The grass is always greener

Fair warning, this is a post about bras.



Don't say I didn't warn you.


When I look back at the bony, flat chested girl I used to be, I envy her. But when I happened to BE her, I wanted to have bigger ta ta's. It just seemed like it would be better. WRONG.

Back in the day, I could have easily rolled out of bed, noticed there was no clean laundry and made it through the day without a second thought. No one was going to notice.

These days, no clean laundry incites panic, a search for duct tape, elastic, and cardboard to fashion an emergency replacement. (Not a great one, either.)

So today, after taking the measurements meant to ensure a great fit, I realized I had been wearing the wrong size. So wrong. That means shopping, which is a dreaded, evil enterprise. I took every version of my new true size into that dressing room. I looked on in horror as I realized people actually wear these things AND pay over $30 for them. What the heck. There is also a humbling effect to being trapped in a bra. There is no help to be had then.

After the futile trip, I sat in my car to think.

I have options:
A) surgical removal--- a bit risky, expensive, permanent.
B) go hippie--- I have always aspired to be more hippie than I am. But what if I have to run?
C)a membership to the Y--- my husbands suggestion, not appreciated I might add.
D) keep looking for the magical, mythical, perfect fitting bra

So many wasted years wishing for these things. Maybe I can put them on Ebay.

Mrs. Roboto

I've been thinking alot lately about my emotional demeanor. Dealing with parents in the midst of personal crisis has made me realize how I could appear to the public at large. Recently, a friend of mine described me as a laid back person. I can dig that. It's nice to know. But when things get deep, I seem to have no levels. I either chuckle a really fake chuckle or get the flat expression of a mannequin.

Don't get me wrong, I have the emotions. They just don't translate well. Tears for instance don't show up when it would seem to be appropriate. I feel empathy, sadness, fear, and any other thing that might cause them. They just don't make it to my eyes.

This would lead some to believe that my face is not a window to my soul. OH, but how incorrect that would be. I have a very readable face when it comes to surprise, disgust, confusion, embarassment. Lighter, less emotional things.

My droid alter ego only takes over for the serious stuff. So if you tell me something and I don't seem to be responding in the most sympathetic manner, I swear I get it, I feel it. It's just that I have a broken nuclear punooter valve. :0)

Hubba Bubba

For those who are curious, I had some more tests today. But none of the answers will be shared until the end of this month. When I have them, I will share them.



In the meantime, I need to talk to you about a recurring dream. I've had it several times a month for the last few years. Here is how it starts;



I am doing something mundane. It seems like a good idea to chew some gum. (As a child, I would chew several packs at one time. Greedy, that's me). So, I chew my gum and after a while it either loses its taste or becomes really hard to chew. Seems like a good time to get rid of it, so I try to spit it out. It won't come out. I have to dig chunks of chewing gum out, but there is always more there. Then I wake up.



What do you make of this nonsense?

Trip to the Safari Park

FAME (as pronounce by David Bowie)

Imagine my joy when I returned home from our trip to find an email from Mr. Chinchilla.

He chose me as his first interview for his new blog. YEAH!

You can find that interview right here http://mrchinchilla.blogspot.com/!

One day I will be cool enough to link it with a word or something.

Anyway, this interview started my mind-a-thinkin'. Why do I like blogging so much?

Mostly, I enjoy putting down thoughts that would otherwise escape my brain soon. It will help later in life, when I am trying to show my kids that I actually did stuff that was smart and caring. ISH. But an added bonus is the fame. Not Inside Edition or Entertainment Tonight kind of fame. This kind of blogger fame comes from spilling out whatever is on my mind and someone, somewhere bothering to read it and maybe care.

I know that my blog won't be widely read worldround, but it COULD be. I may get four hits a year or a thousand in one day. The fact that someone on another continent might find my words funny, emotional, smart, goofy, etc... makes me happy. They don't have to leave comments, they may never link to me, I may never cross their minds again. I love that I am able to enlarge the circle of people who are exposed to my thoughts. That is really great.

So read my interview with Mr. Chincilla. Just do it. Thanks.

Confessions of a wannabe

Ecclectic is what I like to call my musical taste. I enjoy all types of music. But I have a confession to make--- I was a Yanni fan. So much so, that I was even tempted to feel a little superior about my musical preferences. I secretly even enjoy a little of it to this day. (Although a little does go a very long way.)

I have been trying to wean myself and the children away from hours of staring at our little idiot box in the living room. Our programming with the dish provides us with some really great XM radio stations that play various decades of music.

The other day, we jammed while made Daniel dance like a puppet. We ranged up and down the years like "the Voyagers" from the '80's. (That reference would be much cooler if I could figure out how to link to things without the huge hyperlink.)

But the day came to a screeching halt after I was able to sing all the words to an undisclosed Bell Biv Devoe song using Daniel's foot as a microphone. I felt that Daniel didn't appreciate the genre when he passed gas and fell into a fit of giggles.

Now we watch "Wow, Wow Wubbzy" with slack jaws and the slightest trace of drool upon our countenance.

SIGH

Just A Swingin'

Many years ago, my family ate at a restaurant with one of those mini-jukeboxes at the tables. My brother and I begged many quarters from our parents and played Jon Anderson's "Just a Swingin' " over and over. It still makes me giggle.

Here is the new SWANG in our backyard.

I'm Right, You're Wrong, Just ask the cat

Not only are the newest additions to our household the cutest things ever, but they help me win arguments.

Since Desmond likes to watch the cursor on the computer screen, I can lead my witness very easily. Just this evening we discussed who he loved more. It was decided with ample conviction that I was the most beloved in the house. We also determined that I was the most slender, the smartest, and the most attractive.

