughter in the car with me. Both times I was still in the car and on the road, but I realized that it would be totally possible to get out the car and forget she was still in there. It was like those times when you're driving and you can't remember the last ten minutes of the proceedings.

Yeah.

So.

I'm thinking I'm going to write on the window with soap marker "Got Kid?".

This bad witch is going to bed,
ephelba

My Daughter is Hard C0re!

Dude! She stayed up till midnight last night, and probably would have stayed up later but I had pity on her when she started signing "blankie" over and over. At six this morning I got her up and she kept going until about 11:30 before she took an hour long nap.
Wish I was so perky.
These shenanigans were for the purpose of getting good results on her EEG. I was worried she would cry and scream at the sight of the room and a person in scrubs. She, in fact, did. Then the nice lady sat us in a Comfy Chair, and I didn't assume the blood-draw position, so the Bean knew something was different and she became content to glare at us suspiciously. The lady was a pro and the Bean didn't cry anymore. Yay!

As for the results- wait and see. As usual. I stared hard at the screen whilst the test was going on so I consult the oracle when we got home. Having done my usual google fest I am very confident that most of the test went just fine. There were a few spots that I remember wondering about at the time because they looked different than what was usually going on. Having not been trained in this sort of thing I can't really say it was good, but I am positive that it wasn't really bad. How's that for a convoluted thought.

On another note, the hubby says he doesn't so much like being referred to as the hubby. I shall therefore attempt to remember to call the hubby "The Mister" instead. He likes "the mister" much better than "the hubby". Notice I got to call him "The Hubby" four times just then:)

On yet another note, someone put up a flier a the post office. It had a picture of the cutest chihuahua/jack russel puppies for sale. I want a puppy. Simon says we can't have one because it would get lost in the mess. I said I would clean the house if we could have a puppy. Simon just laughed. I don't think there will be a puppy.

There won't be a baby either. Simon went and got a vasectomy last Friday. We waffled for a bit the night before. There's something sad about knowing you're done having babies, because babies are the best. They're better than puppies even. When you think about how great they are and how much you love the ones you have you begin to think you want more. And then you remember being pregnant. And how hard it is to get anything done. Including making more babies. And you realize that sometimes what you need isn't more.

So.

If we can make it for a few months without getting pregnant we're home free. I freely acknowledge this is a large "if", given my history, but hopefully nursing will be some protection when other protections fail.

On the last note, my state governor got busted for fucking with hos. Swell.

Wishing I lived back in MI,
ephelba

Today.

Today I woke up exhausted. Not because anything major or exciting happened last night, but because the little one woke me up right smack in the middle of a dream. I had been explaining how not to be a racist prick to a white guy, but he wasn't listening to me, so he turned into a black guy. Then the baby was fussing and I was awake and desperately tired. I wake up slowly at times like this.
The Bean peeked over the edge of the crib.
"Shra shruh shra shra?"
Which is apparently how she says "You awake?"
The dog heard her, and in a typical fit of morning glee came bounding up over the bedclothes to nurfle me. A few seconds of that and she bounded off again. The Bean squealed with joy. I called the dog back and the Boy heard me, so both the dog and the Boy showed up to get into the bed. I kicked Boy out to get the Bean, and now the morning crew was all accounted for.
The Bean crawled over me and laid down on my chest to snuggle for a bit. The Boy commented on the freakish boniness/wrinkliness of my elbows. The girl got up to see what was going on in the living room. The Bug growled. The Boy moved on to express dismay at discovering I was wearing granny panties and hilarity at my double chin.
I kicked him out.
After feeding the Bug I got out of bed and went to feed the Bean. She seemed happy to eat granola, which made this morning much easier than those that involved fixing her various breakfasts for her to play with. Those mornings suck, because if she doesn't eat she gets cranky. The Bug lay in her car seat and (surprise!) growled. The Boy began to work on English. He ended up coming out to the kitchen to have a snack and watch the Bean while I took the Bug into the living room for some floor time. She growled at the floor while I checked my email and RSS feed. I discovered a new blog, and read a bit. Boy said the Bean was done eating, so he cleaned her up and got her down.
The Bug was tired, so I took her into the bedroom to sleep. I put her pacie in her mouth and sat down on the bed next to her. The Bean came in to jump on the bed, and I suspect when I left she pulled the pacie out of the baby's mouth. Which made the baby fuss. Which meant I had to go back. Which meant the Bean followed me in there to see what was up. I went through this loop at least three times before I noticed what was happening and just brought the Bug out to the living room for her nap.
The Hubby called.
The Bean played.
The Boy read.
I read.
I picked up the living room a bit, but not as much as I wanted to.
I fed the Bean some lunch.
I rinsed the ketchup/body paint off the Bean and got her dressed for the Speech Therapist.
I fed the Bug again.
The speech therapist came.
The speech therapist left.
The Bug and the Bean went down for a nap.
The Bug got up, and the Bean hasn't been to sleep yet.

