Best Day Of Their Lives

So today I spent ALL morning trying to get work stuff done on my unthinkably, pound-your-head-on-the-desk slow computer, while also trying to keep the kids entertained by repeatedly reminding them, "As soon as Mommy finishes her work, we're going to go SWIMMING! At the WATER PARK!"

They were so good and so patient, and finally we got everybody into their swim suits and packed towels and extra clothes and sippee cups, and our old babysitter even came over to help me corral them, and I got to the bank to get cash and we all drove through McDonalds to get lunch for the kids since I was out of, like, EVERYTHING and hadn't gotten to the store yet, and then we took off for a neighboring town about twenty minutes away where the Glorious Mecca of Childhood Summer fun, aka the sprayground, is located and then we parked on the wrong side of the park and then we lathered everyone in sunscreen and then we had to walk about a quarter of a MILE to get to the entrance, Eli screaming all the way, and then....

They were closed.

I'm pretty sure the kiddee sundaes I bought at Bob Evans didn't quite counteract the crushing disappointment. MY crushing disappointment, I should clarify. I was seriously more bummed than the kids. I tried to persuade the owner to do me a solid and let us in, but no, she remained crisp and businesslike as my shoulders, weighed down with diaper bags and towels and babies, drooped in dismay.

Because, you know, there goes my gold medal for the Highest Number of Fun Outings Involving Sunscreen and Outfit Changes division of the Coolest Mom Olympics.

One Long Winded Post = Lots Of Short Posts. Right?

So it seems once a week is about my average for posting the last month or so. There goes my Fairly Adequate Blogger status. I haven't been commenting on many of your blogs either, I know, and I'm sorry but have no explanation other than laziness. Well, and some work stuff, actually. I've been doing some event planning for my family's coffeehouse, and it's actually, you know, TAKING UP SOME TIME and all. And I haven't even been doing it singlehandedly by any means. I have such new respect for my sister in law, who has been handling most of that crap PLUS her three kids PLUS a full time job for the last six years.

Anyhoo, I can't even promise the posting/commenting sitch is going to get better anytime soon, since in a few weeks I will be gone again, two weekends in a ROW, and both times SANS HUSBAND AND KIDS. I KNOW. Let that sink into your brains for a minute. The last weekend of this month my mom and I are flying to Minnesota to visit my younger sister and her fiance. I've only seen her house in pictures and I've never been to the Great White North, so I'm pretty excited. And I get to meet her soon to be stepson, Logan, who is practically EXACTLY Addy's age, which is awesome. I'm always bugging my sisters and brother in law to hurry up and have kids so mine will have more cousins, and now my sister will be providing, via marriage, a kid who is the perfect age! Way to pick 'em, Rach.

Then the weekend after THAT, myself, my little(er) sister and three of our friends are driving to Louisville to meet up with my best friend from high school, who moved to Kentucky a few months ago after she graduated from pharmacy school (YAY RENEE!) And did I mention it's my sister and one of the friend's twenty-first birthdays? So that will probably be a pretty fun trip, I'm thinking.

Um, unless I'm newly pregnant, in which case I'll be doing zero drinking and probably lots of napping and staring queasily at the toilet, playing the "Will I or won't I barf?" game. Or maybe not? That stuff usually doesn't kick in until around five or six weeks, right? Geez, I can't even REMEMBER. Biology is so kind (and SNEAKY) in the way it erases all the gross parts of reproduction from your memory.

Speaking of the getting pregnant biz, man, the Clomid is affecting me a lot less pleasantly this time than the last. I am one grumpy mama already. My patience level is about nil right now, and I feel just FRESH OUT of tolerance for things like playing Spiderman off the back of the couch and wiping boogers on the sofa pillows and throwing the dog food into the water dish for the KATRILLIONTH time in one day. That stuff, and then also the crying and screaming and gnashing of teeth about catastrophes like getting a spot of water on one's sleeve or being unable to find a certain bath toy or getting the wrong color lid with one's sippee cup. These aren't hypothetical examples.

Whining, demanding and overreacting are more frustrating for me by far than outright misbehavior, because it's so much harder to pinpoint the WRONG ACTION that I am upset about. It's easy (theoretically anyways) to explain to an adult that their attitude or tone of voice is incorrect and frustrating, but when I tell Adelay to "talk nicely" she just repeats in an even more shrill screech, "Get me some milk now PLEASE!" Then I say, "Talk more softly," and so she'll hiss the above sentence instead. How do I get her to take the NASTY out of her voice?!

Relatedly, how do I explain to her that while it may be acceptable for an almost two year old to happily yell "Mi'k!" from his high chair and, so long as he has not hurled his cup at the nearest parent, be rewarded with more milk, it is not acceptable for her to do so, especially when her tone of voice is decidedly less cheerful?

Also (and sort of apropos of nothing,) lately when Eli has been particularly ornery and it seems he's been IN time out more often than OUT, Jim has taken to warning him, with a completely straight face, about The Big Time Out In The Sky. I think it is the funniest thing evah.

Fun Fact Friday!