Feel free to email my kittens with questions ( preferrably ones that can easily be answered yes/no, but we are willing to delve into the deeper topics if necessary.)

Now, Desmond wholeheartedly believes that I should have that second bowl of ice cream. He agrees that calories don't exist unless you bother to pay attention. Amen, Desmond, amen.

I am so bored

I left out one of the funnier pieces of my medical trip in the last blog.

Because I have a lower blood pressure, the doctor suggested that I ingest more salt. This was the same thing the doctor told me ten years ago. I was in the hospital and was eating Long John's fish. I tried to hide it when she came in and she said" No. You need to eat more of that!"

JOY!

But ingesting more salt could prove to be difficut (and yes I hear the sighs and grunts from the high blood pressure crowd who would kill for a grain of salt). The problem lies in the current amount of salt I take in.I mentioned to the doctor that the only feasible way for me to get more salt in my diet would be to install a salt lick in my living room. Being a nice and funny doctor, he laughed and suggested that I also duct tape a gerbil bottle to my head to help remind me to drink more water.

In other news, here are photos of my wee pups on a treasure hunt with their daddy.

medical mumbo jumbo

Some of you may know that I have been seeing the doctor about some recurring UTI's and was sent for a test to determine if I may have diabetes.

Good news! My glucose levels were absolutely normal. Now that this scenario has been eliminated, we move on to more sophisticated tests (renal ultrasound and dye in my kidneys) to really figure this thing out. I am not concerned about what the root of the problem is. I'd like to think that I would know if there was something seriously wrong in my own body. But the tests have been scheduled for August 14th and I would rather not have people poking things hither and yon then. Being the realist that I am, however, I will not reschedule, since the chances of getting the tests on the same day or even in the same month are slim. Smile and wave, boys, just smile and wave.

Our old doctor moved away with his wife and new baby, so I have been rehashing my medical history with our new doctor. He is very nice and willing to give me explanations of things I don't quite grasp (frankly all medical jargon). Because of some palpitations I have been experiencing, I had to let him in on my previously diagnosed heart murmur (mitral valve prolapse) and spells of passing out (due to low blood pressure). He asked if the palpitations felt like my heart was racing. With my great and highly refined descriptive skills I explained that it feels more like a "blub" and then a little light headedness. For these symptoms, I have been scheduled to wear the ever glamorous and totally fashionable halter monitor. An echocardiogram will also give some insight to this cold heart of mine.

Looking at this post, I fear it narcissistic and I apologize. But it is my blog and I have nothing else to report :0).

I will keep you abreast of any new developments. You bunch of sillies.

Similarities

I received an email today listing the things would be memorable for me as a child of the '80's. It started wheels turning in my little mind.

I started to remember the fights between my brother and I over what to watch. Would it be Dukes of Hazzard or Buck Rogers? It often resulted in fisticuffs.

One of the things that just fell out of my train of thought was Ed Grimley. Does anyone else remember Ed? He was the very odd character that Martin Short portrayed on television for a while. There was even an animated version.

Now, while I was thinking about it, it started to dawn on me that he reminded me of someone. Several hours passed before I could nail down exactly who. I am here to report that it is Daniel. My own flesh and blood.

Anyone else? Maybe? Ok, I must say.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-7345112586069731677&q=ed+grimley&total=26&start=10&num=10&so=0&type=search&plindex=5

Super yum (except different)

This is being released as an item to recognize the 30 year anniversary of Elvis's demise.

Super yum---but not.

http://candyaddict.com/blog/2007/06/11/candy-review-reeses-elvis-cup-with-peanut-butter-and-banana-creme/

Party Aftermath

So while we know that birthdays are not all about the presents, these kids still hauled in the loot. We appreciate everyone coming out to celebrate with us and thank them for all of the wonderful gifts. We have tremendous amounts of sugary cake and cupcakes that we will be secretly giving your children in place of their vegetables and proteins! :0)

For those of you who know what a crazy priss pot my sweet potato girl is, the following picture will illustrate her need and appreciation for all that is pink and glam!

BEHOLD,

Why we have birthdays

On our way back from Walmart this evening, Daniel was asking me why we were having his party on his actual birthday instead of the weekend. I was explaining that since we live further from his grandparents and his friends are the ones coming to the party, it was ok to have it during the week. He interrupted me several times to find out if he was still going to get presents if the grandparents weren't there. I said "Yes, but....

the reason we have birthday parties isn't to get presents. We have a party every year to celebrate the day you became our son. We get to have a good time and be happy that you were born, into our family, and that we have been together for another year."

His eyes started to tear up and I thought "Good grief, here we go. Another tantrum."

Instead, he said, "That is so sweet. I always appreciate that they are (his guests) just there. I love you."

Hear that? It's my cold heart melting. Literally---total puddle.

As we rounded the corner, we passed the local ice cream parlor. There was a father outside with two girls (infant and a little younger than Daniel). He carried his beautiful baby in one arm and cradled the back of his older daughters head in his hand as he steered her gently to the car. GULP, SOB, HICCUP.

As caught up in the day to day grind and irritation of raising my kids as I can be, I am officially taking the next few minutes to remember how desperately each of them was wanted. How happily all of them were welcomed into the world and my heart. No video ever captured the secret moments alone with them, when they were fresh and new, that I smelled their baby breath, their sweet necks. But I don't need a visual reminder of how just their little sighs made my heart swell with more love than I ever thought I was capable of. And to think that this endless love could multiply three times over is remarkable.

Below is my birthday boy. Happy Birthday Daniel!

Daniel's first birthday card this year

Passage of Time

I had intended to do a blog that included pictures. But here I am, trapped in my room by a screaming three year old. So I will try to convey in words what I wanted to share with photos. Then I will add them later.

