Booger Boys & Monster Mama

Blowin' off the dust...

2011-04-25T14:32:00.002-04:00

Coughhackcoughcoughgasp...

This is one dusty-ass blog.

Holy crap it's been a long time. I think the last time I wrote on this we were all still hopeful that Obama would save us all. Ha. Yeah, I'm looking right at you, Jen.

A really long time...

Holy shit, where to even start...

Um. Robbie moved out in April of 2010. For good. I am still trying to get paperwork filed so we can get on with this. But more on that later.

We moved to a new house with the help of my parents. We love it here!! The boys now have a big back yard & a new dog to go in it. It's perfect for my new little family. But more on that later.

I have started my bachelor's work in Adult Education so I can teach in this field I love. It will, hopefully, ensure a better future for my kids & help me pay for school since I'm on my own here. But... more on that. Later.

I started dating someone a few months ago. He is smart, funny, responsible, kind and as perfect as anyone can get without one of us being delusional. And I am totally not ready for it. But... yeah. Later.

Robbie has had his own issues to deal with since he left. On his own with no one to do it for him & no one to blame for them anymore. Hasn't really stopped him from trying, though. He was diagnosed as Bipolar last year--the only person surprised by that was him. I'm not privy to anything as far as his treatment goes, he doesn't really share any information with me. That's okay--this is his life & he is going to live it the way he sees fit. I'm just here to help the kids cope with whatever he throws our way. But, again, more on that...later.

The past year has seen me making a lot of changes in my life; the way I think not only about myself but the way I choose to live my life. I am setting an example for my kids whether any of us realize it or not. This is precedence in the making--what I do now will be repeated for generations to come. No really, think about it, what if every choice you made now was repeated by your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren? That is, of course, assuming the world does NOT come to an end next year. Or next month, depending on which lunatic you happen to be listening to at this moment.

Anyway... bottom line; I. Am. Happy.

Not because life is perfect & I have no problems. Hell no... I would like to find those caliber of drugs. I am happy because I want to be.

I choose to be.

And I'll explain more of that... well, you get the point.

We've got a lot to catch up on, my loveys.

Just as soon as you figure out that this blog is up and running again... lol

Hey... later.

The Man Who Came to Dinner

2009-09-07T11:40:00.003-04:00

Robbie came for dinner last night. He'd called late afternoon to ask about getting the kids today to take them to the fair near his mom's house. They had talked of little else since he mentioned it to them on Saturday night. They were so excited to see him.

I knew his being away from them was breaking their hearts. Early Saturday morning Hayden came to me, teary-eyed and said, "Mommy, if Daddy is gone forever, and you go away forever, who is going to take care of us?". If ever I have felt like the world's worst mommy...it was right then.

Robbie called and we had a good conversation, not about "us" or the state of our marriage or any in depth analytical insights into what we've been going through. Just a basic "How was your day?" that was met with an honest answer. I knew the kids couldn't wait to spend some time with him, and I knew they deserved more than a few hours at the fair...so I invited him for dinner. I left it entirely up to him, it would be ready in an hour and a half, he was welcome to join us, sleep here and leave with the kids in the morning. He hesitated at first, and I told him to show up if he wanted to. If not, then we would see him in the morning.

I'd kinda hoped he show up. I didn't expect my heart to skip a beat when he walked through the door.

The kids were ecstatic, I was nervous. Dinner went well. We all watched "WallE", the boys vying for a spot on daddy's lap during the movie. Ice cream and jammies, then everyone tucked into bed.

I didn't bring up where he was sleeping, but when I came out of the bathroom--there he was, snuggled into his side of the bed (which had been my side of the bed since he left, but he doesn't need to know that). It's kind of hard to make small talk when you're trying to fall asleep in the same bed. We tried tiptoeing around the proverbial pink elephant in the room, but eventually we just started talking. Not too in depth, just enough for us to know that we both wanted to make our marriage work. We just needed to figure out how. We knew the destination, we just needed a better map.

I hadn't been sure that his moving back right away was a very good idea. In the few days he's been gone I've managed to hold it all together. I implemented morning routines to help keep all of us on track. Beds are made, the kids are responsible for their own toys, they help me clean up--they give me a full ten minutes of help and I give them the rest of the day to play. We've stuck to a schedule, and we talk nicer to each other. I've noticed lately that the kids (especially Tristan) have picked up a rather nasty little style of fighting. Ours. And it's pretty ugly. If that's the way it sounds coming from a child, I can't imagine it sounds any better coming from your parents. So no "mean" talking allowed anymore. Period. The words "shut up" have been firmly planted in the "bad word" pile. It's a no-no. For them and for me. Or "us" as the case may be. These aren't difficult rules to follow. If they can be done without daddy living in the house, then they can be done with daddy living in the house.

The fear of falling into old patterns if Robbie moved home right away was overshadowed by the joy on Hayden's face this morning as he climbed into bed between us. At first he just lay there, arms stretched out so he could touch both of us at the same time, like if he let go of one of us then that person would just disappear. Then he was happy just holding both of our hands. Eventually he joined our hands, and once his mommy and daddy were holding onto each other he put his little hands on ours, smiled and went back to sleep.

You don't need Freud to tell you that any good that we had gained from being apart was far outweighed by the pain it was causing our children. We kept on blaming each other for the other person's shortcomings, pointing out every slight--real and perceived, quick to find malice in what was probably just human err. What we failed to notice during all that yelling and finger pointing and blaming was that we, together, were causing our children a tremendous amount of heartache and fear. No child should have to live with that much stress. And we were throwing them in the deep end of it every single day.

I think making sure that my children are happy and feel loved and safe is far more important than making sure that Robbie thinks I'm right.

I've been reading a book, "Divorce Busting", that talks about how to communicate better with your spouse in order to build a better marriage. Even when one of you thinks the marriage is over. I wasn't sure that it was *over* per se, but I wanted to make it easier on the kids (yeah, right). I had already implemented the "you can't fight with someone who won't fight back" rule. I'd been following the rules that says "no contact! no pursuing! no relationship talks unless the other person starts them! Always say less than the other person--if they say seven words, you say six." As corny as it sounds, it must have worked. Here we are.

So this morning I put another one of the tools into play. "Don't focus on what's wrong--focus on what's right." Easier said than done. But basically it's putting your wants and needs in to terms the other person can grasp. It takes the "You don't ever listen to me!" and turns it into "I would be happy if I felt that you were listening to me", and then into, "I feel like you are really listening to me when you look at me and you don't roll your eyes."

Seems pretty simple, but it takes your partner from "WTF does that mean?" to "oh, okay--I can show her I'm listening by looking at her and not rolling my eyes when she speaks". I'm sure I've oversimplified it, but that is the example I give you from this morning. And it worked. He listened, I didn't make any blanket statements that made him feel like I think he's a complete jerk, and we had a really nice morning.

So the man who came for dinner last night will stay again tonight so we can start putting the pieces back together. And we both know it won't be easy. If love were the only thing you needed to make a marriage work then Robbie & I would have our "Happily Ever After". But those only exist in fairy tales. This is going to take hard work and will continue to take hard work to keep it going when we've put it back together again. Not "if"..."when".

"Divorce Busting" is available at your local library and at bookstores like Barnes & Noble. A $14 book that I've only gotten halfway through has helped me more than six months of marriage counseling. Unless you're lucky enough to be living in a fairy tale and don't need any help getting you"Happily Ever After", then it's worth the read.

Phoenix or bust...

2009-09-05T23:47:00.007-04:00

The Phoenix sat atop it's perch, not bothering to gaze upon the beautiful and vast world that lay before it. It had seen it all before, and let's face it...it never really changed, now did it? A stifled yawn (do birds yawn?), a sigh that screamed of a complacency that bordered on contempt. It began it's daily foray into fantasy; one day it would be something else, a sparrow, perhaps. Or maybe a robin. It would be happy being a vulcher if it meant getting off the perch that it'd been tied to for so long.

A sudden flash of light, an intense heat and the Phoenix quickly found itself deep inside a smoldering pile of ashes.

"Well...shit."

It knew it happened sometimes, being devoured by an all consuming fireball...but to other Phoenix, not It! Come on, people! No one said it was going to burn like a mother f*&$%r. The Phoenix twisted and turned, trying to find some comfort in it's new pile of ash, but every movement just drove it further and further into the glowing embers that imprisoned it.

"Dammit! SonofamotherfarkingbitochwhatthefarkdoIdonow?"

Big. Ass. Sigh.

You see, we humans have all been led to believe that the Phoenix is a powerful and regal creature. That even when consumed by the fire, it lays ready to spring forth anew, stronger, more beautiful and inspiring than ever before. And we wait for it, waiting to behold it's breath-taking glory as it majestically flies gracefully and effortlessly towards the heavens, an eternal symbol of strength and courage and love and hope and whatever other metaphor you want to read into it.

Truth is, after the fire...the Phoenix just kind of sits there in stunned silence thinking, "What the hell was that? Where did THAT come from? Seriously, did anyone see that coming, because I sure as hell didn't! And by the way--that really freakin' hurts!!"

As we await it's imperial ascent towards the sun, it's sitting in a big pile of charred and smoking feathers feeling guilty, getting pissy and wondering what the next step is.

"Really? Are you freakin' kidding me? You know, I was getting bored up there on that perch, and I know that all I did was dream about getting from away from it, but I never actually thought it would happen. Wow. I feel so...sad. And lonely. And...lost. Oh, how I miss the stability of my perch. I really want my feathers back. Why can't I have my feathers back? Is it too late to get my beautiful feathers back? This cannot be happening. Good Lord, I wish there was just some nice eagle somewhere who would come and take me away from this mess."

So it is with a heavy heart and confused mind that the Phoenix really starts to look at it's spiral downward. It reads some self-help books. It talks to it's friends about it's situation. It even contemplates emailing Dr. Phil. It sits at the bottom of the pile and cries. For days at a time. Eating ice cream and Twinkies and drinking chocolate syrup straight from the can. It spends hours searching the Internet for other Phoenix (phoenixes? phoenii?) who have been in the same situation. It finds some, and they tell It there is no Eagle Prince to rescue It. They encourage It to open up about It's plume of feathers before they went up in a plume of smoke. They encourage It to accept It's share of the blame for not seeing this fireball coming.

"It's your flame," they tell It. "Own your inferno."

Not sure what the hell that even means, the Phoenix takes the first precarious steps towards healing. It knows that it can't control the flame, only It's response to the flame. Or...something like that. So It takes little baby Phoenix steps towards healing. It buys a new outfit, It gets a make-over, It even looks into starting those college courses it had been thinking of taking. Night classes, of course. These are just baby steps.

Then one day It notices that it kind of feels...good. Why, yes, yes it does feel good. Before It knows it, it's laughing again...and it feels really good. Pretty soon the pain of the pyre begins to fade, and with it the Phoenix's fears of flying. It knows it might be destroyed again. It knows there are no guarantees. And It knows that It can handle it. It is, after all, a Phoenix.

It raises it's head from the pile of soot that was it's former self and looks around. Sensing no real threat to it's new found wings, It rises. Slowly at first, it gets a feel for the sights and sounds of the real world, and it is just as It remembers; beautiful, fresh, even breathtaking. It's the same scenery as before, but It is just seeing it with a new appreciation, and new wisdom. It knows it can never take this world for granted again.

With that in mind, It bursts forth from the heap and rises triumphantly into the sky, free and beautiful and so much stronger than before. Of course we mere mortals do not see all of this turmoil. We don't know the inner conflict that spurred it's glorious ascent. All we know is that it's a Phoenix, that's what it's supposed to do.

Apparently the only one who doubted the rebirth of the Phoenix was the Phoenix.

There is a moral here, my mortal friends. When consumed by a flash over that destroys everything you thought you knew, you have two choices. You can either sit on your festering tail feathers in a smoldering pile of ash and wait for someone to tell you what to do...or you can spread your wings, free yourself from the mess that used to be your life, and fly high above it all, a little stronger and a little wiser.

Because let's be honest here, flying is a whole lot better than sitting on your ash wondering who is going to save you.

This is me...sitting here at the end of day four contemplating my pile of ashes.

Morning Has Broken...

2009-09-03T06:28:00.004-04:00

On a very broken heart.

Several if you count the kids.

Robbie moved out yesterday.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Which is hard to do considering the monster headache I woke up with this morning. Crying yourself to sleep is not as romantic as it sounds. It leaves your eyes puffy and your head throbbing. Like a nasty hangover...only I have the misfortune of remembering everything I did that got me here.

Or rather, what I didn't do. Like asking him to stay.

I miss my Robbie. The one I married almost nine years ago, not the person who left yesterday. I don't know who that person is. He doesn't understand that statement at all. Nor does he understand when I tell him that I do love him...but he has made it impossible to like him. He's been so angry for so long that he doesn't even bother to try to hide it anymore. Not from me, not from the kids, not even from our parents when they visit--which they'd stopped doing over the past few months just because the stress was too much.

I miss the man who used to care what I thought and felt. The one who used to write me poems or cuddle up to me while watching TV. The one who used to hold my hand while we drove somewhere. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know why he left...and I don't know why he left this person who seems to harbor so much anger and resentment towards me in his place. An anger, I'm sure, I will never fully understand the origins of.

Yesterday wasn't about breaking up as much as it was an exorcism of sorts. I wanted the Robbie who didn't like me to leave...forever. But he took my husband with him. My best friend is buried somewhere in there. Maybe he's looking for a way back. Or ,maybe he's already dead and gone, leaving this Robbie-who-hates-me in his place. And this is the saddest and most painful loss I've ever known.

I wish I'd gotten the chance to say "Goodbye" instead of just "...get out".

It's no surprise that divorce feels like a funeral.

Mourning has broken.

Breathing New Life Into An Old Blog...

2009-08-25T21:27:00.003-04:00

or..."How Michelle Got Her Booger Mojo Back"

I've been asked a few times where the blog went. Or rather, where'd my ideas, energy, wit and whimsy all disappear to? Truth be told...I just got really tired. Exhausted, actually. The more I heard "Hey! I read your blog!", the more nervous I became. What if people I knew started to read it & see the real me I'd poured into the early entries? What if they saw themselves in my early entries? What if *gasp!* they figured out that my life wasn't...perfect???

Dun-du-duhhhhhh!!

Suddenly I felt the pressure to candy coat every entry, to make every moment of my life look like a greeting card commercial. Happy, shiny, and nothing but glossy gooey joy all around...oh look, my kids are perfectly behaved and brilliant and handsome and my house is sparkling and fresh smelling and my husband is kind and helpful and hot (in bed! gigglegigglegiggle!!).

Oh puke.

Okay, so I do think Robbie is pretty hot, especially when he's not pissing me off...but the rest of it? Please. Either I had to be on some incredibly good happy pills to keep writing like that, or you, my dear readers, would have to be incredibly stupid. And since neither of those is a possibility...I just stopped. Trust me, I would have loved to have kept up the charade, but it's exhausting trying to fake perfection!

So here is the truth...I can't control much of my life right now. I love my kids, but I probably let them walk all over me too much. And then I feel guilty if I try to discipline them, so I'm pretty much teaching them to manipulate me. My house is a mess because I'm usually chasing them around too much to get anything accomplished--and when I do get a break I'd rather escape to Mafia Wars than go scrub a toilet. Seriously...have you played? It's so much more fun to *ice* your opponent than it is to clean out the goo trap at the bottom of the dish washer. Bills, work, money, cooking, budget, kids, housework, fatass (mine), thickhead (guess)--and that's just within the confines of this itty bitty condo.

Add in the rest of the world, and ugh....I'd really like some of those happy pills right about now. But I'm not getting any, and I'm guessing that you're not stupid enough to believe that my every day is full of bluebirds eating from my hands and small mice who do my housework for me while I sing lilting little tunes about sunbeams and rainbows and some dude whose Hippie Queen mother named him Charming. Not unless you'd gotten into my stash of happy pills, too, that is.

So today is when this blog, and my writing, get back to real life. The real life that includes headaches, heartbreaks, outbursts and the occasional projectile bodily excrement. If you can hang with that, then welcome back.

If that just sounds like way too much reality for you...then might I suggest the Warm & Fuzzy Movie marathon on WE TV? Because this monster mama has a house to clean, kids to raise and some boogers to clean up.

Who's still with me?

Anyone?

Hello???

*sigh*

15 months and one day...

2008-11-14T23:43:00.002-05:00

Rylan was 15 months old yesterday.

yea!! He went to the doctor for his checkup, he weighs 18 lbs and 5 oz and is 29 1/2 inches long. It's really *barely* in the bottom 3% on the growth chart...but he's finally ON the growth chart, so I'm not going to complain.

Poor baby has had a terrible diaper rash this week. I'm not sure why his poopy schedule got messed up (pun not intended), but he's been pooping at night while he's asleep and then laying in it all night. Poor little man. He just popped four molars, so that is 12 teeth in all. The only thing I can think is that he's teething even more. He has been chewing on everything lately. I hope it stops affecting his BMs...that little boofer is so tender.