Because I haven't stolen Tessie's idea in awhile:

-My sister made us a Cocoa Cola Marshmallow Cake the other day. It's very good, but also very weird, and I can only eat it a few bites at a time. So basically there's a pile of chocolate-ish goo sitting in the fridge with random dents dug out of it. It looks like a science project at this point.

-Addy is very into playing baby dolls right now, but dude, she keeps trying to get me to nurse her babies. Which mainly thrills me, because I'm so happy that she knows babies drink breast milk and that there's nothing weird or gross about breasts and RANT RANT RANT AMERICA HAS OVERSEXUALIZED THE BREAST AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO GET OVER IT ALREADY AND WHIP 'EM OUT IN THE NAME OF INFANT HEALTH etc. BUT. I feel a little weird whipping it out for a plastic doll staring at me with creepy, sightless marble eyes. I'm working on convincing Addy that it's perfectly acceptable to just PRETEND to nurse the baby and still keep my shirt on. So now she's taken to nursing it herself. Whatevs.

-I'm supposed to use an LH detector this month with the Clomid, which I've never done before because I can pretty much tell when I'm ovulating due to the DEEP DEEP STABBING PAIN that lasts for two days afterwards. But the doctor said the pain usually means your peak ovulation time is already passed, so... Whoops. Does anyone have any recommendations on a brand of LH kit? And perhaps an explanation for how exactly one uses an LH kit? Pregnancy tests I have MUCHO experience with, but this other kind of pee stick, not so much.

-Portable DVD players are the best invention ever. We now have TWO. But hey, we don't have cable, so it all evens out.

-Our vegetable garden is really taking off, despite little to no care or attention from us after initial planting. I gave it a good watering today and am a little AFRAID about how much growth might occur tonight.

-I went to a tiny little local grocery store today just for a change of pace, and Eli chose that particular hour to throw the hugest public fit I've ever witnessed. I had to tear into a box of fruit snacks which I wasn't even planning to buy AND carry him the entire time to get him to be even REASONABLY quiet. Yikes. I was totally expecting evil stares, but the older ladies who ran the store were SO nice and sympathetic. They kept suggesting every ailment or illness known to man that could be causing his misery, and reassuring me that, "He just doesn't understand why he doesn't feel good! Kids don't mean to be bad!" This was so nice to hear, compared to the usual nasty stares you get, or occasional comments about DISCIPLINE.

-I am such a disappointment as a mom to Adelay. She is currently losing it because of my colossal fail at making her a fort with pillows and blankets, and also at my pathetic attempt to make HAIR, for the love of pete, for her LEGO doll. I am batting a thousand today, lemme tell ya.

-Just discovered that some persistent and sharp-toothed varmint had a hayday in the garbage bags piled in our garage last night. Most especially with a sealed container of EXPIRED MEAT. There were rubber gloves and Lysol involved in the clean up, let's just say that. But I was tough about it, just got right in there picking up nectarine pits and broken jars and picked-clean meat bones and all, until I got to the MAGGOTS squirming beneath one of the bags. OMG. OMG. OMG. I was pretty much dry heaving after that. And now we'll be having pizza (AND WINE AND SOME LOVELY LOVELY WINE) for dinner because there is no way I can stomach looking at raw meat after that little adventure. Not for quite some time, I think.

A Blog Post! About Actual Stuff!

Well, lookee here. I was clicking around the ole Internetz this morning and discovered that I apparently have, like, this blog thing. That I write in regularly. I suspect that this nugget of information slipped through a crack in my brain this last week or so, falling, unnoticed, into the piles of detritus and genuine filth that as of yesterday were still covering the majority of the floor space in our once-lovely Town and Country. The upholstery in that family vehicle has taken quite a hit in the name of family fun this summer, let me tell you.

I kid you not, I spent the bulk of two hours cleaning that van out. And I don't even mean really detailing it, like with Armor All and a squeegee and a can of wax. I mean, throwing armfuls of CRAP out the door, pell mell, until the yard was littered with broken plastic crowns and bent up board books and empty fry containers and lone flip flops and kiddee sized lawn chairs and granola bar wrappers and, strangest of all, random pieces of plastic fruit from our play food collection. Once all the junk was out, I could face the horror of the actual floor, which could barely be seen beneath its carpeting of sand, gravel bits, grass clippings, ground up Pop Tart dust, and of course, innumerable bits of petrified french fry.

I just about broke my vacuum cleaner on that mess, no lie. Or, my vacuum cleaner just about broke me. I probably looked like a cartoon character, wrestling around with it furiously in the driveway, the humidity sproinging my hair up into a crazy lady wig while I futzed around with extension cords and hissed menacingly at the various attachments I was slamming around.

But! That nightmare is behind me, and the van, while not showroom clean by any means, is at least free of the bulk of the dust and food particles previously covering every visible surface. The kids, however, are now covered in snot, as they have both come down with colds just in time for yet another road trip scheduled this Saturday, this time to Michigan for a big joint birthday party. So the car should be back to its usual condition, a veritable Little Shop of Horrors, within a few days.