Over the course of this project I am working on for my grandmother there have been many surprises. I have been able to associate faces with names I have heard all of my life but never had any meaning to me. I have been able to peer into the past of my family and get a glimpse of what things were like.

The thing that has struck me the most though is the way time sneaks up on us. I was going through pictures and came upon one of my great grandfather Charlie Holliday. My memories of this man are sweet. He always smelled good and was loveable and proud. He was always old to me, but not in that frail sort of way some older people are. This was my memory. The picture was in his last years, when he was ill and barely able to move. He was in a hospital bed in the dining room of his home and his great grandson Jacob was looking over the railing at him. There was a physical sensation looking at this picture. Mere moments before, I had held a photo of him with his twin brothers as young men. They looked vibrant and full of life.

I think the family I was born into ages rather well. Maybe that is why it surprises me when they start to look their age or even old. My father's pictures were among those that I have been looking at. Seeing him as a little kids, a soldier, a new father, are all images I can deal with. Those even make me smile. Knowing that one day, if we are lucky enough to live long full lives, we will both be shadows of our younger days makes me sad. There is no avoiding it. Would we really want to?

I cannot even imagine what my children will be like at my age. Or my grandmothers age. Or what their children's children will think of our generation.


So as I ponder all this deep stuff I will try to savor my present, not dwell on my past or my future. I will do my best not to wish for those paths left untaken. I will do my best to pass on what I know and still be aware that a century from now it may be as though I never existed.

I hope this makes sense to someone besides myself.

Speaking with authority

This morning Ted slept in. It is the first day back to work and he was dreading it after a week's vacation. Around nine o'clock, Aurelia and I went upstairs to clean up and she climbed on the bed with Daddy.

She had a thin plastic stick (like a pick up stick) and was poking him as he slept. He started to get up. She held out her hand, pushed him back down, struck a pose and said, " It's ok. I am a doctor. You need to go hospital and get operations. We put stitches in your hand." Then she resumed poking him. He didn't seem to appreciate my contribution---that the surgery may just be lyposuction.


After he left for work I made dinner. We are trying to get back into our habit of eating at home. So after the kids and I ate, I packed up his dinner and we drove over to his office. Daniel insisted he be able to roll down the rear van window so he could talk to his Daddy. This consisted of some rather rude noises and nonsense. Finally, he reached out to hug Ted. I said, " Kiss him. Kiss him." Daniel gave me the stare and said quite bluntly, " That is SO unnecessary."

Ok then.

Kings Island

An additional comment about our trip.

We were in Coney Mall and I saw one of the barkers who will guess your age, weight, or birth month within two years, pounds, or months. I thought why not, the worst that could happen is my ego could be crushed.

I walked up and handed my $5 to the guy. He wrote his guess (my age) down and then asked for the correct answer. I told him 32-------------

HE GUESSED 17!!!!

Now realistically, I know he is probably around that age and inexperienced in the world of guesses. It probably helped my cause that I asked my own mother for the money right before his guess. But nevertheless, his guess was FIFTEEN years lower than my actual age!!!

That is a personal memory I will tuck right here and take out every so often and giggle about.

AND YOU CAN"T TAKE THAT AWAY, SO DON"T EVEN TRY!!

:0)

Trippy

This past weekend was a semi-vacation to King's Island in OH with my mother, cousin, myself, and my two older children. These are some of the pros and cons that came with the trip.

Pro....

Aurelia was left with her daddy.

Con...

Aurelia was left with her daddy.

Pro...

She advanced her potty training exponentially while we were gone. There were multiple incidents of self initiated trips to the potty!! Yippee.

Con...

Our oldest was a snot bucket. What do you have to do to get a thank you or a semi kind word from a teenager these days?

Pro...

My highly strung younger son was discovered to be a thrill seeker. He exclaimed how AWESOME many of the adult rides were and wasn't even a little scared.

Con..

He wanted me to ride them too. UGH

Pro..

Got to spend some time with my mom.

Con...

Mom hates parental/child conflict (and there was no shortage.)

Overall, decent trip. A repeat next year? Not so much.

Summer Photo Post

News on the homefront

I love having my plate piled high. One project simply isn't enough for this stellar underachiever.

In the midst of the BIG photo book project, I have taken on a video CD for my Dad of his most recent 517 photos of his cross country trip with my mom and his cousins. That is fast becoming the slowest project in history (due to the file size of the pics).

Since school starts soon, it is also necessary to get cracking on the potty training. The first diaper free day went well. NO ACCIDENTS!! Yesterday was a little less successful after the deposit of urine in a couple of corners. But we are staying positive and focused.... sort of.

As a reward/incentive (Mommy indulgence), we welcomed two beautiful kittens into our family this week. They are brother/sister buff colored sweeties. Much debate was had over their naming, but this morning it was made permanent. They are now Desmond and Molly Kitty. (Other names in the running were Sugar and Spice, Bread & Butter, Benny & Joon, and Cornbread & Tatertots.)

I will be wrapping up my first case with CASA soon. I must say it was challenging and rewarding. I was glad to have met all of the people involved. Now I must prepare myself to let these children out of my mind and focus on the next case. I believe that will be the hardest thing in the future. Transition.

In the meantime, I ask all who enter my home to alert me to any odors I may not be noticing. New kittens and a potty training 3 year old distract a person. Thanks in advance.

Have a great day and happy blogging!

things that make you go HMMM?!

The sorting done, I have delved into the task of scanning the photos into my computer. This job is tedious and better suited for a trained monkey. But two of the pictures have grabbed my attention and I would like to share them with you blog readers.

