No more figgy pudding.

Request received for a blog update. Here ya go.

We watched March of the Penguins last night. I was so excited about it for a several reasons:

a) It was only 80 minutes long! That is the perfect length for a movie!

b) It got lots of good reviews!

c) It wasn't a cop movie! (Well, they did have some black and whites, but they weren't patrol cars.)

What I didn't expect was my reaction. I cried. At a documentary. About penguins. Cried twice.

Anyway, maybe I was just emotional. Maybe it has to do with being a new mother and having a growing family. Perhaps it was just that Morgan Freeman has a really sweet-grandpa voice and he tells a good story.

But I came away knowing something new! Dillon is a penguin chick in disguise! But not a very good disguise. He holds his arms straight out to his sides, like a penguin chick. He has shiny, round, sweet eyes, just like a penguin chick. He is shaped like a barrel, like a penguin chick. And he squeaks like a penguin chick. He just needs a little tuxedo!

I think I will go see if I can balance him on my feet and toddle about.

Good morning! Do you want some figgy pudding?

It is 5 a.m. I have been lying awake since about 3:30, and I decided finally to just get up. Actually, out of sheer boredom, I was making popping noises with my mouth, and that was disturbing Daniel, so I got up for his sake.

Hopefully, I will get tired from trying to think of something worthwhile to blog about, and I will go back to bed soon.

Daniel and I got sick the day after Christmas. It was yucky. We ate some cheeseball (gag) that must have sat out too long. As a result, Daniel was an eyewitness to my yuckiness, and I just heard about how bad he felt all day long. Anyone who has ever been around a "sick" man can feel my pain. But, despite his close proximity to death, apparently he can hold his cheeseball better than I can.

We did not have any traditional nastiness for the holidays. No fruit cake. No figgy pudding.

However, in just four days, my mother will force me to indulge in the grossest meal of the year. Our annual indulgence (?) in black eyed peas and cabbage. Ew.

Maybe I will just tell her I am still sick from the cheeseball.

Merry Christmas...

... to you from our little Hollerin' Santa.

Not much

I took down the post about my toe. I admit, it was kinda gross. And then to click unsuspectingly on my blog and be assaulted with those pictures of violence... just not a good thing. So I took it down.

But I do want to say that my toe is throbbing. Just in case you forgot to be sympathetic!

**********

Laugh of the day: I was making Rice Krispy Treats because I am not eating dairy and I needed something to snack on (something on which to snack?).

Daniel was watching me and said, "Uh, I hate to tell you this, but marshmallows are dairy products."

HA! I guess he thinks that cause they are white. :)

Alright. That's all I got...

Hi, ho, the dairy - NO!

Two years ago, Daniel and I did the Atkins Diet together. It was truly a bonding experience. I lasted all of three days before I was in the depths of dispair. Seriously, I triggered a depressive episode that was only remedied by getting off the diet. AND the episode was made worse by the fact that, for all my suffering, I didn't lose a single pound.

So when I decided Friday night to stop eating dairy foods and peanuts, Daniel was skeptical. But I felt like I needed to try it, for Dillon's sake. He might have allergies to things that I eat, and I really want to make him better.

All day Saturday and Sunday, I obsessed about dairy foods and nuts. I wanted them so badly. By last night, I was seriously anxious, and Daniel could tell. He tried to tell me that I was doing a good thing, and that he was proud of me. But he and I both knew I was headed down The Slippery Slope.

I decided to indulge myself and have a tiny, tiny glass of egg nog. (Keep your opinions to yourself! When you can't have something, the cravings are insane!) I wanted to know how long it would take to get the dairy product out of my system so I wouldn't be passing it to Dillon, so I looked on the internet.

I didn't find the answer, but what I found was even better!

Milk is disgusting! Humans are not built to drink cows' milk! It is really hard to digest and really bad for us! Milk cows get mastitis infections in their udders, so sometimes there is mucus and pus in the milk that is collected! Dairy foods have been linked to many illnesses, like prostate cancer, migraines, and allergies!

So I am DONE! No more dairy for me. I haven't craved it at all today, cause I am thorougly disgusted! So that means I am successful.

Now, does anyone know anything gross about peanuts?

Cup o' joe

I think blog friends are like real life friends.

Some are everyday-make-me-smile friends.

Some are once-a-week-checking-in friends.