And then I blogged. Not that you've read anything terribly interesting as a result. I just was in a mood. I've been in a mood lately. The mood to sleep. The mood to play chase with the Bean. The mood to be warm in the sun. What I need is to be in the mood to clean house, pay bills and organize shit.

I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in New Mexico. I imagine it is warm.

Not having to imagine snow,
ephelba

For my kiddos...

Ok, I've got 10 minutes that I'm going to spend blogging here, let's see if I can finish the thought I've been having...

I've been thinking that several women who I would assume feel comfortable with children do, in fact, not. I assumed they would because they have adult children. I have no idea how they managed, given the level of discomfort they display now.

I've also been surprised by how much other women forget about when they had children. I ask questions about cloth diapering or whatnot, thinking they would know, and I'm sure they did at one time, but the memory has faded.

So now I'm thinking I better leave some notes, or my kiddos will be asking me questions and I'll have forgotten, and it will be a shame, because the baby phase is one part of mothering I feel I'm very good at.

With that in mind, Notes to self regarding the first three months:

The whole goal for these months is to learn to eat and sleep. If you end up feeding formula for some reason, then the eating thing has probably gone well. Breastfeeding is trickier. I will assume that La Leche will be there for my daughters and daughter-in-laws, and leave the advice giving to them, with the caveat that it isn't supposed to hurt much, and if it does, seek help fast before it gets worse.

Burping isn't half as necessary as some people seem to think it is, but it does work wonders if you've got a spit-upper. Simply laying the kiddo down and setting them up, putting them face down on your knees and patting them, or putting them high on your shoulder for the patting works when the usual method doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything. If they don't burp, they fart, much to the hilarity of the adults present.

As for the sleeping- if you can teach your kiddo to sleep when it's dark, and to (mostly) put themselves to sleep by the three month mark, you're doing well. I recommend having the baby sleep in your room, although not necessarily in the bed. You want them to be close enough that you can keep an ear out for them, and so that you don't have to go to far when they want to nurse. Of course you'll bring them to bed to nurse, but the trick is to put them back in their own spot when you're through so they learn they don't need you in order to sleep. Swaddling is good, and so is rocking or swinging or bouncing. Of course, these are crutches your kiddo will be using to sleep, but I think if you're careful it doesn't have to be a big deal. For example, I put the Bug down for her naps by swaddling her and putting her in the bouncy seat. I give her a pacie if she fusses. I only bounce her to sleep if she's really fussy or it's really crucial to me that she sleep Now- like if she wakes up at two in the morning. Other babies like different things- the Bug likes me to stroke her face above her eyes, but the Bean likes to lay on her belly and get her butt patted (which, in a younger kid, means you have to roll them over onto their back after they go to sleep...)
As for "Sleeping through the night"... all most people mean by that is their baby lets them sleep 5 hours at a stretch, and your baby will do that once a night when they grow enough that they can skip a feeding. Alas and alack, some kids wake up every night till they're six, others sleep for an eight hour stretch at two months old. You have to go with the flow, to a certain extent, but a five hour stretch by three or four months of age is a good goal.
I let all my kiddos into the bed with me when they need to be comforted, but I kick them back out when the crisis has passed (or the b00b emptied). It works the best for us. Back when I was a single mom I let the Boy stay in bed with me more than I let the girls, but even he had a crib that he started the night in.

Wow. Ok. That was poorly written, but at least it's down. If I get the chance I can always rewrite, right? In the meantime I've got things to do...

Off to scale Mt Laundry,
ephelba

Oh Ho!

I bring you a waster of time.

I found this because I'm up late reading. I say reading, but I really mean consulting The Oracle (aka the internets). The Bean has been doing some very odd things, leading Simon and I to have this conversation a lot:
"That was a seizure."
"She's fine.
...
...
Do you think she had a seizure?"
"That's totally a seizure"
"She's fine."