He is walking all the time now. He is even trying to run, but he only manages a few steps before he topples over. He also has a thing about climbing on everything. Everything. I found him on the dining room table yesterday. Tristan did the same thing. I'm bracing myself. lol!

He gives great hugs now. Tight squeezes with those little arms wrapped around your neck, he even goes, "mmmmmmm" when he's hugging you. And kisses...he's so cute giving kisses. He doesn't really *kiss* you as much as he leans his face in close to your mouth so you can kiss him.

He is so funny, and so sweet, and so patient. He'll just sit back and watch the chaos around him, taking it all in, not missing a thing. But when he wants something...held...fed...just paid attention to...he will loudly let you know. He will not let you overlook him or ignore him, no way.

He sat on my lap tonight while we all had cocoa. Tristan was going on about something, Hayden was dunking his marshmallows, and Rylan was sitting on my lap. I looked at him and tried to imagine him not being here. The giant hole that would leave in our family. In my heart.

I always knew he was out there. I always knew there was one more meant for us, meant to be part of our family. I'm so glad I listened to my heart instead of any one person who questioned our financial situation, who questioned bedroom space or car seat logistics. Or brought up any one legitimate and reasonable excuse why Robbie and I should not have welcomed another one into our little family. I couldn't worry about car seats when I knew there was another baby waiting to to give me hugs and kisses and call me mama.

We may not have a lot of money. We may have to work to make ends meet . And then pull and tug and stretch them until those ends actually touch. But every smile from those little faces is worth it.

And every hug.

And every slobbery almost kiss.

So to you, yes you--you know I'm talking right to you...fight for this with everything you've got. Don't give up...ever. Whether it's to you or through you, I know your baby is out there waiting to find you, to give you squeezes. To call you mama. To put his sweet little nose to your mouth in hopes of getting a kiss from his mommy. He's not giving up...don't you. I love you. And you know who you are.

Trick or Treat!!

2008-10-31T00:32:00.007-04:00

Just a couple pictures from Trick or Treat. It was the first time in several years it wasn't freezing cold or raining. You can see Tristan the Ninja, family friend Jake as Darth Vader, Hayden as Batman, and Rylan as a little mohawked motorcycle man.

We had a lot of fun, came home, carved some pumpkins, ate some candy, bounced off the walls, and went to bed. Can't wait to do it again next year, when Rylan will actually be able to go with us and enjoy some candy, himself.

By the way...just a thought here. If you are old enough to be on birth control and smoke cigarettes while trick or treating...then you are probably TOO OLD to be trick or treating.

Just sayin'.

My Sweet Christmas Boy

2008-10-17T00:24:00.009-04:00

Christmas is coming. And that means the closer we get, the more my kids seem to want. Every commercial, every flyer from Toys R Us, every gadget they see in the hands of their friends becomes the most coveted item on the face of the earth. At least until the next commercial. But the leverage is fantastic when you want them to behave.

But every once in awhile they surprise you. And they act like perfect little angels...just because that's what they really are.

Tonight after dinner Robbie and I were cleaning up and talking about my desire for a NuWave Oven for Christmas. Maybe. Robbie doesn't care what he gets. That started the discussion about money, or lack of it, and how it was more important for the kids to have a nice Christmas. We really don't need anything else.

The truth of the matter is, I start shopping early. Really early. I'm almost done with Hayden. I'm half done with Tristan. I will make sure they have a nice Christmas if it takes me all year to pull it off. Christmas is, in our opinion, all about the kids...and they are always our first priority.

We thought we were talking very quietly while the boys finished dinner. But Mr. Super-Sonic-Hearing Tristan heard the word *Christmas* and honed right in on that conversation. He has recently realized that Santa Claus lives under the same roof with him. We have sworn him to secrecy, made him promise not to ruin the fun for the other kids who don't know yet. So far he's doing pretty good. But tonight he heard his parents talking about making sure the *boys* have a nice Christmas and he just had to get his two cents in.

He brought his plate over to me at the sink, motioned me to lean close to him and whispered...

"Mommy, I heard you talking about Christmas. I really only want a few things. I don't need that much if you want to buy more stuff for Hayden and Rylan."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I assured him he was going to have a great Christmas and that Santa (our little inside joke now) would be leaving him lots of presents. He grinned that big, toothless grin and went to work on his dessert.

My Christmas Angel showed up in the middle of October in the form of my seven year old son.

Scratch the NuWave Oven...I've got everything I'll ever need.

School's Back In!!!

2008-09-08T03:19:00.007-04:00

Thank the Lord!!

What an incredibly long summer it was. The last month has been especially long and busy.

Let me try to fill you in...

I did, in fact, go to my class reunion. And I was, in fact, the fattest one in my class. Oh well. Here is a picture of me at the reunion. My friend Nina was in it as well, I just didn't think she'd want her picture plastered all over my blog without her permission.

We had a really good time, I saw a lot of faces I recognized, and I few I didn't recognize. All of them smiling. Brant's Bistro was just wonderful. Owned and operated by a former classmate, they rolled out the red carpet and pretty much let us take over. Poor Chuck (the owner) didn't sit down all night.

I think the highlight was the video link they put up of Brent Allen...one of my best buds in high school who is currently serving in Iraq. Even though it was 2:30 am there, he managed to join us for our 20th reunion. It was one of the first times I've seen Brent in probably close to 20 years, and I didn't expect to tear up the way I did during those brief few seconds that the video link held. It made me realize that I had really missed my friend.

We have another classmate, Tim Smail who is going back over very shortly. Although now it's Captain-Major-General-something Tim Smail. You will have to forgive me, boot camp was a very long time ago & I just never bothered to remember all the ranks. (Sorry Tim). Anyhoo...Tim is now a pilot and is going to serve another tour. I gave him a little hug as we were leaving the reunion, and promised that I'd keep him in my prayers. Then I added that I might even hang two little American flags in a window in his and Brent's honor until they both came home safely.

I'm sure he thought me to be a big dork.

And although he'd be right, it's still something that's important to me.

So if you are saying prayers tonight, please keep Brent and Tim in yours. They have left their families behind in order to protect ours.

(And please, have whatever opinions you like about the war, but this really isn't the place for debating it. Please respect the troops on this blog.)

The older kids are back in school, my house is slowly getting organized again, Robbie is considering getting a part time job somewhere (I guess being a stay at home parent really is hard work! Who Knew???), and I am preparing for my registry exams. Well, the clinical simulation part of it anyway. It's the only part left to pass and seeing as how the board is mandating that everyone pass it now (or retake the CRT {at $200 a pop} every three years!!), I've decided to do it. Wish me luck.

Hmmm...that doesn't seem like much of an update. How could I have been so busy & have nothing else to say? Mark it down on your calenders...I've offically run out of things to talk about. Oh well...there's always tomorrow. lol!

Oh yeah...today is my mother's birthday. Call her and wish her a happy 39th birthday.

bwuahahahahahahaha!!!

Happy Birthday, Rylan!!!

2008-08-13T12:20:00.005-04:00

One year ago today my perfect little boy made his debut.
I am so proud of him, and I love him so much

Mommy will always remember the day you were born, little man.
Even, apparently, if no one else does.

My 20th High School Renion...

2008-08-06T07:37:00.006-04:00

My high school reunion is coming up. I'm going. But...

I have to tell you that I am getting just a little nervous about going. If my really good friend hadn't threatened me with bodily harm I might have just graciously backed out. But she will track me down. I'm not sure why it is so important for her to go, she was at OHS for our Sr. yr. only--but she has been after me since the last one about this one...and I love my friend too much to say no.

But my stomach is in a knot. Several...knots. The women who have put this together have worked so hard on this--I'd hate for them to know that I'm about to have my first anxiety attack over it.

(And yet here I am--putting it on my blog for all to read.

I never was any good at playing my hand close to my vest. Cards on table, heart on sleeve--that's me.)

Sigh

So why am I, the person who can talk to damn near anyone, the one who puts her life out here for all to read, so nervous about seeing a group of people--most of whom I haven't seen in twenty years? 20 years. Can you even imagine? There were a few people I saw when I was going to clubs and partying and having a good time being bad. lol...The girls you'd see and roll your eyes because, "OMG, That b**** was so nasty to me when we had social studies together!!" But back then, that social studies class had only been a three years earlier. Not 23.

Now I hardly even remember I took social studies.

Hell, I'm lucky if I remember all three of my kids when I leave the store.

Who has time to harbor 20 and 30 year old grudges?

Apparently someone does.

A former classmate, an OHS alum, lives literally around the corner from me. We live in the same condo development, she is just *thisclose* to me. I saw her when I first moved in a couple of years ago--she was walking with her mom. I recognized her immediately, smiled big and said "Well hi there!". She said "Hi" and kept right on walking. So I thought maybe she didn't realize that she did, in fact, know me. So the next time I saw her walking I said, "Hi, Lucy! How are you?". She forced a smile, grunted a "hmm"...and kept walking.

I don't think it's because she was that dedicated to her exercise regimen.

The third time I was walking with my mom and the kids and saw her out walking again. This time she nearly herniated a disk straining her neck so hard to look the other way.

Really? What on earth could make someone act like that after 20 years? I don't remember really even interacting with her after Jr. High--and it's not like we were friends before that, either. So how does an adult lose the ability to even *pretend* that they are mature enough to make small talk for all of 30 seconds?

Betsy Boofer did the same thing last year at the Subway in Walmart. I smiled, said hello, used her name--all those things the etiquette books deem proper. She looked at me as though I might nab her purse and run off with her footlongs.

WTF?

So the closer I get to this, the more I'm starting to wonder if it was just *them*, or are there more people from our class who have the social skills of turnips and continue to hold grudges--real and imagined?

But more importantly--it's starting to make me nervous.

And please, any thoughts, ideas, or words of advice would be really very welcome right now.

(The above incidents are 100% accurate. I did change the names to protect them from becoming unwilling participants in this blog.)

Thank You For Being A Friend...

2008-07-22T18:06:00.002-04:00

Sophia will be forever loved, forever missed and forever golden.

Estelle Getty

1923-2008

God Speed, Mrs. Gantz

2008-07-08T16:26:00.003-04:00

Mrs. Mary Gantz died in Cardington, Ohio on July 2, 2008.

She was 99 years old.

Mrs. Gantz. That name might sound familiar to you if you went to Ontario or some of the surrounding schools in the late 70s. Or 60s. Or even 50s. My mother had Mrs. Gantz as a substitute teacher in elementary school.

According to my mother, she was older than God even then.

Mrs. Gantz was something else. I don't remember anything she taught us. I just remember that we weren't allowed to talk in class. At all. I thought she was mean, but I'd give anything to have that kind of control over my own kids every once in awhile.

No, Mrs. Gantz left an indelible impression on generations of students for what she did rather than what we could not.

Mrs. Gantz was short and round and had snow white hair and a perpetual frown. At ten, she scared the hell out of me.

She rode a moped to school.

She wore house slippers throughout the day.

She darned her underwear in class.

Swear. To. God.

It'd have been even more impressive if she'd been wearing them at the time. But she did, sat sewing the crotch of her knickers in full view of kids to whom the very word *underwear* elicited giggles.

I can look back now on Mrs. Gantz and smile. She really was a firecracker. What's impressive now is everything that she saw in her life.

She was born before World War I.

She could have been a passenger on the Titanic.

She could have marched for Women's Suffrage (granted as a child, but with a vested interest).

The year she was born Theodore Roosevelt was President, and Henry Ford introduced his Model T...it cost $850.

She was a teenager when Prohibition was passed, and an adult when the stock market crashed.

She would have listened to the Gershwin Brothers and danced to Cab Calloway.

Fred Astaire was dreamy.

Fanny Brice was funny.

Capone was king, and Bonnie hadn't yet met Clyde.

She graduated from college the same year Winnie the Pooh and an animated mouse named Mickie made their debuts.

She married in 1931 when the average house was less than $7000, the average yearly wage was less than $2000, a loaf a bread was eight cents, and a gallon of gas was a dime.

She would have been 100 years old in October.

Can you imagine the changes she had seen in nearly 100 years on this earth? The stories she could have shared? The things she could have taught us had we not spent our time giggling at her sewing projects?

I wonder when, as *young people*, did we collectively get so smug? Did the world really begin the moment we were born? There is so much more to our history than just what we can remember. But we don't listen to our elders. Why listen to tales of the Great Depression when we are so worried about our recession? Why take parenting advice from people who raised their children to be the *greatest generation*? What could those old people tell us about making marriage last, not living in debt, about hard work, patriotism, and old fashioned respect?

They could tell us quite a bit, I think. Somewhere locked in the slow and slurred *ramblings* of some old woman lay the keys to a life well lived. If only we would listen.

Mrs. Gantz was born just a few years before Robbie's grandmother and my grandfather. She will be 96 in September, he will be 92 next month. They are both active and witty and still so full of life. I think I will take advantage of the history of those lives, listen to the kind of wisdom that only time and experience can give. I will do it before time runs out and all of that history is gone forever.

And if you are still fortunate enough to have a grandparent, or a great grandparent, or even an older neighbor--then I encourage you to just spend a few minutes listening to them. They might teach you something you didn't realize you'd need to know.

So God Speed, Mrs. Gantz. Your life will continue to make an impression on me even after your passing.

Pondering...

2008-07-06T23:27:00.004-04:00

Here's a question for you...

Can you really change the outcome of a situation by simply changing the way you respond to it?

(all of my Samaritan coworkers just cringed--yes, I'm invoking the *Personal Best* mantra, feel free to slap me later.)

Seriously, we all know that you can't change someone. But can you change how you react to them? Can you make a relationship better by *not* following the same path of escalating tempers and dead-end fights?

What if just one of us said, "...enough."?

Theoretically, of course.

Coxsackie Virus

2008-06-29T02:15:00.004-04:00

Coxsackie.

Sounds like something you'd contract after a night of debauchery in Chinatown.

Or the name of a Japanese Steakhouse/Gay Bar.

Cocks n' Sakki.

You probably know it by it's other name....hand, foot and mouth disease.

Rylan calls it...
"Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhdadadadadadaaaaa!"

Poor little dude is miserable. Tristan and Hayden had fevers during the week. Fevers, headaches, sore throats--nothing out of the ordinary. But poor Rylan, he spiked a fever and it just never came down. Even after Tylenol and Motrin he still had a fever of 103.2. So we went to see our beloved Dr. Redding, who was not surprised to see the white blisters in the back of Ry's mouth.

Coxsackie Virus. Dr. Redding said his fevers can go as high as 104 & 105 with this. I'm not comfortable with that. In fact, it scares me to death. Apparently there's been a run of it in our area, and it's a nasty little booger. Lucky us.

There is nothing much to do with a virus, keep medicating for the fever and pushing fluids, and if you need to come back and have him re-evaluated, then please feel free. Dr. Painintheass is on duty, however, so I still feel like we're on our own until Monday. Read here for a reminder of just why we dislike Dr. PITA so much.

Rylan had an awful night last night. I made the mistake of waking him up to give him more Tylenol to keep his fever from creeping up so high. Robbie had finally managed to get him to lay down by himself in his own crib around 11 pm. I woke him up at 2am. And he screamed for the next four hours. He'd scream if you laid him down, he'd scream if you held him. He cried so hard and for so long that his little voice started to give out. He made me want to cry.

Today he was just pathetic. So, so tired, he had dark circles under his eyes. He was pale and not very active, and incredibly clingy. He must have gotten sick of me last night, because he spent most of the day in Daddy's arms. And God help him if Robbie tried to put him down for a few minutes! Poor baby.

I did call the ER doc I work with, he said the same things Dr. Redding did--call if he stops being consolable, and really keep an eye on him to make sure he is hydrated. Other than that, we just wait. Tristan and Hayden were both fine after two days, so I'm hoping that Sunday morning brings Rylan some relief.

After this week, I'm starting to think an evening spent at a Japanese Gay Bar actually sound like a good time. I'll just pass on the sakki.

....all the pretty little ponies

2008-06-25T16:53:00.002-04:00

Just because I love this picture. My mom and her father on a carousel in Den Hague.

Doing it once a month just isn't enough!!

2008-06-21T19:30:00.006-04:00

Hayden playing *alien* behind Robbie during practice...

Tristan's missing tooth
Smilin' Rylan

Batter up...eyes shut
Hayden painting flower pots...and foreheads

Once a month really isn't enough.

Yeah, that too. But I'm talking about blogging (you perv, I *know* what you were thinking!)

I swear I haven't forgotten about all three of my loyal readers who so (ahem) gently remind me that I'm a loser and need to update my blog. I see things on a daily basis that would make great additions, and yet I never seem to find the time to sit down and write them out. Life has just been very, very busy. And work is really no better.

Stupid people + Alcohol + Summer= Stupid drunk people in the ER with self inflicted idiot injuries.

Ahhhh, summer.

T ball season is finally over. Robbie has infinitely more patience than I have. I went to the second practice and watched from the sidelines as Robbie tried to teach the kids how to swing a bat, field a ball and run around the bases--first, second, third, then home...preferably in that order.

