Upheaval

Warning: Gross

2011-04-10T20:09:00.003-05:00

We have a new addition to our family. "New" as in, we just got it last week.

It is Korenna's "bobo." It came to live with us when she slid down the driveway on the back of her hand. I am not sure it is ever going away.

I think it qualifies as an actual part of our family. I mean, we discuss it daily at length. We look at it frequently, at Korenna's request. It requires a separate, very gentle bath. It requires daily dressings of Hello Kitty and Princess Band-Aids, on alternating days.

Her bobo is even garnering its own blog posts.

Tonight Korenna was taking a bath, and she exclaimed loudly "The green part of my bobo came off!"

*GAG*

"Yuck! That makes me sick, Korenna!"

"Oh, I'n sowwy Mama."

Later I heard her telling her brother, "Hey, Dillon. Don't touch my bobo!!! It will make you sick, like Mama."

That's all she needs: some more power granted to her bobo.

WHAT???

2011-03-31T21:37:00.002-05:00

So, two years off. That's kind of a lot.

I actually just read through a few of my "most recent" posts and laughed. I don't know if I am still funny, or if my kids and current life have just stolen all of my wit.

Still married. Still have two kids. Still have Tux. Still drive the mini-van.

Dillon is a very chatty five-year old. He will go to kindergarten in the fall. It is bittersweet to think of him growing up in that way. He loves to color, he loves Transformers and Spiderman. He still loves Thomas, but he knows that he isn't getting any new Thomas stuff. Last week was his first t-ball game. I love that we have started what could potentially be thirteen years of city baseball! I am proud to be his mom. He is sweet and compassionate and silly and smart.

Korenna is a mini-me. She is funny and so goofy. Her favorite things in life are her thumb and her BigDog. She is in the three-year-old room at Tanglewood. My favorite thing to do is to curl up in bed with her on top of her seventeen babies. Her favorite thing these days is to just say "Mama, you just cheesing!" which translates to "Mama, you just teasing!" or "Whatchoo talkin 'bout, Willis?"

Anyway, thanks for reading, but this blog isn't for you. It is mostly for me. I love to re-read old stuff that I wrote. Life goes too fast, and this is how I slow it down.

Sleep tight

2009-05-05T06:16:00.003-05:00

Have you ever had "night laughing?" It is similar to "church laughing" but instead of being in church, you are laying in your own bed. There has to be an element of suppression, so obviously, if you are in your own bed alone, you probably are not trying to suppress anything, and that would not be considered "night laughing." But if your spouse is trying to sleep right beside you, that is usually enough of a silence motivator to produce "night laughing," if and when something funny happens. In the middle of the night. While you are supposed to be sleeping.

This happened the other night when Dillon got out of bed. Forty times. For many reasons, like "Come fix my covahs" and "I need to go potty" and "My clock won't turn to six!"

It was Daniel's turn. I had my turn the night before.

Daniel was furious. He does not handle being awoken from his nocturnal lumberjack adventures (sawing logs) with any kind of grace. He stumbled out of bed and fixed Dillon's covers. He went to the bathroom with him to turn the light on (cause we emphasize good aim at a young age). He explained that his "clock would turn to six when it actually was six, and not THREE in the morning."

The last time Dillon came in, the hilarity of the moment pushed me over the edge. He brought in his sippy cup of ice water. (His daddy fixes it for him every night so that he won't have to come get us when he is thirsty.) He shook the cup and made the water slosh and to show his daddy that there was no ice in there anymore.

"Daddy?? This water is NYAAAAAASTY!" He said in his a really nasal and whiny voice, and since "nasty" is not a word we use much, and he obviously picked it, and the pronunciation, up from someone else, it made me think about what would make a three year old be so vehement about how NYAAAAAASTY something was, and it just made me laugh.

A lot.

With tears.

Because, really???? This kid picks his nose (while saying, from the backseat where I can't reach him, "Mama! I'm not picking my nose, okay?"), and he eats food off the floor, and he talks a lot about bathroom stuff. So for THIS kid to think that his water was NYAAAAAASTY, and the very idea that this so compelled him to come out of his bedroom and announce this observation to his (kind of) slumbering father, was just too much for me.

And it would have been for you too. If you had been there. In which case we both could have laughed out loud! Cause two night laughers can overpower one night sleeper anytime.

Wally world

2009-04-12T15:57:00.002-05:00

Not to whine, but I am TIRED. You wanna know why? Really?

Because I just left WalMart.

I guess every once in awhile, they do a big overhaul of department stores. They "flip" them, so to speak. Ours is being flipped. There is a rather hopeful sign by the front door that says, "Your new WalMart, coming soon! 44 more days!"

Well, I broke out the calendar, counted the days, and I won't be setting foot back in there until after May 26th. You can check my math, but I might make it the 27th, just to be sure.

It took me over an hour to locate seven little things. Anti-perspirant? Well, most of it was kinda close to the pharmacy area, but not my brand. MY BRAND was on some tiny whirly-gig kiosk thing, ten feet away by the plant hangers. Carpet cleaner? I still don't know. I would turn a corner and get all hopeful, only to realize that the sign hadn't been moved yet and I was lost in the largest pet department ever built in a WalMart. (Who needs that much pet stuff???)

You can forget about asking the friendly associates at WalMart. They walk around staring at their feet, mumbling "H'lo-how're-you" without even making eye contact. I am sure they are so tired of the griping and complaining from lost customers that work is pretty much unbearable right now. Good thing they are open 24 hours a day, and that they have a bedding section. This gives shoppers plenty of time, and the more traumatized customers have the opportunity to assume the fetal position under a comforter, clutching their list that says "Ziplock bags" and "Hairspray."

Fortunately, I was able to locate my Frappucinos. And toilet paper. You know. The necessities. As for allergy medicine, a new belt, and AlphaBits cereal, those things are going to have to wait. At least another 44 days.

Top o' the mornin'!

2009-04-04T14:19:00.002-05:00

I am absolutely positive that my children love me. Korenna lunges at me with open-mouthed kisses of unashamed affection. Dillon says "Mama? Ah you my favwit boy?" at least thirty times a day. Hugs, snuggles, love pats, and all that good stuff.

So, why, in the name of all things Holy, do they not ever let me sleep late? And by "late," I mean one nanosecond past six. Seriously!

Friday morning won the award for the most absurd, sitcom-ish morning of the week. K started talking and whining at five. I lay in my bed, waiting for her to start sucking her thumb and go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to get her.

The babysitter takes naps with my daughter on a regular basis, so I thought maybe I could too. I have even asked her specifically how this is done, because never has Korenna ever tolerated a nap with me. I positioned her in my bed exactly how Krystal told me to, and closed my eyes.

Yeah, right.

Thirty frustrating minutes later, I rolled out of bed and went to put her back in her own bed. She sucked her thumb and went to sleep. SCORE!

I still had twenty minutes to snooze before I had to get ready for school. I crawled eagerly under the covers and relaxed.

Fourteen seconds later, Dillon was standing by my bed. "Mama! My clock can't say six yet! Go put my clock to six! And also, my pants are wet."

He has been potty trained since last summer and has had all of two accidents in his bed. One of them was Friday morning.

It was like a Great Lake in there. Everything had to be stripped and Dillon had to be bathed.

There went my twenty minutes, plus some! I was totally late for school Friday! And I woke up at FIVE! Am I on Candid Camera???

I know there are some people who opt for early wake-up. Like old people. And exercise fanatics. And my own children.

Are there any old people or exercise fanatics who want a morning babysitting gig? I don't want to keep all the baby love to myself, especially before the sun comes up.

2009-03-26T20:47:00.003-05:00

Dillon had his tonsils out about two weeks ago.

What? Um, NO. Not "about" two weeks ago. EXACTLY two weeks and twelve hours ago. I know this because it has been the most miserable two weeks and twelve hours of his (and maybe my) little life.

I didn't realize tonsils were such a big deal. I thought it was like getting your appendix out, and people go back to work like the next day I think...

But tonsils? Nope.

A tonsillectomy starts off okay, cause you are sure this is gonna be the big fix for your miserable little one. Even after the surgery, it seems promising because the patient is rather rambunctious (in my experience) and is playing rather loudly with his train in the surgery center room while you try to nap next to him in the tiny bed. (Of course, for the purposes of my illustration, "you" is really "me/I." But it doesn't matter. All of this is an illusion.)

Because, after going home, it becomes apparent that this is a way bigger deal than you signed up for.

The patient begins a heartwrenching cry/whine that continues for no less than nine days. It varies in tempo and volume, and can be quieted only with the EXACT size portion of EXACTLY the right kind of ice cream. When ice cream is unavailable or inappropriate for treatment, the doctor suggests filling a huge syringe with vile acid and persuading your preschooler to swallow it willingly to help control his pain. Every four hours. Even throughout the night.

Yes. The "night" where you are supposed to be sleeping so that you can be rested enough to fix perfect bowls of ice cream all the live long day tomorrow.

I think, if this does not sound fun enough for you, about five days in, when you are as sleep deprived as Octo-Mom, you should schedule for yourself a thyroid removal surgery. Hey, if the kid has to have a sore throat, why shouldn't mom?

Ug. Even recalling this for you is making me tense and tired.

I just wanted you to know that it is true that mothers will do anything for their babies. Once.

I hope tonsils don't regenerate.

Return of the Mack (What is a Mack anyway?)

2009-03-23T19:31:00.004-05:00

Can you give up on quitting? I guess you can. A lot of people give up on quitting smoking, drinking, gambling or any number of other vices. (I know cause I watch a lot of Intervention.)

So, I guess I am giving up on quitting this blog. I took a couple of months off, but now I am having guilt because Korenna's babyhood is not going to be as well chronicled as Dillon's was. Of course, what second child's baby book is ever as fat as the first child's anyway? But, still...

This blog is my forum. I can put stuff about what is happening, and you can lurk or comment or whatever, but most importantly, I can come back and read it later. And laugh. Cause these kids are funny.

Maybe not always "right now in the moment" funny. But usually at least "remember when that happened" funny.

And I need that. My Prozac is up as high as it can go. Something's gotta give.

Smarter than most

2009-01-08T20:01:00.004-06:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCdZwitrNoY

Smart kid, right?

Five year reflection

2008-12-25T20:09:00.003-06:00

You know how sometimes you get asked that question, "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Do you ever look back to see if you are in the right place? Does your life line up with what you dreamed and hoped five or ten years ago?

Five years ago, Daniel and I had just bought our first house. We had been married almost nine months. We had no kids, but we had a sweet, sweet dog Tux.

Five years ago, I was a pre-k teacher. I had just finished a Master's degree.

Five years ago, I was in pretty decent shape. For real.

Fast forward to now. I have two happy, funny kids. I have a marriage that has lasted five years, and we are still growing and learning more about each other. I have a new business that is the heart of what I want my life's purpose to be. I have awesome friends and wonderful family supporting me through all of this. I am superbly blessed.

If, by God's grace, I am granted another five years on this earth, I hope I'll spend it with Daniel, Korenna, and Dillon. I hope there will be other children for us. I hope my school will grow and be a great resource in our community. I hope my family will have continued health and happiness.

But I am not promised even ONE tomorrow.

So tonight, before I tuck myself in to sleep, I'll count the blessings of today, and say "Thank you."

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD,
"plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.
You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Jeremiah 29:11-13

All wrapped up in Christmas

2008-12-13T09:37:00.003-06:00

"Every kid learns differently."

"Teach them in their 'learning language.'"

"There are different modalities for reaching kids. Try, then try again."

That is all stuff I know. From my background in early childhood to the challenge of teaching those with learning disabilities, I know this.

One of primary ways kids with autism learn is visual/spatial. These are kids who can do a 300 piece puzzle at age 5. They can reconstruct Lego buildings they have seen once. They memorize words and signs at a very early age.

Not me.

I am not visual/spatial.

At all.

This becomes painfully obvious around Christmas time when my joy in giving is replaced with utter anxiety of having to wrap all the gifts.

I hate wrapping gifts. The paper is always too big or too small or too thick. I have been known to do the "Tootsie Roll" with gifts, but I cannot even tell you how ugly it looks under my tree. I have "patched" places on wrapped gifts with OTHER kinds of wrapping paper.

To deal with this issue, I do several things to reduce my stress:

1) I wrap a few gifts a day. (I have tried doing them all at once, but that is usually followed by a couple of miserable days in bed, where I dream about tape and paper and sticker labels.)

2) I try to buy rectangular gifts. Clothes? Nope. Not unless in comes in a cube. Football? No way. Books? Yep. Decorative boxes? You know it. If it is a weird shaped gift, I wrap it "as is." So if you see a suspicious gift with your name on it that is shaped like a teapot, guess what? It is most likely a teapot.

3) I lay out everything in an assembly line and make my children watch television while I tackle my daily quota. I can wrap four gifts in the length of one cartoon off the DVR (22 minutes). They don't look great, but they are covered.

4) I use the same two rolls of paper for all gifts. Christmas or not.

5) I use tape. (GASP! I KNOW!!! Fancy people use glue sticks or adhesive strips, but not me. Tape. Scotch, if I have it. Masking or duct if I don't.)

6) I chop at paper. If one end of the gift has too much paper, I will chop it off and then fold the paper around the choppy part. This is not only efficient, but it relieves stress.

7) I don't even try to do ribbons. Puh-leeze.

8) I put sticker labels on the gifts and write on them with a Sharpie. No crafty printed cards or "gift adornments" for me.

9) Finally, I drink. A lot. While I am wrapping. So there are several days in December when you probably don't want to try to have a conversation with me. Cause it isn't that I am drinking alcohol. But I am sucking down sweet tea and Coke like there is no tomorrow, and the sugar buzz drives ME crazy, so it probably drives other people crazy.