She has a Doctor's appointment next week,so barring a really obvious seizure-y event, we'll have a big fun visit then, I'm sure, complete with EXTRA FUN BLOOD DRAWS YEAH BABY! I don't want her to have to have any more of those. No sir. It just makes me sick. I have to be the big bad mom and hold her down, then I have to be the strong comforting mom who gets her to stop screaming.

I'm sick of having to do hard mom and strong mom things. I'm also sick of all the uncertainty that being Bean's mom seems to require. No one's certain why she doesn't talk. Whether she'll have other learning problems. This visit will be more of the same. I'll describe her spells and no one will be certain if they're seizures, and tests will have to be done, and even if they decide they were seizures, chances are no one will know if she'll have more, or if they'll be getting worse or better as time goes on. No one will know if there's a connection between one thing and another. I'm sick of it.

I'm feeling slightly "sick" anyhow. Like I'm at the end of my tether, but for no real reason. I'm getting my stuff done, but I feel like I've got something hanging over my head. Like I've got a paper due tomorrow and I haven't started yet. It's making me crazy because, like, Hey! No Paper! But yeah, still the stress. I don't understand why the stress. I think I need some spliff.

ASIDE:
I just decided I'm going to call my farmer friend "Myfarmer", because that's her email address, and we all had a giggle over it and proceeded to tease her a little about it when she told us what she'd chosen.
THAT'S THAT THEN:

So I told Myfarmer that if I got some we'd go smoke behind her barn and then laugh at the kids all afternoon. Like I could get ahold of anything, or could afford it if I did find a source. Sigh. Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this one hole town who isn't hooked up. Honestly though,it's been years and years. I don't even know if I can remember the last time I toked. I never could smoke a lot- too hard on my lungs, and I don't think it's very good for the rest of you either, but it sure was fun.

I suppose I could make do with a good laugh instead. Harold and Kumar Two comes out soon, doesn't it? That shit's funny, even when you watch it twice. I watched "Dude, Where's my car" expecting it to be pee yer pants funny again, but it faded to being just generally funny. It was funny enough that I wanted to make matching t-shirts for Simon and I that said "Dude" and "Sweet" on the back, but he said he didn't like the movie That much, and there you have it.

Why do you have to pass it on the left hand side?
ephelba

What I'm doing these days.

* Obviously, I haven't been subjecting you to bad writing. Seriously, the Bug's birth story was so poorly written I'm tempted to delete it, but its poorly-written-ness is a testament to the state of my brain, so I'll leave it stand.

* Have been playing Zelda, Twilight Princess. The Boy and Simon are too. Sometimes we bond as one or the other of us tries to figure out a sticky problem. Sometimes we yell something to the effect of "Jump Back Bitch" when one or the other of us gets too bossy . The Boy, especially, tends to become a sort of back-seat-driver when he sees us going about something the wrong way.

It's very fun to have the boy in the room when we discover something he hadn't found, or do something he said couldn't be done. We're continually trying to explain to him that there are no real risks in this game, it being, well, a GAME, and so he should just try everything. What could it hurt? He tends to get hung up on what he thinks should happen, or on not wasting bombs or arrows. When us old fogeys find something his outrage is palpable. And sometimes earsplitting. It's a hoot.

Note: the designers of the game put a lovely feature on the menu screen that keeps tabs of how long you've played. That way, when you get together with your gaming friends, you can say "My penis is bigger because I finished the game in twenty hours and five minutes with only the original three hearts...blahblahblah." For the rest of us mortals it serves other purposes. For Boy it is an unfailing record of the fact that he did, as a matter of fact, play for more than an hour today, and needs to get his ass up and do something else. For me it serves as a record of how much time I've spent not doing laundry, not doing the bills, not cooking and not cleaning. It's a measure of how guilty I need to be. I'm trying to change my view of it, and start using it as a timer like the Boy does. There shouldn't be anything wrong with playing for a little everyday if I'm doing my other stuff too.

Right?

It's definitely served as an object lesson that if you work on something a little at a time the hours add up, because Boy and I have both been putzing at it a bit here and there and have accrued more than forty hours. And no, we haven't finished the game yet, and yes, yours is probably bigger- bite me.

* Let's see. I've also been looking up old friends on the internet. I think I always do that around New Years. Seems like I always find the same ones, which is good, but I'm also hoping that one day I'll find my best friend from elementary school, or some more of my good friends from the first time I went to college...