The first one is of a little boy. His expression is somewhat unhappy to say the least. When I first saw it, I thought to myself, he is having a bad day. But I am sorry to report that all of his pictures turn out that way. I am not revealing his name just in case.

He is one toddler SERIOUSLY in need of a cookie.

The second picture illustrates to me the sheer lunacy of mortality. Perhaps we are concerned with the legacy we leave behind. Maybe we care about enjoying our lives while they are here to enjoy. Whatever the case, this man, was once someone's son. I apologize in advance, but the distance of time and never having known this person lends a slight bit of humor to the off the wall tidbit on the back of his picture,

The caption simply states his name and "Died in a bread mixer."

Now, death is never funny. But surely there was some other life event that could have made it onto the back of a photograph as a descriptive marker for this suave gentleman.

I hear the scanner warming up. I guess I had better eat my banana and get back to work.

Book of memories

Over the years I have tackled big projects. I have learned to crochet the basics from a book over a weekend. I have organized my dad's first ever birthday party. One year all of our Christmas cards (over 300) were addressed and stamped in JULY. I try to finish my seasonal shopping before the first frost. But this is the BIGGEST project I have ever tackled.

You can't tell by my current house status, but I used to reorganize my mothers kitchen. I used to clean my granma's house every weekend. Now I organize in my head and leave it there. But my grandmother and her new husband are moving. That gives me the prime opportunity to lay my hands on all of her pictures under the premise of compiling a book of memories.

Initially, I just sorted everything into black and white and color photos. Now a more complete thought is forming about sections of the book: portraits, weddings, babies, family photos, candids. But my grandmother has thousands of pictures. Not to mention the duplicates. So if you don't see me for awhile or if I look a little ragged, it is because I am undertaking the task of my life. Thank you for your patience.

Got Camp?

I am the queen of camp. My oldest has been signed up for five camps this summer. The middle one had a week of camp. I wanna know when they will sign Aurelia up for camp.

The great thing about camps for the older one is that some are free. Others are not, but still relatively cheap. There was only one fairly expensive one. But on average, we are getting five weeks of him being fed, bathed, and entertained for a fraction of what we could do it for here.

I mean have you seen the kid eat?

Mixed Mommy

My recent volunteer work has been a mixed bag of blessings.

I have had the opportunity to get out and take action about things that gnaw at my soul. I have been able to see firsthand how important my being able to stay home and take care of my own three kids is. Feeling like I am making any difference while being able to balance it with them is wonderful.

The different thoughts come out when I realize that I don't enjoy playing. When I say that out loud, it sounds like I don't enjoy my children. What I don't enjoy is the actual playing part (watching cartoons, dress up, park playing, pretend games). I didn't enjoy group play as a child. I don't like the outdoors unless I am alone or with sedate group on a mild day. What I do enjoy is the joy my children have when I do those things with them. As much as I personally dislike the activities, knowing that when they grow up they can hold on to memories of us together doing things they liked to do makes me happy.

Then I begin to think of the time that I will be released from this obligation. When cartoons and tea parties and endless conversations about non existent people will be a thing of the past. The part where my life becomes mostly my own again. I long for it and I dread it simultaneously. It will mean my babies don't need that part of me anymore. I will miss them. We will have different relationships and they will grow away from me in ways that will break me. But they will grow. And I will remember how I smelled their hair, marveled at the chunk and smooth of their baby cheek, kissed away boo-boo's, fixed broken toys, mended wounded feelings, explained new things. Maybe they will remember some of it too.

When they fly the nest, I will be beyond ready to pursue a career. I worked before the kids, but never enjoyed my jobs. I had moments in most all of the jobs I held that were enjoyable, but I wasn't making a difference or doing anything I felt important about. I let my mind wander to saying things like "I have to go to a conference." "I'll be away on a business trip that week." "I'll check my calendar, but my secretary will know for sure." Adultish, career-like sentences that don't include references to bowel movements, boogers, imaginary friends. I will enjoy the wide variety of positions that are available with my chosen path. I will savor every moment. But I will know in my heart that this job I have now, the one that tires me out, that really sticks it to me, is the one that defines me. I won't have a retirement party, no goodbye cake, it will just fade into a new part of our life. I'll be free as I weep with joy/sadness.

Am I the only one?

AQUATARD

After having a hysterectomy and not being in the best of shape to begin with, I thought I would give a different kind of swimsuit a try. I had heard a celebrity refer to http://www.junonia.com/ where active ladies over size 14 can by clothing.

I located a suit called an Aquatard. My initial thought was I could turn it into my superhero name and it would be so fitting. Then I noted the wonderful concealing qualities of the suit. It was even in my price range (for their purple 1x, only).

I sent away for the suit and went about my merry way. When it arrived on the UPS truck, I was giddy. Ted was home and I decided to try it on and ask his opinion. I could not get this suit designed for active ladies over size 14 that should have fit come up past my knees. I knew it should be snug, but if that bad boy ever had to be put on or taken off wet there were going to be paramedics involved.

Luckily, I thought ahead and knew their return policy. I packed it on up and sent that thing back.

Now for the visual......

Lighter moments

I have three unrelated stories of varying humor.

1. Over this past year, I have received numerous thank you cards, notices, and invitations from actual teachers with fairly common words that are misspelled. The most recent was the word definitely. Spelled definately. I have even gone so far as to correct a teachers spelling on the dry erase board in my son's first grade class. I could not help myself. But I still have to give the teachers their props. I haven't got the patience to deal with the little creatures. And I would be teaching them new words that would offend no matter how they were spelled.