Those are my handy tips with dealing with a visual/spatial deficit. Of course, there are always gift bags. But those will be recycled from my last baby shower and my name will be marked out.

Must be the camera...

2008-11-19T20:30:00.002-06:00

In response to a comment on this post, I can't ditch my friend Allison. She takes frazzled mothers, impatient toddlers, cold babies, and sleepy daddies and makes them look human in family portraits. That is a rare and valuable skill!!!

Here is a sneak peek! :)

Overheard, at my own dinner table

2008-11-18T16:49:00.003-06:00

Woman, sophisticated even though she is licking Cane's sauce off her elbow: Cane's chicken is awesome!

Man, devouring his food at a phenomenal pace, just grunts and says: It's okay.

Woman, overthinking and wondering how many years they have to be married before this guy realizes he just needs to AGREE with her - always: Why would you say it is "okay?" This chicken is really good and the sauce is so much better than anything else, even ice cream. I think it is GREAT!

Man, still devouring his food, grunts and says: I dunno. I guess it is just "okay" cause it doesn't have anything to do with cheese.

If a phone rings in the woods, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

2008-10-31T19:10:00.003-05:00

Boo!

Are you scared?

You should be. I am.

I turn 30 in two days. 30. Weird.

So, in honor of my upcoming birthday, I hired the neighbor-girl to come babysit three afternoons a week for an hour so I can exercise. (At this point, the only exercise I have been getting is lifting kids into carseats and tossing dirty diapers toward the trashcan.) This started a couple of weeks ago. It took a couple of weeks for me to blog about it cause nothing interesting happened till yesterday.

In some fit of rebellion, I threw out all of my old workout pants sometime last summer. (What kind of incentive is that? "Oh, yeah??? I'll show YOU! I'm never working out AGAIN!!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!") So I bought some new ones the other day. Pink. Green. Cute ones. That I can look cute in. While I am working out. You know, three times a week.

Yesterday I put the new cute green pants on, peeled out of the driveway when the sitter got there, and headed to my walking spot. I parked, turned my iPod up loud and started that big-steppin', arm-swingin' grandma-athlete walk that will throw your hips out of socket. But guess what? That wasn't good enough.

I thought I should probably give it a little jog. Just a little bit. Well, I actually said in my brain, "Jog until you can't jog another step, then turn around and power walk back to the car."

That is what I did! In my cute green pants. With my cute pink iPod and cute pink Nikes. I got really far for someone who hasn't moved that fast since the last century. I petered out after about a mile. My head was pounding with the quarts of extra blood that was being supplied to my brain by my panicking body. My face was bright red. You could visually count the pulse in my neck if you drove by me at 30 miles an hour.

So I slowed down, then started walking. Got ready to turn around and head back to my car. Gripped my keys in one hand and brushed my pants pocket to check on my phone.

My cute, green pants pocket. My cute, green, shallow, empty pants pocket.

Seriously? Yes.

Remember the almost-thirty-year-old who had just run as far as she possibly could run, and was now ready to power walk? She had to run more. Like a maniac. Like Phoebe.

All the way back to my car. With my head down and my eyes on the road. Looking for, and praying for, my phone. Not because I love my phone so much, but because my husband wants me to not lose things. Not small things, like pens. And certainly not big, expensive things like cell phones.

I didn't find it.

I got back home, super-annoyed. Neighbor babysitter greeted me at the door with this breathless, teenage method of communicating that I am sure I used to be good at, but now I just stare blankly. Cause I am almost thirty. In two days. Twice her age. Seriously???

"Amanda? Your phone? Did you find it? Cause some guy called! And he found it. And he didn't know what to do with it? So he buried it at the intersection of Pine and Raguet? By a fire hydrant? And I told him to cover it with some leaves. So no one else would get it? You know? Go! Go get it!"

So I drove back to that intersection. I looked for newly disturbed dirt. I looked under leaves. I stopped random people in the area and asked them to call my phone so I might hear it ring. I kicked some more leaves. And finally, I wasn't kicking leaves to look, I was kicking leaves because WHO BURIES A CELL PHONE THAT YOU FIND????? This isn't Treasure Island, and I am not a pirate.

Even if it is Halloween.

And almost my birthday. In two days. So much for Botox. Guess what I want for my birthday?

Correction

2008-10-29T16:39:00.002-05:00

Dillon, from his new favorite perch on the arm of the couch: Hey! Miss Mama!

Me, from my office, aka "the kitchen": What did you call me?

Dillon: Um, Miss Mama?

Me, laughing: Why did you call me that? My name isn't Miss Mama!

Dillon: Oh.

Silence, then...

Dillon: Hey! Miss Mommy!

Who are THEY, anyway?

2008-10-28T20:27:00.003-05:00

Guess what! There is something new I don't like!

Okay, so it isn't new. It is just freshly annoying to me. My least favorite thing about technology is when something is installing or downloading or unzipping on the computer and you get the little bar that shows the percent completed? And it gets to 99%? And stops? For a really, really long time.

That is it. My least favorite thing.

You would think that whoever does computers ("THEY") would figure out that it is much less irritating to have each percentage point truly represent a percent of the time the procedure is going to take so that the computer user ("ME") can accurately predict how long he or, well obviously, SHE, is going to sit there waiting for completion. If it rockets through to 88 percent, then zooms to 95, then jumps to 99, of course SHE is hopeful that it will leap up to 100% in no time. But that is not how THEY made the program.

That irritates ME.

I'm just sayin'.

Food concerns

2008-10-25T15:12:00.003-05:00

When Dillon was a baby, I remember delighting in dinner time. I would "share" a jarful of baby apricots with him. I would get excited when he was having Hawaiian Delight, cause I knew that mostly, I would be having Hawaiian Delight. I loved the tropical fruit medleys, the fancy mixes of raspberries and peaches, the sweet apple pie flavor of the apple custards.

My question is, where did all of these foods go? It is almost impossible to find baby desserts (and I know cause I have look at all of two local grocery stores.) How am I supposed to carefully cultivate Korenna's sweet tooth? And how am I supposed to kill my own before-dinner snacking urge if I can't squelch it with some pureed fruit n' sugar?

Have we really become that healthy that we can't feed our babies good ol' desserts? What do I give her if she finishes her peas? A nice treat of .... carrots? Squash? And most importantly, what do I give ME? Cause baby raisin granola is not where its at. I might as well have a puffy star or two.

A Day Out with Thomas

2008-10-19T21:14:00.004-05:00

We took Dillon to A Day Out With Thomas yesterday. We have been talking about it for over six weeks, and for the past month we have been putting an X on the calendar days. He has told everyone he knows at school and at church about going to see Thomas. Needless to say, he has been pretty excited and I bet he didn't sleep one full hour on Friday night.

My mom kept Korenna, so it was just Dillon, Daniel, and me. The weather was perfect. We got a little map of the park, and went and did several of the activities. Dillon got a Thomas tattoo on his hand. We perused the Tent of Really Expensive Thomas Toys. We watched a movie inside, till Dillon realized that he gets to do that all the time, and that wasn't anything special. We listened to a kids' entertainer sing songs, till Dillon realized that the songs had nothing to do with Thomas. We took a picture with Sir Topham Hatt ("He wuns da wailwoad, Mama!") and colored pictures. He played with trains on miles of plastic track.

Of course the highlight of the whole day was riding on Thomas. Dillon told us throughout the morning that he was "weddy to wide on Somas!" but our tickets were not until 12:15.

When it was finally time, Dillon could barely contain his excitement. Daniel and I, being the insightful parents that we are, just knew that he was going to ask for repeated rides on the train.
We envisioned tantrums as we pulled him away from the big blue engine. We just knew that he would have to be carried away, sobbing. We talked to him about riding the train just one time, so that other friends could have their turns. He seemed okay with it, and really had a good time riding.

We finished our ride, and took Dillon's picture with Thomas. He waved and said "Bye Somas!" as we walked back toward our van.

Daniel and I looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes you just get off easy, ya know? Especially when you are prepared for the worst.

I was buckling Dillon in and I asked him if he had a good time. He told me that he did, and that he loves Thomas, and that he wants to tell everyone that he really got to ride on him! Then he looked at me, serious hazel eyes wide and full of the magic of the day.

"Momma?" he said sweetly.

"Yes, baby?" I said, anticipating his request to return to the big blue engine.

"I tink I want to go see da Wiggles now."

Three trick pony

2008-10-06T16:53:00.003-05:00

Korenna is gaining more and more useful skills! It is amazing that she still needs her mama, as she can now:

1) clap her hands using huge circular arm motions that result in an occasional collision that you can hear if there is no other sound in the room and you are not breathing.

2) say "buh" about everything, including "buh buh" for "bye bye" and "buh buh" for "bubba" and "buh buh" for Big Bird, and sometimes just "buh buh" for "mama."

3) fake cough, which comes in very handy if no one is paying you a lick of attention and you STILL CANNOT CRAWL in order to place yourself in someone's direct line of sight, and you need someone to LOOK at you, so you muster up a fake cough, which sounds pitiful, and makes everyone look at you with great concern, until you have done it thirty times, and then everyone just goes back to ignoring you since you STILL CANNOT CRAWL in order to place yourself in someone's direct line of sight.

The skills, they are amazing. It is a wonder she hasn't moved out into her own apartment by now.

Nac Dwellers

2008-09-24T16:39:00.003-05:00

Hey! If you are local, go by Maurice's (in the shopping center across from WalMart) and vote for your favorite local charity. (HINT HINT! It should be The Helping House!)

The organization with the most votes wins $500, which will go directly to our students in the form of a scholarship. All you have to do is vote by the 28th! So just do it! Thanks!

The Mammoth

2008-09-21T16:33:00.004-05:00

Did you think I was done? Never returning again? Did you just keep checking cause my link was on your favorites or something, but each day you knew I wouldn't be here?

HA! I laugh at the suggestion that I could ever let go of a vice that easily.

No, I have been super-busy. You know, with the school, and then with the hurricane, Dillon's birthday, and whatnot. Busy.

But I am here. And I'm gonna post somethin' good. Cause you guys deserve it! You have held on through a steamy, but boring summer. (How is that possible? In Texas, it is possible, I promise.)

We survived the storm. So did our big ol' pine tree. I can see it out the window, and it is still huge and towering above the house, threatening to obliterate us all in a future gust of wind. We are going to have to cut it down. Then we will officially have no trees. We lost three in a storm four years ago, and one in this hurricane. So once we cut down The Mammoth, we will have nothing. Just a vast expanse of grass in the blistering Texas summer sun.

We haven't found a tree cutter man who was willing to tackle this one though. Most have taken a look and said they weren't comfortable taking it down. Too tall. Too close to the house. Too much wood to haul off. Too much work.

A friend approached me at church this morning. He does tree-trimming on the side, and has helped us out before with trimming. He asked how we did in the storm, and then, with raised eyebrows, advised me to get rid of The Mammoth. It is too dangerous, he said. But he isn't volunteering. To save face, he threw out the name of another tree-guy who might do it (I know he won't - he has already told us.)

So we are waiting. Till it is gone, we will have to evacuate to my mama's house during every storm. I'll cringe when I feel a gust of wind, and when the weather channel says there will be "squalls," you can find us hunkered down somewhere else.

Anybody wanna take a chop at The Mammoth?

All grown up

2008-09-07T08:08:00.003-05:00

Dillon, the little baby who was just born yesterday it seems, turns 3 this week. That is amazing! I cannot believe he has been around that long.

His vocabulary is absurd. He picks up the funniest little phrases:

M: Dillon? Do you need to go potty?
D: No, mama. I just fine.

M: Dillon! I am so proud you didn't go potty in your bed!
D: Yeah. Tanks you be paysent wit me. (Thanks for being patient with me.)

*******

He is obsessed with trains, particularly Thomas. We talk about Thomas all day long. I made the mistake of telling him a couple of weeks ago that we were going to see the real Thomas at the train station soon.

Ooops. He has asked about it every day since then, and it is still 5 weeks away. Kids don't forget.

******

He has transitioned to utter adoration of his daddy, and I think it is precious. "Mama! You see my daddy? He is a pwees oppicer! He is, mama, he is!"

His daddy has been out of town for the past many, many nights. Every night as he is getting into bed, he says "Lets just wait. Daddy be home any minute, okay mama?"

*****

He still wants oatmeal every Saturday. He still picks a toy to sleep with at night, and likes his same blue blanket. He likes for me to hold him when he is tired. He wants "a sugars and a hug" at night before bed. He loves his outside swing, dogs, and Little Einstein bandaids.

So, I take what I can get. One day he will be too old for all of that, but today, he is still my little boy.

Check it

2008-08-24T21:00:00.002-05:00

I won't even have to waste words to tell you how I am feeling if you will just go HERE and read, and then exponentiate that stress to the tenth degree. Mmmkay?

Mother, may I?

2008-08-13T20:31:00.002-05:00

Dillon has recently picked up some manners. (Probably from television, cause you know I don't use 'em. Okay, just kidding.)

He has been saying, "I may..." when asking to do things. Like,

"I may get down, Mama?" after dinner. (I think that is where it started.)

and

"I may watch t.b., Mama?" (Sure, to learn some more manners.)

and

"I may play two minutes, Mama?" (Stalling technique before going to bed.)

This is all pretty endearing, and I am hardly able to resist. Especially when he raises his eyebrows in my direction, clasps his hands, and tacks on a "Pweeez?"

I have been impressed with his manners. 'Til tonight, when I am sure he crossed a boundary.

Perched on the toilet, his face strained, vessels bulging in his forehead, he looked at me:

"I may... go... poo-poo, Mama?" he gasped.

Well, I guess. Who's gonna stop you now?

I dare you...