I've come to realize that little kids get very bored very easily, even while doing something they have wanted to do for years. Hayden wasn't into fielding balls that day. Or standing on the bases. So he turned his batting helmet around backwards, then pulled it down over his face so he looked like a short, pudgy Darth Vader. He walked around the field unable to see, arms stretched out in front of him yelling "I am an alien! I am an alien!". Yes Hayden, yes you are. An alien from plant Goofy, to be exact.

Tristan wasn't nearly as conspicuous with his boredom, he worked on a loose tooth until it finally came out. Then he came running over to show me, lifted it high in the air, and promptly dropped it in the grass. Three moms and four kids searching for ten minutes and the tooth was still lost. I promised him that I would write a note to the tooth fairy telling her that he had in fact last a tooth. Yes, I'm sure she will still leave you a dollar. No, you can't use the note again. No, you can't use that tooth again. Well if you manage to find that tooth in the grass during the season then *I'LL* give you another dollar, but you aren't leaving it for the tooth fairy. Because it's not nice to try to swindle the tooth fairy, she won't leave you anything. Ever again. Trust me.

All in all the boys did well during the season. Hayden was the youngest and the smallest on the team, but by far the funniest. During one game Hayden got mad at Tristan for wearing his batting helmet, so Hayden refused to bat. Then he refused to come in from the field. He stood in the outfield, arms crossed, scowling at his brother, surrounded by perplexed players from the opposing team. Yep, that's my kid. When he wasn't sulking he was often wrestling the bigger kids, chasing his friends who played on other teams (No, Hayden, you can't chase the runner off of third back to the bench), or hanging upside down from his own bench. He wasn't the only one, they are just kids, after all. So we had the kids who dove after every ball, the kids who never touched a ball, the kids who sat down in the outfield, the ones who picked flowers or played in the dirt. But they had fun, they won game balls and trophies and made new friends.

I'd call that a winning season.

Opening old wounds...

2008-05-11T02:42:00.003-04:00

Tonight I am at work. Normally I can steel myself against the ugliness and the senselessness that I see. You become accustomed to the regular depravity and rampant stupidity that is witnessed while working in a hospital. But tonight I saw something that shook me to my very core.

A baby.

A perfect, tiny, pink and screaming baby.

Born at 30 weeks, this little girl weighed just under 3 pounds. A few mere ounces smaller than Rylan when he was born. I should have been fine, I should have been used to seeing one that small. But I just stared, speechless, motionless, as the transport team prepped her for her journey. I looked at her tiny little head, watched her flail her tiny little fists in the air, and listened to that cry that sounded more like a kittens mew than the angry protests of a newborn.

And suddenly it was August 13th again. It brought back every emotion that I'd had when Ry was born...every emotion that I buried because I had to hold it all together for my precious baby. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him. The first time was right after he was born when they brought him over and let me glance at him before they whisked him away to the NICU and me away to spend 24 hours flat on my back on a Mag Sulfate drip.

No, I mean the first time I saw him, could really look at him and let everything sink in--if even for a moment. He was almost 36 hours by the time I was allowed to shuffle down the NICU. I followed the directions of the nurse at the desk and washed my hands thoroughly. Then I stepped in the NICU for the very first time. Dimly lit, eerily quiet except for the soft cycling of ventilators, the dinging of cardiac alarms, and the hushed voices of the nurses, the stillness was almost overwhelming. I made my way through the isolettes and the bassinets, trying not to stare at the babies or the parents who sat quietly by their sides. I couldn't imagine my baby in this place, it was so surreal. My pace quickened as I started to panic--how could my baby be here? I turned the corner, searching for his bed number or his name--something that would let me know he was here, and that he was okay.

Bed 8. Bed 8. Bed 8. Where the hell is Bed 8???

Lying quietly in a bassinet covered with an ivory and navy blue quilt was the tiniest baby I had ever seen. Tape covered his perfect little face, a feeding tube and IVs dwarfed his perfect little body. A hand made sign that read "Rylan" hung on an IV pole next to his bed. The reality started to sink in, the gravity hit me like a ton of bricks, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.

This was my baby.

I started to cry. What had I done? Oh my God, what had I done.

The truth is I'd done nothing wrong. I'd done everything right. This was just the way it was. There was no changing it, there was no going back. I had only tried to give him life, now it was up to him to fight for it. I couldn't stand there and cry, my son needed me to be strong for him. He needed me to fight with him. He needed me.

I bent close to the isolette and looked into his wide and searching eyes.

"It's okay Rylan...it's okay. Your momma's here now."

I have spent nearly nine months (can you believe it's been that long???) being strong and trying to hold it all together. But standing there tonight, watching a seemingly impossibly tiny baby announcing her existence to the rest of the world with cries, I allowed myself to feel--if just for another moment--the fear and the shock and the pain that I felt that day. Because in those emotions stirred the beginnings of hope and faith. The love had always been there.

I am going home to snuggle up with my little men. Including my now 15 pound, crawling, babbling bundle of drool and kisses. This is my first Mother's Day with all three of them, and I am grateful when I think about how I could have lost any one of them. So today might be about celebrating mom and all she does, but in my mind, it will be about being grateful that I get to be mommy to my kids. It's a battle I'd fight all over again.

Awakening from a long winter's nap...

2008-03-02T23:42:00.004-05:00

So I've been gone. For awhile. My apologies.

I got sick in December and it took a really long time to recover. A really long time. It wasn't anything I could put my finger on, really. I was just extremely tired all the time. To the point that I would have been happy to sleep 16+ hours a day. I *wanted* to get out of bed and clean my house, I *wanted* to play with my kids, I *wanted* to be able to take care of my family. But I literally could not stay awake. I was afraid to drive home from work most mornings because it was nearly impossible to keep my eyes open.

After a couple of weeks, I decided to call my doctor. Long story short, she decided that I was depressed and wanted to put me on medication. Um...no. Her basis? A questionnaire. That I passed. And being tired. And "...because 90% of fatigue can be explained by depression". So I needed to stop breastfeeding my premature baby and take pills.

Are you freakin' kidding me???

I reminded her that I'd been through quite an ordeal in six months. Wasn't it possible that I was anemic? Was this a residual from the HELLP? Should we check my liver function? Do a basic blood test? I was so mad at her by the time I left.

Don't get me wrong, this is my third go around with post partum depression. And I whole-heartedly believe in treating PPD with medication when it is appropriate (Tom Cruise and the rest of the Mother Ship dwellers be damned). But this WASN'T depression. I told her something else was going on.

She told me I was wrong and should be looking for treatment options.

I am now looking for a new doctor.

I left her office sans prescription for more meds and decided to just wait and see. It took about two more weeks of it, but eventually I started to feel better. Today I am 100%. I honestly think that I ended up with a virus that I just couldn't shake. I've heard other people tell me that they got sick, and were, literally, unable to keep their eyes open. So whatever it was, it hit me hard, stayed for awhile, and then moved on.

Which is good, because I've got a lot of catching up here to do.

Where to start...hmmm, so much to tell.

Well, Rylan is up to 13 pounds now. Up from three. Wow. He loves tummy time and I'm positive that if he could just figure out how to get those knees under him he'd be off and crawling. He's doing super, had a little upper respiratory thing a few weeks ago, but is now down to minimal goo from the nose.

Hayden is officially FOUR YEARS OLD today!!! Can you believe that?? He is so excited. I think he is waiting to wake up this morning to something magical, something that signifies that he is no longer three. He really wants to be as old as Tristan, truth be told. I just want him to stay little for awhile longer. I think he's going to win this one.

Tristan is enjoying the last week of his Upwards Basketball program. He has done well, made a few baskets and had a lot of fun. He is very proud of the special little stars he gets every week, the ones I have to iron onto his shirt. I just hope he never notices that I managed to melt a couple of them. lol! Too bad they don't get special recognition for bouncing down the court like a frog. I swear he gets those legs going and his knees end up near his ears.... boingboingboing....and away he goes! I wish I had that much energy!

My newest hobby these days is couponing. Yes...again. I'm an addict, I admit it. I've always couponed, but not like this. I have friends who are literally making money at CVS and Walgreens...so I'm learning from the masters. It's like mainlining for cheapskates. Walgreens is having a huge sale this week, I have coupons, I'm getting a bunch of crap for free and then they will PAY me a couple of bucks to take stuff out of the store. I am so excited. Seriously. I can't wait. This might really work out for Robbie because I swear this is like foreplay. Forget oral sex, just give me a sale flyer and a matching stack of coupons....(cue clip of Meg Ryan in *When Harry Met Sally* yes...yes....yesyesyesYES!!!!)

Robbie thinks I'm nuts.

"Honey, do you really need eight packages of panty liners?"

"Um, when I just bought them for 15 CENTS each, then..yes. Yes I do need eight packs of panty liners."

Especially if I keep getting all excited over the sale ads.

I'll start a running tally here of how much I spend vs. how much I spend with the free & coupon deals.

It will be like free porn for us couponers.

6 items at Walgreen's for $20 with $12 back in register bucks and $10 worth of coupons????

Oh, Yeah Baby...just bring your own cigarettes. And panty liners.

Merry Christmas from us to you!

2007-12-26T14:36:00.000-05:00

I hope that everyone had a wonderful Christmas. Here are some recent shots of our little family from the past few days.

Much love to you all...

My Kinda Guy...

2007-12-18T22:46:00.000-05:00

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=320196148761&ru=http%3A%2F%2Fsearch.ebay.com%3A80%2Fws%2Fsearch%2FSaleSearch%3Fsofocus%3Dbs%26satitle%3D320196148761%26sacat%3D-1%2526catref%253DC5%26dfsp%3D1%26_trksid%3Dm37%26from%3DR7%26nojspr%3Dy%26pfid%3D0%26fsop%3D1%2526fsoo%253D1%26fcl%3D3%26frpp%3D50%26fvi%3D1

Makes me want to get a passport just to screw with people.

Mind games via air mail. Brilliant!!

Sarcasm, mastered by a three year old...

2007-12-16T21:46:00.000-05:00

I met Hayden at the bus one afternoon last week, excited that he'd seen Santa at preschool that day. What three year old isn't happy to see Santa? Being the "Mad Chatter" that he is, I expected a flurry of stories and details about his meeting with the Big Man in Red. But being three, and in preschool, and seeing Santa must be very tiring, because the response I got was a little different than the enthusiastic awe that I had hoped for.

"What did you do today, Hayden?"

"I seen Santa."

(gasp) "SANTA?? Really? Oh wow!! Did you get to talk to him?"

"unh-huh"

"Wow...did you tell him what you wanted for Christmas?"

"unh-huh"

"That's so exciting!" still trying, "...what did you tell him you wanted?"

"Ev'ryting on my Kiss-mas liss."

"Okay...well what *is* on your Christmas list?"

"Ev'ryting I want for Kissmas".

"Oh, okay. Hayden...what exactly did you ask Santa for?"

exasperated sigh..."You'll just have to wait 'til Kissmas, mom."

So there you have it. I have no idea what he told Santa. But considering that he literally wants everything he sees on TV, I'd say I'm safe this year.

And even if Santa *forgets* something on that list of his, well there is always his birthday in March.

He's already making a list of things he wants for that. I just hope he shares that one with me.

I did get a call back from the insurance company. The woman there has resubmitted the claim to pay out at the *in network* cost. Good for me. But...(there's always a but, isn't there?)...our deductible isn't $600. She almost laughed when I said that. It's never a good thing when someone from the insurance company laughs at you. No, our deductible is $250 plus $1500 for Rylan. So I'm back to owing $1750come January.

So the good news is we've met our deductible for 2008. The bad news is it's been met in one day...pay up. Ugh.

I hope the infusion company will take monthly payments.

Or that Santa really does have an ATM card.

All I want for Christmas is Ten Thousand Dollars...

2007-12-13T11:10:00.000-05:00

Rylan is getting Synagis shots, an RSV vaccine. The company that is giving them called me in October to tell me that they had come to an agreement with my insurance company about the shots. It seems that this company, Three Rivers Infusion, is not in the network. Problem is, NO ONE is the network to provide these shots. My insurance company tried to find someone else, but couldn't, so they agreed to pay Three Rivers as though they *were* in network so Rylan could get his shots. I would only be responsible for the $600 deductible at the beginning of the year.

Okay. I can handle that. Considering that the shots are over $4000 a piece, I'll do $600.

So yesterday I get an explanation of benefits from the insurance company. They are paying only 60% of the *eligible* amount, leaving me with $1700 a month out of pocket. A month. For SIX MONTHS.

Oh

My

God

Now before anyone says anything, I know I cannot ever place a price tag on my baby's life. I am so eternally grateful that he is here with us. But I am still trying to pay off my portion of the over $100 thousand we racked up the first month of his life. Thank God the insurance company did step up, because it's not much, and his subsequent hospitalizations have been covered at 100%.

But I digress...back to the shots...

I called the insurance company today and the woman tried explaining *why* they were only paying that much. I told her that someone had talked to Three Rivers and told them something completely different and that I would only have to pay the $600 in January. So she puts me on hold and comes back saying that she needs to call the pre cert company. Apparently they are the ones who talked to Three Rivers, so she needs to find out what they had in mind.

Nice that the right hand has no idea what the left hand is doing, huh?

So please pray that they get this straightened out, and quickly. Rylan can't go without the shots (especially since I seem to be exposed to RSV on a weekly basis at work!), but there is no way I can afford over $10,000 out of pocket. Robbie is quitting his job in the spring to go back to college, so we'll be back down to just one income...mine.

After two solid weeks of having someone sick in this house (myself included), I was just starting to finally get some time and some energy to look forward to the holidays. Now this. I wonder if Santa can hit the ATM on his way here?

If I wasn't so numb I'd be having a panic attack right about now.

But I am numb, so I'll settle for a good cry.

You may NOT have a Merry Christmas at Lowe's!!

2007-12-03T03:24:00.000-05:00

According to a recent article, Lowe's is just one of many stores to literally ban everything *Christmas* from the Christmas season. A friend of mine questioned the manager at a local Lowe's recently, and he confirmed that the report is true.

Apparently only "Merry Christmas" is offensive to people. According to the manager of Lowe's, employees may still say "Happy Hanukkah" and "Happy Kwanzaa" all they like. Hmmmm...

On the first day of Christmas the Lowe's store gave to me...

A trampled upon First Amendment Right?

Don't get me wrong, please, by all means, celebrate any and every holiday you like any way you like. I will be more than happy to pass on special holiday greetings to my friends who are Jewish, or my friends who celebrate their African heritage. Would I be upset by a giant dreidel outside Toys R Us? Not a bit. How about a huge "Happy Kwanzaa" Sign outside of Home Depot? Hey, whatever makes you smile & makes them a buck. It's the American way to exploit everything that is good and pure to make money.

But since when is Christmas--or more importantly, the CHRIST in Christmas, considered so vile that it cannot even be uttered by store employees as I'm handing over all of my hard earned cash? Why do I have to be okay with buying *holiday gifts* and *holiday wreaths*?

It's not a *holiday candelabra*--it's a menorah!! So ditch the *holiday tree* signs and sell me a Christmas tree, already!!

Lowe's, among other stores, have all of their signs printed in English AND Spanish--which is more offensive to me than the words *Merry Christmas*. I could complain & throw a temper tantrum. But that would just be wrong because it's okay to offend the majority of people in order to pacify a few.

I wonder if "Feliz Navidad" is allowed?

For those of you wondering where your favorite store stands on the whole "Christmas" issue, here is a copy of the article. Please add other stores if you know of any.

And by the way...

Merry Christmas.

The Naughty And Nice List - Which Companies are Allowing a "Merry Christmas"

ORALANDO, FL, November 27, 2006 (LifeSiteNews.com) - As part of the Friend or Foe Christmas Campaign, Liberty Counsel has created a "Naughty and Nice" checklist (available online in pdf or MSWord) which catalogs retailers who either censor or recognize Christmas. The list was compiled from information gathered by Liberty Counsel supporters.

Partial "Naughty List"

*Lowe's - Employees cannot say "Merry Christmas" to customers. Lowe's corporate advised that only when customers initiate a "Merry Christmas" greeting can employees respond in kind.
*Toys 'R' Us - "Holidays" are in, "Merry Christmas" is out.
*Banana Republic - Web site has "Holiday Gift Guide" with no mention of Christmas.
*Bed Bath & Beyond - No mention of any holidays.
*Barnes & Noble - Web site says "Gift Guide," "Holiday gift baskets," "Holiday sled," "Holiday delivery," but no Christmas. Stores not allowed to put up Christmas trees, and employees are not allowed to say "Merry Christmas."
*Best Buy - Web site says "Unique gifts for the season," "Holiday gift ideas." Spokesperson said the use of "Merry Christmas" is disrespectful.
*Dick's Sporting Goods - Web site says "gifts" and has images, but no mention of Christmas.
*Eddie Bauer - Customer service would not recognize Christmas, they "don't want to offend Jews, those who celebrate Kwanza and those who have no religious preference."
*Gap - "Holiday Survival Guide" with no mention of Christmas.
*Home Depot - Web site says "Holiday Store" and "Holiday Lighting" and only at bottom of site says "Make your Christmas decorations complete." Stores have "Holiday Home Accents."
*K-Mart - Selling "Holiday trees" and "Holiday wreaths."