In other news, Addy has an appointment with a group of eye specialists a few towns away next week because we found out right before we left for Canada that she has intermittent strabismus, sometimes referred to as lazy eye, though it's actually a different problem. Basically the muscles in left eye are weak and have trouble focusing, even though her actual vision in both eyes is perfect. We've noticed her squinting, closing or covering her left eye quite often, particularly when she's trying to focus or trying to look at something far away. And then lately we've begun to actually see her eye travel a bit when she's relaxed. Sometimes she'll blink and correct it, but often, if she's tired, she'll just let her left eye go unfocused. Once I had her in the doctor's office and he was doing the tests, you could really see the problem. She was almost incapable of focusing with that eye alone, and has obviously become used to just not using it when it begins to drift to the side, which of course has only exaggerated its previous weakness.

We're going to begin with treatments to exercise and strengthen her eye. How often and for how long remains to be seen. Many people with this problem end up in surgery, but the doctor here in town was optimistic that we caught it early enough that exercise alone will correct it. So here's hoping. And while you're hoping, maybe also hope that our insurance will decide to help us out a little!

And now I have to go get ready, because I have an ultrasound scheduled in two hours to check my ovaries! And if all seems well, its back on the Clomid I go. Somewhat problematically, I also have an appointment next week with my surgeon to see about having an old hernia repaired. It's one of those little hernias which they often patch with mesh, and the mesh is now weakening and causing pain and probably pulling at scar tissue or something. It's only moderately annoying right now, mainly when I exercise or lay on my stomach or something, but I don't want to let it get any worse and then get pregnant and just have to deal with it for another year.

Back when I had it fixed my doctor said that about one out of every ten hernias will need repaired later on, probably more than that for women who get pregnant after having one. So it's not a total shocker, but still annoying. I THINK I can get squeezed in to have it repaired before I ovulate though, so fret not: I'm not planning on trying to get knocked up and THEN going under anesthesia for an elective surgical procedure. And I'm definitely going to ask her if it's ok to have anesthesia-type drugs after a round of Clomid. If not, then oh well. I'll just deal with it until I CAN get it fixed, and at least I'll have the consult out of the way. But I wouldn't think it would be an issue, so long as I got it done before the actual getting pregnant part, right?

Edited to add: My ovaries are good to go. However, as of this morning, my glorious tan from the beach has turned into a horrible case of brown, molting skin on my forehead, nose and cheekbones. It is sex-AY. Hooray for irreparable sun damage!

Can't Talk! Playing!

You know, it always used to annoy me when bloggers would sort of go MIA during the summer, posting lightly here and there and even then, only with quick, quasi-funny stories or pictures of their kids, followed by the inevitable, "Sorry about infrequent posts- it's the SUMMER and we're so BUSY!"


(Busy preparing to give the Kiss of Life to a fallen comrade, apparently.)


Well. How are the mighty fallen. But I don't even feel too apologetic, because MAN, it's nice to be enjoying a summer during which I am not largely pregnant nor do I have a relatively young, nursing baby, as has been the case for the previous, oh, FOUR summers. Sure, there are still diapers to change, but at least no one is physically lodging under my ribcage, or essentially tied to my body every two or three hours due to the WONDER and BEAUTY of breastfeeding. So look out, world: you are pretty much my oyster!

And now we're off to pack because we're going back to the cottage this weekend- for the third time already since May! The Fourth of July is also my FIL's birthday, so we'll be celebrating our American Independence in Canada this year.

Another picture of sweet kids to lengthen post:

O. M. G. Also, I Quit

Fonzie threw up his entire breakfast today while we were eating lunch. He's a big dog, you know, so his meals are big too, which means that the enormous pile of regurgitated meal was... big.

Jim put Eli down for his nap after lunch. Ten minutes later, he went in to find that Eli had torn off his diaper- his FULL dirty diaper- and stepped in the contents, before running all over the room and his bedding. Man do I wish we had held off on that "moving him out of his crib" business another week or so.

While I was scrubbing the rug, wiping down the entire wood floor, sanitizing the tub wherein Eli had undergone Feces Removal and soaking the bedding, I heard a yell of alarm from the den, followed by the rapid pattering of Addy's feet as she announced, "Eli broke the computer!"

While he hadn't broken it, he did manage to climb onto the desk chair and rip several plastic letter covers off the keyboard of Jim's laptop.

Also, the other day Eli pooped in the bathtub. For like the fifth time.

These are the kind of days that I feel 100% glad, not even a tiny bit sorry, perhaps even downright CELEBRATORY, that I am not pregnant.

Out of Breath

This week, rapid fire:

-moving my old twin bed to our house from my parents' house
-setting up twin bed in Addy's room
-moving Eli's dresser INTO Addy's room and moving a bunch of toys OUT of her room
-coaxing Eli to sleep in the toddler bed in the same room as his sister
-coaxing the kids to play with their toys in the official play room (Eli's old room) rather than dragging every basket and car and ball back to the living room
-coffee with a friend I haven't seen in awhile
-drinks with another friend I haven't seen in awhile
-sadly little exercise

Today, rapid fire:
-two farmer's market visits
-grocery shopping
-sweeping off the front porch of an enormous mound of seed pods and dirt, throwing away a dead hanging basket and replacing it (and WATERING it so it doesn't meet its predecessor's fate)
-Jim giving Eli's hair a fade without letting me know about it first
-going to a cookout
-going to a concert at the coffeehouse
-going to a fireworks display

To My Baby Daddy

Happy Father's Day, Jim! Thanks for all the times you're patient when I am losing it, rational when I'm frantic, stern when I'm being a pushover, fun when I'm boring, and awake when I'm sleeping! I would never want to parent without you. Hope you had a great day!