* Been watching my friend's farm. It's been doing this:

that is, it's been having sheep. And a horse and donkeys and cats and chickens. The chickens are just about my favorite, but I don't have a picture of them yet, so you'll have to content yourself with the cats.


* I've decided that since I was a very successful office worker I should try to apply the skills I used there to my home life, and see if it doesn't help me get my shit together. I've been feeling sentimental about my old office. I had an office. An entire office to myself, where I organized and worked and kept things neat and tidy. It was a tiny universe whose workings I got to govern to a degree I haven't managed anywhere else in my life ever. Isn't that odd? I mean, I'm the mom of this house, so why doesn't it run more like I want it to? You could argue that the other four people here have something to do with it, but I disagree, because basically we all want the same thing. We'd all like to be able to see the floor, and have said floor be clean enough it doesn't turn our socks brown. We'd all like to have our laundry washed and then put away, instead of heaped into an over-full basket in the laundry room. We'd all like to eat dinner by six. I just can't figure out why this is so damn hard.
Stage one of my "Run it like an Office" plan is to use my daily planner like I did in the work world. I'd sit down every morning and plan out what I needed to get done that day in writing. I don't know why, but this does wonders for me, and it seems to helping in the two days I've tried it so far. I'll let you know how it goes.

* Lastly, as usual, I've been discovering odd things on youtube. Such as this:

You gotta love that.

Wow. This was a bit longer than I had intended. Shit, how bout I make it even longer and put in some gratuitous baby pics.



There now.

Going to go be a good witch,
ephelba

All I can say is that I want more.

The Birth Story

You think, when it happens, that there's no way you're going to forget any of this, ever. Then you come home and life takes over and little details start to melt away. It's already been a month, so I better write this before I forget who I gave birth to.

Lest you forget, I was a week and a few days overdue.Simon's mom was here, helping us out and hoping to meet the baby. A c-section had been scheduled for two days after her flight back home. I had been eating eggplant, drinking raspberry leaf tea and I don't know what all in the hopes that the kiddo would get here before her grandmother left.

I had been having the odd cramp now and then. Strings of them, even. Then the magic day came when they didn't stop. Of course, everyone is always asking "Anything?" and it's awkward to say "Well, yes, but they probably don't mean anything and they'll go away in a minute." This was what I said all day, from the time I got up until about one in the afternoon, at which point I conceded that maybe this was the real thing. Simon said it must be, because he had begun to bake bread, and he assured me that this meant we would leave at the most awkward point possible in the proceedings.

I tried to take a nap (ha!). We both took showers. I tried to pull together every single thing that the Peanut could possibly need while we were gone. In the meantime the contractions were getting closer together. I was supposed to leave when they were 6 or 7 minutes apart, to allow time for us to get to the hospital. By the time we got it together they were 3 minutes apart.

And it snowed. We hadn't had any snow yet, but durned if it snowed and sleeted on the way in. Simon and I were slightly nervous we wouldn't make it. I was uncomfortable every three minutes. We held hands when we could.

Thankfully, we made it to the hospital in plenty of time. I got into the bed in the triage room, where they informed me I was in early labor and would be permitted to hang out and have a baby. While I was in triage I switched from early to the real thing, which was when I began to wish I had done some practicing of the lamaze.

Because I hadn't. Practiced, that is, and I began to worry that I was in some trouble. I quickly discovered that laboring in bed = BADBADBAD. Laboring over a chair with Simon pushing on my back was doable. Moaning helped, but I could not get into that state I had been in when I labored for Boy. This time I was totally relying on Simon. If he wasn't there for a contraction I was in for it. That time I had focused on relaxing with every contraction. This time I just couldn't get there. I finally gave up and asked for an epidural. I figured I couldn't do it. I was tired already and I just knew they'd check me and say I was at 3. They suggested they do a check, because they had to do one before an epidural anyway, and if I was farther along than I thought, then maybe we could do something else. I was a 6.

You have no idea what a relief that was. This labor was going to be textbook. I went ahead and said yes to some fun juice though, because I was pooped, and it was hard. They gave me something non-narcotic that was supposed to go through the system very quickly. It helped. After a bit I asked to get into the jacuzzi tub, and Simon and I walked across the hall where I discovered what a difference a little water makes.