Partial "Nice List"

*Dillard's - Advertises "Christmas Catalog."
*JC Penney - Web site has "Christmas Shipping Countdown."
*Joann Fabrics - Offers Christmas and Holiday fabrics.
*Kohl's - Christmas is all over TV, print and radio ads.
*L.L. Bean - Advertises and distributes "Christmas Catalog."
*Linens 'N Things - Has a "Christmas Shop" and "Christmas Checklist."
*Macy's - "Merry Christmas!" on its home page.
*Michaels - Web site has a Christmas section.
*M&M-Mars Candies - Will have red and green candies with pictures of Christmas trees and angels among other images.
*Target - Web site says "Christmas Decor," although the physical store has "Holiday entertaining." TV ad says "Merry Christmas."
*Wal-Mart - Has a "Christmas Shop," plays Christmas carols, and employees can say "Merry Christmas."

Mathew Staver, Founder and Chairman of Liberty Counsel, commented: "Every consumer should make a list and check it twice, stop patronizing retailers which are naughty and shop at those which are nice. Retailers which seek to profit from Christmas while pretending it does not exist should realize they have offended the vast majority of Americans who enjoy Christmas. Customers have a choice and they will not patronize corporate Scrooges."

So this man walks onto an elevator....

2007-12-01T02:41:00.000-05:00

...or "The dumbest thing I've heard today. So far."

So I'm walking through the front lobby of the hospital just after 2 am. The front lobby doors close at 8pm, forcing all patients and visitors to enter through the ER. This particular morning I'm on a hunt. A scavenger hunt. Literally. To find stickers that correlate to crash carts throughout the hospital because *someone* couldn't find one during a code and this is our punishment. I mean our training exercise. Stickers that correlate to crash carts but also have reference to the 12 Days of Christmas. 12 Stickers, 12 carts, 1 person's idea of a good time...But I digress...

So I'm walking through the lobby with a fistful of stickers (teamwork is best, is it not?) when I glance up and see a woman getting out of an SUV at the front doors. Normally the front lobby is deserted this time of the night. Having *been there, done that* I open the door for her and wait for those three words I know are coming.

"My water broke."

Ahhhhhhof course it did. I cannot tell her that she was supposed to go through the ER.

Well, okay, I can. And I did.

But not in a "OMG, you-came-through-the-wrong-door-how-dare-you-break-the-rules-while-you're-in-labor!!!" kind of way. No. More like,

"You're-supposed-to-come-through-the-ER-because-now-you-have-to-walk-up-because-there-are-no-wheelchairs-up-here-you-poor-thing!!" kind of way. I would have slapped someone if they tried to make me go through another door while I was in labor. And been justified in doing so.

She stood there freezing and drenched, still leaking fluid and gripping a bath towel that had long passed it's maximum absorpency capacity.

So we started to walk towards the elevators.

"Are you having any pain or pressure?" I ask.

"Yeah, some pressure." she says through chattering teeth.

"Is this your first?" Pleasepleaseplease let this be your first, and therefore, probably longest labor.

"My fourth."

Oh shit.

The doors to the elevator close and she shivers...*that* shiver. That shiver that screams *I'M IN TRANSITION!!!* more so than just *hey...is it a little chilly in here or is it just me?".

All night the power has been going on and off, all night the generators have been kicking in, and all night I have been joking that I was going to take the elevators in hopes of getting stuck so I could take a much needed nap. As I push the button I pray to whatever Irony Goddess is in charge of Kharamic Humor that she does realize I was just kidding, right? Right? Hello???

We mercifully make it to Labor and Delivery and I leave her in the hands the nurses, quickly followed by her husband who has managed to follow the trail of amniotic fluid. Who needs breadcrumbs? They might not need a wet vac to clean up, but where's the fun in that?

Free of the fear of delivering some one's baby in an elevator, I go back to what I was doing. What was I doing? Oh, yeah, stickers. The "Nine Ladies Dancing" was on the Med Surg floor. Where they put the orthos. Nine ladies dancing...ortho floor...get it? teeheheheeee...

I told you I needed a nap.

Back down to the lobby where I meet the baby daddy on the elevator, headed out for a smoke.

"How's she doing?" I ask with a knowing grin.

"Fine." he said with a shrug.

He should have stopped there.

"...I don't know *why* she always has to do this at night. The first one was okay, but all the others she goes into labor in the middle of the night and wakes me up." He shook his head and continued out the doors.

You're right, whatta bitch.

There is actually a part of the employee manual that states you can be fired for jack slapping some asshat, even when they are so deserving for just being plain ole stupid. And rude. And selfish.

Damn.

I can only hope that the Kharamic Revenge is swift, includes oozing pustules and requires antibiotics.

Hear that, Oh Goddess of Irony?? Oozing, seeping pustules!! That preferably end up somewhere really painful and keep him up. All. Night. Long.

Asshat.

A video of Rylan

2007-11-24T04:48:00.000-05:00

Found this video of Rylan,still in the NICU. He weighed just four pounds here. He's grown so much since then. Nana needs to take new video for me to share.

Just grateful to be able to give thanks...

2007-11-23T00:24:00.000-05:00

"We have so much to be thankful for."

We say those words every year at this time, usually without really stopping to really think about what it is that we are thankful for, besides an excuse to gorge ourselves.

This year is completely different. And although what I'm thankful for should go without saying, I'm going to say it anyway. Because I honestly mean it.

I am thankful for Rylan. For being a little fighter when mommy's body failed and nearly killed us both. He is over nine pounds now and has little pork chop thighs (just like mommy!). I can imagine what life would be like if he wasn't here. I am so grateful that he made it.

I am thankful for Tristan and Hayden, they, too, could have been lost. Especially Hayden.

I am thankful for Robbie who managed to hold our little family together in crisis. I waited a very long time to find him. And I made the right choice. I couldn't ask for a better father and husband.

I am thankful for my parents. My mother who put many miles on her car taking me to see my baby, and many tissues in my hand when I spent hours crying on her shoulder. I wept for my baby while she wept for hers. My father who spent so much time researching HELLP syndrome that he made himself sick with worry.

And Robbie's parents who took care of Robbie and the boys when I couldn't.

And I am thankful for the divine intervention that kept us all together.

Because even when things get bad...

God is good.

I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving and found something in their lives that they are truly thankful for.

Blast from the past....

2007-11-17T03:13:00.000-05:00

While perusing a mommy-baby board of long ago, I ran across this posting from yours truly. I thought y'all might enjoy it. Tristan was *maybe* 14 or 15 months old at the time...

Michelle & the Case of the Disappearing Toddler

We meet up with our girl sleuth (ahem...more like *racing towards middle age* sleuth!) catching up on housework, fresh from her latest, and most harrowing case so far..."The Case of What Crawled Up the Doctor's A**".

Michelle tossed the damp cloths into the dryer, "I don't remember Nancy Drew ever doing laundry!" she thought. But she smiled at the sight of Boy-Wonder, Tristan, at her side trying to help his mommy by throwing clothes into the dryer...too bad they were from the dirty pile.

Michelle distracted Tristan for a moment by putting his beloved pal Boo Bear in his clothes hamper that sat beside her on the floor. The hamper was small & had a lid that closed, perfect for distracting Tristan. He opened the lid and took Boo Bear out, then put him in again. Michelle went back to putting laundry in the dryer, listening to Tristan play peekaboo with his bear.

Suddenly the laundry room was quiet. Michelle looked up and thought how quickly little man walked away. And how quietly. He usually made such a production when he decided to take Boo Bear and play in another room.

"Tristan" she called, looking in the kitchen. The kitchen was quiet, as was the living room.

"That's odd", she thought, looking around the laundry room again. "There's no where to hide in here, but he was here just a second ago...Tristan??"

Again complete silence. Again, just an empty kitchen.

"Well maybe he ran to his room" she thought. "I wonder if he took Boo Bear with him?"

Michelle opened the lid of the hamper and screamed at the sight of her beautiful little boy!!

Actually, it was just the view of his rear end sticking up. He had gone in head first & somehow managed to wriggle his legs in behind him, bent in half and completely stuck--all without making a sound.

"Tristan!!!!" Michelle shrieked.

She grabbed his waist but only managed to lift the whole hamper off of the ground, spinning it in a circle as she went. She wanted to laugh hysterically and cry hysterically, and for a moment thought she might do both at the same time.

She pulled on Tristan's torso, but he wouldn't come out. She pulled on his legs, but he still wouldn't come out. She tried to shake it off of him, wiggle him at of it. Up, down, sideways and in circles...but still he wouldn't come out.

The thought of calling 911 came to mind, but the idea of police & firemen racing with lights and siren to her home to try to pull her son out of a laundry hamper was more frightening than actually pulling her son out of a laundry hamper.

"How on earth did he wedge himself in there?" she thought. He was bent in half, his feet, his hands & his head all on the bottom of the hamper. His big blue eyes peering out from between the slats.

"Hi, mama!"

She thought about breaking the frame, or breaking out the bottom of the hamper to get him out.

"The bottom is only a plastic grid, so at least that allows for air flow" our near-panicking heroine recalls. "BUT HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET HIM OUT????"

Finally she grabs a leg, bends it towards his body and frees a foot. Then the next foot. Finally she pulls boy wonder from his plastic prison, still clutching his best friend Boo Bear, not at all fazed by the experience.

Tristan just looked at her for a moment, then bust into laughter.

He's learning it's funny to make mommy crazy.

The moral of our story is actually twofold. First, beware our babies that somehow manage to get themselves into trouble at the blink of an eye.

And the second--that men, regardless of age, can't even BE in the laundry room without screwing something up!!

And if you think that was funny...imagine daddy *losing* him last night, only to find that he'd crawled into the toy box in his room & gone to sleep!! silly boy!

Ahhhh...the simple days of only one child. If I had only known what was to come...

Black Friday? How 'bout "Black Eye Thursday?"

2007-11-15T00:30:00.000-05:00

Ahhhh...the sounds of the season; cashiers complaining, women fighting, children crying...all while a tinny version of "Joy to the World" is piped from over head. It must be Christmas.

I typically start shopping for Christmas early. Like in June. Yep...I'm one of *them*. But it's only because I keep my eyes peeled for good deals. I love me some deals!! Like the "one-day-only" coupon for the 5.6 inch digital photo frame, normally $59.99, on sale for $29.99 at Meijer. Good November 15th starting at 12:01 am.

For those not within Meijer range...think "snobby Walmart".

So I trot off to Meijer just before midnight, because I love a good deal and I'm a night owl. And it's just down the street from me. I spot the frames on the counter, only four of the promised "9 per store" remain. So as I'm standing looking at one, another women comes up and grabs two.

Hmmm...two.

I glance at the coupon and see it doesn't mention a limit. So I grab another one.

On my way out of the department a woman literally comes running over to my cart.

"Where are the picture frames?" She asks as she nearly barrels me over. I politely point and the start to high tail it out of there. I have the last two, I'm not sticking around. As I'm ducking into the toy aisle I hear a wail from the photo department...

"Hey!! No fair! She has two!!".

So now I'm hiding amongst the board games. I might be bigger, but there were two of them. And they were scary looking. And they sounded mad. Really mad. Hey--I'm old enough to remember the Cabbage Patch Doll Brawls. No way I'm going down over picture frames.

I make it to the check out just ahead of the other woman in the photo department who also grabbed two frames. Correction...she had a frame and her husband had a frame. Important to note. The cashier rings me up and notices that the two frames won't ring on the same receipt. "I'll have to do them seperately" she says. That's fine, I'll write thirty $1 checks if I have to. Then her phone rings and she has a conversation that changes her mind.

"You can't have the second frame. There's a limit of one." I look back over the coupon and flyer.

"Where does it say that?" Ah-ha! It's hidden on the back of the coupon. Figures.

Okay, well I'll just write another check for it, make it another order.

"No. You can't have it. I can't let you buy it." The cashier picked up the frame and literally hid it from me.

Okay, now I'm just mad.

Well, here, I'll take it back...(and find someone else to buy it for me.)

"I'm the only cahsier up here. I'll know if you get someone to buy it for you."

Oh please! I'd have had less of a hassle if I'd walked in, demanded all the cold medicine, and asked if anyone knew the exact recipe for crystal meth.

"Okay, so what is the difference betweem him (pointing at the people behind me) buying it for her and a total stranger buying it for me? If they (still indicating the people behind me) were together...which they aren't..."

I know, lame, but still, no point in taking down the people behind me just because *I* couldn't buy two frames.

And honestly, there isn't a difference. For some reason the cashier made it very personal, this photo frame. She was going to let everyone else buy two...just not me.

It was a face off at the cashier stand at high midnight. The only thing we needed was some rolling tumbleweeds and someone whistling the theme song from "Josie Wales".

Sensing defeat she finally said, "Oh, you know what? I really don't care how many you buy." She may have been snotty when she said it, but I wasn't paying attention, nor did I care.

Had she been even remotely polite about the whole thing, I probably would have just walked away with one frame. It was all I had planned on buying, I only decided on two when I thought it was allowed. A simple "I'm sorry, there is a limit of one." would have resulted in an "Oh, I'm so sorry. Thank you" from me. But yanking it off the belt, hiding it away from me and announcing I *coudln't have it* was just rude. Do you know what I mean? Whatever happened to common courtesy in customer service?

So now I have two frames and I'm afraid to go back to Meijer. After dark anyway.

Maybe online shopping is the way I'm going from now on.

The day after Thanksgiving Meijer is having bigger sales on digital picture frames...a $79.99 on sale for $29, and a $169 one on sale for $80.

Y'all can have at it. I'll be at home. In bed. Hiding under the covers. I've had my fill of Christmas Shopping Rage for this year.

Anatomy of a Meltdown

2007-11-06T21:10:00.000-05:00

I didn't see Hayden until Monday morning, he didn't get home from his grandmother's until after I had already gone to work. So the first time I saw him he was sleeping in my bed. Little cherub in Batman jammies, drooling on my pillow. I crawled in beside him, snuggled up and, exhausted, fell straight asleep. A very fitfull, dreamless sleep that offered no rest.

I thought that when I saw Hayden for the first time after all of this I would just immediately scoop him up in my arms and shower him with kisses. I mean, come on, we honestly could have lost him. I was going to see him safe and sound digging through his Halloween candy in between SpongeBob segments, not laying in a hospital bed fighting for his life. Or laying in a colder, darker place where people speak in whispers, even though the dead can no longer hear them. He is perfectly fine, no worse for wear and I am eternally grateful.

But that day I could barely stand to look at him. I didn't want to listen to him when he tried to tell me about his day at Preschool. I didn't want to play with him when he asked. I barked at him to pick up his toys. Put away his crayons. Hang up his coat. I don't know why I was having such a problem with him, my heart was breaking. I wanted nothing more than to pick him up and love him, but I couldn't even bring myself to look at him. He's a sensitive boy, and he tried all afternoon to make me happy. Finally he looked at me with tears in his eyes...

"Mommy, why you so mad at me?"

I broke down for the first time all week. "I'm mad that you almost got yourself killed, Hayden." I couldn't have stopped the tears if I had tried.

"But I not hurt...look!" He offered his little foot, red marks long since faded, as proof that all was, and always had been, right with the world.

That sweet little face, those huge blue eyes staring up at me, silently begging me to stop being mad and just start loving him again. He couldn't understand, there is no way. I didn't even understand.

I picked him up and and he sat on my lap for awhile. Him content to watch cartoons, me finally acknowledging that my life would be over if something had happened to him. I hadn't been able to even look at what I would have lost. It made me physically ill to know that my perfect little man was a fraction of an inch away from being killed. It was easier on me if I just didn't look at him at all. Extreme denial, maybe? A defense mechanism so I wouldn't feel the fear and pain that was welling up? Who knows.

But sitting there with him I finally let that wall down and just focused on Hayden. I could feel his heart beating, I listened to him breathing, I inhaled the lingering fragrance of the coconut scented no-tears shampoo. I studied the chubby little fingers that rested on my hands as I held him. And every once in awhile he'd reach up with those sweet little fingers and wipe away one of my tears and say, "...it's okay, Mommy. I not do it 'gain. Okay?"

He still thinks I am just mad at him for running in the parking lot. He will never understand that just the thought of losing him is enough to break my heart and take me to the edge of insanity. Well, he might understand, someday. But it won't be until he is grown and has children of his own. Maybe then he'll get it.

Later that night I decided to just go all the way through Meltdown Town. So I ran a hot bath, dimmed the lights and climbed in. When Ryaln was in the NICU I used to live for our *kangaroo* sessions--him in just a diaper snuggled up to my chest. Skin on skin. It was pure heaven, and the only time I really ever relaxed during those three weeks. I seriously needed to relax. I had Robbie bring me one very naked and very hungry Rylan. I held him out of the water, skin to skin, covered with a big bath towel and nursed him until he went to sleep. And again I listened to his breathing, and enjoyed the warmth and the closeness of my child, smelled his hair and just sat feeling his heartbeat. And again I silently wept until there was nothing left.