2008-08-08T11:16:00.002-05:00

... to feed an infant mushed up peas or squash without opening your own mouth as if you are the one who is taking a bite. I have resorted to saying the Pledge of Allegiance under my breath to keep my mouth from moving funny. (Feeding Korenna is way easier than feeding Dillon. She is a lot better at keeping it in her mouth than he was. I spend most of my time just trying to get it there in the first place. She is way more interested in her thumb than the spoon. In fact, it is sort of a "chaser" to every bite - she takes a couple of pulls on her thumb after she gets a mouthful.)

... to clean out your pantry. Yeah, you know you need to. But take my advice, and don't taste-test EVERYTHING. If the date has passed, the peanut fairy didn't grant you extra time. Just toss 'em.

... to download Starbucks free Tuesday iTunes. But don't blame me if you clog your playlist with crap. It was free! Well, with the purchase of a white chocolate mocha. Yummm...

... to wait till the thermostat hits 103 before dragging your almost-three-year-old and six-month-old to the zoo. Not only that, but be sure to wait until after 3pm, when the train stops running for the day. Dillon still hasn't quit talking about how the "wed twain at da zoo needs some battwies cuz it is bwoken!"

... to count the days till summer ends, then do something special with those sweet babies, cause doesn't time fly???

A little professional detour

2008-08-01T12:38:00.000-05:00

Check us out!

It won't be funny, or cute, but this way interested people can keep up with The Helping House!

A little laugh

2008-07-31T07:39:00.003-05:00

My only question is, why is Dad so unhelpful? He is pretty much just standing around looking for a way to escape. At one point, he bends over his wife, like he is going to offer some assistance, and then, NOPE! Just gonna stand over here by the door for a minute instead. I think he probably just said "Can we go yet? Huh? This is embarrassing!"

I know you

2008-07-24T07:32:00.000-05:00

It has been six short months, and they have raced by. You have a bigger place in my heart than I ever thought you could. This is what I know.

You like your left thumb, but in a pinch you will take your right. You like to put your other hand on the back of your head while you suck your thumb. It helps you keep it still.

You have one long hair that almost touches your left eyebrow. All of your other hair is short and new, but you have one, residual, soldier of a baby hair that is sticking around.

You squawk when you are tired. You love to talk all day, but mostly when you are trying hard to stay awake. You make sweet baby-girl sounds that Dillon never knew how to make.

Speaking of Dillon, you just love him. You watch everything he does. He makes you laugh. When you are eating, and you hear Dillon in the other room, forget it. You twist your little body until you are all turned around, trying to see what he is doing. Baby food ends up on your forehead, between your toes, everywhere.

You LOVE your crib. You kick and kick when I lay you down, and you look around at your mobile, your mirror, and your chewy ring. You smile and make little squeals, you grab your favorite afghan (Friend) and pull it over your head, close your eyes, find your thumb and go to sleep.

Baths and swimming are the best thing ever. You move those chubby legs so fast and so constantly that you are exhausted by the time we get out of the water.

You furrow your brow just like I do. You look so serious, but I know you. I know you are just taking it all in, and that you are a funny, cute, and silly girl underneath all of that.

I love you, sweet girl. In a way I never knew I would. I love how soft your tummy is. I love how sticky and wet your hands are, grabbing my hair. I love how your neck always smells so powdery. I love your big, open-mouthed smiles, full of gums and drool.

And we are so blessed to have you. Happy six months, Korenna!

Photo contest

2008-07-20T11:38:00.002-05:00

The contest is over! I would like to thank all my constituents for voting! I won third place. Which is not the same as first place, but it is better than no place. And now I don't have to pay for a sitting fee when Allison does our family pictures at the end of the summer!

Yay for winning!

This is Senator John McCain calling...

2008-07-16T17:00:00.002-05:00

Not really, but I am going to harass you about voting. Because I want to win! And you? Didn't take me seriously when I told you to vote.

And I will know if you vote or not! So just go and do it, and please do it right. Not in her comments section, cause I don't think those votes count. But click on the link and submit a contact page on her blog. And vote for me!

Cause I need an upper today, mmmkay?

(For the record, it should take you about 24 seconds to do this tiny thing and make my day, so just do it, okay???)

Two stories

2008-07-15T09:24:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was a day for bloggable conversations.

Story number 1: I wish I had a video, so that you could fully appreciate what I am about to tell you, but I will have to rely on words.

Me: Hey, did Korenna have a dirty diaper earlier?

D: Yeah, a big one!

Me: Oh, okay. She has been eating cereal for the past week or so, and I was wondering if it changed her poop.

D: No. It looked the same.

Me: Oh. I imagine pretty soon she will be making real turds.

D (standing at the sink scrubbing something) looks up, eyebrows raised, hopeful. He nodded his head and smiled like I had just given him the biggest gift. If I could put into words what his expression told me, it was something like, "That's my girl! I don't much know what to do with someone who can't poop solid, but now you're talking a language I can understand! Sweet! Real turds! I can't wait!"

Story number 2: Later, as Dillon watched The Backyardigans after dinner, I walked through the living room (libbin' woom) with laundry to put away. Daniel and Dillon were sitting together on the couch. I squinted at the television.

Me: Is that a new episode?

D: No. I have seen it before. They are pirates.

Me: Yeah, but I don't recognize the song. Are you sure it isn't new?

I stop to watch for a minute.

Me: I think this is one that is in his Backyardigans book.

Me: Oh, yeah! This is the one where they have a treasure map that is torn in half and they are racing to find the treasure. I remember.

I walk away to go put the laundry in the bedrooms. A few steps down the hall, I backtrack.

Me: Let's just pretend like we didn't just have that conversation, mmmkay?

D: (shrugs) That's how we roll.

Rock the vote!

2008-07-11T09:26:00.002-05:00

Allison had a photography contest for the fourth of July. Now, I can't tell you which one to vote for, but I really want to win! So go to her site and vote for the best one, okay? (Mine.) In case you need a hint, here is another one from that series that wasn't quite as patriotic.

Crop circles, or something like that

2008-07-10T09:44:00.005-05:00

Last night, I was brushing my teeth. I bent to spit, and glimpsed myself in the mirror. What happened next included screeching for Daniel and pulling some of those dusty sailor words out of my vocabulary storage unit.

There are few things you need to know:

1) My current position in life, though exciting, is highly stressful.

2) I have been shedding hair like a dog since Korenna turned about 3 months old. I did it after having Dillon, too. Something about hormones.

3) I am generally oblivious to details of my appearance (see previous post) and go for "decent, passable, clean" not necessarily "stylish, cute, or glamorous."

Given those facts, the following may not be a surprise to you, but is sho' was to me.

In case you aren't clear, that is a big ol' bald spot on the top of my head, right in the middle of my part. In that picture, it actually looks like a caterpillar, or maybe the playboy bunny. (Hmmm... I am getting some ideas for something to sell on eBay.)

I saw my hairdresser this morning, and she said that last week, when she cut my hair, it was the size of a pencil eraser (she didn't think it was worth mentioning!), and now it is about the size of a dime. So, at that rate, I calculate that I won't have any hair left by September.

Daniel summarized the situation best when he said, "Well, if you're gonna go bald, that is where it's gonna start."

My hero. Nothing, if not honest.

I'm SO not pregnant anymore

2008-07-09T14:09:00.003-05:00

I love Target, and I loved finding this black Liz Lange maternity tee on clearance at Target for $2.48 about nine months ago. When I was pregnant, and it was appropriate to buy maternity clothes.

But I am not pregnant anymore, and I really, really need to stop wearing the black Liz Lange maternity tee. Even though it is black (my favorite color that matches everything, especially my summer flip-flops) and really comfortable and not clingy (cause I still have that baggy skin that comes with growing babies in yer tummy) and versatile.

So I am going to the local department store. On the hunt for some shirts that meet all my criteria. I think Hanes might make one. Or Fruit of the Loom. But prolly not at $2.48. I am sure to be disappointed.

But my black Liz Lange maternity tee is dirty, and I have nothing to wear.

**** Update ****

I am frantically washing dark clothes so I will have something to wear tomorrow. My shopping trip was unproductive and frustrating, so go easy on me if you see me in the black shirt. Its all I got, man.

The Truth

2008-06-25T16:34:00.002-05:00

So, at two-and-a-half, I feel that Dillon is old enough now to know The Truth:

Grownups don't pee in their pants. They do it in the toilet.

The only reason I didn't tell him The Truth before was because I am extremely lazy. It is a lot easier to change a diaper than it is to stockpile M&M's, purchase expensive big boy underwear with huge decals on the booty, make sticker charts, line up bribery Thomas-the-Trains on the bathroom windowsill, and constantly quiz a toddler about the state of his bladder - "Do you need to go potty? How about now? Do you need to go some more?"

We are five days in, and he has had dry underwear as long as he gets an hourly reminder. (So how long do I do this? The reminding, I mean? I am pretty sure I have other things to do besides randomly grabbing his "area" and saying "Are you still dry? Let's go potty!")

I thought we pretty much had it under control enough that he could wear big boy underwear to school. He did great, for the most part.

I picked him up today and this is what he said:

"I... I... I... I... I... I... (only Kanye West stutters with more grace) I... I... POO POO IN MY BIG BOY THOMAS DA TWAIN UNNERWEAR!"

Uh.

Oh, yeah. About that... there is more to The Truth, sweetheart.

I thought text made life simpler

2008-06-19T14:48:00.002-05:00

The following is a real text conversation with my husband. He is working, I am at home working on stuff for The Helping House. Commentary in italics.

D: What's up?

A: working. u?

D: Working too. What you workin on? Looks like I will prob b off tomorrow.

A. email followups. on hold w irs for 20 mins! what time u off tonight?

D: Prob 6

(At this point, I let the conversation drop. I know Daniel doesn't have the stamina to text for long periods of time, and I need to get back to listening to blaring IRS hold music.)

D: How has your day been? (He wasn't ready to let go.)

A: good. long nap w/ k this morning :)

A: no grant, no students (These are the two things I am waiting on every day - news about a grant and new student applications.)

D: ?

A: no good news today. u have to get better at interpreting text, sheesh.

D: What do you mean no students? (Really?)

A: new students (Meaning, NO NEW STUDENTS TODAY, JUNE 18th, 2008)

A: I haven't brushed my teeth yet today. (Change of subject. Hopeful?)

D: Nice. So did you get a new student? (SERIOUSLY!!!)

A: no new students!

D: so you didn't get the grant or no news on the grant? did u get debit card fixed? (Note to self: Don't fall prey to texting with Daniel. He monopolizes time and wants narratives on everything.)

A: no news on the grant, debit card fixed.

D: k

A: this is exhausting. i need some whoppers. (I am just telling the truth. I am a stress eater. Not that I eat stress, but I eat when I am stressed. See!? I can't stop explaining myself. He makes me do it!)

D: what is exhausting? (Here we go.... Don't fall into his trap... Don't do it! Don't...)

A: texting with you! (Ahhhh! I couldn't help it.)

D: well, fine! bye!

And that is why I am sure we will be discussing text etiquette this evening when he gets off work. Again, monopolizing my time. *sigh*

Here we go...

2008-06-15T10:52:00.001-05:00

It is real! And here, too.

Fine, here are some pictures

2008-06-07T09:18:00.002-05:00

Thanks Sharkey, for making me feel like mah babies are loved, even though their mama doesn't post about them enough.

Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure. Have a great weekend!

Already a ham for the camera!

So serious about bathtime.

I got appa' joos and I jis had cake. What more could a kid want?

2008-06-03T10:30:00.002-05:00

There is way too much to do, and it is summertime. All I want to do is kick my feet in Dillon's little splash pool and squeak back at Korenna as she sits in her Bumbo.

But there is way too much to do.

Starting your own business is not an easy undertaking. It would be fine if I were the only one I had to report to, but I am accountable to my business partner, the Secretary of State, Daniel, my parents, the IRS, the bank, and Daniel. (Yeah, he asks more questions than everyone else combined.)

On top of that, I am writing grant applications, designing a website, getting my BCBA certificate, networking, finding a location for the school, and tons of other startup things.

Let's not even talk about routine doctor visits, playing with Dillon, making Korenna do tummy time even though she hates it, organizing my school stuff, clearing out the kids' closets, and regular house maintenance.

So, really, this is not so much a real post, as a whole long list of reasons why I haven't posted, and more reasons why I probably won't be posting any time soon. Sometimes the Upheaval is too great! I miss you guys, and hopefully soon, I'll be back.

Short and, uh, sweet? **

2008-05-13T17:14:00.003-05:00

I ate some peaches earlier today, apparently pretty aggressively, because just a minute ago, I sneezed, and a peach came out of my nose.

Nice, huh? It was this huge relief, but I didn't even know I was uncomfortable before I became comfortable again. Sort of like when a surprise dribble of warm water runs out of your ear after swimming.

**I totally just posted this because I have to post before I allow myself to read your blogs, and my sister said she posted something today and I wanna read it!

Tidbits

2008-05-04T15:22:00.003-05:00

There are hundreds of bloggable moments throughout my week, but when I actually sit down here to blog, and not work on grant applications or website template design, I can think of nothing.

Korenna is smiling. She is a doll. I know I must be biased, but she really is sweet and flirty and girlie, and I am just eating it up. I bought her a huge stretchy headband for all of her bows. Never did I think that would be me, the mom with the big bow-ed baby, but it is fun! The Bumbo chair is the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I never thought sliced bread was all that great, so how about "The Bumbo chair is the greatest thing since Jelly Bellies." Anyway, it is wunnerful, and my gummy grinning girl will agree!

Dillon is such a big boy. He spent the night with his cousins last night. Complete with pallet on the floor, tent pitched in the living room, and Alvin and the Chipmunks playing well past bedtime. I kissed him when we were leaving and he said, "Bye Mama! Be a good boy, k? I see you in da mornin'!" Aw... my heart is still melted!