The water supported the belly. It relaxed all the muscles I'd forgotten how to relax myself. It felt damn good. I didn't take to the bubbles, but the bath itself felt great. It felt so great that I eased into transition without any hullabaloo at all. And just about the time things started getting painful again, I started to shake, and I realized what was happening. I told Simon I thought I was in transition, and very shortly thereafter my water broke.

Our labor nurse had been doing this for 20 years. She came in, heard me have a contraction, and told us I was probably ready to push. I couldn't believe it. We hadn't been there seven hours yet. It took more than a day to get to that point with Boy- this seemed so quick. I really wasn't sure she was right. Once they insisted I get out of the tub and walk across the hall it became apparent to me that they were very right, and that I might have to be worried about making the fifteen feet to the bed. I think they carried me. I don't really know. I do know I could feel her head pushing my bones apart.

Somehow we made it. The midwife was insisting I squat at the end of the bed so gravity would help things. I insisted that I couldn't do this, this wasn't happening, and we needed another plan because the baby was not coming out the way it went in. I insisted this loudly at the top of my lungs. She told be to insist at the bottom of my lungs, and it would help things along. She said I could do it. She must get so tired of telling hysterical women they can, indeed, push a baby out their vagina. I feel very unoriginal. I was yelling the same things I would hear four other women yell later. Exactly the very same words. Exactly. We would all be completely certain that we were tearing in half. That the opposite was true, and the baby would never make it out because we incapable of opening. That there was nothing right or natural about what was happening and that we couldn't do it. And then a baby would make it past the hardest point and suddenly it would be clear that we could do it, we had done it, and everything was fine.

I don't mean to scare anyone by saying this. If you're a premigravida, what you should take away from this is that if you reach the pushing stage and you think these thoughts, the truth is that you really can do it. Really. You can totally do it. I did it when I quit being scared of the pain and pushed into it. It was over so quick- less than a half hour. I think if I had held back I could have dragged it out for a while, so I suppose the key is to stay calm(er) and push hard.

That whole thing surprised me, because with Boy the pushing was great. Of course, with him I'd had an epidural, but they had turned it off and I could feel my legs and the urge to push. It was a relief. It was powerful and exciting and not that bad. The labor had been much worse than the delivery. For this baby the opposite was true.

Of course, when you have a nine pound baby it does some damage to the portal. I have this tendency to make large, round headed babies, then push them out in such a fashion that they have still have lovely round heads instead of the cone heads they're supposed to come out with. Cone heads mean your bones don't have to gape as much as mine did afterwards. I didn't need many stitches, but that doesn't mean I escaped unchanged. The midwife asked if I cared about looks. I said "No, just use the least number of stitches", cause that shit hurts. The correct answer was "Yes, I care very much. I don't want to look like a freakshow, use as many stitches as it takes to restore her to her former state". Ah well, you do the best you can with what you know at the time.

And with that, I got to hold our little girl. They put goop in her eyes, but we wouldn't let them take her away. Not for shots, or the PKU test, or even for a bath. She didn't get a bath till she'd been home for days- we just wiped her dry with a receiving blanket and called her good.

Simon laid down in a chair to sleep, and I snuggled in with the girl to get a nap.
As I laid there I started getting hot, then cold, then queasy, then I'd realize the girl was in my lap and I'd "fallen asleep". Then I'd do it all again. I didn't push the call button because I thought I was just tired. I was starting to think about waking Simon up when the nurse came in and asked how I was. I said I didn't feel good. I asked her to take the baby. I couldn't believe I was asking her that, but I was beginning to get worried. She took her, and it was about then that I said (I'm so ashamed to admit it) "Help me" in a tiny little voice. There was checking under sheets, and checking of blood pressure, and the appearance of many nurses (where do they all come from?) and brief excitement generally. Turns out I had been bleeding rather more than is usual. Things went in the iv and there was a round of tubes passed all around and then I felt much better, thank you very much.

We spent the remainder of our stay there trying to leave. I was so worried about Peanut, and there's just no sleep to be had in a hospital, so we were out of there in about a day. Simon says it wasn't a moment too soon. They had problems with the heat- first it was too cold, then it was so hot it made me ill. I'm not sure the shower had hot water- the sink surely didn't. I hadn't packed a toothbrush. We were very done.

So we came home. We had been through a textbook labor and were leaving with a baby who behaved in a textbook manner. I still can't believe we pulled it off. I really had thought we'd end up with another c-section, or at least an epidural, but we managed to do without either.