Today I am better. Tired, but better. I will keep the last few entries of this blog long after everyone has moved on and blogging has become as dusty and ancient as the handwritten letter. I will come back to these last few days and reread, if not relive, the fear and anger and pain I have written about here. And it will remind me just how lucky we have been.

Oh...Dear...God....

2007-11-04T06:44:00.000-05:00

Thank You for not letting Hayden be seriously hurt yesterday in the parking lot of the Marion Meijer. Thank You, God, for protecting him when he darted out in front of the car. Thank You for only allowing her to run over his toes. Thank You for keeping my babies safe. In Jesus' name I pray....Amen.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Because no one would f#cking believe me anyway!!!!

Hayden was with my MIL while Rylan was in the hospital. She took him to Meijer and he jumped out of her van and started to run across the parking lot and promptly came face to bumper with a car. She ran over his toes..."just a little" Robbie said, and an ambulance was called. Robbie said he decided not to tell me until after I got off work this morning.

An ambulance.

Because my kid was hit by a car.

Hayden and the driver were both pretty shook up, but not hurt. I know in time it will sink in just how lucky we all are that he wasn't killed. Seriously, he could have been killed. But for right this minute I am numb and unable to fully wrap my brain around it. In fact I think I may be in denial and probably a little bit of shock. The only thing I want to do right now is throw up and then go to sleep.

I will bust his butt when he gets home. Right after I hug him tight and smother him with kisses.

I give up. This has either been the worst day (weeks? months?) of my life or the most blessed day of my life.

My baby was very sick and had viral meningitis. My oldest busted his head open on a swingset. My middle son was hit by a car. ON THE SAME FREAKIN' DAY!!!!!!

But...if I focus on just this I will go crazy. So...I am grateful that Rylan had the viral form instead of the bacterial form of meningitis. I am grateful that Tristan's head injury was not more serious. I am grateful that Hayden was not killed yesterday.

That being said...

...holy effing shit, I really need a drink.

several, please.

I'll take "Time of Our Lives" for $1000, Alex

2007-11-03T23:11:00.000-04:00

A- Three Hours

Q-What is...."The amount of time between Rylan being discharged from the hospital and Tristan being taken to the ER after he fell off a swing and gashed his head on the corner of a swingset?"

Stay tuned for the Baker version of "The Price is Right" when my children will attempt to play PLINKO with the neighbor's cat.

Viral meningitis...take two...

2007-11-02T11:44:00.000-04:00

Mother's intuition is a very powerful thing.

All last week I kept saying that something was wrong with Rylan. The nurse practitioner looked him over thoroughly and assured me that he looked great. But I just had this nagging feeling that she was wrong, something was wrong with my baby.

Tuesday night, after a Halloween dinner of Baked Rats over Zombie Brains (rat shaped giant meatballs and linguine with a chunky marinara--yes, I'm THAT kind of mom!), I sat holding him, watching him, knowing with every cell in my body that my baby was sick. I knew that his congested little nose belied something much bigger. I even wondered if you could take a child into the doctor with no real signs or symptoms, just a mom's gut feeling?

Apparently you CANNOT with one of the docs in the practice we go to. The next day Rylan spiked a temp of 101.4 rectal, and the doctor we got into see on an emergent basis tried to poo-poo it away. Pun totally intended. We don't normally see this doctor, and with reason. The nurse had taken a tympanic temp and got 99.0 degrees. So the doctor told me that Rylan's temp had broken. Um, no...the nurse took it tympanically. The ear temps aren't really the same. Or accurate or reliable...

"They should be."

Oh brother...here we go again, I thought. After a polite disagreement (one of many, this doc has a habit of blowing me off--even when I am right!), she finally told me that Rylan did not have a temp...even though he may feel really warm. Ahhh...it's a magic thermometer, see--they wave it next to Rylan's head and PRESTO!! A perfectly healthy child!! Give me a freaking break...the look on my face must have said it all because she sent the nurse in--with a MERCURY thermometer!! (didn't know those even still existed?) I'm sure she just wanted to prove me wrong.

101.8

I wish she had proven me wrong.

So Dr. Ignores-the-obvious sent us to the ER where poor baby got a sepsis workup. Straight cath, blood cultures, lumbar puncture, the works. Everything looked okay until the urine, that looked bad. Really bad. Like someone-poured-corn-starch-in-it bad. Of course I immediately feel guilty, I swear we change his diapers!! The ER doc almost laughed at me. Had Ry not been so sick I think he might have.

By the time they admitted him his temp was up to 103.2.

103.2

Holy shit.

The pediatric hospitalist (a new feature of our local hospital and a very welcome addition, I might add) was concerned. He had been started on antibiotics in the ER, but she, too, had the feeling that something wasn't quite right. A STAT set of abdominal xrays came back clear. A STAT ultrasound of the kidneys, ureters and bladder came back clean. He was a tiny little puzzle wrapped in an itty bitty riddle.

He had a very restless night, followed by a very painful morning. You could just see it on his face...in his eyes. My sweet baby was in so much pain. He only stopped crying when he was being held--but you couldn't move him, rock him, give him to someone else, or jostle him in any way, shape or form. The new hospitalist came on, she was even more concerned. Especially when Rylan started developing a rash all over his body.

"He looks like meningitis...but his CSF was clear...but he looks like meningitis." She started thinking about possible fluid on the brain.

A STAT head CT came back clear.

So far we had clear spinal fluid, a clean set of xrays, a clean ultra sound, a clear head CT, nothing on the lab work, cultures that were nearing the 24 hour mark with no growth, and a little bacteria in the urine--surprising given the way it looked, a high temp, a rash, and a very irritable baby.

It didn't help matters when the Hospitalist came in and told us she had spoken with Dr. Pain-in-the-ass, and Dr. Pain-in-the-ass told her that they had seen lots of kids come in over the past few days with (ahem...), "...aches and pains, and who really knows how that presents in a baby.". I may have blown my top had I not been so blown away.

Aches?

And Pains?

I sweetly and politely informed the doctor in front of me that the physician she spoke to was not, in fact, our doctor, and I didn't need to hear anything else she might have to say. First her tympanic temp was to be believed over the rectal temp I took, and now my son might just have aches. And pains. Don't forget the pains. Very important diagnosis, those pains.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr....

We were just starting to gear up for a transfer to Akron Children's when the lab called...a preliminary reading on the blood cultures showed a possible strep infection of the blood. Not a good thing to hear, but at least an answer when he'd had absolutely no direction up to that point. So he was started on his fourth antibiotic...vancomycin. A big gun.

One of his nurses started dosing him with Tylenol around the clock to keep him comfortable. And although it was only while I was holding him, he did manage to sleep. And while he was sleeping his fever finally broke.

99.1

Yeah!!! He celebrated be throwing up all over me. Again. Oh well.

The next hospitalist came on duty and came in to talk to us. He had actually seen us the day before when he stopped in for a meeting and been yanked in to consult by the second hospitalist who was, by that time, admittedly perplexed.

Hospitalist #3 told us that the cultures we had been so excited about the day before were looking more like a contaminant, not an actual growth.

Welcome back to square one! We did not pass GO, we did not collect $200. But at least our child wasn't getting any worse. In fact, he was looking and acting much better.

This hospitalist then started to talk about how antibiotics should drop a temp within hours *IF* the infection truly is a bacteria based infection. Rylan maintained his temp in the face of four different antibiotics. So he is not thinking bacterial anything. He thinks that given Ryaln's presentation and symptoms, he probably managed to contract a viral meningitis.

Viral Meningitis.

again...holy shit.

I was terrified when Hayden got meningitis from a mosquito bite at 17 months. This may just throw me over the edge. The doc said the viral meningitis cultures have to be sent out, so we won't know for a while if that is what it is, or how he got it. I am shocked that two of my children have now had viral meningitis. Far better than any of them having bacterial meningitis...but still. Two kids in the same family? Just one more thing for me to worry about and feel guilty about. I warn you, if you come to my house for a visit you might just get hosed down with Lysol. Apparently for your safety as well as ours. I mean I *know* it's not my fault...but come on. You'd think we all bathed in the toilet for as sick as we've been.

So that's where we are right now. I left this morning and Robbie is taking my place with Ryaln at the hospital. He is out of the woods, and I really cannot take anymore time off of work. I know, I know...a mother's guilt is never assuaged. I feel bad about this, too. But a mommy has to do what a mommy has to do.

And the doc said that if Rylan continues to improve he may get to come home on Saturday!! But the hospitalists don't cover the weekends, so it will depend on which doctor form our group is on this weekend. And if it's Dr. I-know-more-than-you-so-dont-bother-talking-to-me, then I can only imagine what is in the works for us. Maybe she'll bring her magic thermometer with her and wave it over Ryaln's head and declare him cured.

Whatever...just give me my baby and send me a bill. I'll see what I can do about waving my magic checkbook over it.

Ugh. Someone tell me what the hell I did to piss off fate so badly? Please? And why are my poor kids paying for it?

Projectile Poopy...

2007-10-24T14:41:00.000-04:00

The title should say it all, but when have I ever been one to leave well enough alone?

Projectile. I mean...really, really projectile. As in "If Paul Byrd's fast ball had that kind of velocity Cleveland would be going to the World Series" kind of projectile. Explosive. Light speed. A Screamin'-Thunder-Blue-Streak

I'd forgotten just how far newborn poopy could actually travel. Especially with a little bit of gas behind it. And he's a breast fed baby, so Split Pea Soup is no longer on the menu for me. Nor is Italian Wedding Soup, for the same reasons. And if one would happen to mix the two into a bowl and serve it to me...well, let's just say there would be a lot of projectile body fluids shooting around.

As if the morning of Torpedo Turds wasn't enough, it happened while I was trying to herd the boys out to the car for a doctor's appointment. It was supposed to be Rylan's checkup, but Tristan ended up sharing it with him. Tristan tested positive for strep throat. And not "just" positive....

Grossly. Positive.

Which is not good since we ALL drank out of the same giant cup at the zoo on Saturday. Tristan, Hayden, Nana, Robbie and I all sipped from the Bottomless Jug o' Soda at some point that day. Great. I know, that in itself is grossly...well, gross. But hey, what's a few germs among family?

Apparently it's worth a round of antibiotics.

Too bad they don't sell those in Family Sized Value Packs.

Hopefully we will all be better by Thursday night. I have a ninja and Batman who are seriously lacking in candy and need to go out for Trick-or-Treat. Yea! Trick-or-Treat!! I love seeing the kids dress up and go out, have fun, eat themselves into diabetic comas and then fall fast asleep, leaving the candy all to me!! Wait...I meant, IF I were the kind of mom who swiped Halloween Candy, that's what I would love. Yeah. IF I were. Which I'm not. Cuz that's just mean. And cruel. And fattening. All that candy is theirs, just sitting there...all alone...in the dark...waiting for me...

Ahhh, what the hell...maybe I'll bring my own bag. Tell them it's for my "other son" who couldn't come Trick-or-Treating. They don't need to know he's only ten weeks old!

My luck I'll end up eating too much candy and make myself sick.

And we have had enough projectile poopy this week.

Play Ball!!

2007-10-19T11:56:00.000-04:00

Tristan and Gapper

Sept. 13th--Brandon Phillips signs a batting glove for Tristan

I would be remiss if I didn't at least post a little about Robbie's amazing birthday.

I should have posted this sooner, but Rylan ended up in Akron just days later, so it was not high on the priority list. But it is still so very cool!

Robbie's birthday was Sept. 13th. The night before he noticed that the Reds were playing at home that day and he thought it would make a great birthday gift to go see them. So the next day he & Tristan both played hookey and drove down to Cinnci for the game. (And no, I don't think it's a bad idea to pull your kid from school for that. After everything my little family had been through, those two not only deserved--they desperately needed something fun to do by themselves.) Robbie splurged a little and bought seats 11 rows up on the first base line. Not bad...but his day was about to get infinitely better!

As he normally does, Robbie had packed up some items in hopes of getting close enough to get some autographs. So he and Tristan went down to the first row and waited. Those of you who know Robbie will know that he can strike up a conversation with anybody. So while he's standing there with Tristan he starts talking to some woman sitting in the first row. Eventually she tells him that she knows for a fact that the two seats beside her will be empty...and then invites him & Tristan to sit there for the game!! Front row seats on the first base line! Wow.

While the team is warming up second baseman and power hitter Brandon Phillips walks up to Tristan...and gives him his batting glove!! Right off his hand!! He signed it, talked a little while with them, and then went back to warming up. Robbie was so excited he actually called home right then to tell me.

A little while later I get another phone call. Because the good luck didn't stop there. Robbie said during the game superstar Ken Griffey Jr. went jogging past them...and tossed Tristan the game ball!!! Although it's not signed, it's still an amazing memory for my guys.

Robbie said that the team mascot, Gapper, not only signed a baseball for them, he took it out into the field and rubbed it on the grass so they could bring home part of the Great American Ballpark with them. Hey--it's the only grass stain I've ever been happy to see.

The Reds won that day (something I have yet to see in person, btw), and Robbie and Tristan went to the Montgomery Inn for dinner. Mmmmmm....ribs! All in all it was an amazing day between father and son.

And before you ask, Mommy was quite content to stay at home and take a nap with Hayden and Rylan. We'll all be heading out for hot dogs and Cracker Jack soon enough.

And as for the Reds? Well, there is always next season. Especially with the new coach, Dusty Baker. Robbie said we'll finally get to see a Red's jersey with the Baker name on the back. Go Reds!!

2007-10-11T14:49:00.000-04:00

Mommy & Rylan

Finally, a pic of us.

Me and The Miracle Man.

Thanks to Karen for sending me this.

Amish Friendship Bread is hard to make...

2007-10-10T21:44:00.000-04:00

...when you have no friends.

(((sniff)))

Okay, I do, but she doesn't want a starter for the bread. How sad is that? I can't give away bags containing fermenting goo that needs to sit on your counter and be mushed (mooshed? smooshed? smashed?) every day for ten days. Even sadder, I have to try to give this away again in ten days when I make it again. Hey, the recipe says to save a starter for yourself because "...only the Amish know how to make the starter and you won't be able to make it again until someone gives you one!" And that might take awhile since it seems NO ONE WANTS TO MAKE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!

Too bad the Amish don't have internet. I could just look it up the next time I want to make it.

It's really very good. I'm eating it now. Cinnamon and sugar and warm and soft with a big glass of ice cold milk....mmmmmmm.....

Who wants a starter now? Hmmm? Anyone?

Crap. I didn't think so.

From the mouths of babes...

2007-10-02T14:25:00.000-04:00

We were laying on Hayden's bunk bed reading a story before bed when the topic turned to Rylan and how little he is. I was telling Hayden and Tristan how proud I was of them for being such good big brothers to Rylan.

"That's 'cause I a big boy, mommy!" said Hayden.

"Yes, you are, but you are always going to be mommy's little man, huh?" I answered.

Hayden laughed and jumped on me, Tristan emphatically denied that he was ever going to be mommy's little man again.

"Unh-uh, not when I'm a grown up!!" he yelled down from his top bunk.

"Oh, yes, you will be! Even when you're a grown up man you are still going to be my little baby. I get to call you 'my baby' forever!" Laughingly, but still enjoying this moment of affectionately telling my boys that they would forever be my precious babies.

Tristan didn't really think much of that idea.

"Well, I just won't give you my phone number then. So there."

Turkey butt.

See...this is how it happens. One minute you're a sweet mommy who loves her baby. The next the baby grows up, thinks your a stalker and changes his phone number.

Robbie didn't help matters much. He mentioned yesterday, Tristan's sixth birthday, that Tristan was now a third of the way to adulthood.

I think I'm going to go cry now.

He floats through the air with the greatest of ease...

2007-09-28T05:03:00.000-04:00

That daring *young* man on the flying....parasail?

Poppa and JoAnn celebrate his 91st birthday

Life has, in fact, gone on in our little family, even though all of the updates have been about Rylan. Who, by the way, is doing fine. But more on him later.

I want to put up these pictures of my grandfather, John Dame, who celebrated his 91st birthday on August 8th. My aunt, Joann, got him what every 91 year old man needs...the chance to go parasailing!

At first Poppa was a little hesitant, "I dunno, Joann, I wanna live a while longer!". Joann told him, "But Poppa....you haven't lived until you've gone!".

So they strapped in and took off, and Poppa had a blast. He's even said he wants to go again! I adore my Poppa, and am so proud that I come from a family who never outgrow their sense of adventure and fun.

Happy Birthday, Poppa. I hope this will be your birthday tradition for years to come!!

And now for an update on Rylan...