2. On a trip to Bob Evans with my mother a while back we fought over the check as usual. My mother is notorious for snapping bones in the wrestle for a bill. Like a meal at Bob's is going to bankrupt whoever she is with. She won that round and traipsed her gloating heiny right up to the cashier. She placed the bill and $21 on the counter. The woman just looked at her expectantly. Mom looked back at her quizzically. Mom was waiting for her receipt and the cashier was waiting for the rest of the bill. My poor mother had given quite a tip, the only problem was she was paying the time stamp on the bill. (It is recorded in military time and was something like $18.26). We laughed so hard in the car that adult diapers were needed.

3. My recent volunteer work has led me to some mentoring opportunities with teens. A local bus driver was already doing some of this work and brought me in under his wing. On my first day, I was winding down a session with three girls. The man popped in to say it was time for them to change classes. The dark haired girl in the trio said she had to do a report on Harriet Tubman, so I piped up and offered my tidbit of knowledge. "Maybe I can help you get some extra credit. I happen to know that Harriet Tubman was narcoleptic. She was struck in the head with a weight by a former owner when she was a child." The girl stared at me blankly. The blonde on her right said after a moment,"Does that mean she steals stuff?" I explained that no, she didn't steal things. She would fall asleep at awkward and unpredictable times. Then the girl on the far right said "I wonder if she fell asleep on the road?"

The bus driver said without a flicker of humor "Nah, if she was that bad off, they wouldn'ta give her a drivers license."

No one in that room registered even the most remote flicker of knowing how wrong that was. Harriet Freaking Tubman?! The Underground Railroad?! Really, noone. Are you serious?

Alrighty then!

Sobering Moments

Finding out your well-liked physician is leaving the state to start a practice fifty miles away.

Discovering your pregnant, close enough to your own height friend is still 31 pounds lighter than you are.

Having to tell your husband that the surgery induced lovefest injunction that was lifted less than a week ago will have to be reinstated because I am a UTI wonderland.

When people you love pass away and you can't remember when you last saw them.

Bleeping piece of junk

I have been absent from the blogging scene for a few weeks now. It seems that I will have to use the laptop for anything that requires not being a bleeping piece of junk. I have been reading everyone's blogs and must say you are all very humorous.

But today I must relate my son Daniel's view of the world.....

He has been pretty dreamy with his speech lately. He just kind of lets sentences out in an ethereal breath. But that doesn't mean they make a lot of sense.

Last night he was talking breathily about my homemade chocolate chip cookies. I said I would make some and send them to his class on Monday. He looked lovingly at me and declared,"I knew you were thinking about us. Me and my whole classmates." Sigh.

At bathtime, I was washing him and he asked why I wasn't washing his face. Normally his father washes him like he's possessed and with a mission. I told him I had already washed his face, just gently. He breathed, "I love you more than daddy washes dishes." Um, ok. Then with even more rapture he declared,"I love you even more than you do the dishes." Yup, gotcha. Just dry off

Then he said, " I know how they washed dishes in the 1970's. They had to use a sponge to wash it off and then they put it in the water to dry. Can I wash dishes sometime like they did in the 1970's?" (With puppy eyes and true desire)

Of course, Daniel. Of course.

Mother's Day

My youngest son clearly has issues.

The book he gave me for Mother's Day had question starters that he finished.
For example:

I wonder if... she loves me more than my brother.

I wonder how... she knows what I am doing, like playing Pokemon with Cory.

I wonder when... she will pick me up from school.

And later in the day this conversation took place:

Daniel: I think Dad needs the code for the computer.

Me: Nope. He already knows it.

Daniel: Tell me what it is.

Me: Nope. It's just for grown ups. Ask me when you're forty.

Daniel (son of my loins who was comforted by my loving arms and nourished at my bosom):
When I'm forty you'll already be dead.

So apparently, you should all get your visits in now.
Night all
Heather

The Nature of Things

Rest In Peace
Hamstey/Lenny (the hamster)
July 2005-May 5, 2007

My mother is a saint and has taken all of our children to her home for the weekend. I will have to discover a way to force her to accept a token of appreciation because she just keeps throwing my money back at me.

While our children are gone, Ted and I have driven around in our Super Beetle and just hung out. We have sung old songs and laughed at silly roadside junk.

We passed the cemetery and I asked Ted to pull over. I haven't seen the man who had an oxygen tank there for some time and I have been meaning to check the grave. I learned their names and felt better to see his side of the plaque is not yet engraved with an expiration date.

Before we left for the evening, my husband went to clean the hamster cage. Unfortunately, the poor dear was DOA. An appropriate burial spot was selected and he was interred in the backyard, behind the garage.

Many of you will remember that the moving on of our family dog was not noticed for a VERY long time. Our current plan is to wait until a question is posed to us by Daniel. Then and only then will we be forced to discuss the passing of Hamstey/Lenny.

Maybe it was part of the pet food recall. Maybe it was the unexplained name change halfway through his life. Maybe it was his giant hamster hemorrhoids. Goodbye, Hamstey/Lenny. I will miss your squeaky wheel and your smelly smell.

Night all
Heather

Comedic Relief

Some of the strange quotes from the last narcotic induced week:

Heather to Ted(completely out of the blue, post op): I used your toothbrush! Hahahahahahah.


Heather to every living soul including the maintenance crew at Cabell Huntington to enter her hospital room no matter what hour (in an effort to appear with it and alert):
Good morning! How are you? I am fine. Ok, have a great day!

Heather to nutritionist: I had Jello last night.
Nutritionist: Oh! Well you can move to solid liquids, i.e, oatmeal.
Heather: Um, I'll take the Jello. Thanks anyway.


For anyone who wants a bit of humor, slip Heather any form of narcotic and you will see what a cheap drunk she is. And weird too!

She's back!!!

So there is no need to enforce my living blog will. I survived.