All the prayers must be working. We have had a couple of interested people contact us to help with funding for the school. But, please don't stop offering your prayers, cause we are no where near being done!

We are working on a website and a brochure for the school. Seems like there is a lot going on right now.

19 days of school left, and only about 10 IEP meetings. (Sarcasm! Ten is A LOT!) For those of you not familiar with special ed, that is the huge team meeting of everyone involved in each child's education - parents, therapists, teachers, administrators, etc. We plan for next year, and each meeting requires lots of organization and forethought. And I have to dress up on those days. Sheesh.

Other than that, life is just rocking along. I miss blogging and reading your blogs. That is why I gave Dillon a huge bowl of cheetoes and put Korenna down for a nap. I am ignoring Daniel's barrage of questions and I am pretending that I don't have dinner to cook. Just so I can post something, and read something. I would like for things to settle down, but then, life might be boring, right?

Who are you calling old?

2008-04-22T17:33:00.003-05:00

We went to grab a bite at a local Mexican food joint the other night. It is our favorite place. They have free tortillas (My 'tillas! says Dillon), free chips and salsa, free ice cream, and free sopapillas. LOVE IT.

Our waiter was a cute girl, about 12 years old. NO! I am just exaggerating. She was probably 14. She admired Korenna, who was snoozing like an angel. Then she proceeded to tell me about HER SIX MONTH OLD BABY.

Excuse me?

When I picked myself up off the floor, she explained that she was nineteen, which isn't THAT old to have a baby.

Trying to recover, I said, "Oh, does your baby have your hair color?"

In the crazy light of the Mexican food joint, her hair looked carrot-top red.

She giggled and said, "No! I just did that, like, this morning! It didn't turn out how I wanted at all! But the name of the color was Red Hot Chili Pepper, which is a band, you know..."

I nodded, "Yeah! I know that band."

She said, "Oh, well, my mom had, like, no idea who they were!"

Ba-bum-BAH!

And that is how our cute fourteen-year-old waitress got no tip to take home to her baby. By equating me to her mother, when I am obviously youthful and NOT EVEN THIRTY YET!

Word's out

2008-04-15T18:05:00.003-05:00

So, there is a bag somewhere missing a cat. I may as well tell you, too.

I am resigning from my job in May. That is a really big deal! I love teaching special ed, and I love all of my babies. I am really going to miss them so much! I get a knot in my throat just thinking about it.

But something good is coming, as well.

This fall, a friend and I are opening a school for kids with autism. Our community has limited resources and I feel like this is a need that our public school system just doesn't begin to meet. The closest clinic or school that specializes in autism is almost 100 miles away!

At the public school where I teach, next year, my class could potentially have 14 kids! With two teachers! Seriously!!! That means no one-on-one instruction and my job is reduced to nothing more than glorified babysitting. Opening my own school gives me control over class size. It allows me to circumvent the bureaucracy of public school. It allows me to participate in early intervention, instead of waiting until the child has floundered for three years with no services.

I know that this is what God wants me to do. I have never wanted to be a teacher for the money, but I do want to be able to contribute to my family, and I would like reasonable compensation for my work. So, I'm asking for your prayers. We need money. Funding. Donations. Grants. I am asking, but so far, we haven't gotten any answers.

So, what do you think? Suggestions? Ideas? Let me know. I'm open. And so is my wallet.

What soapbox?

2008-04-07T20:28:00.003-05:00

So, Korenna's doctor and I have gone round and round, but I think I have won the overall fight. He agreed (pshaw) to let me set up my own shot schedule for her. Now maybe I won't have a full-blown anxiety attack when I am taking her for a well checkup, thinking the nurse is going to use her thighs as pin-cushions for her Toxin-Bearing-Needles-of-Destruction.

A little dramatic?

Maybe so.

I teach special ed. I deal with the casualties. I know that shots aren't 100% safe. You cannot convince me otherwise.

Last week, I took my 11 pound baby to the doctor, and the nurse said lightly, "OOooohhhh! We are getting some shots today!"

I said, "How many?"

She consulted her little computer chart, and said, "Hmmm... looks like four today. Oh, wait. Nope... five."

FIVE.

Seriously? No thanks. I just spent nine months watching what I ate. I just spent nine months not drinking margaritas. I just spent nine months with severe allergies and lung infections because I chose not to medicate unneccesarily. We are not going to blow all of that because some stuff-suit at the American Academy of Pediatrics thinks she might get Hepatitis B in her first year of life. (She won't, cause she isn't sexually active and she doesn't use intravenous drugs.)

She's gonna get all of her shots. She will be totally caught up by the time she is 2. I would never jeopardize her health! I am just not doing it the way THEY want me to.

If you are a new mama, or an old mama, or a grandmama, please be informed. This isn't just about autism. It is about ADHD. It is about seizure disorders. It is about a lifetime of gastrointestinal disease. It is about allergies and asthma.

You have a right to challenge your doctor. They will tell you all those shots are okay, cause that is what they are trained to tell you! But, you have a right to gain peace of mind.

For information and a revised shot schedule, go to www.generationrescue.org. I also have one available that I can email you based on Dr. Ken Bock's book, Healing the New Childhood Epidemics.

Most importantly, don't be afraid to ask questions. Knowledge is power, mmmkay?

Thanks for listening.

(Steps down. Puts soapbox back in closet for another day.)

Cold-hearted

2008-04-05T07:18:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I was fixing Dillon's breakfast, which means I was taking the wrapper off of his cereal bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flick by the microwave.

Let's think of some things that flick. I know one! Snakes.

Yeah, there was a snake flicking by the microwave. In my house.

I thought of rational things to do, then screamed and ran hysterically back to the bathroom where Daniel was enjoying a leisurely shower.

"There is a snake in the kitchen! By the microwave! I don't like it!"

Daniel looked at me, probably trying to figure out if I was STILL trying to April Fool's him. He decided that I wasn't and climbed out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.

When we got back to the kitchen, he took control of the situation. "I can't see. Can you get my glasses?"

Dutifully, I sprinted back to the bathroom. Along the way, I stepped on Daniel's wet footprints in the hall and almost threw up in my mouth from revulsion - I was sure I had just stepped on a snake. I held down the heebie-jeebies and ran faster on the way back, glasses in hand.

"I am going to need a flashlight."

I headed for the laundry room where we keep a big red one, I guess for situations like this. Unfortunately, Dillon loves that flashlight and had left it on, draining the batteries.

"Go see if there is one in our room."

I ran back to our room again, watching the floor for reptiles, and found a tiny black flashlight that can burn out your retina from a mile away. (Policemen need stuff like this!)

He shone the light under the microwave and saw the snake. It had flicked its way back into the corner.

"I need a broom or something."

He chooses a time like this to clean??? I walked (not ran) into the laundry room and got him a broom. This fetching game was getting old, especially since he was just standing in the middle of the kitchen holding his towel up.

Thinking about the fact that he was just wearing a towel, I got a little concerned. If you have seen Snakes on a Plane, you know that it is a scientific fact that snakes tend to gravitate toward sexual organs. (Or maybe that just happens when the movie is particularly stupid.) Making sure he was well-covered, I handed him the broom.

Daniel poked at the snake till it flicked out from under the microwave, over the counter and behind the fridge. He then pulled the fridge out and stabbed repeatedly at the snake until he had obliterated its head.

My hero!

He swept it out from behind the fridge (I guess that is what the broom was for?) and into an empty Pringles can. I peeked inside and noticed that the snake had shrunk to the size of a large earthworm. Strange!

We agreed that it must have been a copperhead, and since there was no one there to tell us different, we are standing by our story. Don't you think that makes it more dramatic?

All I know is that the sudden hissing sound of rain on my windshield on the way to school made me gasp and made my heartbeat accelerate, and I am on the lookout for things that flick.

Never again

2008-03-28T16:39:00.001-05:00

So much is going on in life, but I don't allow myself to read YOUR blogs unless I have posted something. So here goes.

Last night was my district's school board meeting, and Daniel and I went. Not cause we are all involved in the school board, but because we are all involved in the fact that the maternity leave policy was changed after I was already pregnant, and we lost about $5000.

Take money from a poor teacher, and she will be quick to get involved.

Anyway, we took Korenna with us to the meeting, but had to have a friend keep Dillon for a couple of hours cause the meeting wasn't about Thomas the Train, so Dillon didn't want to go. This friend had never watched Dillon for us, but he is easy. He just plays and shouts and eats. And runs. And shouts. Thats it.

When we dropped him off, my friend asked if she should feed him dinner.

"Well, he just ate an entire mammoth banana, so he probably won't be hungry. But if he is hungry, he will tell you and will probably eat whatever you offer him."

Ha! See how laid back I am? This from the mom who used to leave three pages of typed instructions for the sitter while I ran to Walmart. I am SO relaxed. And not obsessive at all. AT ALL.

After the meeting, I came home to put Korenna to bed, and Daniel went and got Dillon. When they got home I asked if Dillon had eaten.

"Uh.... yeah. Well, kind of," said Daniel, waving a tiny red flag.

"What did he eat for dinner?"

"Oreos."

"Oh. Really? That is it? I don't know if he has ever had an Oreo before. Those are gross! What is that stuff in the middle anyway? That was his dinner? Sick!" My voice is escalating in pitch and tempo.

Daniel headed to the fridge to find something to give Dillon in order to head off my rant. His solution? Cheese. A string cheese stick. Great.

Dillon munched happily on the cheese, then we bathed him and put him to bed.

Fast forward to about 1am. Yes, here it comes:

"Mmmmmmaaaaaammmmmmaaaaaaaa! It is so lucky in he-ah! I so lucky!"

(Translation: lucky means yucky, which is actually the opposite of "lucky" for me.)

I went in his room to find Dillon swimming in a sea of cheesy chocolate throw-up. (If that visual doesn't create a food aversion for all of you out there, I think you are made of steel. I'm certainly gonna pass on the Thin Mints for awhile.)

After the clean up, I have decided that it doesn't hurt to be a LITTLE less relaxed about my kids. Unless someone else is gonna volunteer to wash sheets in the middle of the night.

Guess who's back? Back again.

2008-03-21T08:58:00.001-05:00

Let me begin by saying that I started back to school this week. It has been really great! I missed my kids, my routine, and even the daily stresses of my job. I am very, very glad to be back.

About a week after Korenna was born, I had a meeting at the school. After the meeting, I stopped by my classroom to say hello and to see how things were going. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and everything was moved! The sub had decided to "clean sweep" my room (or something) and every piece of furniture was in a new place. My desk was moved. My filing cabinet. The kids' huge vestibular swing was smack in the middle of the room. I could see computer cords snaking across the floor and draped behind desks. I hate computer cords!

Prior to my maternity leave, every cabinet, tub, shelf, and box in my classroom had a carefully typed and laminated label. Things were where I wanted them to be. To know me is to know that I am extremely organized and particular about my things.

This sub didn't know me.

Nor did she take into account that I teach kids with autism and severe visual impairments. I bet they had a doozy of a time for a couple of weeks.

I went home and sulked, the wound too raw to even share on my blog. Was I being silly? Overly dramatic? I felt like someone had gone through my underwear drawer. Really!

Anyway, after six weeks of thinking about it, I was ready to go in on Monday with a smile on my face. The substitute teacher meant no harm, and I seriously think that she thought she was helping.

I still have no idea where our paint trays are. Or my cds. Or the books from the shelf that now holds a hodge-podge of games, no longer sorted by learning objective. I discovered Tuesday that the inside of my desk had been rearranged. It has been disorienting, frustrating, and even humbling. But I am back for my kiddos. And I guess that is what matters.

American Idol, WHAAAAAT?

2008-03-13T07:35:00.001-05:00

Did anyone else notice who Ramiele's "best friend" was last night? The depth of that relationship must be pretty awesome after five whole weeks of knowing each other.

Stats

2008-03-10T11:43:00.000-05:00

So, I hardly ever look at my stats anymore. I get an occasional email, and I will scan the list of readers (YES! I can see YOU!) because I know that some people read my blog and never, ever, ever comment. (Okay, most of you do that.)

This week, I had the normal amount of readers every day, except for Thursday, when the number quadrupled! Seriously!

I thought maybe I had inadvertently allowed some highly-Googled word into a post on Thursday, but I didn't! There wasn't even a post that day.

That is so strange. Not interesting, or particularly bloggable, but strange.

Too much

2008-03-05T00:01:00.000-06:00

A friend posted on her blog recently that she knows that she is God's favorite. Her post made me laugh, because, HELLO? No she isn't! We are all the same! Right?

Apparently, we aren't.

I have borrowed her coveted title for awhile.

Sometimes the list of prayer requests runs a little long. A couple of weeks ago at our small group Bible study, I rattled off four major stressors in my life, much to the chagrin of the notetaker. I felt overwhelmed, and like things were not really going my way.

One of my main concerns was that I had no one to keep my sweetbabygirl when I went back to work on March 17th. If you have ever left your child with anyone, ever, for any amount of time, you know that this can be a wee bit stressful. Especially when they are an infant who cannot tell you why they are crying.

All the daycares that I would even think about putting her in are full. All the private sitters I know went out and got "real" jobs or have long waiting lists. My mom is always good as a backup, but she, too, has a "real" job.

It drives Daniel crazy when I don't get worked up. I relax a lot and say that I know God will answer my prayers (even if I am not sure!). I relax and know that I just need to be patient (even if I don't feel patient!). I relax and hope that I have done my part and that God will meet me where I am.

He did.

One of my friends called me Monday. She said she has been praying about it and she would really love to keep Korenna for me when I go back to work. My hands were shaking and my eyes filled with tears. She is going to keep my baby. And hold her when she needs to be held. And make sure she burps good after she eats so she won't spit up. And play with her when she wakes up long enough to play.