We have officially hit the six pound mark!! He is doing better and has no seizure activity since coming home...as far as I can tell, anyway. He had an evaluation yesterday with the group from Help Me Grow (can I tell you how much I love the people at the Early Childhood Center??). There was a PT, an OT, and a speech therapist along with the HMG rep and the early intervention teacher. They all had a good look at Rylan and assessed his development so far. In their opinion he is doing well, and is behaving more advanced than a baby of his age, much less his adjusted age (which, btw, is still negative two weeks! lol). So I am happy with that all the way around.

We'll be getting monthly home visits to assess his development and to help us ensure that he doesn't start to fall behind. I'm happy there will be more sets of eyes looking at him and that we will be getting some guidance in how to work and play with him to make sure he continues to do well. I know this is my third time in babyland, but I'm serious when I tell you that I have no idea what I should be doing next. His coming early has completely changed this ballgame! I am so grateful for my new *coaches*.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig...

2007-09-21T09:46:00.000-04:00

Rylan in his crib at Akron Children's. Nice hat, huh? It's actually the little cup protecting his IV site. ....ouch! Poor baby...

We are home...again. And hopefully to stay this time.

Surprisingly, we came home Wednesday night. The doctor, whose name is very long but instructs everyone to refer to him as simply Dr. Tk, came back in that afternoon and said that although the EEG wasn't normal, it wasn't really abnormal either. He said the activity spikes came from all around the brain, and could be normal for Rylan while he was sleeping. So he sent us home before Ryaln could really catch something nasty up on that floor (his words, but I agree). He decided not to do the MRI because Rylan would need sedation for it, and his BP fell to 53/17 (no...it's not a typo..you really read 17!!) with just the ativan. Good call...

Dr. Tk was worried about the size of Rylan's head, but now I wonder if he plotted it correctly for his adjusted age. Anyone know if 32.5 cm is a normal size head for a 37 weeker?

Rylan is doing better now, all around. He lost a bit of weight while sick and was back down to 5 lbs. even from the 5 lbs. 7 oz that he was in the ER on Sunday morning. But eating every two hours has helped him get some of that chub back. And he is sleeping better now, too. Of course we are too busy watching him, terrified of something else happening to enjoy getting some more rest ourselves...but at least he is sleeping.

Thanks again for all the prayers and well wishes and emails. Youu guys will never know how much it means to me to have this support and love from so many people.

I will not wonder what else could happen, I am afraid of the answer...

2007-09-18T22:45:00.000-04:00

Hi everyone...

Well, Rylan was home with us for two weeks. I noticed some respiratory distress very early Sunday morning (central cyanosis, retractions, grunting, fast respiratory rate, mottling, low body temp...you know, enough to make me completely lose it!!). I took him to Mansfield's ER and in true form--it had resolved completely by the time we got there. Go figure. Just some respiratory pauses that have been called *near normal*.

Buuuuttttt....we were transferred to Akron Children's just to be safe. I drove separately and when I got there was directed to the PICU, where I was informed that Rylan was getting a stat head CT because the transport nurse determined he was having seizures.

That was Sunday. Up to this evening his labs have been good, his Xray, CT, and vitals have all been good, and he's had no real evidence of respiratory problems or seizures. But the report from the transport nurse was enough to make the attending doc order a consult with the Neurologist. So Rylan had more blood work, a 12 lead EKG and an EEG today. The EEG was borderline and the neurologist is concerned with a few other things that had been going on at home. Apparently even with all my experience I can't tell the difference between a seizure and an exaggerated startle.

So Rylan will be in the hospital for a few more days. The doc has ordered an MRI for tomorrow and plans on reviewing the EEG again (he thinks it *might* be within normal limits--but then again he may have just been trying to be nice to me, it's hard to watch a mommy cry when she's trying really hard to hold it all together).

I drove home tonight to get some more clothes and a little bit of sleep. Please keep Rylan in your prayers again. Poor little guy has been through so much. I know things could be so much worse, but we are all so tired and drained from the past six weeks. I just pray that he gets better, and comes home.

And stays home.

So, so close...so far away

2007-08-31T20:38:00.000-04:00

Sigh...

Yesterday we spent most of the afternoon anticipating that Rylan was coming home last night. But he failed his car seat test. Twice. His oxygen saturation levels fell into the high 80s when he was sitting in the car seat. So no go. And if that wasn't bad enough, Rylan couldn't manage to keep us body temp up. When we left last night he was wearing two hats, a sleeper and wrapped in three blankets.

It didn't help. This morning when I called his nurse told me that he'd been put back into an isolette right after we left yesterday. I know things could be worse, but this is still a step backwards that just breaks my heart. I really thought I'd have my sweet baby with me for the very first night. Now it might be days.

Social Services brought up a car bed today for Rylan. It looks like a big wash tub that the baby can lay in while in the car. Straps in and everything. So that part is covered. And he was on his lowest temp setting on the incubator today. His nurse today said that they would try him again tonight in an open bassinet. Hopefully he can maintain his temps for 24 hours and come home soon.

I hope so. I just want my baby to come home.

Break out the car seat!!!

2007-08-29T21:56:00.000-04:00

Not only did he get EVERY feeding by mouth today...he did well in his open crib and the nurse asked us to bring in his car seat tomorrow to do his car seat test. YEA!!! She thinks by Saturday he'll be home. The doctor says the earliest would be Friday. I am all smiles thinking that my baby will soon be home with us.

Please God, let him come home soon!

Here is a video of today, Hayden holding Rylan for the very first time. It is so sweet...listen to the end when Hayden tells Rylan he is his very best friend...(sob).

Rylan is two weeks old!!

2007-08-28T21:37:00.000-04:00

My little man turned two weeks old yesterday! And to celebrate he passed the 4 pound mark. lol! They upped his oral feedings to three a day today, and put him in an open crib, so he's out of the isolette. I'm so excited! It's just *that* much closer to coming home.

And now he'll have a room to come home to, thanks to my mom and our shared sense of *brutal cleaning*. Together we tackled the clutter that was the computer room and it is now a full fledged baby's room! Granted, we didn't paint or anything cute, but we cleared things out, cleaned things up and moved things around. It's nice. Now all I need is a baby to go in it.

Being a NICU mom is something I was not prepared for. Not just the shock of having your baby born too early, or born sick, that in itself is a nightmare. But the actual NICU itself...it's become a very scary place over the last few weeks. When Rylan first arrived I remember seeing the other babies, most of them were bigger than him, and so many in open cribs. I even asked the nurse if the area he was in was considred a *step down* area of the NICU, for the less seriously ill babies. She just smiled and said that it wasn't. Now I know why she smiled...

The acuity has skyrockted lately. Sitting behind the curtain cuddling my tiny little boy, I heard as the staff prepared for, and then stablized twins born at 27 weeks. Vents and xrays and stat orders, a father racing from one warmer to the next, a mother who hadn't seen her babies. The next day another baby in the bed next to Rylan. Another 32 weeker, but so very sick. Intubated, chest tubes, an ultrasound tech looking at his heart and his brain, his mother sitting by his bed holding his tiny little hand. His father asking so many questions, us sitting on the other side of the curtain--cringing at the answers that he was grasping to understand. Monday just before we left another admit, I passed by on the way to the nurse's station. A tiny baby, a perfect little head the size of a peach...I don't know how early, I don't want to know how early.

The emotions you feel in that place are so raw, and so overwhelming...

I used to feel just a little jealous of the other moms who got to hold their babies, or nurse their babies, or touch their babies in the open cribs. Then you start to see the car seats come in for the *car seat test* and you know that a homecoming is in the cards. After a few days there was a commaradarie with the other parents, and real happiness when you entered the NICU and saw that someone's space was empty, because someone had gone home.

And now I feel almost guilty. Guilty because my baby is small, but otherwise healthy. Guilty that we got those precious extra weeks that other parents only prayed for. guilty that now Rylan is the one in the open crib, being held, waiting to come home. I try to look at that mom in the bed next to ours, I try to make eye contact, I want to show some compassion, some empathy, some little bit of kindness. But she rarely looks at me. Usually when she looks up it is only to look at Ryaln. I can only imagine what she thinks when she looks at him.

I hate how unfair everything seems. All those parents praying for a miracle, hope and fear simultaneoulsy taking over your every breathing moment, your heart breaking in ways you never imagined it could. Those tiny, tiny babies fighting for their lives and there isn't a damn thing any of us can do. You hear people say all the time how they would die for their kids, and there we all stand--helpless to do anything.

I thought I was holding up okay until I got a phone call the other day. I jumped a little when I saw *Riverside Methodist* on the caller ID. But my heart literally stopped when the man on the other end identified himself as the neonatologist. He only wanted to talk to be to reassure me that Rylan was doing fine and discuss his plans for my son. But as I hung up the phone I noticed my heart was racing, my hands were shaking and my eyes were filling up with tears. Even though Rylan is doing well, I am still so afraid that something could go wrong.

We are going to visit tomorrow. I'm excited to see him in his open crib for the first time. I am just afraid of any beds that might be suddenly empty. So please, if you say a prayer for Rylan today, please say one for all of those other babies, too. They all need just as much help from our Heavenly Father as they can get.

A photoshow of Rylan & Tristan

2007-08-19T20:48:00.000-04:00

Created by Nana...Thank you Nana!!

Big news about our little boy...

2007-08-19T11:31:00.000-04:00

Most of you already know that Rylan is here! We welcomed Rylan Seanessy Baker on 8-13-07 at 5:17 am. He weighed 3 lbs 6.5 oz and was a whopping 15.5 inches long. Rylan was on CPAP for 24 hours, but has been breathing on his own since day two. We could not be happier with how he is doing.

So...here is how our littlest prince came into the world so very early.

On Thursday, 8-09-07, I started having incredibly painful abdominal pain. It was all centered in the left upper quadrant, so I really didn't think it was a big deal. In fact, I thought it was a gas pain. But as the night progressed, the pain intensified. I called my mom and asked that she take me to the ER...the pain was that bad. I honestly thought that I was suffering from a bad gall bladder, or a gas pain, or something that would be treated and I would be sent home.

Then Dr. Alford came into my room and sat down on my bed. It's probably not a good sign when your doctor sits down to talk to you. He started talking about a perinatologist, and about something called HELLP Syndrome. To be honest, I didn't hear a word he said for the longest time. Call it denial, call it intuition that the other shoe was, in fact, dropping, but my brain chose that moment to turn off. But eventually I heard it loud and clear...

You are sick. You have something called HELLP Syndrome.

Delivering this baby is the only cure.

Yes, he is coming. Soon. Very, very soon.

The next thing Dr. Alford was talking about babies born at 32 weeks and survival rates, and NICUs, and surfactant. I could only think about my tiny baby, and how he was no longer safe in what should have been the safest place on earth for him. I didn't feel like I was sick...I felt like I had failed.

Phone calls were made, tears were shed, fingers started googling HELLP Syndrome. Not my fingers, mind you. It wasn't until after he was born that someone finally got the guts to tell me just how sick I was. It's okay, though. I was better off not knowing.

A quick ambulance ride to Riverside and I found myself in the Labor and Delivery Unit. I started to get a clue how serious things were when my nurse let it slip that I was her only patient. I was a one-on-one patient. Great.

Throughout all of the monitoring, Rylan continued to do well. I had gotten both of my steroid shots to help his lungs, and those shots bought us both a few more days. I was starting to feel confident by Saturday morning...until the High Risk OB did rounds and told me that he did not think I would be leaving the floor without having delivered first. His guess? Days. or Day.

I'd had a headache, I'd been nauseous, I'd been short of breath. Suddenly everything I complained about was taken seriously, I wasn't used to that. Sunday afternoon's labs showed that I was getting worse. They would begin inducing labor that night. More phone calls, more tears, and a sweet nurse who decided I'd be much better off sedated.

The only good thing about being so sick is that I mercifully got my epidural before they started anything. Yeah for me!! My family arrived and I rested through the first half of the induction. The doctor arrived and started to break my water. "I feel a butt..." Another quick ultrasound showed that Rylan had flipped over during the night. Little dude had been in position, but had turned breech overnight. Okay...plan B. Everyone wake up, I'm going to surgery.

Robbie looks cute in scrubs. Even paper ones. He did so well through the surgery. Me? Well, let's just say that I've never seen anyone whine through a c-section so much. It honestly felt like the surgeon was dragging her nails down the inside of my uterus. The nurse anaesthetist told the doctor that she had pushed everything she could through the epidural, I simply had a *hot spot*. I felt like I was suffocating when she put the mask with the Nitrous Oxide on me. But eventually I decided sucking down some Nitrous was such a much more pleasant option.

I remember them holding Rylan up over the curtain...he was so tiny. So, so tiny. And not crying. I kept asking why he wasn't crying, I was crying, so should he. Turns out we'd woke Mr. Rylan up, the first picture is of him yawning. Sweet baby was bored with us already.

Robbie followed Rylan to the NICU while they finished up on me. Our baby, our tiny little baby was doing as well as could be expected. He was placed on CPAP, but didn't like it. You can see him in the videos trying to shake it off. Such a strong little boy.

The next few days flew by. I got very sick very quickly. Within 24 hours my platelets dropped to 45K, my SGOT was up to 244. The normal lower limits of plates is 150K, the normal range of SGOT is 20-40. But just as quickly as it started, it stopped, and with a few days worth of steroids, it corrected itself. So I'm doing okay now.

Rylan is doing even better than I am. He is gaining weight and holding his own. Today he is up to 3lbs 8oz. Every once in a while his heart slows down and he stops breathing, but so far he has come out of it on his own. *Self Stim* is what it is called. That just means that his body kicks in when his brain forgets to breathe. The nurses say it's completely expected for this stage.

He is so tiny, and so beautiful. Robbie and I went down Friday night, Rylan is allowed to try to nurse once a day. He's not very good at it, I'm sure he'd much rather have his purple binkie. But he at least gives it the old college try! lol...He's getting 28mls of breast milk every three hours. That is great since they only started him on 4 mls. And when he gets hungry....oooooo, watch out! The nurses said it's a very good sign that he gets so mad when he gets hungry. He can correlate being hungry and drawing attention to himself. He knows he needs fed. We got to hold him yesterday, he was so awake and alert for such a long time. Those little eyes just looking around, him trying to listen for our voices, reaching out to hold our fingers. He is so beautiful, I am so in love with him.

Tristan and Hayden are so excited about his being here. They want to know when he is coming home, how much bigger he is getting, if they can buy him toys, all those big brother things that you hope your children will do when the new baby comes. I just hope they still feel like this once Rylan comes home.

I'll try to update daily as I get them, even though there maybe little or no change for awhile.

I just really want to thank everyone for their prayers during the past week. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. I know that the prayers really worked, his Dr. has told us that we can ask that he be doing any better. He is doing everything they want right now.

And I wanted to Thank God for my Drs, especially Dr. Alford who was there that morning. I honestly believe that the only reason Rylan and I both survived is because Dr. Alford recognized early what he was dealing with. With how quickly I got sick, I truly believe that any delay in treatment would have been disastrous for both of us.

Wow...long time no post...

2007-07-16T06:28:00.000-04:00

My apologies to the loyal readers (all three of you! lol) you have been gently hinting that I'm a slacker. I am, and I am sorry. We've just been busy preparing for the arrival of...

Our little boy!!! Rylan Seanessy Baker is joining our family!!!

No, he's not here yet, I still have a few months...(sob, months...). But it is official, HE is all boy. So it's more baseball and football and cars for me. If I want to play with Barbies I'm going to have to buy them on the sly and do it when everyone is in school. Or I'll become a "collector" and just do it out in the open. What? So I bought all the bridal Barbies...so what? Trust me, it's...um...uhhhhhh... an investment! Yeaaaa....just planning for my future...making sound financial decisions that will be...um...lucrative...one day.

Hey, watch out for the Barbie Corvette you almost stepped on. Could you hand me that little hairbrush before you leave? Why you looking at me like that? What?

Okay, so I won't be collecting Barbies. But I'm still allowed to browse the aisle at the store, right? Granted, I'll be doing it alone as Tristan and Hayden go screaming and running away at the sight of the all pink wall of girl stuff...but I can still go.

I want to touch on the real reason that I sat down to type today. A story in the newspaper that has turned my stomach. Make that...ANOTHER story in the newspaper...

I am so sick of seeing people hurt their kids, or neglect their kids, or just not give a damn about their kids. I honestly am starting to think that crimes against children should be a death penalty worthy crime. Here in Mansfield we had a father break his six week old daughter's hands, and a few months later he broke her arm...all because she was crying. Then there are the couple in Cincinnati last year who killed their foster son by wrapping him in a blanket with duct tape and leaving him in a closet during the middle of summer. And were surprised when they came home from a family outing and found him dead! Or the recent video of the little girl sitting on the floorboard of a moving van while her teenage mother and a friend not only videotape but laugh at the little girl after she had allegedly taken ecstasy. It's really disgusting if you haven't seen it.

And now the case with the two young parents who starved their kids because they were playing...effing Dungeons and Dragons online!!!