Apparently there was a little extra blood loss and a hard time with some stitches, but I woke up!

Yippee!

I was discharged Tuesday by 3:30pm. Wild, but true. You can have virtually any surgery these days and be out in half an hour.

I have had my first shower and feel a little less greasy. Note to anyone who is interested: Don't take it upon yourself to view your incision. Especially if you are already feeling good. It just makes you a little queasy.

Thank you all for your well wishes and kind words.
Now get back to being mean or go away... LOL
Love
Heather

best game ever

Just ignore my huge heinie!

I should have been a Boy Scout

My motto is always be prepared.

At least when it comes to things involving anesthesia and the potential (I stress only potential) of meeting ones maker.

As such, I have decided I must relay to all of you exactly how to handle my demise. (I am so not a control freak :0)

First off, believe me when I say I am not planning on checking out of this earthly plain anytime soon. But then again, we all know how these things just aren't quite up to us. So rest assured that I am not afraid of the great beyond. While I may qualify as a heathen in many views, I am confident that the higher powers are benevolent and caring. I have no fear (other than your basic mild fear of the unknown) about my soul.

Secondly, I love life and life has loved me. I have made wonderful friends, married a tender and kind man, and given birth to the most beautiful children on earth. I wouldn't change anything (and I mean ANYTHING). I wouldn't be happy and where I am if life hadn't thrown me a curveball now and again. So if you ever felt I was angry with you or that I hadn't formally forgiven you of something be at peace that I have.
In that vein, I would like to know that those I have offended have forgiven me. I extend my apologies to those who have been on the wrong end of my bad moods and ill tempers.

As far as my earthly remains, I would expect my usable parts to be distributed to people who could use them. Whatever is left over, just cremate and spread. Please, oh please, don't let Ted stick me on the mantel. He already vetoed my wish to be taxidermied with hinged knees and a bobble head, so I could rock on the porch and wave to passersby. The nerve.

He is only allowed to have a memorial service if it is to save his sanity. But, to help ease him through the stages of grief, the only songs I wish to have played are "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" by Gayla Peavey and "You Lie and Yo' Breath Stank" by the Infectious Grooves. No mournful hymns and no sad ballads. If you must cry, cry with laughter at memories of my goofy life. PLEASE. I BEG YOU.

Ted will have plenty of memories of me. He and Cory will be able to picture me in their mind years from now if necessary, but the little ones will need to see my face. Show them. Help all three of my babies remember my laugh and not my bark. Help them remember how much I loved them, instead of how often I was angry. But if you see them doing stuff I wouldn't have let them do, jerk a knot in their tail.

Now, if I am able, I will try to communicate from the beyond.
You will recognize the following as signs of such:
1. Cans of Campbells soup appearing in your pillowcase
2. Being goosed by unseen hands
3. Your small children telling you "That lady says I am so cute she wants to eat me!" when no one is around.
4. Getting annoying, little known songs stuck in your head for days!
5. All of your chocolate disappears under mysterious circumstances.

So, now you all know how things should proceed, IF I should go. But I wouldn't count on it happening anytime to soon. I kinda like hanging around here and getting my feathers ruffled by each and every one of you. Besides, I have years of aggravating left in me to get out.

LOVE
Heather

She flung poo

My daughter is a self-confident, assertive, grab the world by the balls kind of righteous chick.

This is what I tell myself so I don't think negative thoughts ALL the time. :0)

In the past weeks, we have had a steady deterioration of our much welcomed good nights sleep. Our sweet little pumpkin face has destroyed all hope of a normal human baby gate being enough to contain her to her room for the purpose of rest. She hurdled a chest high gate without so much as a thought to the amount of clearance below. She could have walked under it, but was so peeved it didn't occur to her.

After constructing many obstacles to her exit, we waited. She screamed, whined, begged, stripped herself, her bed, emptied her dresser and then peed in the floor. Twice.

Next night.
She repeated the above (minus pee, add poo).

Tonight. Tonight she is wearing zip up pj's (thank you donutbabe) backwards. Two hours, but she is asleep. FOR NOW.

Stay tuned. There's more where that came from.

My next blog will be instructions to all of you ne'er do wells about how I wish to be handled and mourned should my date to meet my maker fall on my surgery date. (Disclaimer: I plan to be around a long time. I am not planning on croaking. If I do, I am not afraid.)

So check in tomorrow, all you crazy cats, to see what tunes will be piped in.

Love
Heather

yup, mm hmm

Fisher Price Fun To Learn Potty: $34.95

2 packs of C batteries from the local convenience store: $10.48

Training underwear/pretty incentive underwear: $1,000,000.00

An afternoon of your nude child running around like a loon, pretending to flush her turkey sandwich (realistic sounds courtesy of Fisher Price) while the MOTION SENSOR in the bowl continue to tell her she is GOING POTTY and doing a GREAT JOB: PRICELESS!!!!!

The Hostess with The Mostest

My daughter has been described as the hostess with the mostest by her birth to three workers. She is constantly bringing them things and swishing about making sure she is being seen. So it was no surprise when yesterday my neighbor-friend Jenny was babysitting that she was catered to in a most thorough way. Aurelia escorted our guest to the restroom and then offered her a fistful of extra absorbency tampons. SIGH.....

This morning, she was handing out the super sleek thin maximum absorbency sanitary napkins to Melanie, her 2 year old daughter Lydia, myself and then graciously she went last.

So, if you come for a visit and are offered any type of hygiene item, please don't take offense. I am trying to train her that cookies are always much more well received.

These things take time.