Summer Lovin'

Wow, it's been a few days... That's what happens when you have ten loads of laundry to catch up on. TRUE EFFING STORY. And half of them were covered in sand. And then I ran out of dryer sheets halfway through. And then I swept up huge piles of sand. Repeatedly. And that was pretty much where I've been! In the laundry room.

Man, I'm loving summer, though, sandy laundry and all. I love how everything seems more fun. I love how you can just throw on sandals and go, no coats-hats-mittens routine slowly killing your desire to do anything but huddle around the TV together in quiet apathy. I love evenings spent sitting out on the deck or porch, talking and watching varying ages of kids run by in a blur of sweaty hair and Popsicle drips. I love weekend trips, and I love coming home from those trips knowing that soon enough there will be another. I love driving in the evening and watching the horizon slowly melting into tangerine and hot pink. I love that I seem to miraculously be getting a tan this year. I love that everyone wears less makeup, less perfume, less everything. I LOVE watermelon.

(Do not love: sweaty hair, sweaty backs, working out and then emerging from the gym, already sweaty, into a swamp of humidity outside. Do not love: applying sunscreen, reapplying sunscreen, the smell of bug spray, bugs period, mowing the lawn, listening to the dog pant pant pant all day long while ignoring his water dish like an idiot.)

Know what else I love? This summer, Jim's family and we are eating dinner together three times a week. Mondays I cook, Tuesdays his sister cooks, Thursdays his mom does. Then the kids run wild outside together until it's time to go home for bed, which is so awesome I can barely stand it. I get so excited on those nights, thinking, "Oh my gosh, after dinner the kids are COMPLETELY OCCUPIED. I can just sit here and talk to grown ups and they can go swing with the big kids and be free from nagging adults and OMG IT COULDN'T BE MORE PERFECT."





What are you loving about summer?

Oh The Places You'll Go! (Oh The Laundry You'll Do!)

We stuffed the van to absolute max capacity Thursday night, picked up one of our nephews, and headed northward for the Canada cottage once more, achieving roughly eight miles a gallon due to the staggering weight of three milk-filled children, two adults and a loaded cooler. Oh, and the shocking amount of STUFF I felt compelled to bring, terrified as I was of being stranded in the Canadian wilderness on a rainy day with nothing but a deck of cards and a can of bug spray to entertain three kids.

Note to self for next time: we do not need a beach AND bath towel for every person. Nor do we even need a change of clothes per person per day, as everyone apparently lived in their swim suits the whole time. However, we DO need to bring more chips next time. And SPRAYABLE sunscreen, because sweet Lord, it took about ten minutes and a day's worth of teeth-gritting to hold Eli still long enough to slather him in an appropriate SPF. Ah well, live and learn.



A great beach activity for those tending toward sunburn: bury your lower extremities in sand.





Eli was happy as the proverbial clam so long as he was left the heck alone with his pail and shovel. Try to feed him, change his diaper, prevent him from drowning or blistering in the sun, though, and prepare to face the WRATH OH YE GODS THE WRATH.



Mortifying story: I was feeling all brave and decided to break out a bikini top to go with the demure, mom-ish skirted bathing suit bottom originally purchased with an equally demure, mom-ish, belly covering top. Because hey! I am young! I have worked (kind of) hard to reclaim my figure from the ravages of pregnancy! I should show it off! And also, I have been drinking!
I boldly put it on the second morning we were there and strolled down to the beach where the kids were already shell hunting. I was totally happy, basking in the sun, feeling good, when my nephew inquired politely, "What happened to your stomach? You have scars all over your belly."
"My children wrecked my youthful beauty," I replied bitterly, before throwing myself into the sea.
Oh wait, no. Something more mature and rational, like, "When moms have babies in their bellies, their skin stretches and sometimes it leaves scars," accompanied by a reassuring smile. I'm sure that's how it went.
PS: Tanning does seem to fade those stretch marks a lot. Just fyi. Not that you should EVER tan though because it will give you cancer and it's bad bad BAD.



Greg with his Uncle Jimmy, working on a fantastic sandcastle. More of a sand fortress, really. I am always amazed by Jim's patience with projects like these. I am sure the kids found his enthusiasm for butterfly stone collecting, mudball racing and giant hole digging far more entertaining than PawPaw, Aunt Nancy, Grandma's and my enthusiasm for basking in the sun while reading our novels.


Addy did enjoy taking occasional breaks from all the lakeside fun to sit with Grandma and watch her read while liberally sprinkling sand into the bag of chips. Good times!