My cup runs over, and I don't know why. But I am so grateful.

This is really big!

2008-02-29T12:43:00.000-06:00

Its about time.

One month (or so)

2008-02-24T10:28:00.000-06:00

I remember writing the post about Dillon's birth. He has a birth story that I love to look back on. It was exciting, and painful, and funny, and I became quite delirious. My favorite people were with me. I like to re-read what I wrote, because it has been over two years, and how the mind does forget!

So, I want to write a little about Korenna's birth. Of course, it was totally different! I knew the day she was going to be born. I knew how she was going to be born. No surprises there.

We picked the day because it was mathematically significant. (Okay, I picked the day because I am an obsessive control freak. 01/24/08 is a pretty number! Powers of two. Isn't that nice? I love it.)

Prior to going in the morning of the 24th, I had about four days of the worst pain I could imagine. My chest hurt when I breathed. I could barely move. I was taking cough syrup, some muscle relaxers, and some Vicodan for pain. It was bad. I couldn't wait to get this baby out so that I could get some good meds IN ME to help with whatever was ailing me.

Dillon stayed with my mom the night before because we had to be at the hospital at some ridiculous hour like 5:30 or something. After we checked in, I laid on the table and cried, waiting for some kind of relief. The anesthesiologist was my angel. She gave me so much good stuff that I couldn't feel my legs for days!

To me, the main significance of all that ridiculous pain was to contrast with what came next. They took this baby girl out of me, and she had such a sweet, tiny, girly whimper. And she was so pretty. And she had such long fingers. And such curly legs! I held her for a minute then was whisked away to recovery.

My family got to watch her get a bath and all the fun "I just got born" activities in the nursery. She sucked her thumb while she was being weighed. When they brought her to me, she was this tiny little nugget wrapped up tight in a hospital blanket. She just slept and was so sweet and easy.

When Dillon was born, I remember being instantly in love with him. He was perfect. Nothing could compare to what I felt when I first saw him. I was so nervous that it wouldn't be like that with Korenna. And it wasn't.

Instead of being instant and overwhelming, the love I feel for her grows every day. I am in awe of this little girl, and how she is building such a big place in my heart. I treasure each minute of holding her little hands, stroking her babysoft hair, and smelling her babysoft smell. I know that God has created something in her that He has never created before. I am so blessed to be her mama, and to be a part of what she will become.

Chapters of a book not yet written

2008-02-22T07:14:00.000-06:00

There are so many parenting books out there, but not one that specifically addresses my needs. I don't have time, or else I would go ahead and write it. Any volunteers? Here are the chapters I would like to see addressed:

1) How to delay infant poop until the clean diaper has been on for more that 30 seconds

2) Strawberry Poptart: does that count as a fruit?

3) Why one boob is better than the other (An Infant's Perspective)

4) Step-by-step guide on how to get residual party glitter off your son's privates without him thinking it is a tickling game

5) Five reasons REM sleep is overrated

6) Multisyllabic nonsense - interpreting toddler babble, especially with constant references to The Backyardigans episodes

7) Why baby's hunger is directly inverse to the level of engorgement you have reached

That is all I can think of for now. These hot topics would make for a great bestseller, if I could only find an author whose thoughts are more coherent than, "Did I just change her? I can't remember... maybe I didn't. Maybe... ooops. Well, now it doesn't matter..."

Any takers?

sigh

2008-02-20T18:33:00.000-06:00

We went to the doctor today for Dillon's ears. Surprise, surprise.

He just got tubes put in for the second time in the middle of December.

Guess what? One fell out.

Yeah, I know.

He has had two ear infections in the month since it fell out, and so now we have scheduled yet another ear tube surgery for next week. These new tubes are supposed to stay for a few years.

Really? Cause if this doesn't work, I am going to make my own tubes for him out of silly putty and a drinking straw. A lot cheaper, and probably just as effective.

Season Seven

2008-02-15T07:29:00.000-06:00

After six seasons, you would think I would grow tired of watching what has essentially become a parody of itself, but Fox still calls my name on Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Maybe because I identify so strongly with the vocal rejects? Maybe because everything else is on hold while the writers frantically write three months worth of episodes to my other shows?

This will make me feel better:

Dear Judges,

There is no such thing as "a million percent" or "a billion percent" or even, ridiculously enough, "a trillion percent." Saying such a number does not seem smart about math. It does not make you seem smart about anything.

My personal preference is that, for the sake of emphasis, you may say "one hundred and ten percent" which conveys an appropriate amount of extra effort. Saying these other exorbitant numbers just to imply that you are truly positive about a contestant's skill just makes you look stupid.

Also, Paula - you look like a bobble-head when you nod to the music.

Just my opinion,

Amanda Sue

Come and get it!

2008-02-10T18:23:00.000-06:00

Our church family has been so wonderful over the past couple of weeks. I have had visits, calls, and emails from people, and best of all, several meals have been provided by families within our church. In addition, a couple of nights, we have eaten with my parents, and one night Daniel picked up fast food.

Overall, it has been so nice to not have to worry about what to make for dinner!

Last night was an exception though, as these "Meals to Go" are winding down. Daniel perused the fridge and concluded that we had "nothing to eat" so he was going to be in charge of cooking. Well, yay for me! I still get to sit around and be served, so please don't think I was complaining.

Daniel surfed the net and used one of my favorite sites to come up with a few ideas. He made a list, checked it twice, and headed off to the store for the ingredients we didn't have on hand. He came home and made himself very busy in the kitchen while the kids and I relaxed with a Tivo'd episode of Ellen.

"It's ready!" he said, not many minutes off the mark of 6:30 that we target for dinner most nights.

We settled down to a meal reminiscent of Chili's Triple Play. We had pigs in a blanket, chips and Rotel dip, and pinwheels. I would say the pinwheels were the most work. He had to mix some cream cheese filling and spread it on tortillas, and then let them chill before cutting them. Whew. Talk about labor intensive.

By far, it was the most interesting meal we have had lately. His efforts were noble and sincere, but I won't be signing him up to prepare meals for other new moms. Seems like it might take a special someone to appreciate a dinner like that.

Do you really want to know this?

2008-02-04T20:21:00.000-06:00

Korenna is eleven days old. She is past the point in time when her little umbilical clamp was supposed to fall off, so I have been scrutinizing it all day long. (It looks okay, but I wanted to make sure she wasn't going to have to have it surgically removed before she ever wore a two-piece bathing suit.)

Anyway, in an effort to keep her awake a little while this evening, Daniel and I decided to give her a bath. I got warm water in a bowl by the kitchen sink, while Daniel entertained her in the living room. I called out that I was ready, and he brought her to me.

Laying her down gently on the mesh bathtub thingy, he paused for a second, then he said, "Dang! Where is her belly button thing?"

I glanced down and saw that it was missing.

We looked on the counter, floor and in her diaper. Nowhere.

Um, this has the potential to become really gross. That thing looks like a raisin, and we all know Tux is none too picky about what he eats.

Daniel backtracked to the living room to search the couch. Nothing. Her bedroom. Nothing. Finally, back in the kitchen, he found it, hidden in the fringe on the floor mat.

"What do I do with it?" he asked, holding it up for me to see.

"Sick! Throw it away!" I said.

Not to be heartless. I mean, it is a remnant of the cord that connected her to me, through which she was fed and nourished. It brought her life. But still. Sick.

At least Tux didn't find it first.

Not about babies or boobs, I promise

2008-02-01T11:16:00.001-06:00

Check THIS out.

How would you like to be the one refused service? Are they going to have a scale near the entrance? Are they going to keep a tally on the number of times they have been served? And what if the person is eating a salad?

What a stupid idea and a waste of legislators' time.

Take two

2008-01-29T09:31:00.000-06:00

So, my very subtle nurse-friend told me that Korenna looks a little (okay, a LOT) yellow in that picture below, so I thought I would post another one so you know she is a normal color and not a misguided Smurf.

She doesn't look very girly there, but, fortunately, not EVERYTHING she owns is pink.

******************

Remember when Dillon would never nurse and I was his stubborn mama who insisted on pumping milk for him so he didn't have to eat formula?

You don't? Well, even if you don't remember, my mammaries do. Yesterday they triggered on their biological purpose and began filling up like water balloons in anticipation of the electric baby that was their relief for so many months. Instead, they got a tiny five-day-old human baby who can barely swallow an ounce at a time. The result is a disproportionate amount of milk, extra bottles taking up space in the fridge, and the incorporation of the pump already in our daily routine.

If it looks like a cow, and acts like a cow ...

******************

I would love to post a picture of Dillon with his new sister, but he is keeping his distance. He wants to tell her "ni-ni" and "I loh loo, Kwenna" but all from about three feet away. I am sure he feels a little intruded upon. So as soon as I can fit them both in the same camera frame (without tears) I'll get a picture for you.

'Til then, here is big brother helping daddy plant trees.

Korenna Kate

2008-01-28T16:02:00.000-06:00

She is here! You wouldn't know it, cause it is pretty quiet at the Johnson house. She just sleeps a lot, and occasionally lets loose with a high-pitched girly cry when she is uncomfortable or hungry. But mostly, she just sleeps.

That is just fine by me!

2008-01-23T21:57:00.001-06:00

Send me up some prayers. Tomorrow is the big day. :)

See you on the flip side!

Where is the path most taken, please?

2008-01-21T18:08:00.000-06:00

In addition to my own medical woes, it seems that Dillon now is hosting the influenza virus. Daniel took him to a new doc today, while I was at my very last prenatal visit. Dr. G is my doctor, and Dr. D is Dillon's doctor.

I was checking out, saying fond farewells to my weekly-friends at the reception desk when someone stuck their head around the corner:

"Dr. G! Dr. D is on the phone for you."

(Okay, so this is a small town. And D is a common name. But still, a little weird.)

Just then, my cell rang. It was Daniel:

"Dr. D wants Dr. G to reschedule your c-section cause Dillon has the flu."

At the same time, Dr. G looks at me from his phone (he IS talking to Dillon's doc!), and says quietly into the receiver, "Um, yeah. The mother isn't going to go for that..."

My brain says: BWHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU have GOT to be FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!

I can't BREATHE! My only hope of pain relief is going to come in the minutes after they extract this baby from my womb and start pumping me full of anti-inflammatory drugs for this killer pleurisy that I have. And Dr. D thinks I am going to willingly postpone that???

Thankfully, Dr. G knows better. He sets the record straight, reassures me that we will be doing a c-section on Thursday morning, as planned, and calls in some Tamiflu for me and the rest of my family.

So, in the meantime, I am sitting at home, holding my breath. For two reasons, really. The first is to provide short stints of pain relief for my lung. The second reason I am holding my breath is because I am praying fervently that Daniel doesn't get the flu. Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake?

Night walking

2008-01-20T07:18:00.001-06:00

I went to bed early last night. (I know I am not supposed to be complaining, but pleurisy feels like you are walking around with a knife through your chest and coming out your back.) I needed some rest.

I slept pretty hard till about three, when my corner of the world lit up. That is what it seems like when Dillon's monitor shows sound. We usually keep the volume off because the bright flare of red lights wakes me up. I watched for a second, and listened, and I could hear his panicked voice coming down the hall.

I nudged Daniel. "Hey."

"Hmmmmmm?" he mumbled into his pillow.

"Can you go see what he needs?" I said, in my best I-am-hurting-so-bad-I-can't-move voice.

"Mmmmhmmm..." he said.

Poor Daniel.

He jumped up out of bed and lumbered toward the door like an intoxicated Rip Van Winkle.

*BAM!*

You know in cartoons, when someone runs into a pole, their arms and legs stick straight out in front of them on either side of the pole, then they slide to the ground with stars circling their heads? Well, that is what happened to Daniel.

Except it was the door, not a pole. It was open, and at just the right angle so he could run into the narrow part. With his head.

"Oh," was all he said.

I lay still and quiet, expecting him to collapse in the floor, KO'd by our very own house. But he didn't.

He opened Dillon's door and I heard Lil' D say, "Mama-mama! I got boogas!"

Oh, sheesh! Well, at least it wasn't a real emergency. I doubt Daniel would have had the snap to respond after his collision.

(I'll update later about if he has scars to show for his late night battle. I fully expect something! It was a rough fight.)

Still here

2008-01-19T07:19:00.000-06:00

Yep. I am still here. I have been a little whiny lately, and who wants to read about all my gripes? Probably not you. And I don't want to write them! I am so blessed to be pregnant! It is an amazing gift from God. But lemme curse Eve for her poor decision making skills, cause the pain of labor comes weeks before the actual labor.

I'll have a c-section on Thursday, the 24th. Then our little girl will be here! We are working hard on preparing Dillon. We talk about it every day and read stories about new brothers and sisters. He puts his mouth against my belly and shouts "Helllloooo, bobby!" ("Bobby" is his word for baby, and it is too dang cute to correct, okay?) My sister suggested getting him a little doctor kit for when he comes to visit us in the hospital, so he won't be weirded out that mommy is in a bed and can't move and has staples in her stomach.

So, that is what is going on here. We won't talk about the sciatica, the severe cough, the pleurisy, the tailbone pain, or the overall fatigue.

Dangit, Eve!

Pregnant leg syndrome

2008-01-05T07:33:00.000-06:00

I vaguely remember feeling a little uncomfortable in my own skin toward the end of my pregnancy with Dillon.

I more clearly remember my feeling last night as I lay in bed, trying desperately to get comfortable and fall asleep. Every nerve in my body cried out for me to move. To stretch. To twitch. To shift. To flex. To relax.

Ohmygosh, I thought I was going crazy. My scalp even felt restless.

"This is mind over matter," I thought. "If I can just lay still and ignore these impulses, I'll be asleep in no time."