Heather

Crazy kids and dreams

Night before last, I had a dream. Not your average dream of daisies and sunny skies, but a weird dream. I was in my current house, only it seemed like my childhood house. The bed I was in was my supersingle waterbed from that childhood and I was sleeping. I woke to find a high school friend had sidled up beside me to chat. Groggily, I listened. Then Ted flung open the door and said,"Don't come check on you, huh? I'll kill you!!!" (UNTED-like behavior).

It seems after much conscious thought this high school friend lent a movie to Ted and I years ago. It was called American Hollow. The director of that movie was Rory Kennedy and she also directed Ghosts of Abu Ghraib (which I recently taped and saw the director on the View the day before). Such is the working of my sleeping brain.


In other news:

Daniel says today to Ted:

"My gym teacher's name is Mr. Cunningham. I wonder if that is his name because he likes to cut ham?"

Later, Ted says to Daniel:

"Ask him tomorrow."

Daniel replies:

"I already did and he said yes. He likes to cut ham."


THAT BOY.

Cradle of Love

This baby girl has the rhythm down in her heart.

I am fine

Today was my laproscopic doo hickey. I went in around 8 am and came home around 12pm. From what has been relayed to me through the family my doctor spoke with, I have stage three endometriosis. There are a few options for dealing with that and I will discuss them at length with him in our followup appointment. Endometriosis is not deadly, but mostly causes pain. It seems that some of the cells that should slough off of your uterus during menses wander out and make new homes in other places. Then they slough off there too, except they have no escape route and irritate other places. No biggee. Again I am fine, I feel good, and love you all.



Love
Heather

Day out with Daddy

On his day off, Ted took Aurelia to visit with his parents. Here are some pictures.

She came home to tell me all about Mama, Papa, eggs, bugs, sleep, and a bunch of other words she strung together. I think she had a great time. Thanks guys, for keeping her so occupied and happy. Love ya

Heather

Lately

I hear you all asking, "What has that Heather been up to lately?"

Well, today, I worked my son's book fair. Made multiple telephone calls. Picked up prescriptions. Had fingerprints taken for volunteer work. Had blood drawn for upcoming surgery. Cleaned aforementioned son's room with a trash bag and a ruthless cold heart. Then took poor son and even poorer son to see Bridge to Terabithia.

All the while, my husband had our daughter at his parents. It was a busy day, but nonetheless BABY free!

Daniel explained that he was going to date me. I felt I should let him in on the fact that when Daddy dated me he had to hold my hand, feed me, and kiss me. This did not deter my little interfamily dater. Apparently, while he will wed his little sister, I am ok for the dating. Cold chill, vaguely ill feeling.

My clothes arrived from the Indian website. I will share that I am VERY pleased with the fit and will post some pictures soon. I don't plan to be the spokesperson for this site, but if you feel the need to buy some custom fitted clothes that are very comfortable I will refer you. The site is www.eshakti.com and if you use my name and email address with your order, not only will you receive a $25 gift certificate from the company, so will I. Not too shabby.

Night all.
Heather

My dad is sick, my brother is having a 7 millimeter kidney stone surgically removed, and my grandma is selling her house to move to Lewisburg. I hope my dad feels better soon. Shannon, I hope you have a speedy recovery. Granma, I hate to see you go, but as long as your happy.

ENJOY LIFE!

Pink- Dear Mr President - Live

I love this song!

Self Affirmation

I am a good person. I am not stupid. I am not lazy. I take good care of my children and I love them. Just because I stay at home does not make me less than. I have skills. I can type faster than most front desk secretaries and with greater accuracy (including spelling). Just because I can do other, more domestic, tasks does not make me mentally dim.

I am working on a bachelor's degree in social work. I want to help people. It may take me a long time to finish, but I am DOING something in the mean time. I am trying to raise loving, responsible, intelligent, creative, beautiful children. I can't cook well. SO WHAT?! Does it make me less of a good wife? Hell no. If I forced my cooking upon us every night, I could be arrested.

Like so many of you out there like me, don't take the poopy anymore. I wipe shit daily, I don't need it from any of the holier-than-thou working force. I don't need to be reminded that I don't have an income check with my name on it. I don't need to be asked time and again when I will graduate and START my career. My life is good. I like it. So suck it up and face facts. I am fulfilled and happy. Maybe, just maybe, if you have to ask me questions about what I am NOT doing, it may reflect your less than happy life. Just a suggestion.

LOVE to all
Heather

Smile, you're on Candid Camera!

My daughter spent a little time in the basement with her daddy. He's been disassembling the transmission to our vintage VW Bug and she got a spot of transmission fluid on her finger. This is the snapshot that followed. :0)

So while she spends "quality" time with her daddy taking walks, painting, and flipping the bird, I have been reading. I am almost done with the third book in three days. They are all dismal with very little sunshine, but I feel almost like I did when I was little. Like I can't put the books down. I love that feeling.

Night all
Heather

Shed this outer layer and be free

My wish for my next life


If it is possible to have a next life, I wish to come back as something very flexible. Can I come back as wind? No obstacle would stand in my path; I would simply blow around it. How about a ribbon on the end of a child’s stick? I could fly through the air gracefully at the whim of a little one. I wouldn’t mind being clothes hung out to dry. The breeze and the sun on me as I bask in and absorb it all. Water, I could be water, with its fluid movement and the ability to wear down anything in my path given enough time.

Tonight I will dream I am these things. Tonight I will peek into a world with no restrictions, no limitations. Tonight, I fly, I bend, I flow!

Crying over spilled milk

I called birth to three about my daughters speech progress. I was making sure I was doing all I could to get our communication to it's highest level. The other day I was teasing her in the kitchen and telling her to give me "my" spoon. She kept saying 'mine' and then, apparently fed up, shook her head, placed the spoon behind her and said:

Don't take my poon.