Some are oh-it-is-so-refreshing-to-spend-time-with-her friends.

I am writing this post to let you know that I have found a new friend! I think she is gonna be an everyday friend. She makes me laugh, and I find that a necessary diversion from the stresses of life. I think in my spare time, I will go read her archives. All of them!

So take a minute, and sit back with a cup of instant decaf.

Dismayed

I like to brush my teeth. I have a really good electric toothbrush that I use, but occasionally, I will still pull out the old "manual" toothbrush and give it a good workout.

Last night, I was tired beyond words and I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. I grabbed my manual toothbrush, loaded 'er up with some toothpaste, and went to work.

Imagine my dismay when I found THIS in my mouth. THIS is Daniel's toothbrush. THIS feels like one is brushing one's teeth with a hiking boot or a mud tire. Why does THIS need tread on it?

Dillon update

Alright. I was going to blog about something benign, but this is weighing me down, so I guess I should share.

Poor baby Dillon has eczema. The doc says it is pretty severe and he will be surprised if we don't have to battle it for a long time. There are some prescription steriod treatments that make it a little better, but the treatments aren't so good for his baby skin either, so we need to use those sparingly. For now, we just slather him up with Vaseline and lotion, prevent overheating, and try to keep him from scratching.

I guess my heart is heavy for selfish reasons. I don't want to always have to explain why his cheeks are red, or why his skin isn't soft like other babies. I really don't like the thought of him laying there, itching in his own skin. I don't want him to be uncomfortable! I think of when my skin is dry and itchy, and I can't wait to get some lotion on there for relief. Well, he can't talk, so he can't tell me when his skin bothers him!

There are so many bad things that can happen to kids. I know that a skin condition is mild compared to the tragedies that other families go through.

But for now, I would covet your prayers. He is my son, the desire of my heart, and I want him to be a happy boy!

*** Good news, though: his finger is better after Doc squeezed some stuff out of it, the spitting up is mild reflux that can be treated with some drops, and he doesn't have to have frozen breastmilk anymore, so his poop should go back to normal! Hooray!

Falling apart

Just so that you don't suffer from illusions that parenting is a cakewalk, lemme tell you about our weekend.

My poor baby has a rash, which might, or might not, be eczema. He rubs his little face till it is red. He has been spitting up like there is no tomorrow. He has been eating breastmilk that I froze because I am taking sinus medicine, and that makes his poop runny. His tiny ring finger on his tiny (but fat) left hand is infected.

Needless to say, we are going to the doctor today. We're just waiting for a callback. I guess it is silly to assume we could get in for an appointment on a Monday morning. Meanwhile, this little man just warms my heart with his gummy smiles and shy-flirty blinks.

So, yeah... it IS a cakewalk.

Gross

Okay, you already know that I am obsessive. The first step is admitting it, so I have come at least that far.

A quick example of how obsessivness can be harmful to me:

When I had my wisdom teeth extracted, I was left with four large pits in my mouth. I was given a syringe to "gently rinse away" anything that might accumulate in the holes. I loved the syringe! I used it so much that I "gently rinsed away" all attempts my body was making to heal itself, and I ended up with extremely painful dry sockets. You would think that exposed nerve endings would teach me a lesson.

Um, no.

Here is my story. I was watching Good Morning America the other day. (Note: I NEVER watch this show. Who has time for morning television?) They did a short segment about sinusitus. Here is what I learned:

A lot of people get sinusitis. (I do!)
A lot of people go to the ER for their sinus pain. (Last year, I did!)
A lot of people spend money they don't have on a CAT scan to confirm that it is a sinus infection, and not a brain tumor. (I did that, too, and we are still paying for it!)

Since I am breastfeeding, and can no longer take sinus medication, I have been showing classic signs of the onset of a sinus infection. The doctor on GMA suggested irrigating the sinus cavity with salt water and a bulb syringe.

Wait just a minute...

I have salt.
I have water.
I have a bulb syringe.
And I like rinsing things.

This sounds like an activity for me! I got all my equipment and went into the bathroom. I squirted water up my nose, and let it drain. I did it again. I thought it would hurt, but it didn't. As I repeatedly irrigated my sinus cavity, I imagined all the little molecules of salt water scrubbing out the junky buildup. I envisioned a sparkling sinus cavity. I continued to squirt.