I lasted about six seconds, then in a huge scary burst of pent up energy, I flipped from one side to another, the sheets and comforter puffing up and then drifting down to settle around me. "Ah. That's better. Mmmm... wait. I just need to move my ankle. And shift my shoulder down a little."

Fortunately, Daniel had stayed up to watch television in the living room, because, at one point, I was balanced ridiculously on my forehead and my knees, holding my huge belly off the mattress. Just trying to find some position of comfort. It wasn't happening.

I guess I finally wore myself to the point of exhaustion, because I woke up this morning a little better. Still a little twitchy, but better.

I really feel for people who truly have RLS, constantly, daily. Pregnancy isn't the only time I have felt this. I know there have been other nights I have kicked my feet like an Olympic swimmer to try to satisfy the tickle in my nerves. But I get relief - it isn't every day that I have these symptoms.

Usually, when I am not pregnant, a glass of wine will do it for me. Or any other legal sedative.

But, I am thinking that if it happens tonight, I will just tough it out.

It is mind over matter, you know.

While I'm here, can you up my meds?

2007-12-27T16:30:00.001-06:00

So, I go to the doctor pretty frequently of late. Once every couple of weeks, I pop by to let the good doc measure my growing belly and weigh me. My most recent appointment was yesterday afternoon. The day after Christmas. Everyone I knew was working, and Dillon's daycare is closed until after the first of the year, so I didn't have much choice but to take him.

No biggie. Clothes on, nothing takes more than 10, 15 minutes tops.

We arrived at the doctor, checked in, and I pushed through the door to go down the hall. The first thing they want during any o.b. visit is your pee. Dillon came with me.

I have a routine for this hated sampling. I get my cup, write my name on it, do my business as quickly as possible, balance the cup on the sink ledge while I re-dress, put the cup in the slammy door, flush, then wash and dry my hands. I am pretty proficient at this.

Throw a two-year-old in the mix, and I become a bumbling idiot.

"Dillon! Sit right here! No, HERE. That is mommy's cup. No, you can't have one. No! Sit down. Wait just a minute, k? Let mommy go potty. Yeah, I have to go potty. Like a big girl. Do you potty like a big boy?"

Every opportunity is used to reference The Big Boy Potty so he will warm up to it a bit. It didn't happen. As soon as I mentioned that, he was up and out the door before I could halt the stream. Dang those lever door handles!!!

I don't know how I did this - it must have involved some joint dislocation - but I stretched my arm out like Gumby and drug him back in the bathroom by his tee-shirt collar. Nice.

I slammed and relocked the door, placed him firmly on the floor, and waddled back to the toilet, pants around my knees to finish my business. Quickly.

We finished up there, and were led directly into a room by the nurse, who must have read the panic on my face. Or else she saw me half-naked before she was supposed to, and it scared her.

I plopped up on the table, and we listened to the heartbeat. "Good and strong. 153," she said, handing me a giant pink napkin dress.

"What is this for?" I said. "We aren't having THAT kind of visit!" as if I make the schedule.

"Um, yeah ya are. If it weren't a c-section we could put it off a week, but we have to make sure you aren't dilated. Have you had any pressure? Contractions?"

Well, except for the couple of times she tried to claw her way out of my womb...

"Yeah, I have."

"Okay!" she said brightly. "Just the bottoms then. We will be quick, and Dillon won't see a thing."

Not worried about that. Dillon used to live there, so I am not too shy about that, but what do I do with him while I am laying helpless and half-naked on the table? He is pretty well-behaved, but I like to at least have the option of intervening!

Dillon happily rolled his "zoozoo twain" along the striped wallpaper in the corner. I stripped real quick-like and hopped back up on the table with my napkin.

"Hahaha! Mama hiney!"

"Sit down and play with your train, okay?"

"Okay."

Thankfully, doc was quick to come in and get down to business. I lay there and watched Dillon out of the corner of my eye. And I saw my pink panties. CRAP! Dillon, reading my mind, saw them too, and headed for the bench where my clothes were piled haphazardly.

I blurted, "Um, I am terrified that my son is going to put my panties on his head, so will you please throw my jacket over whatever is pink in that corner!" Doc stepped over to do as I bid, when I said, "NOT YOU! The nurse. I don't want YOU to see my panties!!!"

Let's not talk about how this is a moot point.

Dillon had perked up at the commotion and redirected to the side of the exam table. He noticed that I was laying down. "Mama go ni-ni?"

"Yeah, I am just going to rest here for a minute. Where is your train?"

"Wite heah!" he paused, considering his toy, then remembered what was happening. "Mama no go ni-ni! WAKE UP! Mama! WAKE UP!!!" at the top of his little lungs. He patted/slapped me with his little hands, panicking. "Mama no go ni-ni! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!!!"

Thankfully, doc was done. He tried chatting for a minute, till I shot him daggers and indicated that I was still half-naked and that Dillon was now dismantling his cabinetry. He slipped out, and I rounded the corner to get dressed.

Forgetting the lever handle on the exam room door.

"Mama! I weddy to GO!" Dillon trumpeted back at me as he galloped down the hall.

Sheesh. Me too.

Let's not forget

2007-12-25T08:37:00.001-06:00

Cuz my sister has all day to find cool things on the internet

2007-12-11T20:23:00.001-06:00

Merry Christmas!

He DOES listen!

2007-12-09T20:13:00.000-06:00

This morning, I was trying to motivate my family to get dressed for church. I went back into Dillon's room and got his clothes ready. I called him:

"Dillon! Come here and get dressed for church so you can have a vitamin!" (Not bribery, positive reinforcement! If you don't agree with that method, please feel free to email me at idontcare@yahoo.com.)

"He I come!" he said, running down the hallway.

He ran past me (I think he knows how immobile my belly makes me) and climbed up on his bed.

"Dillon James. Get off that bed and come down here now. It is time to get dressed."

He peeked at me between the slats of his bunk bed. I could see the question in his eyes: How serious is she?

I paused a second, then said, "Dillon. I am going to count and you are going to be down here with me or you will get a spanking!" (If you are uncomfortable with the fact that I spank my son, then substitute the words "time out" and please refrain from commenting about my chosen method of discipline. I have no energy to host a debate.)

Still peeking.

"Five. Four. Three..."

"Mama!" he shouted, wide eyes looking at me from the bottom bunk. "I get my hiney down der WITE NOW!"

Huh. Okay, then.

If you are what you eat, he's in trouble

2007-12-05T19:09:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: Don't read this if you haven't yet eaten dinner. Or maybe not even if you have. Okay, maybe don't read it at all.

My throat hurts. It is raw. Lemmetellyouwhy.

Dillon hasn't eaten much in the past couple of days. He has an ear infection, which makes him cough and makes his throat hurt. Today, I got some yogurt and half of a banana down him. I guess it surprised his digestive system and kicked it into gear, cause almost immediately, he said, "Mama! I poo-poo!!!"

It was almost bathtime so I stripped him, cleaned him up and started running his bath water. He was playing (nekkid) on the bathroom floor when I noticed "The Look" come over his little face.

(FYI: "The Look" is one of intense concentration and oxygen deprivation that comes with attempting to move the bowels.)

Needless to say, he stood up, pleased as punch, and pointed to a freshly laid deposit on my bathroom floor. "Mama! I poo-poo 'gin!"

GREAT.

The next part happened in slow motion. I turned to grab some toilet paper and Clorox wipes from the cabinet. In that two seconds, in sauntered Tux. Nosy about the ruckus, I suppose.

What did he find, but a tasty morsel on the floor, just for him.

(This is where the sore throat part comes in.)

My reaction was primal. I opened my mouth and a deranged scream scraped out, louder and scarier than any other scream I have ever made:

"Get-out-of-here-and-if-you-eat-that-poop-then-so-help-me-I-will-KILL-YOU!!!"

Undeterred, Tux scooped up his treat and headed for safety as I ran screeching through the house:

"Get-outside-and-don't-you-for-one-minute-think-you-are-ever-coming-back-inside-EVER-AGAIN!!!"

I slammed the door behind him and pulled the blinds. I closed the curtains on the big window so he couldn't see inside. As for me, the gross-out shivers started in waves.

When I got back to the bathroom to clean up the floor and check on Dillon, he was standing naked by the tub, eyes wide and mumbling in a traumatized voice, "I poo-poo, Mama. I poo-poo."

I bet he won't do that again for another week. And by then, maybe I'll have let Tux back in.

It's better to give

2007-12-03T16:49:00.000-06:00

I love Secret Santa!

The way ours works at school is that we draw a name and then for the entire month of December (till we get out for break) we all give and receive small gifts every other day or so. Small things. Like a candy cane. Or a package of hot cocoa. Then, on the last day, we give a "big" gift that costs at least $10. That way no one feels gypped. (I never actually knew how to spell that, but that is the only spelling that didn't underline, so I hope it is right!)

So, we started last Monday. I checked my box about six times that day to see what I had gotten. Hmmm... they were playing hard to get. Nothing on Monday. My hopes were high on Tuesday as well. Repeat performance by my Secret Santa.

Actually, that continued throughout the whole week. Friday, I found the coordinator to see if someone had actually drawn my name. She assured me that someone had, and that they were working on a gift for me and had told her that it was going to be this week before I got it.

So, I coasted through the weekend. Other people were wearing their new jingle bell socks and rubbing sparkly hand sanitizer on their hands, but I was just trying to be patient.

This morning, I was sure I would get something. Anything. A post-it note? A chewed piece of gum? At this point, I didn't care. I just wanted something from my Secret Santa.

Well, again, it didn't happen. I finished my day empty-handed, and more than a little annoyed.

But then, guess what??? It got worse.

This guy named Lazy (okay, not his real name) stopped me on my way to my car.

L: "I am so glad I saw you. I gotta tell you something: I'm your Secret Santa, and I am no good at this gift thing!"

(Now, there's a headline for ya.)

L: "I don't know what to get you, so I am just going to give you one gift certificate to Chili's. Okay?"

Me: "Um, sure."

L: "Oh good, cause I have been worried. I just can't do all this small gift stuff. Also, I am just a sub, so I probably won't be here for the final gift exchange."

Wow. Now, HE is a catch. I got the best Secret Santa EVER! Not only is he uncomfortable participating in the first place, but he can't finish the gift exchange out at all! Meanwhile, he has got some kindhearted Secret Santa of his own who has steadily passed him Kit-Kats and sodas while he "worked" on my gift card.

So, BAH. Bah on Secret Santa, who is no longer a Secret and is hardly a Santa. Santa doesn't decide it is all too much of a hassle, and just throw money at the problem. He shops. (Yep. That is right. He is a man, and he shops.)

Tonight, I am going to wrap up the cute little ornament I got for my own recipient. I bet she will love it! And then, for good measure, I will also wrap up a huge Symphony bar and a coke to put in my own box.

Cause I love Secret Santa, remember? Even if I have to be my own.

Hush

2007-11-29T20:10:00.000-06:00

It is quiet at my house. Dillon is sleeping. With his glorified man-purse stuffed with puzzle pieces.

Daniel is at a friend's house watching The Game.

I just ate a bowl of grapes, and am contemplating a chocolate and vanilla swirl ice cream nightcap.

The washer is on spin cycle, but that is the only sound I can hear besides the keys of my keyboard. There is none of the television that usually fills up the background. There is none of the screaming, crying, or constant teeth grinding that I hear all day at work. There is no cell phone ringing, no radio, and no siren or traffic.

Just quiet.

And I think I'll take it while I can get it.

New guy

2007-11-21T21:44:00.000-06:00

There aren't very many shows that Daniel and I watch on a regular basis, but for the past few years, we have watched Law and Order: SVU. (Because, in case you didn't know it, I am Olivia Benson.)

This season has brought the addition of newcomer Adam Beach, who apparently went to acting school with Ice-T and the guy who played Steve Urkel. Seriously? We are considering quitting the show because of him. It is so aggravating!

Didn't they have auditions? Did they not notice that the guy kept reading his lines off the palm of his hand? Did they not notice that his facial expressions are forced and vary only between "contemplative" and "aggressive?" Did they not notice that he makes the "s" sound clenching his jaw and breathing, so that everything sounds like "shhh?"

I think we are gonna have to retire S(h)VU in favor of something else. Any suggestions?

Men are from Mars?

2007-11-10T07:24:00.000-06:00

Dillon had a stomach virus a couple of weeks ago.

Horrible. That is all I can say. He has only thrown up five times in his life, and four of those times have been on a Tuesday. So when he was especially cranky last Tuesday, I should have known.

Cause what do we do on Tuesdays??? THROW UP.

About once an hour, he would sit up, get really fussy, then offer up some remnant of a past meal. After about ten minutes, he would collapse in tears on the couch, lethargic until the next round hit him.

Poor baby. And poor me!

I was using old towels - I spread one on his lap, and made him sit on one. Of course, I had a growing pile of laundry. Daniel came in from work and said, "Amanda. Use a trash can!"

I had already endured four hours of this, and was loath to accept advice from a new arrival. However, I obediently got a trash can and held it patiently under Dillon's chin.

For about seven seconds. Then Dillon mustered all the energy he had left and shoved it away, croaking, "Nothankyoumama!"

So we were back to the towels. I had already run a load through the laundry, and so they were fresh in the dryer, ready to absorb more rejected breakfast.

I got Dillon ready for bed and laid him down. I rubbed his back, steeling myself for a long night. I tried to ready the room for frequent visits.

"Do you need anything?" Daniel asked. I told him to bring me towels to leave in a stack by Dillon's bed.

Out he walks, and returns a few minutes later. My husband. Trash-can-man. With a big pile of towels. Only they aren't towels. They are huge bath sheets that we never use. Fresh from the store. They wrap around my body two times.

He places them on the floor and I stare at him, disbelieving.