Going to sleep last night she rolled over and said (while holding her chin),"MMMmmm, Lesseee."

I think she's coming along.

My son played at his friends house all day. He cried and hid when I came to get him. I even tried to bribe him with McD's. He said, " I wanna go to Toys R Us". Little shit.

So with Fazoli's and McD's in hand, I returned home.

I parceled out food while on the phone with my father-in-law. This entails trying to listen over the squeals and background noise of the poopers. I try to block it out. But the noise that prompted an end to our conversation was a pouring sort of sound. I looked all over the table, nothing. UNDER the table were the entire contents of a McD's regular milk jug.

I AM TIRED. But sleep comes less than two hours from now.

Night all.
Heather

Things Done Wrong Lately

No posts for days.

I labeled all the original Valentine's for the youngest boy with the name's of the recipients in the FROM box.

I bought a purse with Tinkerbell on it. Aurelia has confiscated it.

I bought a wallet to go with the purse. It turned out to be a cigarette case. (Lesson learned: don't shop with a two year old.)

A total lack of checking with truly loved family members.

There are a few things I may have done correctly:

I rebought AND relabeled Valentine's for the boy. He seemed to prefer the newer ones.

CASA volunteering.

Telling the kids I love them EVERYDAY.

Making time for myself.

And there are some decisions that remain to be categorized:

The decision to forego standard dress and try out custom made Indian (East, not Native American) attire. Something tame and modest. And not wedgie-riffic.

Deciding I think a hysterectomy is the most all encompassing solution to my simply annoying female issues.

Thoughts?
Heather

My dad's girlfriend

This is the picture my dad would pull out of his wallet. He would tell all the kids it was his girlfriend just to watch them scrunch their faces. It is actually a picture compiled of different peoples facial features. Notice the eyes are different. Anyway, this picture scared the hell out of me. But my dad was like that.

He hired my aunt to sniff the farts out of the seats of his car when she was little. He used to fart in church and say loudly "Oh Faye!" which never failed to mortify my mother. He is the worlds most notorious pull my finger man. But he came by it honestly.

My grandfather, my dad's father, would tell us we were Shinn kids. (This was an insult mixed occasionally with being a Myers (my mom's maiden name), a Wiseman, or a Bishop.) If we got hurt playing, he would furrow his brow and ask why we had hurt his buddy. But most unforgettable to me was EVERY Saturday night. I always spent Saturday night at their house. My brother had Fridays. Hee Haw was a Saturday night staple and there was a woman who wore rag curlers and a tattered moo-moo. My grandpa would always say my mom had dropped me off at their house to go to work (as the Hee- Haw woman). Now I knew he was pulling my leg, but my brother would get fired up!

Apparently, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I say things to my children (and other people's children) that are clearly in jest. But today my daughter was being evaluated by birth to three. The lady was showing some pictures and getting her to say the names of the pictures. Most responses were some unintelligible generic word and a few clear ones thrown in. Then I heard Aurelia say very clearly and quicly MOMMY. She wasn't looking at a woman's picture. It was a picture of ..............

a clown. That's my girl.

Heather

I think I need a shower

I have been exploring some ways to get a better nights sleep. We replaced the girl's single bed with a queen size mattress (plenty of room for mommy's fat arse.) I have been taking my medication like a good girl. And then I decided to go to the chiropractor. I asked my doctor for a suggestion, alas that one was not in my insurance network. So left to my own devices, I consulted the all knowing phone book.

No X-rays were taken, no real cracking took place. This doctor is a fan of the pretzel adjustment that I despise. She also pulled my ears to check my sinus something or other and knucklerubbed my clavicle. A little odd. Not to mention that her lipstick was noticeably outside the lines of her lips. By a lot.

From her "adjustment room" I was moved to a "massage room". Bobby was the man of the day in his convict scrubs and black steel toed boots. The room was ice cold and Bobby had the unsteady aura in his hands of teenage virgin. I came away smelling like massage lotion and feeling a little soiled. Let's be clear, I love massage therapy. I am totally for chiropractic care, but I am certain that there must be a standard to follow.

And after Friday's surprise vaginal ultrasound I am just a little too violated for any further strangeness.

Heather

Books rock

When I was a little girl, I loved to read. I loved to read in a way that was a little abnormal. No matter where I was, who was there, what was going on I would rather be reading. I didn't read a single type of book. I read anything that I could get my grubby paws on. Many books were beyond me, but I read them anyway. Some would have been snatched from my curious little grip if my mom had found them. Others were an introduction to what the world is really like outside of your comfortable home. One of my early favorites was a book called One Child by Torey Hayden. It was part of a collection of Reader's Digest condensed books at my grandmothers. Even this book was a little sugar coated. A little girl named Sheila was badly abused and in need of special education. Torey was a teacher in special education at that time. One part of the book describes how they read the book The Little Prince byAntoine de Saint Exupery. The taming of the fox was related to the taming of Sheila. I had never read the book, but it seemed a fitting tale.

Fast forward to this past week.

I have been reading a book to Daniel at bedtime. A few chapters a night. It's called The Little Prince. It didn't down on my feeble mind that this was THE book.
Last night we read the chapters that included the taming of the fox. I almost cried.

As I was reading, Daniel said, "Remember his volcanoes. They only come up to his knees." And they tell me he needs to work on comprehension. Pshaw. He needs to love what he is comprehending and he loves mommy time.

Since books work in circles for me, I have now reserved all of Torey Haydens books available through the library here. I plan to have Cory read them. It may also revisit that piece of me that has always wanted to get in the dogfight for kids.

Books used to be like Thanksgiving for me. I would just keep piling it in and never be full. I miss that feeling.

Night all.
Heather