The doctor didn't say how many times to do it, so when I had used up my original batch of salt water, I decided to stop.

That was two days ago.

My nose has not stopped draining salt water down the back of my throat. I feel like the inside of my nose has been scrubbed with Comet. My head is heavy with the overstimulation of an area that should be left alone.

But all the while, my thought is "Just one more time. That'll fix it, I bet."

And here we go again.

God Bless You!

It is funny how I have gotten to know a part of you from reading your blogs, and from your comments on mine. I want to take this time to wish you a blessed holiday season! And I pray that you won't forget the reason for the magic of Christmas!

Training a trainer

My brain is barely registering anything. I just got out of a two-day training for school. I have some tips for the trainer. (Please read the following requests aloud with minimal inflection in your voice, barely resting when you get to the periods. That will give you a good idea of how my last two days were.)

Please do not tell any more stories about your experiences.

Please learn to use expression when you are talking.

Please do not mutilate the English language.

Please do not start a new story in the middle of the story you are already telling.

Please just don't tell stories.

Please notice that all of our stomachs are growling loudly.

Please keep your stories to yourself.

Please see that my blinks are becoming longer and longer in duration.

Please don't ask me to listen to any more stories.

Please recognize that we are not a bunch of dummies.

Please excuse me if I snore.

Please don't make us role play one of your stories.

Please let something exciting happen soon so that we may become part of your huge catalog of stories to tell future trainees.

Finaleas projectus

My baby brother has always (ALWAYS!) wanted my help in school. English papers, anything requiring reading a book, and miscellaneous things along the way.

Every time, I gladly cleared my schedule and helped him out. Until he stopped asking. Weirdly enough, he has taken a couple of years off from needing my help. And you know what? He is sporting several semesters of a 4.0 on his own. Smarty pants.

So, when he casually mentioned a little help with a final project in his Dendrology class, I gladly reassured him that I would help. Let us not think about the tiny person who demands almost all of my attention. Let us not think about the final exams and project that I have to do as the semester winds down.

Baby brother came over yesterday and we sorted leaves and glued them to papers that had the scientific names printed on them. Eventually, we watched Scarrius movius (2) and ate Quesadillae chickenius as we worked. Seriously - you start thinking that everything has a genus and species after a few hours.

We worked for hours. My back hurts. This took way longer than any of the things I had to do. But I think of it as his last valiant effort to include me in his schooling.

Because, you see, my baby brother is graduating from college in two weeks. He, who scorned school from the get-go. He, who gave no effort at all in high school and skated by sometimes. He has earned a degree in Environmental Science with minors in Geology and Business, probably with a higher GPA than I ever had.

So, although he doesn't read my blog, I want to give him a shout out. Snaps for baby brother! I am strangely proud.

Routine matters

Dillon is a pretty structured little man. He really likes his routine, and he sticks to it daily, despite our bumbling efforts to coordinate his schedule with ours.

He has recently added a new component to his nighttime routine that I feel compelled to share with you.

"My Bedtime Routine" by Dillon

7:45 pm Begin making whining sounds.
Let mom bounce me and walk around with me to make me quiet.
8:15 pm Bathtime. I like to pee-pee in there, and sometimes even poo.
8:30 pm Scream bloody murder when I have to get out of the tub and Mom or Dad slathers me with lotion.
8:45 pm Get my last bottle of the day.
8:57 pm Drift off to sleep.

Here is the new part:

9:43 pm Wake up and start grunting.
9:44 pm Commence crying, especially if Mom is taking a bath.
9:47 pm Mom rubs my tummy and talks to me quietly, which does nothing but make me madder.
9:50 pm Mom picks me up and I get instantly quiet.
9:54 pm After approximately four minutes, I burp a small amount of goo onto Mom's shoulder, and then promptly go to sleep with my face in the goo.
9:55 pm Mom places me back in my crib and begins drum practice. I will not wake up again because, now I am really ASLEEP!!!

I think the burping of the goo has become an integral part of his nighttime routine. He doesn't truly go to sleep until he has done this. Great! At least I know what to expect!

Branded

My forearms are covered in tiny pink circles. They don't hurt, but it looks like I got after myself with a warm cigarette.

Note to self (and to you!): tiny baby clothes fresh out of the dryer have about a million tiny little HOT snaps that sear and brand Mama's arms. Better let Daddy do the laundry next time!