"Seriously? That is your solution? He's not throwing up THAT much! And how many times do you think I want to use the same towel? And why would I want to use the nice ones? It is PUKE!"

He tucked his tail and went into the living room. Exhaustion had caught up with me. The hilarity of his offering struck me, and I was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down my face. This is the difference between moms and dads.

Well, that and certain anatomical differences. But mostly the difference in logic.

That's my boy

2007-11-07T21:30:00.000-06:00

This morning's conversation:

"Dillon, are you hungry?"

"I hungee, Mama! I hungee!"

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"I wan see bah in a bow!" (I want cereal bar in a bowl)

"Okay."

"Wait, Mama! WAIT! I note wan see bah! I wan CHOKIT ICE CWEAM in a bow!"

Oh, yeah? That does sound way better! You are your mother's son, aren't you?

Pregnancy issues?

2007-11-05T06:26:00.000-06:00

I don't get weird cravings and I don't have morning sickness.

But what I do have is almost worse. At least, psychologically. It is an agonizing, unexplainable, invisible ITCH between all of my fingers. I am entering my third month of itchy fingers. And it is keeping me up at night. Seriously!

I wake up nightly clawing at the skin between my fingers. At NOTHING. Cause there is nothing there! Just invisible itch.

Before you start spouting remedies, lemme tell you what I have tried:

1. plain lotion with socks on my hands to keep myself from scratching
2. Lamisil, some sort of athlete's foot cream in case it was an invisible fungus
3. Preparation H, in case it was a hemorrhoid between my fingers
4. Benedryl cream, in case it was an allergy
5. Aquaphor, in case it was just really dry skin
6. nothing, in case it was an overload of all of the above
7. I only use unscented, plain soap for hand washing
8. no finger jewelry
9. drying hands on paper towels instead of cloth towels
10. drying hands on cloth towels instead of paper towels

NOW.

Do you have any suggestions? For my sanity?

Scratched that itch

2007-11-03T21:01:00.001-05:00

I can only handle the giant flea market atmosphere about once a year. Today was the day that I put on my tennis shoes and a backpack, tucked a wad of cash in my pocket, and set out to admire all things crafty and bedazzled.

We (Daniel came along) actually did well - I found a few Christmas gifts as well as some home decor for myself. I found a bargain on a tall jewelry cabinet, which I have been really wanting. I ate a corn dog and drank some expensive lemonade. By three o' clock, thisbaby was protesting my physical exertion and I was ready for a nap.

We hiked back to the car and loaded up our purchases. We zipped out of the parking pasture (hey, don't say we aren't sophisticated in Texas) and pulled alongside a row of shops to pick up the heavy afore-mentioned jewelry cabinet that the store owner was holding for us.

I sat in the van while Daniel went to manhandle our new furniture. I watched the crowds of people spilling from vendor to vendor, treasures in hand. One of the more popular things for sale all over the market were various shapes and sizes of rustic metal that you are supposed to hang on your wall. People were snapping these things up like starving goats going after tin cans.

In the rearview mirror, I saw a woman with a cart stuffed with packages, a huge rusty metal sculpture balanced precariously atop her purchases. It hung off either end of her cart and it is a wonder she wasn't gouging out the eyes of young children and short adults that walked past her.
I watched her as she approached the van in slow-motion.

She pushed her cart and paid attention to everything but what she should have.

ssssssSSSSSSKKKRRRREEEEEEE!!!

That sound went on forever. My eyes met hers as she brought her cart even with the passenger window of the van. Her eyes were huge when she saw that the van was occupied. She reached her hand out and cupped it around the rusty tip of her "art" and bustled away into the crowd.

I stuck my head out the door to survey the damage. Of course, it looked like she had just keyed my van. There is a huge scrape about three feet long that extends down the side door. Please remember that I just got this van in July, and pardon my nerdiness, but I LOVE THIS VAN.

Of course, I tattled to Daniel as soon as he came out of the shop with my huge jewelry cabinet. He chased the woman down and told her that she had just managed to damage our vehicle because she was careless, and perhaps she should pay a little more attention.

She walked back to the van with us, saying repeatedly that she had not scraped the car and that she had covered the tip of the metal specifically so that it wouldn't scrape. She saw the damage, and said, "Oh! I didn't do that. I was shielding your car with my hand."

Right.

Daniel took the keys and walked around the car to leave. He saw no point in arguing with her. I said, "Oh, so you didn't do that to my car?" She said, "There is no way I could have!"

What? "No way?" Like physically impossible? Like it violates the laws of God and nature? Let's get Einstein involved here, cause I am pretty sure there is a way, lady.

I didn't want money or her insurance information. I merely wanted acknowledgment. An apology would have been nice, but she was above that. She was too good to say that she was sorry for being careless.

It chapped me the whole way home. Not because my car is scraped, but because where is the decency? Who said that she was better than me and didn't have to acknowledge her transgressions?

I hope I remember this next time I hurt someone. Sometimes "I am sorry" doesn't do much, but sometimes it makes all the difference in the world.

On that note, we left the flea market. I had enough of being around people.

NaBloPoMo n' guilt

2007-11-02T18:13:00.000-05:00

I can't do it this year. Obviously. Cause it is the 2nd of the month. I have already failed.

But if you are bored, read my archives. I totally did it last year.

And, by the way, it is my birthday. And you should know that. It is today. Not tomorrow. Today is Friday.

*Ahem. *

Blame him...

2007-10-31T20:16:00.000-05:00

... for all the neglect. Ear infections (yes, multiple), a stomach virus, and general physical exhaustion on the part of his mother. It is tough chasing a toddler!

This baby is still growing. She actually flips and flops around quite a bit. Dillon has resigned himself to having a baby sister. "Like Aba?" he asks hopefully, remembering the chubby cousin he tugged around all weekend. "Um, yes. Like Ava." Whatever makes you not cry when I talk about the baby.

Daniel and I are going to Canton this weekend. Remember, last year? Canton? Huge flea market? Lots of people? Hot in November? Yeah, that place. The people in the photo on that link have obviously just arrived and there is still a brisk morning breeze. After a day at Canton, you look and feel more like damp armpit hair.

Okay, that is so gross, I am getting off now. I am obviously delirious from all the mothering and frolicking I am doing. Hopefully my next post will be 1) more cheerful, 2) more timely, and 3) less disgusting.

A little change never hurt anyone

2007-10-10T20:14:00.000-05:00

Daniel plays church league softball on Tuesday nights. He gets home well after Dillon is snug in his bed, and sometimes even after I hit the hay.

Last night, he got home a little early, and we were chatting as I got ready for bed. Here is our conversation:

D: Hey, baby? Did you see the change that was on my nightstand earlier? It isn't there now.

A: Hmmmm... nope. I didn't see any money, and I don't even think I have been in the bedroom.

D: Huh. Cause Dillon was playing with it earlier, and now it isn't there.

*Deliberate pause. Stony stare from A to D.*

A: Seriously? He was PLAYING with it, and now it isn't there? What do you think he did with it?

D: I don't know!! That is why I asked you!

A: Most two-year-olds put coins in their mouth. That is what I think he did!

D: He doesn't eat money! I have never seen him eat money!

A: That is because he has never played with money before! I am vigilant about making sure he doesn't play with choking hazards!

The "discussion" went on. Of course, I won, and D saw the error of his ways. I went to bed.

This morning, I was fixing my hair in the bathroom. Daniel was getting ready for work and Dillon was tearing around the house, talking and generally showing what a morning person he is.

I heard Daniel's voice coming from our bedroom:

Hey, buddy? Remember last night when you were playing with my money? What did you do with it? Do you remember? Where did you put it?

Dillon's little-man voice: "I dunno, Daddy!"

Daniel tries again: "Where is the money? The coins? Where are they?"

By now I am snorting in the bathroom cause their exchange is too hilarious. As if Dillon could answer the stream of questions Daniel is firing at him. AS IF.

I peek in the bedroom and Dillon is staring wide-eyed at his daddy: "Wid da money go? Wi did it go, Daddy? I dunno! Wi izzit?"

Sherlock Holmes and his sidekick, Watson. I predict they will solve (and probably create) a lot of mysteries together.

My favorite

2007-09-23T15:59:00.000-05:00

I tell Dillon every day that he is my favorite. He says "Uhhhnkay, Mommy!" which is his way of totally agreeing with me so that I will put him down so he can go play.

I guess, come January, I will have to tack on the word "boy" to the end of that statement so his new sister won't get jealous.

Dillon just turned two last week. He is growing so quickly, and changing so much every day, that I wanted to write a few things that he says and does that make him my favorite:

* He sees tiny things from a distance and proclaims their existence with such enthusiasm! "Look, Mama! A ba-fly!" (way across that field) or "I see a bawl!" (that the boy in the next car has in his hand). Riding in the car is as exciting for him as going to the zoo. He always finds new things to see and talk about.

* If I fake cry (I know it is mean, but don't act like YOU haven't done that!) he gets a very worried look on his face and gives me hugs. If he did something wrong, he says "Soy, mama! I soy!"

* When he wants to color, he says "I color me!" and then goes to sit in his little wooden desk to wait for crayons and paper. Woe is me if I don't hear him the first time!

* He says "again" at the end of everything now. "I go ah-side, gin?" or "I hungee gin" or "I watch Gackyadagin-agin?"or "I got a booga, gin!"

* He calls himself Lillon Zahnsan, and sometimes refers to himself in 3rd person: "You get a 'nana for Lillon?"

* Instead of "Yay!" he says "LLLay!" when he does something special.

* When he falls down, he says "I'n okay! I'n okay!"

* Daily when I pick him up from school, he says "I 'na go Gima n' Gimpa's ... HOUSE!"

* Today I asked him if he was crying, and he said "NO, mama!" but then he put his face in his hands and did a fake whine. He grinned up at me when he was done, all proud that he had faked me out. Wonder who taught him that?

* He announces in a loud voice in public places that he poo-poo'd, even though it is usually just air.

* He is such a big boy when he has to go to bed or go take a nap. He says "G'night Mama! See younamorna!" (which, I think means, "see you in the morning!")

* He knows where the baby is, and he points to it. I ask him if it is a girl baby or a boy baby, and he says "A guh bobby!"

I know all mamas wonder if they can love the next baby as much as the first, and so on. I think it must just be a whole new love from a whole different part of your heart. I can't wait to see!

Oh, and ...

2007-09-19T08:24:00.000-05:00

Arrrr to you, matey!

Jenny Who?

2007-09-19T08:13:00.000-05:00

I never thought I would be one to say "Oh my gosh! Did you see that show with Jenny McCarthy on it? Wasn't it great?"

But now I am.

She was on yesterday's Oprah, and now I am totally impressed with her. Her son was diagnosed with autism a few years ago, and she is one of the few celebrities to speak out about it. She is eloquent and knowledgeable. She is passionate without being overly emotional. She has definite ideas about the origin and treatment of her son's autism, and is not afraid to say it, and on national television at that! Kudos to ABC and Oprah for not censoring her (too much) so that she could say what she believes.

Jenny McCarthy believes that her son, Evan, is on the road to recovery. She has found therapies that work for her son. She does not say that there is a magic cure, but that you have to try everything, cause every kid is different.

This is such a reality check from "recovery stories" I have heard before. I have heard of kids who have no residual trace of autism. This does not offer real hope for parents. Sometimes that seems too far to go, especially when you are in the depths of hell at the beginning of this diagnosis.

Evan still flaps his hands. He still does not process things as quickly as others. He still has some autistic quirks, but he is getting better, and that is the main thing. He is becoming less involved in his own private world, and more aware of the world around him.

Anyway, if you didn't catch the show, try to view parts of it on youtube, or catch it on a rerun. I think it is worth your time, and hey, it is Jenny McCarthy, so how hard can it be to watch. Right?

News

2007-09-17T20:24:00.000-05:00

I have always known I would have a slew of boys. A mini-football team. A starting line-up. Soccer games on early Saturday mornings.

We found out today that we are well on our way!

But one of 'em is gonna have pigtails. What do you think of THAT?

Seriously???

2007-09-16T16:12:00.000-05:00

I can't believe it has been over two weeks since I posted. I can't BELIEVE it!

Lemme just say that school has been insanely busy so far this year. Here is a quick update on my life so you won't feel so left out:

* Dillon (my favorite little boy ever) turned two on Friday. When you ask him his name, he says "Lillon Zahnson!" and when you ask him how old he is, he says "I TEW!" Ha!

* We find out the gender of baby # 2 tomorrow afternoon. I don't really have a "gut" feeling either way, or a preference. Once you have been the mother of a boy, I think it is hard to change the mindset, so I will be pleasantly surprised if it is a girl. A little boy named Lillon has decided that he doesn't want a baby. Oops.

* I went to Corpus Christi last week for the state conference on autism. It was so fun, and refreshing, and I got lots of great ideas. Now, if I only had time to implement them...

* I broke my toe Friday morning on the door frame. You probably don't remember, but I broke a toe around this time last year, too. What is up with that? Is this an annual event? Do I really have 8 more years left of this to make sure they all get a turn?

That is all I have for you right now. Just a quickie. I am sure I will be posting some baby info tomorrow. Till then, feast your eyes on this cutie pie (the little one - not my brother):

It's not easy being green

2007-09-01T07:21:00.000-05:00

For one of our in-service days last week, our entire faculty took a personality test. Our principal wanted us to learn more about ourselves and each other, so that we can better relate. It was a short little quiz where we ranked our perceptions of ourselves in reference to a list of adjectives. There were four possible "colors" or personalities that this test delineated, and we had four long tables with colored cloths on them. As we determined our dominant color, we were to go to our matching table.

I figured there would be about a quarter of the faculty at each table, and I was eager to see who was "like me," so I hurried over to the green table.

Whoops.

No one is like me.