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Okay, so everyone's familiar with PMS, right? You're a little cranky, a little moody, a little hungry, a little weepy maybe. You feel fat and your skin is yucky. Perhaps someone says something innocuous to you and you take it the wrong way and feel sad.

Now. Maximize that by about ten. You're so cranky that by about two PM every day you have to literally remove yourself from the same room as your toddler so that you're not yelling and slamming things in frustration. You're so hungry that you're wearing a hand mark on the refrigerator door with all your constant searching for another snack. You're so tired that you sit down on the couch for a minute and the next thing you know it's two hours later.

You're so moody and sensitive and strung out that a week ago, you were excited at the prospect of another baby, but this week, a few terse exchanges with your husband has you convinced that you couldn't possibly have another baby right now because it would be crazy and irresponsible to bring another child into such an obviously STRESSFUL and STRUGGLING marriage. And you're so FAT and your hair is so gross, you wouldn't blame him if he didn't love you anymore.

Plus, you know, you're obviously a terrible mother who shouldn't be allowed to reproduce again: look at your current kids, yelling and climbing the walls and kicking their feet angrily against the rungs of the time-out chair in which they've seemingly spent half the day... Someone's going to come take your children away from you if these kids let loose with one more blood curdling scream while the windows are open. But actually, if either of these kids lets loose with one more pee accident on the bathroom rug, you're going to be BEGGING someone to come take them away, so it's all right.

Later, you're at dinner with your family, and spend about an hour ruminating with your brother and sister in law about the futility of life, marriage, and motherhood, making bitter, depressing comments and staring broodingly into your wine glass. (Yes, that's right, this package deal of good humor, wit and comedy is available for dinner parties! Call early to ensure availability!)

And then, a few days later, you begin thinking, "This is weird. I'm SO hungry and SO tired. This can't just be PMS. I'm so EMOTIONAL!" Then your period is maybe, say, two whole days late and then you maybe, say, buy a three pack of pregnancy tests and start weepily trying to plan how you will tell people about this baby. While eating chocolate chip cookie dough pop tarts because you are so hungry again.

Um, and then you get home from the store and you don't actually need those tests after all. Because there's no little baby in your uterus. There's just a large CRAZY woman who's crawled under your skin for a few days uninvited. Whee!

Anyone know if there's such a thing as premenstrual psychosis?

Nice People Are Nice

Hmm. There must be a more eloquent way to say that. Really, though, that's the general concept I wish to convey.

Yesterday I was rushing around in the grocery, feeling a little harried and worn out from a busy weekend out of town, three hours in the car, lots of laundry and unpacking waiting for me, and nearly empty cupboards. So of course, I ran into about four different people I knew. Two of them were awkward, let's-avoid-eye-contact type of encounters (one girl was the sister of a guy I broke up with in high school, another was the girl who dated an ex of mine immediately after me.) The third was the mom of a friend of mine, so I thought at least THERE I might get a friendly exchange. I stopped to greet her pleasantly, but she didn't crack a smile, appearing tense and hurried. She threw a curt, "Hi there" over her shoulder and returned to perusing the cuts of beef.

I must have been feeling particularly sensitive or something, but I was getting really bothered by all the avoidance and bare-bones civility. I was pondering this, glumly loading my cart with macaroni and applesauce, when I heard a cheerful voice call out, "It IS you!" Behind me was an old friend of Jim's, his wife and their two boys. These are people we only see a few times a year at weddings and reunions, but they were SO friendly, and strolled down the aisle with me, catching up on summer plans, for about ten minutes.