You can read the whole story here...http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070715/ap_on_re_us/neglect_internet_addiction

The mom's Myspace page, complete with pictures of the two sweet babies is here...http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=90738735

Their 11 month old daughter weighed ten pounds. Their son can't walk and had an infection in his genitals. Both children were near death. All because the parents are...ahem...*ADDICTED* to video games.

Addicted. Like it's a disease. Like they had no choice and are the victims of something bigger than themselves. Oh, the horror of getting the giant monkey that is the freaking PLAYSTATION off your back!!!! Here's an idea...unplug the damn thing and go feed your kid!!! Moron.

And $50K blown on computer equipment and a TV.

Wait, I need to vomit, I'll be right back....

Do you know what I could do with FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS???? How do you make the choice to let your tiny little gifts from God suffer in silence while you waste that much money on something as ridiculous as computer crap??? I feel guilty when I buy myself a new tube of lip gloss instead of a Hot Wheels car because Tristan so desperately needs to add to his 147 other Hot Wheels cars.

I worry that I don't spend enough time with my kids, or that I'm not giving them the right vitamins, or that I really should be buying the organic apples instead of the pretty shiny ones at the store. I worry that I'll scar them for life by making them share a room...and toys...and hand-me downs. Am I reading to them enough? Am I smothering them? I let them eat McNuggets last week...twice. Oh, the shame. I've yelled at them, I've spanked them and I've sent them to their room. I've made them at least try everything on their plate, and let them eat yogurt and a peanut butter sandwich when they didn't like anything on their plate. I've made them play nice, and then made them apologize when they didn't...even at the risk of embarrassing them. I taught them to say "please" and "thank you" and "yes ma'am" and "no sir", and I still worry that they will grow up disrespectful of others. I worry that they will grow up to be bullies, or grow up to be bullied. I make them stay inside when the sun is too hot and the UV index is too high...and then I worry that they aren't getting enough fresh air. I worry that I let them do too much, and I worry that I'll be so overprotective that they will never grow up to be men.

I spend most of my days questioning my parenting skills. Wondering if I'm doing this right, and praying that I somehow don't screw this up. And these asshats can't even get off their couch to feed and bathe their babies. What makes THEM worthy of children? How is it that I worry over everything and the basics like food and medical care don't make onto their priority list at all???

Maybe that is what is pissing me off so much when it comes to cases like this...how unfair it is. Not only to the kids--because let's face it, I could go on forever about the cruelty to children how the punishment should be extreme and swift--but to the rest of humanity in general.

There are people right this moment who are praying that they finally see that second pink line on the pregnancy test that has alluded them for years. There are people right this moment who pray that the birth mother looking at their profile picks them to receive the most amazing gift of a child. There are people right this moment who are sitting in dark and empty nurseries weeping for the babies who never came home...or the ones who never made it to this world.

And yet monsters like these get to have babies. How is that fair? How is that right? Who makes these F*&$%@# rules anyway????

Can someone please stop this ride? I'd like to get off...but save my seat! I'm only getting off long enough to kick someones ass.

Batter Up!! But watch where you step...

2007-05-26T02:06:00.000-04:00

Oh, my little man!! Tristan had his opening day of Tball last Saturday. There was a reporter/photographer from the local newspaper there. Of course when he showed up Robbie & Tristan were the only ones there. So half the story about The Ontario team is about them. I was hoping that a picture of Tristan would make it to print, so I was thrilled when he ran into my room bright and early Sunday morning with a copy of the paper...his picture on the front page of the Lifestyles section. The picture of him at bat was one of three from the opening day games. The picture of him fielding was in the online gallery.

You can read the article here...http://www.mansfieldnewsjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20070520/NEWS01/705200314

You can view the gallery

here...http://www.mansfieldnewsjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/gallery?Site=B7&Date=20070519&Category=PHOTOGALLERIES&ArtNo=705190804&Ref=PH&Params=Itemnr=1

Tristan is in pictures #22, 25 & 34.

The last few weeks have been very hectic at our house. Very. But being busy hasn't stopped me from finding the humor in the mundane, the ordinary, and the downright gross. Take the day that went straight down the toilet.

Or...didn't go straight down the toilet. The day that got nowhere near the toilet.

I was taking a nap...a short nap. I heard Robbie come in from the garage yelling...something about poop. Hayden ran into my bedroom and tried to climb in bed with me. "Daddy's mad." I can hear that. He finally comes in close enough that I can hear this rant is, actually, about poopy. Poopy in the garage, to be specific. Someone has pooped in the garage.

"Are you sure it's not cat poop?" I asked.

"Not unless the cat ate corn last night!!" Um...gross.

"Tissin did it." was Hayden's only response. His butt was clean, maybe Tristan did do it...but why? Tristan was vehemently adamant that he did not EVER poop in the garage. "Tissin did it", Hayden calmly explained when pressed again. Tristan was near hysterics claiming innocence in the case of the mysteriously appearing turd.

Robbie cleaned it up, and hosed it down. It didn't take long, and I'm not sure what, exactly prompted it, until Hayden came inside and tearfully admitted ownership of the little pile of poo. Turns out he hates pooping in his pullup, however he was having so much fun outside he couldn't make it inside to go tot he bathroom. So he pooped in the garage and went back to playing. I can see his thinking...Tristan pees behind trees, why can't he poop behind the car?

I asked him why he pooped in the garage and he answered matter-of-factly, "I didn't. My butt did!". Okay, why did you *butt* poop in the garage? "Because my butt couldn't hold it."

Come on mom, duh!

You would think that poop in the garage would have been the topper for the day, right? Mmmmm...welcome to the Baker house where nothing is left with the simple ending.

The boys had been tucked in for the night after a hard day of playing. And pooping. I sat down on the couch to enjoy some ice cream and the latest episode of "The Tudors" on the DVR. Suddenly the boy's light comes on, but I hear nothing and see no one. I call out for Tristan and get no response.

Suddenly Tristan comes practically jogging out of his bedroom, pants pulled down around his thighs, hands clasped around his dangly bits. What the....?

"Tristan? Tristan? Tristan!" Tristan stopped, turned around and said...

"I'm not going to make it."

But instead of heading towards the bathroom at a quicker pace, he turned around and went back into his bedroom. Oh, no!!!!! I jumped...ha! I waddled from the couch and got to his room just as he stood above his desk drawer. He was ready, he had aimed, he was about to fire.

"Tristan!!!!!! Tristan stop! Tristan wake up!!" I got to him just as he started to pee. In his desk. I yelled his name, I yelled for him to stop, I shook his shoulder with one hand while I tried to catch the pee with the other. Yeah, right. I put my hand up against his peepee to stop the flow. Now what? Take it off, he pees, put it on he stopped, take it off he pees. Put it on. He looked down at his penis as if noticing that it just wasn't working. Finally the pressure got so great that it all came shooting out, hitting my hand, and spraying all over.

Oh forget it. Just aim it down so at least I only have one spot to clean. One big spot. One really big spot. My God, how much did this child have to drink????

"Tristan...please wake up." Nope. Still sound asleep. He finished peeing, pulled his soaking wet pants back up and tried to climb the ladder to his bunk. Oh no you don't pal...I guided him towards the bathroom, all the while him grumbling that he was sleepy. I stripped of his clothes. He slept. I called his name. He slept. I yelled for Robbie. He slept. I started the bath water. He slept. Until it was about half full, then he started to wake up...and giggle uncontrollably.

Robbie got up, but apparently was awake as much as Tristan and was not very much help. So he got sent back to bed. At least I didn't have to bathe him first.

Tristan soaked while I cleaned the carpet in his room. Thank God my mother left her carpet cleaner for as long as she did. Or I would have tried to wake her up, too. Finally everything and everyone was clean. Tristan got put in dry jammies and tucked back into bed. He fell right back to sleep.

Mommy...mmmmm...not so much.

So Hayden, or rather, Hayden's BUTT pooped on the garage floor. And a few hours later Tristan peed in his desk drawer. Whatta night.

I did clean everything up. But if you do come for a visit, just watch where you step. Apparently our potty training program has included a chapter in "stealth excrement".

(please excuse the ~ marks, I can't get blogspot to except spaces betwen paragraphs. hey...maybe it's about to take a poopy on the floor...)

100 Things You Never Wanted to Know About Me...

2007-05-05T01:15:00.000-04:00

But first...an update on Brit. Than you so much for your prayers! Brit went home on bedrest, is currently on meds to keep her calm & sleepy. And to keep Logan in a bit longer. I'll continue to update as I get them. The power of prayer really works.

I've seen a few girls doing the "100 Things About Me" in their blogs. It looked like fun. Not sure you'll think so, but I found other people's interesting. So here's mine.

100 Things...

1. I didn't have many friends growing up.
2. I've had the same best friend for 20 years now.
3. Until I met Robbie, I used to joke that she was my longest relationship ever.
4. I was only half joking.
5. I graduated from the Respiratory Therapy program with a 3.8 GPA.
6. I had a 3.3 overall.
7. I almost didn't graduate from High School.
8. Because I hadn't turned in an essay at the very beginning of the year.
9. And I didn't care.
10. My RT instructor threatened to boot me from the program if I didn't turn in a lab assignment.
11. My homework was never late again.
12. I hate my nose.
13. Up until I had kids I liked my boobs.
14. My favorite color is pale butter yellow.
15. My favorite number is 4.
16. My mom told me the first time she felt me move I kicked her 4 times in a row.
17. I spent the next 16 years kicking her.
18. And the next twenty kicking myself for that.
19. I had a crush on John Boy from the Waltons when I was little.
20. And Fred Flinstone.
21. I don't know why.
22. My only unrequited love was a man named Dennis.
23. He looked like Fred Flinstone, but with blond hair.
24. Being in love made me stupid.
25. Up until I had kids, my maternal grandmother was my favorite person in my life.
26. If this baby is a girl her name will be Elisabeth after my grandmother. Ellie, for short.
27. I've had names picked out for this baby for two years.
28. I still feel like no one likes me sometimes.
29. There are days I don't like me.
30. I used to wear a size 9 shoe.
31. Now I wear an 11.
32. I can hold a grudge better than anyone I know.
33. For revenge I once called a girl's job & told the manager I was from the GYN office in town & that she needed to call me ASAP. They didn't like her either, so it got around fast...
34. Hey!! She deserved it. No really, she did.
35. My friend's brother toilet papered our house once. A week after he used my dad's computer. And told my mom that all cops were "pigs".
36. The fact that she didn't tell him off still amazes me.
37. He was mad that I wouldn't go to the prom with him. He was 17.
38. I was 13.
39. He still gives me the creeps.
40. I didn't smoke, drink or have sex while I was in High School.
41. I still consider them wasted years.
42. I had sex for the first time at almost 19. (sorry, mom.)
43. Afterwards I didn't know why I'd even bothered. (sorry, Mike.)
44. Robbie told me he loved me long before he ever made a move on me.
45. In fact, *I* was the one who practically had to beg him to give in.
46. He thought sex would ruin what we had.
47. Boy, was he wrong!!!
48. We were engaged 13 weeks after we met.
49. We married six and a half months after we met.
50. Most people thought I was pregnant when we got married (Fess up! You know you did!!)
51. Couldn't be further from the truth.
52. So far, in fact, that we spent the first three nights of our marriage...sleeping!!! Go ahead and guess why...
53. My only regret about my wedding is that my brother couldn't be there because we moved it up so quickly.
54. He was going to be my "Man of Honor".
55. Robbie is the only guy I've dated that my brother actually liked.
56. Even though he didn't meet him until after we were married.
57. I have to wear earplugs to bed because Robbie snores so much.
58. I snore worse than he does.
59. I'm jealous that my best friend is still in the same size jeans that she wore in High School. A size 4!! Blech!!
60. When I lived alone I would play the radio loud & pretend that I was singing on stage.
61. I was 27 at the time.
62. Yes, I know I'm a dork.
63. I think it's disgusting if I don't change my sheets once a week.
64. Even though I've been too sick & tired to do it every week on the nose, I'm still grossed out.
65. I think I inherited that from my mom.
66. She thinks she's borderline OCD.
67. I think she's probably right.
68. But she uses it to her advantage, so I wish I were more OCD.
69. I make my own baby wipes.
70. It's incredibly easy. Even Robbie is an expert now.
71. One of the secrets of making baby wipes is to precut all the rolls of paper towels & stack them so they are ready to be used.
72. I have my dad do it on a table saw outside.
73. I secretly think my dad would do anything I ask.
74. Like dull the blade of one of his cherished tools on a bunch of paper towels so I can clean poopy butts.
75. My father has never cleaned a poopy butt. Not mine. Not my kids. Not Ever.
76. I think he's proud of that fact.
77. I'm still Daddy's Little Girl.
78. In our wedding video, you can see Robbie making a scissors motion with his fingers while the preacher is talking.
79. It was mime for "...finally cutting the umbilical cord, Michelle!!!!"
80. Our preacher looked & sounded like an Elvis impersonator. Sans sequence. And donuts.
81. I'm terrified that I'm a terrible mother.
82. I used to be afraid that I'd turned into my mom.
83. Now I pray that I turn into my mom.
84. She has a much nicer body.
85. And a better social life.
86. I called my mom once at three in the morning to tell her I loved her. I was drunk. She just laughed.
87. I love it when my kids crawl into bed with me.
88. It breaks my heart when Tristan acts like he's too big to be nice to his mommy.
89. It breaks my heart when he comes to me when he's hurt or scared or tired or sad.
90. When Tristan was born Robbie & I both thought he looked like the other person.
91. We both thought he was too beautiful to look like us.
92. It hurt my feelings when total strangers would comment on how gorgeous Hayden was as a baby right in front of Tristan like Tristan wasn't even there.
93. Perfect strangers still tell me how gorgeous Hayden is. It's the eyes.
94. I almost yelled at a man on the shuttle who was staring at Tristan while we were on vacation. He seriously gave me the creeps.
95. He was staying at our hotel & followed us to the pool. I made Robbie take Tristan back upstairs. My mother's intuition was on full red alert. He screamed PEDOPHILE!!!.
96. I know how people kill to protect their kids. I would have done it.
97. I still will.
98. My parents have been married for 38 years this summer.
99. My father says the minute he laid eyes on her he told his friend, "See that girl? I'm going to marry that girl!"
100. Robbie swears he said the same thing about me. (His friends still back him up on that.)

So that's my 100. I'm not going to go back & reread them, I don't want to feel guilty & change anything. The whole point is being honest. So that's honestly me.

And again, I apologize to my mother to all references to s--e--x.
But hey, I am my parent's daughter!!! She'll know that that means, right mom?

teehehehehehehe...he..h.e...eh...um...ahem.

uh-oh, my phone is ringing. I'll bet it's her...gotta go!!!

Prayers for a Friend, please...

2007-04-29T23:18:00.000-04:00

I wanted to start this week's blog by asking everyone to please spare a few moments and say a prayer for a friend of mine, Britany. Brit is 31 weeks pregnant with her son, Logan.

A few days ago they learned that one of Logan's lungs has not developed at all. Brit is in the hospital and being kept sedated in order to stop her contractions and give Logan some desperately needed time to grow. As of this writing there was no definite plan for after his birth. Britany is a member of another cyber community that I am privileged to be a part of. I'll post updates as I get them. But right now, any prayers, good vibes, healing thoughts and good wishes would be appreciated for her & baby Logan. They are both fighting so hard.

After that it's hard to think of anything humorous to write about. So I won't.

I will tell you something that my boys do that makes my heart melt and my eyes tear up.

I found the book "Guess How Much I Love You" when I was pregnant with Tristan. It made me cry in the middle of Barnes & Noble. Of course being pregnant, I cried at soup commercials. But this book still chokes me up. If you aren't familiar with it, here's a link...http://www.demyanova.netfirms.com/childstore/engtales/quess.htm
it's a short, so read it...but get a tissue.

Anyway...I bought the book and read it over and over and over to my kids. Tristan started a little more than a year ago with the "I love you!" "I love you More!" game, and soon he was breaking my heart by telling me "I love you to the moon and back!". Whoever got to say that part first was the *winner*. Mommy won every time, whether she said it or not, but don't tell Tristan.

Soon Hayden caught on & with his halted words & two year old pronunciation was soon saying the same thing. It was cute, but kind of irritated Tristan that our special little *game* was being shared with someone else. So much so, in fact, that he quit saying it altogether. (((sigh)))

So now it's Hayden's *thing*. He'll say it in his sleep, he'll say it while watching TV, he'll say it instead of saying "hi!". A few days ago I had fallen asleep while watching TV all snuggled in my bed with them (what better thing to do when it's storming outside?). I felt this tiny little hand on my cheek as he turned my face towards him. I opened my eyes and found myself nose to nose, looking into those huge blue eyes.

"I loves you to da moon an back, mommy" he whispered.

He turned his face back to the TV before he could see that he'd made his mommy cry.

Tristan was snuggled up on the other side of me, so I turned towards him and started our new *thing*...

"I love you forever..." I said.

He just grinned, leaned in and said "I love you forever and a day!"

Oh, my little men.

I just wish forever wasn't going by so fast.