Pretty damn proud of Simon and myself,
ephelba

Not Meme-ing

Nancy Dancehall has asked for audience participation, and for once I'm in a mood to participate.

Thusly:




If this were art about me, as I am right now, it wouldn't be all eyes and almonds, it would be all b00bs and n1pples. I nurse the Bug. A lot. Frequently while I do other things. It is a very large part of my life right now. I feel swallowed by it.

Did you notice? She has a name. Boy is outraged- he senses a certain, ummm, lack of that fawning tenderness us moms are supposed to have in my choice of a pet name. It's true. When I look at the Bug I do feel love and tenderness, but I also am aware of other, less romantic sentiments. I notice how primal she is. She is a mass of reflexes- she roots in search of b00b, she arches, she squinches her face while her innards do gymnastics. It reminds me of a bug, so Bug I have dubbed her. I imagine that the name will grow as she does. Instead of her being Bug because she is buglike, she will be Bug because she's cute as a bug's ear.

Also, I seems to like the 'B' pet names. Boy is 'Boy', but he's also Boo. Peanut is Bean. And now there's a Bug. It's all good.

It is bed time, and I have spent all the time here that I can afford to spend. Now that I've christened her I guess I'm free to tell you her birth story. Tomorrow. Maybe. Or the next night....

Still doing good, knock on wood,
ephelba

This is just to say

things are going well. The baby eats. She sleeps pretty well for her age. Peanut is settling into life with another baby. Boy is back in the land of schooling, and is doing good. Simon's work gave them uniforms- he has cool shirts with his name on them, and I think he looks hot. I am almost human again, especially on days when the baby slept really well.

Knocking on wood,
ephelba

Oh No They Didn't!

Yes, They did.

Well, shit.
ephelba

The week we've had.

Two days after we come home with the newest baby, Peanut comes down with a cold. This means she needs cuddling with mom at a time when mom's arms are full of nursing baby. A nursing baby we'd prefer did not come down with the cold. The cold that's transmitted by the goobers that seem to magically appear wherever the Peanut's been.

The newest baby gets the cold. Surprise. It starts out as a wet sniffle. Turns out it stays that way,but since we can't see the future we worry about her for a day or two.

Peanut hears "No!" more in 24 hours than she has in her whole life. We simply can't get to her quick enough to perform the negotiations and manuevers that smoothed her life before now. As a result, she throws more tantrums in 24 hours than she has in her whole life.

Boy, who is at his Grandmother's in North Carolina, hits his head. He gets a headache. Then he gets queasy. We sheepishly ask Grandma to take an evening out of her vacation and take him to the ER. She gets to play nurse- takes him to the ER, gets him scanned, wakes him up every three hours all night. Boy begins vomiting during the night. She has to take care of that too, of course, and then gets to take him back to the ER. He is concussed. Nothing horrible, no bleeding in the brain, but Simon and I are beside ourselves because Boy is hurting and WE CAN'T BE THERE! I can't stress how much that hurt us. I imagine it wasn't great for Boy either.

My n1pples fall off. OK, maybe not really, but it sure feels that way. I begin pumping on the side that's the worst off, and make so much milk that we end up feeding it to Peanut to help her get over her cold. I wonder what it means that I make enough milk for two children.

The new baby begins fussing whenever she should latch. Most likely this is because I'm now using n1pple shields. She just has to lump it, because the alternative at this point is formula. Seriously. The whole breast feeding thing deserves a post of its own, so I'll stop there.

On the good side, I manage to get both girls fed, diapered and napped all by myself today. It feels like I've won the Nobel prize. I'm very proud. I imagine it gets easier as you go...

Going to take a hard earned nap,
ephelba

Guess what...

Nine pounds, eight ounces.
I walk like a cowgirl now,
happy, sore and proud.

So we had another good do. She's a keeper alright. You want to keep one who takes that much effort to expel, and who changes the exit gate the way she did. Seriously.

Don't have a pet name for her yet- we call her little stink, chuckles, toots-sicle and various other spur of the moment monikers. I'm sure things will settle soon. By the time we pick a name maybe I'll have posted her birth story, a blurb about breastfeeding, a blurb about having three kids, and more. Or not. There's a lot to do and this time around I'm going to work very hard not to feel guilty about how long it takes me to get things done.

TTFN,
ephelba