I felt so much better after talking to them. Now, I know sometimes you truly are pressed for time and can't spare the few minutes to stop and have a conversation. But if you can, it sure beats waving across the store. Or NOT even waving.

~~~

When I got home, I checked the mailbox, and of course there was a teetering pile of insurance statements and medical bills. (Who knew blood draws could add up to over two hundred dollars? AFTER insurance?) I sat in the front seat of the van sifting through them, feeling my energy drain again as various large "amounts owed" started hovering weightily in my head. Then I got to a Hallmark envelope addressed to me. Is it my birthday already? Some thank you note for something I totally forgot about doing?

But no, it was just a handwritten note from an older woman at our church, telling me how nice the baby shower that I hosted recently was and that she knew throwing parties can be stressful as well as fun (I did have HELP, so I felt a little unworthy of the praise, but it was still bolstering.) She even added, "I couldn't help noticing that you've kept your girlish figure. Looking good!"

Say what you will about church ladies (and I have, believe me) but that last comment made me burst into tears momentarily. Maybe it was a bit of an overreaction, but hey, I was feeling pretty low. And then, here was this sweet woman, entirely without solicitation, not only complimenting my cheesecake but complimenting my waistline as well!

I will definitely be letting her know how much her note meant to me, but I will also try to keep my eyes open for someone to whom I can pass the favor along. And hey, the next time you have a fleeting nice thought about someone, be it their brownies or their newly toned arms or whatever, let me just suggest voicing that thought to them. Sometimes we think, "Oh, she knows she looks good!" or "Everyone's always complimenting her food; she doesn't need to hear it again."

But maybe she really, really does.

Sorry, Heather

This is a little mean, what I'm about to do right here, but I swear to you IT MUST BE DONE. I will go crazy the rest of the day if I don't ask- nay, DEMAND- that you click this link and then tell me honestly what you really think of the wallpaper in Heather Armstrong's new baby's nursery.

CLICK HERE NOW RIGHT NOW

Done? Now tell me, go ahead, just try to convince me that that design isn't basically the realization of several childhood NIGHTMARES I've had, come enormously to life on the walls of that helpless child's bedroom.

As a disclaimer, I'll freely admit it: I don't like or even get modern decor very often. For most rooms, I like things to have soft edges and luxurious fabrics and a little bit of fancy or whimsy or old fashioned to them. However I can say with a clear conscience that my terror re: above nursery has nothing to do with modern decor. It has to do with the concept of, in the semi-dark of a nursery illuminated only by the glow of the nightlight, A THOUSAND SHARP-BEAKED BIRDS diving to the ground to pluck out my eyes.

Or is it just me?

What's In A Name

This is SO random, and I cannot even remember what made me think of it (probably something like, "What should we name this hypothetical next baby or two?") but here is my Discussion Question of the day: If you could have named yourself, what would you choose? So, not that you're changing your name NOW, but that you would go back in time and change what it has been since your birth. Is there another name you think would fit better, or would go better with your last name, or is more unusual/less unusual than your current moniker?

I really like my name, generally, and I think it fits fine. (It's Sarah, for anyone who still thinks of me simply as Desperate.) I do sometimes wish it was less common, but it's not something that bothers me on a daily or even monthly basis. My middle name is Elizabeth, which I like a little better. Plus! So many nicknames to choose from.

However, there are a few other names I've always liked that I wouldn't mind trying on. Oh, or trying on Adelay! I love her name, but there are SO MANY pretty girls' names; it almost makes me want five girls, just to have the pleasure of coming up with five- ten if you count middle- lovely and unique girl names.

So, choices for my or my daughter's alternate names would be:

Brielle
Felicity
Annaliese
Aislinn
Calista
Brynn
Annika


How about you guys? Any one (or ten) name(s) you've always loved and wanted for yourself?

My Alter Ego

Addy used to be such a great sleeper. She took two naps a day until she was two. She'd always comply with bedtime and then drop right off, to sleep- nary a peep from her room once the door was closed, even if people came over or I was vacuuming two rooms away. Sometimes she'd announce on her own when she was sleepy before it was even bedtime, grab her blankie and trot off to bed, leaving us shaking our heads and thinking how LUCKY we were. (It almost made up for the fact that three nights out of four, she was eating a pb and j for dinner after an hour of futile attempts to shovel vegetables and proteins down her throat.)

But lo, it is no longer so. She is not napping reliably whatsoever, not even with the bribes of the portable DVD player in her room to let Dora soothe her off to sleep. She won't even accept the idea of a quiet time, and if I lock the child gate on her door to force her to play in there, she just stands and yells for me until a, I am yelling right back or b, her brother has been woken from HIS nap, which... is the end of the world, essentially.

But the real horror isn't even naptime. I mean, she is close to four years old. I am resignedly aware of the fact that she just might not generally NEED a rest time anymore, even if her mama still does. No, the real horror is bedtime, when she is popping up out of bed about every ten minutes from eight thirty to ten thirty every night with various urgent problems requiring our help. The requests are creative, I gotta give her that. It's never the same one twice: she needs the potty, a drink of water, a drink of milk, a snack, a hug, an episode of Blue's Clues, another story, a Hello Kitty band-aid, to kiss Fonzie good night, to call Aunt Rachel, to go the playground, to go to WORK, to snuggle with Mama, etc.

I know it's a normal kid thing, inventing excuses to stay up if you don't feel tired the second your head hits the pillow. But by about the third time I've walked her back to bed, I can feel myself starting to Lose. It. I just want to go get something done without kid-interruptions for the first time all day, but no! The interruptions just keep coming, except that they're MORE frustrating because they involve retucking her into bed a kazillion times. I've said that I'm not doing the whole tucking and kissing routine after the second time, but I keep slipping up and doing it anyways because otherwise she stands there and wails with increasing urgency, "But MOM! But MOM! I need KISS! I need TUCK!" and not only does the guilt slay me, but also, if she wakes Eli up: end of the world, as aforementioned.