Well, actually, out of 100 faculty, two other people are like me.

The three of us huddled at our table as we watched the gold table overflow and come borrow chairs from us. We watched the "normal-sized" groups of blue and orange find camaraderie in their likenesses. I looked at the two people that sat with me, and realized that I didn't know them at all, and couldn't think what we could possibly have in common.

Because our group was so tiny, the lecturer decided to tell everyone about us first.

Here is what I learned about me:

Only 5% of the population is "green" and of those, 95% are men. I have a man personality. We are very misunderstood our whole lives. We are labeled as unfriendly and snobbish. Most people think we are self-absorbed, but we are usually consumed with the problems of the day. Our minds do not relax. We don't like frivolous stuff - no romantic movies, no silly games or pretentious conversation. If you have something to say to me, you better just say it and not waste my time. We like to be in control, and we don't work well with others. We like research-based facts, and we spend a lot of time absorbing knowledge from our surroundings.

Wow! That is pretty harsh! Self-absorbed? Unfriendly?

People came up to me afterwards and actually said "I understand you so much better now!" and "I have always thought you didn't like me! But you are just too busy thinking to be nice!"

It was a fun game that we played, and it was fun to see who went in what category - the highly social oranges, the organized and meticulous golds, and the tree-hugging blues. Oh, and the misunderstood, controlling, nerds of green.

Sigh.

Well, now you know.

Hypothetical

2007-08-22T06:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever realized halfway through the day that your underwear was on inside out? What do you do about it? Just leave it? Pray that no one has occasion to learn that you cannot dress yourself appropriately?

It hasn't ever happened to me. I just wondered.

A new pack of markers

2007-08-13T20:04:00.000-05:00

School is right around the corner, and I am giddy!

I absolutely love the start of school. I know that is very nerdy, but you really couldn't expect less from me, right? Today, Daniel, Dillon and I went to my school to arrange my furniture and get some things ready.

Sadly, I am such a meticulous, organized person that everything was where it needed to be in about 30 minutes. I didn't quite get the buzz I was looking for that comes from a hard day at work in the classroom, but it was a start.

This year is going to be really different from last year. First of all, I am going from five kids to nine! My kids' labels (I KNOW! I hate to call it that, but I am just trying to give you a rough idea, here!) range from autism, to behavior disorders, to visual impairment, to a very vague "learning disability." And several kids exhibit combinations of the above!

Four of last years kids are back, and I am really eager to see them.

Special education is so rewarding. I cannot imagine going back to general education after the experiences that I have had.

I hope my kiddos are excited, too! New haircuts, new shoes, new (maternity, for me!) clothes, new markers, and a clean slate - I can't wait!

Point taken

2007-08-10T08:43:00.000-05:00

I know I rant about it a lot, but it seems like laundry is exploding out of my ears here at the Johnson House. Dillon and I wear normal amounts of clothing, but Daniel, in one day, can wear as many as three pairs of jeans/BDUs, three shirts, and three pairs of socks and underwear. Actually, he doesn't have a choice at all, but it still drives me crazy!

This morning I was "fluffing" up a load of jeans before I pulled them out of the dryer. The buttons and snaps were clinking louder than usual on the dryer drum as it flipped them around. I pulled the door open to have a look and pulled the jeans out.

What did I find in the dryer?

HMMMMMM?????

How about a big, brassy, pointy, scary BULLET?????

Probably something you should not heat up and then toss violently in a spinning metal drum, don'tcha think? I don't know much about bullets, but I know enough to turn and run out of the laundry room.

And in the near future? I think the laundry will be piling up a bit as Daniel figures out how to sort and wash his own things.

Straight out of a tabloid

2007-08-08T08:19:00.001-05:00

So, we all know that truth is stranger than fiction, right?

Dillon has a wonderful teacher at school. She loves him, and he loves her. He cries when she leaves the room. She calls to ask about him when he is absent. Love.

She has been a part-time teacher in his classroom since January, and full-time since May. I see her every day. We converse. About Dillon, other kids, her life, my life, my pregnancy, etc.

She was absent last Monday, which was strange cause she never misses. I saw her mom on Tuesday morning, and she said, "I guess I should tell you why Angie missed work yesterday. We had a surprise Sunday night."

"Oh, yeah? What happened?" I asked, thinking that maybe they had a car accident, or there was a mysterious surprise visitor who came knocking at the door.

Nope.

"Um... Angie had a baby. She called me from the hospital cause she was in labor."

"WHA!???" I said, eloquently.

"Yeah. No one knew she was pregnant. Well, she knew, and her boyfriend knew, but she didn't tell anyone else. I sure didn't know!" her mom said.

Again, "WHA!???"

She never, ever, ever said a word. Even when I would drop Dillon off, claiming exhaustion from the first trimester. Even when seven toddlers wanted to sit on her lap all day.

I am over my shock now, and we are having a "Welcome" shower for her on Friday night. But still, that is officially the weirdest thing I have ever witnessed. Can you top that?

A meme for me

2007-07-27T12:18:00.000-05:00

March Day tagged me with this meme! I like to be tagged, cause I like to be picked for stuff. But being tagged doesn't mean I will do it. I believe in freedom of choice for things like this...

Here are my 8 random facts:

1. I recently had the best day of my life. After almost two years of saying "I love you!" to Dillon every day, every night at bedtime, and numerous times after scolding him (ha!) he put his hands on either side of my face and said "I loh LUU, mama!" He must have been practicing when I wasn't around!

2. I want to open a therapy center for kids with autism. We don't have one in our area, and I think it would do so well! I just need some money to start with - donations, anyone?

3. I got my first job at a grocery store when I was 16. I didn't even tell my parents at first, but it was kind of hard to explain six hours of absence every day after school!

4. When someone tries to erase with a pencil that has no eraser, and the metal part touches the paper and scrapes across it, I have a very physical reaction that causes me to retch and cough. I have never actually thrown up from that, but I have come close, so don't push it.

5. I love to be tan, but I won't go to a tanning bed, and I don't have time to be in the sun. Once I got a spray-on tan, but it was too orange, and too expensive. So I am resigned to paleness.

6. This summer, I am addicted to Ellen. She is so funny, without being mean. How can you not like her???

7. Yesterday, I spent six hours on the tile floor of a bathroom, holding a student on the toilet while we watched movies and read magazines. Everything "came out okay," and we count the venture as a success. Except that my tailbone is bruised.

8. No tattoos or extra piercings here, but I used to wear a toe-ring that my dad thought was the biggest disgrace EVER.

I am not tagging anyone, so I guess I am not playing correctly, but again, freedom of choice!!! Tell us some random stuff about YOU!

Beds in hell

2007-07-24T20:44:00.000-05:00

This has got to be the epitome of comfort - a real must-have for the posture-conscious among us.

Gadgets, again

2007-07-21T11:54:00.000-05:00

Me: You didn't tell me.

Him: Tell you what?

Me: *sigh* Before all this started, you didn't tell me about all the gadgets.

Him: Oh. But you should have known.

Me: How?

Him: Well, number one, I am a man. And number two, I am Asian.

************

We got a new car.

Okay, okay - not a "car." It is a mini-van. A mommy-mobile. It is the most gadgety thing you have ever seen. The doors all open and close by themselves, the seats fold down into nothing, there are compartments for everything under the sun. There is room for Dillon to have a step-stool to help him into his seat. There is room for Dillon to get a running start before flinging himself across the backseat and giggling like a maniac.

We love it. As hokey as it sounds, we are going from a compact VW to something with space! And built-in grocery bag hooks!

Daniel, the gadget-man, is enthralled. He is trying to come up with a name for it. Not just any name though. A name befitting the ultimate Transformer, because that is what he is telling himself this is, in order to still walk away feeling cool.

Any suggestions? Optimus Prime is taken.

Mounds of it!

2007-07-11T09:09:00.000-05:00

Guess what I am doing today?

C'mon, it isn't that hard. I actually do it every. single. day.

Give up? Okay, I am doing ... laundry!!!

I can never seem to get ahead when washing clothes. Never. Because people in my house keep wearing more clothes! Stop it! It is summertime! Too hot for clothes!

Daniel has actually taken to sabotaging my efforts to "finish" the laundry. He has a pile of clothes that he holds hostage in our room. These clothes are not quite dirty enough to put in the laundry ("NO! Those aren't dirty! I just wore them out to dinner!"), and if he has the opportunity to wear them again, he will. Hello? And he is keeping these clothes ON THE FLOOR???

Occasionally, he decides to release hostages. He usually only ever does this when the laundry baskets are looking suspiciously empty and he has an abundance of (real) clean clothes to choose from.

So all this laundry is never ending. Sometimes I just want to dump all the clothes out on the floor in a big pile, climb into a laundry basket, and cry my heart out.

But I guess I can leave that to Dillon.

Out of the mouths of babe's parents

2007-07-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

Dillon is becoming very aware of language around him. He usually won't try something the first time he hears it, but he practices by himself a few times before sharing it with others, usually with surprising articulation.

This could be disasterous.

Even little words like "stupid" or "crap" that sneak into everyday conversation would be so much uglier out of a toddler's mouth. I just don't think that is cute!

Daniel and I talked about it, and we decided to have a code word. The catch-all word is "bobo." Not "booboo," but "bobo."

Used like this:

"Look at that guy! He is driving like such a bobo!"

"I felt like such a bobo when I forgot her name!"

It has become rather hilarious around the house since putting the new rule in place. We usually end up cracking up at how dumb we sound saying such an elementary word. Saying "bobo" has become so automatic, that when I hear cuss words, I mentally replace them with some form of "bobo."

So far, Dillon hasn't picked up on it, but I figure that time's a'comin', and it should be way more fun than having to un-teach him "idiot."

Ants

2007-07-07T12:29:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I cleaned the kitchen. I moved everything off the counter, scrubbed the toaster, and wiped down the blinds. During my frenzy, I saw an ant struggling with its load as it headed across the window sill. I squinted and leaned in close.

It was carrying one of its own - a brother, curled and hardened from lack of life.

Sometimes the ant would struggle so hard with his load that he would turn over, kicking his feet furiously in the air until he righted himself again. Then he would pick up the dead ant, and soldier on, intent on getting to his destination.

I probably watched that ant for fifteen minutes, thinking of life's lessons that are visible all around us, even in the behaviors of an ant.

********

On another note, tragically, a friend's four-year-old son has been diagnosed with leukemia. This is their blog. Please include Gage in your prayers.

Advice

2007-07-05T08:34:00.000-05:00

We sometimes TiVo movies that come on HBO, just so we will have something to watch later, when nothing is on cause it is summertime.

If we record something, Daniel feels the compelling need to watch it before it is erased, even if something better comes along. And we both hold out eternal hope that the movie is always going to get better, up until ten seconds before the credits.

Which explains how we managed to sit through Bill Murray in Broken Flowers. What IS this? You have got to be kidding me. Surely there is someone I can write to to request two hours of my life back.

So if you get the "opportunity" to watch this, pass it up. Take a nap instead.

For all my "fans"...

2007-06-27T14:19:00.000-05:00

I have gotten some subtle and not-so-subtle hints about my blog lately. It has been called things like "lame" and "boring."

Well, excuse me for being slightly busy this summer! I am working a couple of (very) part-time jobs. I am entertaining my son when he isn't at school. I am cleaning my house, room by room, and getting ready for The Garage Sale of the Century. I have been to the dentist myself, which is, in itself, blogworthy. I have been to the girly-doctor more times than I want to think about. And that leads to my final excuse:

I am, yet again, growing a baby in this belly o' mine. This time you won't get all the cute pictures of my growing midsection. You will just have to look back to see how it was about two and a half years ago. Yes, that is what I said. TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO!

Are we ready for this again? I sure hope so!

Oh, man!

2007-06-21T09:27:00.000-05:00

These people take the fun out of everything!

My mood? Lazy

2007-06-10T20:05:00.000-05:00

Who tagged me? March Day

Who am I tagging? Jemmers

Who else? you!

Here is how it goes. If you get tagged, answer the following questions with just one word. Here are my answers:

1. Where is your cell phone? countertop

2. Relationship? married

3. Your hair? brownish

4. Work? teacher

5. Your sister? Jenn

6. Your favorite thing? Dillon

7. Your dream last night? bread

8. Your favorite drink? margarita

9. Your dream car? large

10. The room you're in? computer

11. Your shoes? off

12. Your fears? losing

13. What do you want to be in 10 years? content

14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? girls

15. What are you not good at? moods

16. Muffin? blueberry

17. One of your wish list items? pool

18. Where you grew up? Texas

19. Last thing you did? email

20. What are you wearing? shorts

21. What aren't you wearing? earrings

22. Your pet? dog

23. Your computer? friend

24. Your life? beyond

25. Your mood? grateful

26. Missing? groceries

27. What are you thinking about right now? words

28. Your car? miniature

29. Your kitchen? messy

30. Your summer? nap-py

31. Your favorite color? black

32. Last time you laughed? today

33. Last time you cried? today

34. School? always

35. Love? milkshakes

Conversation

2007-06-02T07:08:00.000-05:00

Big D: Hey, baby - where is my toothbrush?

Me: (busy playing on the internet) What? I don't know. Why would I know? It is your toothbrush!

Big D: Well, I didn't move it, so it must have been you or Dillon.

Me: Well, it wasn't me. And it wasn't Dillon. I watch him all the time! I know when he gets into stuff. He has only ever messed with the toothbrush drawer one time!

Big D: Okaaaay. (Said in a smarmy voice that let me know he doesn't believe me.) I'll get a new one.

Seconds pass...

Big D: Hey, baby?

Me: What?

Big D: Are these your wedding rings over here on the floor with his puzzles?

I look at the computer desk right in front of me and discover that, yes, my rings are missing.

Me: Uh. I guess. Maybe.