The Grinch Who Stole Hooka Day

2007-04-21T23:10:00.000-04:00

I have a greenhouse in my house. It's Robbie's, he's growing herb.

Seriously...rosemary, cilantro, peppers, a couple tomato plants, some flower seeds for me, something called a fart bean for Tristan (can't wait to see what *that* turns into!). So it's a real live greenhouse, complete with a glowing grow light. That stays on. All. The. Time.

I'm sure the neighbors wonder what in the world is glowing out of the middle bedroom during the middle of the night. It's obscenely bright. Like "Close Encounters" bright. I fully expect METRICH to bust down the door looking for our marijuana one of these days. Or ET searching for his ride home (beat it, pal. I don't have a weekend plan for you to call home on...). But it's Robbie's and God knows the man doesn't do much for fun, so growing a few habanero plants in a lite bright nursery isn't such a big deal.

Although it has made me a little concerned that the neighbors really *will* think that there's something amiss & we will soon become the *drug pushers* of the Golden Retirement Village that we currently call home. Little do the other members of the condo association know, you could probably get more of a buzz from mixing their muscle relaxants and nitro paste than you could from Robbie's lavender and baby's breath. Yep, we're a fun couple...fresh catnip, anyone?

Speaking of growing herb...

There was a story that appeared in our local paper on April 20th. April 20th...4-20...4/20...420...The Holy Hooka Holiday. For those not familiar with April 20th, it's a day set aside to celebrate and consume cannabis. For hard core smokers, it's also just 4:20, the time of day to light up and celebrate...whatever...comes...to...mind (viva la twinkies...maaaaannnnnn!). But I digress. The article appeared on April 20th, and spoke of a drug raid that occurred in the early morning hours of the previous day, April 19th. During the raid, the same METRICH unit that I'm afraid will be peeping at my peppers, confiscated 67 marijuana plants. 67!!!

With my sick and twisted sense of humor, I can't help but find the irony in that. What a better way to ruin Hooka Day than with a Hooka Day Eve raid? What a way to say "Happy Hooka Day!! We got your hooka, and you ain't got none! neener neener boo boo!!!"

All those growers, snuggled deep in their beds, while visions of doobies danced through their heads...

Apparently I'm not the only one. This appeared on the forums of said newspaper and I nearly fell off my chair with laughter. So without further ado...and with permission from the author, I give you....

The Grinch Who Stole Hooka Day

(Sorry, I can't stop laughing...I just have images of the sheriff's deputies sneaking in like the Grinch on Hooka Day Eve and stealing all the ganga. Poor little CindyLou Who-ka, waking up to find not enough dope for the mouse. )

Under the cover of night they emptied the cache,

They took the ganga, the reefer, and then took the J,

They left with the hash, the green, the pot, the weed,

They even came in and took all the seed.

How could those deputies be any meaner?

The Hookas looked for stashes in closets, speakers and freezers,

Until the sweet little Hookas way down in Hookaville

Remembered one secret place...the Cadillac Seville!

They found one little bag, it filled barely a bowl,

And passed it around, this rare Crawford County gold.

And one little Hooka, his face all a scrunchy

exclaimed "Happy Hooka Day All!...now who's got the munchies?"

Don't piss off the hungry pregnant woman!!!!

2007-04-15T02:15:00.000-04:00

I'm so ticked off right now...listen to this.

Tonight at work I go down to dinner. Mmmm, shredded chicken. Sounds good. Not really. Eat two bites & throw it away. But I do eat my jello & pears. I figure, okay, I have an extra $10, I NEVER order out when everyone else does, but tonight I'll treat myself.

So the girls on MedSurg order Chinese from Main Moon. I ask for two egg rolls, and an order of beef & broccoli with mushrooms. Christina gets General Tso's chicken, as does the nursing supervisor, Cheryl. So the delivery guy drops off the bag, the secretary gives him money & away he goes. No one checks the bag. Figures. A good twenty minutes go by while everyone is busy. Finally we get a chance to eat. By now my stomach is rumbling, my dinner of jello was five hours ago & I've had nothing else all day.

I walk up to the counter & hear Christina ask me if I'd gotten my dinner yet. "Nope, but it smells good!"

"Yeah, well, they didn't bring all of it."

"Figures. Let me guess, they forgot mine?"

"Oh, no, they brought yours. They forgot a General Tso's chicken."

"Oh. Okay. Where's mine?"

"Cheryl ate yours."

".....Excuse me?"

(Cheryl chimes in) "Well Christina handed it to me without looking at it & I just opened it and ate it. It took me a minute to realize that it sucked."

I just stand there staring at the two of them, trying to grasp how someone could NOT tell the difference between beef & broccoli and General Tso's chicken until several bites in.

(me) ".......ummmmmm....."

(Cheryl) "I can stop eating it now if you'd like it back. Do you want me to stop eating it?"

(me, looking around for hidden camera somewhere, and not finding one, realize she's totally serious) "...um...uh...No....that's okay. I really like you and all, but I'm not eating after you."

(Cheryl) "Okay, because it's really gross. I don't want it."

(another nurse from the background) "You could just call them and get another General Tso's chicken!"

(Christina, now sitting at the desk, mouth full of general tso's chicken) "Oh no!! I can't make those kind of phone calls and make people mad!!" (yeah, let's ignore the fact that you are the ONLY person here eating right now!)

(you've got to be kidding...) "Well, I can. Give me the phone."

Wouldn't you know it? They are closed by this point. (sigh) I take my $8 worth of egg rolls and go back to my department. And fume. Because I'm pregnant & fume really, really well. I'm hungry, I have $2 left, I'm hungry, everything is closed, and I'm hungry!!!!!

And then I got over it. Heck it might even be funny tomorrow, right?

So later I go back upstairs and tell Christina, "Hey, I'll just call Main Moon tomorrow before I leave & I'll stop by on my way to work and just get my money back." I mean after all, I can't eat General Tso's chicken, and I doubt they understand enough English to get that although they forgot the chicken, I really want the beef & broccoli instead. So I'll just go with the money.

Until Christina says (are you ready for this?) "Well...it *was* Cheryl's meal they forgot."

unh...thpt...fao...sputter, sputter, spit. huh?

"yeah? and?"

"Well, they forgot Cheryl's meal. Not yours."

My head hurts from having banged it on the door of the nurse's station. Repeatedly.

So now not only do I have a headache, but my $8 egg rolls are giving my a $1000 case of heartburn.

I wonder how much for some tums?

And for the record...I was venting to my coworker, Tom, about my dinner debacle when he informed me that at least *I* hadn't been serenaded all night in ER by the crazy woman singing Christmas carols. Oh, and old polkas. And when she wasn't singing she was obessing about who, actually, owned the toilet paper she was using.

I personally think he got the better deal.

It must be a full moon.

And let's not forget the little men...

2007-04-09T09:10:00.000-04:00

Don't want to forget the two little cherubs! What? You don't think Tristan's grin is sweet & innocent? Yeah, okay. You're right. That grin says he's up to something. He usually is. And Hayden just always smiles like that, even when he's not planning anything.

Those are my little dudes. See why I'm excited at the possibility of another boy? I just simply cannot imagine what the next one might be like!

Invasion of the Pod People!! Oh, wait, that's my baby!!

2007-04-09T08:06:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm going to be terribly annoying for a moment. I'm going to be *that* mom who shoves a picture in front of your face & exclaims, "Look at my pretty baby!!!". But this is a little different. I have friends in OB who like to play with the ultrasound machine. And since I have something worth looking at, well, it makes for a nice, symbiotic relationship. These are some amazing pictures taken of this child...at just 14 weeks of gestation. 14 weeks!!!! American Idol can barely whittle it down to ten people in 14 weeks, yet I have made an entire person. Well, God made it, I just got to help. And watch. In awe.

Anyway, check these out. They are so incredible.

Alright...a little harder than I thought to add pictures with captions. So I'll just go in order...(blush) sorry!

And for the record, I'm referring to the baby as *him* (today anyway) because calling it *it* is just so wrong.

#1...legs crossed at the shins. Can you see the little toes???

#2...awww...sleepy baby! A front view, the baby's right arm is up, his arm bent at the wrist and his hand under his chin. His left arm is also up, but his hand is resting on his face. This little one liked to suck his thumb that night!

#3...a profile view. But do you notice the little hand coming up in the middle of the picture? You can even see his little fingers!

#4...alright...okay...I'll admit it. We looked. We tried to look. And we *think* this might be the first shot of Mr. Winkie!!! There are two large thigh bones, but look at the white mark between the legs! That is either a penis, or a strategically placed umbilical cord meant to psych mommy out!

#5...another front view, but this time the hands are clasped in front of his belly.

So, yes sir! That's my baby!!! Boy or girl, I'm just really excited and wanted to share. You'd think this would be old hat by now, but I'm just amazed every time I see this. I hope you don't mind my sharing.

A not so pretty view from this side...

2007-04-07T01:59:00.000-04:00

I realize that my blog may be difficult to read for some of my friends who are trying to conceive. I wanted to show that being pregnant doesn't guarantee that blue birds wake you with song every morning while deer feed from your hand and cute little mice in darling little peasant outfits cook your breakfast and sew your garments. Nope, not really.

I wanted to share a snippet of a day I had recently. A really gross day. Not the kind of scene Walt Disney would have written into one of his movies. Hell no. Even dear old Walt wasn't this twisted. Who am I kidding? Quentin Tarantino isn't this twisted.

I copied this from another site I post on. I thought it might be good for a laugh. Or a gag...whichever. Feel free to have a good chuckle, I can see the humor in it, I really can. For those with more serious senses of humor...or weaker stomachs, might I suggest a barf bag to keep handy? No really...go grab one. I'll wait.

Ready? Okay then. Ladies...I give you "My Most Rotten, Horrible, Awful, No Good, Stinkin' Day. That Week."

Imagine the scene...A quite, pleasant afternoon in the Baker house. Flowers are blooming, birds are singing...oh wait. No they weren't. I was just happy to be out of bed & able to eat...

Hayden & I eat some leftover spaghetti. yummy! Twenty minutes later he suddenly announces he has to go potty and makes a mad dash for it. But just as he reaches the bathroom he does his now infamous *stop...squat...and push*. Ah well...he was close. A quick inspection of his boofer shows me that I am just *that much* too late.

So he finishes, quite pleased with himself that he even made it to the bathroom...the toilet is just the next step we'll be working on. I pull off his pull-up and am immediately overwhelmed at the smell. I'm right by the toilet, so I decided to deposit the offensive little turd in it's rightful place. I open it up and drop it in...oh God...poop, poop smell, plopping sound...oh no...oh boy...here it comes....I throw up in the toilet. Right on top of the nasty smelling little turd that makes me gag even harder and throw up even more. Oh, Good Lord!!

By now Hayden is bent over, his naked little butt in the air waiting for me to wipe him up. Dirty pull up still in hand, poopy butt staring me in the face, a smelly turd in the toilet and what's left of my lunch barreling up my throat. Oh, God, I can NOT throw up in that toilet again! So I go running for my bathroom trying desperately not to hurl on the floor on my way there. I get to my bathroom, poopy pull up still in hand, and barely hit the toilet.

Barely...okay, not at all.

I now have smelly poopy & barf in one toilet, a stinky pull up in my hand, vomit all over the seat of the other toilet and it's all just making me gag even harder. So hard in fact I do the only thing someone hasn't done yet today...I pee my pants.

All while STILL holding that damn pull up.

The result of my three year old pooping his pants? He needs a pull up change.The result of his pregnant mommy trying to make said change? Two toilets that need scrubbed, a bathroom floor that needs mopped, a load of laundry that needs started and her second shower of the day.

See what you have to look forward to??? And don't worry...I'll laugh at you when it's your turn to hurl.

Sweet dreams and a stiff neck...

2007-03-30T19:28:00.000-04:00

Robbie is the T-ball coach for Tristan's team this year. That has caused some major excitement amongst the men folk in our house. Rosters and equipment and game schedules have made their way into everyday conversations. They even get professional MLB-like uniforms this year. Our team gets to be the Pittsburgh Pirates. Which I thought was *cool* until Tristan informed me that it wasn't cool by throwing his cap on the grass and yelling "I don't want to be no stinkin' Pirate!!!". After getting in trouble for being, well...just rude, I reminded him that things could be worse. He could be a stinkin' Yankee!!

So outside of the Pirate issue, everyone is excited. Including Hayden, who doesn't get to be included this year. Robbie says he's going to let him be the bat boy (Batman as the bat boy??). But I have visions of my little dude eagerly running to retrieve a yet-to-be-dropped bat and getting conked by a five year old who is better at throwing than swinging the bat. So I don't know how the whole *bat boy* thing is going to work. I think we'll probably find a uniform shirt close to Tristan's and make him the unofficial team mascot. Just being included would be like making it to the big leagues to him.

I didn't know how much it meant to him to play ball with Tristan and Daddy until earlier this week. After a few weeks of everybody being sick and the weather being miserable, things lightened up at our house. The fevers went down, the temperatures came up, and the toys came out. Robbie, still in daddy-coach mode, got out the tees and the bats and took our little guys out to our little yard. They were out there for hours hitting and catching and running. They were having so much fun, it was heartwarming to watch.

I'm not sure what Robbie said to them while they were playing. But that night after baths and jammies I was tucking my exhausted men into their beds when Daddy suddenly appeared and handed Hayden his baseball glove. His itty-bitty, made for a three year old baseball glove. He gently placed that glove under his pillow, gave it a pat, and with a giant grin said, "g'night, mommy".

I don't know what he was thinking, or what he was hoping would happen with that glove tucked under his pillow, but he looked so happy. Maybe he dreamt of catching a fly ball, or becoming shortstop, or catching that long drive and spoiling the Grand Slam. Or maybe he just had so much fun with his daddy and his brother that he wanted to keep part of the day close at hand...and head. Whatever his reason, I've rarely seen him look that happy to be tucked into bed. Sweet dreams, kiddo.

I wonder if Jim Thome slept with his glove under his pillow?

Greetings from booger land!!

2007-03-24T21:49:00.000-04:00

Booger land...just on the outskirts of Pottytrainingtown and Driedcheeriosonthecarpetville. I shouldn't be grossed out, as a respiratory therapist I see lots of boogers (and loogies, and hockers and other assorted yucky stuff) every day. But it's totally different when you're spending a quiet moment watching the Backyardiagains with your two year old and he turns to you, finger extended and says, "...ewwwwwww!! Boogies!!!". It's even better when he wipes it on *your* sleeve before you can grab a tissue from the box. On the table. Right beside him. Mmmmmm...boogies.

Right now I have two sons, a five-going-on-fifteen year old, and a just turned three year old. The five year old really is, literally, going on fifteen. He has instructed me to call him *teenager* in public on more than one occasion. As if his 42 inch height and size six Scoobey Doo underwear wouldn't give him away. But it's his dream, who am I to squash it? Oh, yeah, I'm his mom. Oops. I guess it is my job. He tries to be so grown up, but really in the very early morning he sneaks into my room and crawls into my bed and snuggles up against me to sleep. And if it's late & he's tired, he grabs his teddy bear and his favorite blanket and sits on my lap. He'd throw a fit if he knew I just told you that.

My three year old is content to act like a three year old. For the most part. He likes anything with wheels on it. Or anything with batteries in it. And puppies. And "Go Diego Go!" on TV. He's a snuggle bug too, but he likes to snuggle all day long. He's been sick lately, so it's pretty much been a snuggle fest 24/7 at my house. He just learned to count to ten and is so excited to show that off. He wants to be a big boy and play football. The other night my husband heard him talking about football and baseball in his sleep. I'm sure that made my husband very, very happy.

I'm pregnant with our third child, and chances are this one is a boy as well. Which would suit me just fine. I'm getting used to fart jokes and poopy commentary and gooey green treasures pulled from noses. I don't think I'd know what to do with pink ribbons and doll babies. Maybe they make one of those *Betsy Wetsy* dolls...but with boogers. *Emily Expectorant* or *Booger Blowin' Barbie* come to mind. Those I could deal with. Having a girl would be like landing on a different planet to me. Hair bows and matching outfits and ruffled undies...and then there's everything *she* would be wearing! Yikes!

We won't find out for a few more months, so I get to dream about both for awhile longer. But really...think about it...a girl? Really, a girl? Let's start with this...I have absolutely no clue how to change a diaper. Honestly. I think you go to jail for doing what is required to keep all that clean. I know, I have one, but mine is older, and not so scary. And then pink, all that pink. And purple. And lace and flowers and butterflies. I know I really wanted a girl at one time, before my home was taken over by bouncing baby boys...but now I honestly don't know what to think about having a girl. I don't know what to do with all that stuff. Give me something blue with a football on it & I'm all set. I'd love a girl, don't get me wrong, but hopefully I could find someway of making things easier on, well, me! This poor kid...

I'm off for now. I need to email Mattel about my ideas for a new doll...

"Hockaloogie Holly". She comes with her own tub of realistic phlegm.

Mmmmmm....boogies.....