Tonight was really bad. I think she got up about ten times before I seriously lost it. I heard my voice mid-rant and it was really not pleasant. Thankfully, she didn't seem wounded by my fury or the low, snarly quality of my tone; alarmed perhaps, because she did at least STAY in bed that time (so far,) but not teary eyed and shocked by the sudden appearance of Mean Mommy.

I was wounded, though. I hate turning into that Mom, the one hissing at her kids in a voice just as mean and threatening as she can make it, trying to control their behavior by scaring or shocking them or hurting their feelings. I mean, a little shock value is ok. But I never want my kids to feel afraid of ME. Afraid of the consequences of bad behavior, sure (Losing Blue's Clue's for the day! Oh the horrors!) but not afraid of me, personally.

Also, it's a tricky situation to navigate, the bedtime misdemeanors, when your usual discipline is a time out. In this case, a time out would still be getting to stay UP longer, so I think it's slightly inappropriate. Is it just all about consistency, just sending her back, or taking her back, to bed over and over and OVER until eventually she gives up? Or is there some trick I'm missing?

Also, don't you just hate it when the last thing you've said (growled) to your kid for the night is, "Get BACK in bed and STAY there! I do not want to see you up again, young lady!" What a crappy feeling.

Not Intended For Squeamish Readers

Currently on my brain and making me cringe:

-Eli keeps taking his diaper off and bringing it to me. Methinks it's maybe time to potty train? But he's only twenty one months! And stubborn! And squirmy and screamy! I can't even get his diaper changed without an epic battle. Is the diaper removal maybe more to do with the novelty of being able to do it himself and less about his disgust with wearing a dirty diaper? Because honestly the idea of toilet training this young freaks me out a little. There would be SO many accidents and SUCH urgency to make sure he got there on time. We'd have to watch him like a hawk and he's so hard to keep an eye on... Plus he's just now learning to communicate with us and still doesn't have words for needing a diaper change. On the other hand, boy would I love having no one in diapers for awhile before we add another kid. On the OTHER other hand, boy do I not miss emptying the potty chair and soaking gross underpants and setting the timer so I can remember to help a little one try to urinate every fifteen minutes. That was possibly the worst month of my life. Thoughts?

-I have no idea how to delicately broach this subject, so I'll just do it fast like a band-aid. I'm desperate enough for advise to brave the awkwardness of the question. How do you handle it when your toddlers start, um, pleasuring themselves on various household items, like while they're watching TV or whatever? Or even (oh the weirdness!) when they're, say, enjoying a nice piggyback ride and then you realize that they're enjoying it maybe a little TOO much?

-Any advise for dealing with little ones who have seasonal allergies? Both the kids seem to have them pretty bad. Adelay was the only one officially diagnosed with them, but Eli seems to be exhibiting the same symptoms, so I'm just assuming with him. I have some children's Zyrtec the doctor gave me, but I feel really hesitant about drugging them up when they're not even SICK. However, I also feel really tired of wiping noses every two seconds and constantly wiping snot trails off the sofa pillows. And it makes it hard to take them to childcare situations like the gym or church because people think they're sick and that I'm being a jerk to bring them in public, and also I just feel bad about expecting someone else to be constantly monitoring my kids' runny noses.

Daddy's Girl

Oh, man. Last night was the first time since we've been back from Canada that neither one of the kids has gotten me up at three in the morning with some crisis or another. The seven nights previous, BOTH of them were up AT LEAST once with bloody noses, removed diapers, bad dreams, urgent bathroom needs, and of course Eli's usual light sleeping habits and inability to soothe himself back to sleep. I'm not sure if it was pure coincidence or some kind of conspiracy to punish us for leaving them, but WOW. Punishment is what it feels like. Even today, after seven hours straight of sleep, I feel like a zombie. I've had two cups of coffee and am still yawning and nodding off here. I'm sure I'll post a genuinely interesting and thought provoking post just any day now...

We did have a nice morning at a nearby nursery, however, and Addy was being such a little Daddy's girl it compelled me to pull out some pictures of her and Jim together.



Reading together.


The same wacky sense of humor.


Scaring each other silly.

Also, on an Addy-related note: she has taken to correcting people if they introduce her as "Addy" and saying, "No, I ADELAY." When I eventually asked her whether she preferred her full name, she confirmed that yes, she wanted to be called Adelay. Isn't she kind of young for that? And does that mean we can't call her Addy anymore? Because that's going to be kind of a hard habit to break.

The Continental Breakfast of Blog Posts

I know it's bad form to publish a post of nothing but cutesy kid pictures when your blog is public; however, I figured maybe we could all use some lightness from my end of the internetz after all the "infertility specialist" this and "maybe taking even MORE drugs!" that. Boring, stressful, draining. But perhaps these photos will help you understand why I want yet more children badly enough to wade through it all. (Also, badly enough to wade through the ACTUAL HUMAN FECES thrown on the floor at three AM yesterday morning, when Eli finally discovered the removable magic of his diaper tabs.)


A proud showcasing of the Disney Princess dolls.


One of the few moments when they weren't trying to drown each other.


Why are his best smiles always covered in chocolate? Oh wait- answered my own question.



Sweet nothings? Or are they... forming an alliance against us?

To Make A Long Story... Er, Still Pretty Long

Jim and I drove to (undisclosed large city about an hour and a half away) yesterday to go to yet another specialist, this time the reproductive endocrinologist. We were a little nervous about what he might recommend, because we had pretty much decided that if he strongly felt that I needed the Lovenox injections, we were going to put babies on hold indefinitely, if not forever. Lovenox is very expensive, for one thing, and Jim's company recently made some fairly significant cutbacks. As Swistle has said, there is no perfect time to be pregnant, but there are certainly times that are not ideal, and an expensive pregnancy when money is tighter than ever certainly did not seem to be good planning.

However, there may be a baby or two in the cards for us yet, because the doctor seemed to think that the Lovenox recommendation was really jumping the gun for my particular situation, and that in this case the rewards would not outweigh the risks. He said that since my miscarriages were not consecutive, and both occurred very early on, they seemed to be indicative more of just bad luck than of a specific problem causing me to abort, like luteal phase defect or the blood clotting defect.

We really liked his demeanor- he seemed much less eager to jump to conclusions and say, "Oh, you had low progesterone? THAT is why you miscarried!" or "Wait, you also have this somewhat unusual blood clotting factor? THAT's making you miscarry!" Which is what the OB and the hematologist seemed to want to do. I think some doctors believe that the more definite and sure of themselves they sound, the more reassured the patient will feel. Honestly though, I feel more inclined to trust a doctor who doesn't act so confident about everything and who is willing to shrug and say, "Yes, we believe that x may be linked to y, but there's no definite proof that it's affected you at all yet, or that it ever will."

He pointed out that in certain people groups, this supposed blood disorder is actually found in up to a third of the population, but only one to five percent of them will actually present with any related symptoms. Given that information, plus the fact that I have had two healthy babies, I have never had a blood clot myself, nor has anyone in my family, it seems wisest to go with the least aggressive treatment method- i.e., go ahead and take the baby aspirin and extra folic acid, but nothing else at this point.

We ARE doing a few more blood tests, which I guess will indicate whether I am one of those few who are actually at risk for developing symptoms based on the blood disorder. If those come back positive he said he would recommend Lovenox after all, but that he really doubts they will based on my healthy history (the fact that I've actually been on bedrest on three different occasions, all while pregnant, which would put me at pretty significant risk for clots if I was in fact predisposed to them, yet I never have had one.)

What else? Oh yes, I'm supposed to take an antibiotic the first week of my cycle to possibly help with the preterm labor thing. I didn't really grasp everything he was saying about that- my mind was stuck on, "Oh thank GOD I don't have to give myself injections!"- but I think the gist of it was that there has been a link seen in women who have this latent infection and women who tend to go into labor too early. The infection never presents symptomatically in the mothers themselves, just seems to trigger contractions and dilation. So they've been treating women prone to preterm labor with this antibiotic for ten days before they ovulate to see if it might prevent early delivery. He admitted there isn't much data on its effectiveness yet, but said it's kind of like progesterone treatment, in that it can't hurt anything and it might help, so why not?

That's kind of our theory regarding Clomid, too, and the doctor concurred: no, I don't necessarily need the help ovulating, but I did carry my last healthy baby while using it, it does seem to boost hormone production, and it doesn't seem to affect me TOO negatively, so... why not? I'm on the lowest possible dosage, so the risk of multiples is still fairly low, and one we're willing to take.

To sum up, the new game plan is as follows: Still take Clomid, probably; take some antibiotic before I ovulate; take Prometrium as soon as I ovulate and then double the dose if I were pregnant; continue to take baby aspirin and folic supplement. BUT. No Lovenox. Whew.

Also, if you made it through this whole post without taking a break or clicking away in exhaustion, pat yourself on the back for being a very patient and noble person.

Return

Glendale Beach

Well hi! Forgot to mention I was going to be gone for three days, huh? Our anniversary was Friday, and while we did not go to Jamaica as planned, we did manage to get ourselves to Canada for a long weekend at the family cottage.



There was another pose with Jim lecherously peering down my shirt, but I thought this one was just slightly cuter.


Jim, enjoying an afternoon beverage. Twelve fifteen is afternoon, right?

The temperature stayed pretty low most of the time, so it wasn't really a bathing suit wearing/swimming in the lake sort of trip (though I did attempt partial sunbathing one afternoon as seen above,) but there were movies and games, drinking, and football on the beach. I actually thought it was just as much fun as if the weather had been warm. The beach is the beach; to me it's always interesting and beautiful, no matter the weather. Also interesting: the fact that after a few sessions of football tossing and running plays, I am sore in muscles I didn't even know existed. This after being (semi) religious on the Nautilus machines for over six months. Clearly there are some muscle groups still not being fully exercised.



The boys playing poker. I played too, so now I can add "knows how to play Texas Hold 'Em" to my resume.


Brett protecting his head from those harsh Canadian rays.

Jim's uncle and brother had gone up a few days ahead of us to open the cottage for the season (i.e. turn on water, clean just about every surface, wash every dish and of course vacuum up a zillion mouse droppings and then spray rodent poison all over) and Brett stayed and went home with us, stopping off at Aunt Nancy's on the way. It was really good to see her. She had to have double hip replacement several weeks ago, so I'd been wanting to stop by and see if she was doing all right. Which, of course, she is. The women of Jim's family are nothing if not resilient.

In all, a fun and relaxing anniversary weekend, if not exactly the repeat honeymoon we had hoped for. But you know, uncertain financial times, tightening of employer purse strings, blah blah blah... Not the best time for a tropical vacation. Jamaica's not going anywhere, I suppose, so we'll get back eventually. Until then, there's always Canada. Which is really not too shabby.