Spring sports

June is almost over.

The boys last day of school is June 30.

And spring sports?  They just about blew up this tired mama's brain.

Quinn played t-ball with cousin Jack.  Ross was the coach.  He did a great job always trying really hard and I don't think he ever had to use the tee, always hitting one of his dad's pitches.  I was very proud of him, even though he called every game "soccer practice" all season.

Wyatt played soccer on a team with a bunch of friends from school.  He had fun and played especially hard when grandma or grandpa were there to watch him.   He also played kid pitch baseball and it was mostly a disaster.  His team was very small (in stature and skill), very young, and he had a first time coach - recipe for...very LONG baseball games.  Add in all the spring rain-outs, it felt like the season was never. going. to. end.  Oh, and he pitched many innings in many games.  He did his best, and I'm proud of him for that, but this child of mine maybe isn't destined to be a pitcher.

Baseball did, in-spite of everything, end on a win.  The second win of the season.  Want to know something good about being on the bad news bears?  No post season tournaments.

Elliott played spring soccer.  He seemed to be the glue that held his team together, most games only sitting at half-time.  His team had its struggles in the spring, losing two players and their dads who were the assistant coaches.  I'm not sure what happened there, but it's hard to win games when you lose kids from the team and the majority of the rest of the team doesn't come to practice.  But, they ended strong and Elliott did a great job.

I tell my boys the exact same thing before every single game:  win or lose, you need to be able to walk off the field knowing that you did your best.  Elliott has figured this out.  Wyatt, well Wyatt is still working on it.

And, it is indicative of the craziness of spring sports that I failed to take any pictures of Elliott playing soccer; took my nice camera to Wyatt's last baseball game to take pictures and realized when I got there that I left the memory card at home; and managed to get a few pictures of Quinn at one of his last games.







Now - with summer here officially (summer solstice yesterday) we are knee deep in soccer.  Elliott and Wyatt are both on competitive soccer teams for USA (Utah Soccer Association) soccer.  I'm finally getting over the amount of money we've paid for the boys to play - and now I need to get over the summer practice and tournament schedule.

Good thing I like these kids.  A lot!

Travel, Griswold style

No trip in our family is complete without a few hiccups along the way.  Usually, those hiccups are caused by me, and relate directly to me, but sometimes other things happen that make us laugh, or panic, or both.

Here is a run down of the Arizona trip "highlights".

Leaving dinner on Friday night Quinn fell off of a very tall curb and skinned his knee up pretty bad.  He cried so hard that once Ross got him in the car, he was so worn out he fell asleep in about 30 seconds.  It was a pretty bad crash.

On Saturday morning, it was raining pretty hard.  We'd planned to go to the zoo, but the rain made us second guess ourselves and we decided to go to a small aquarium in the mall.  It opened at 10 am, we stood in a long line and once we got to the front, realized that the line was for people who had passes or who had already purchased tickets.  Doh!  Of course, there were no signs indicating differences in the lines, and, once we got to the back of the "need tickets" line we decided to give up and just go to the zoo in the rain.



Lucky for us, the 2 hours we were at the zoo, it didn't rain.  I still spent $12 on ponchos for the kids, but no rain.  We did however have a couple of adventures at the zoo.  Adventure 1: we were chased by a very fast, very vocal, very crazy road runner.  It was roaming free in it's enclosure and it gave us a run for our money, and plenty of giggles.  Adventure 2:  My blood sugar started to drop pretty rapidly when we were about finished - joy of diabetes - and just as I put a glucose table in my mouth, Wyatt came around the corner, excited to tell me there was a whole cage of Scarlet Ibis - my favorite bird.  Well, in my attempt to be excited about the birds, I inhaled my chalky tropical fruit glucose tablet and it got stuck in my throat.  I could not breath.  I was chocking.  For a good 30 seconds, I thought that I might suffocate and die.  Once I could breathe again, my throat was on fire and hurt for the rest of the day.





Saturday night we had tickets for the Arizona Coyotes NHL hockey game against the San Jose Sharks.  The game was supposed to start at 6 pm, but the first 10,000 people were going to get a FREE bobble head of a former player because the team was celebrating it's 20th anniversary.  We arrived one hour early, to get our FREE bobble heads and then had to sit there, with the five other people who came early for an hour before the game was going to start.  The big boys really liked the hockey game, but Quinn?  We were there so early that he fell asleep right after the National Anthem and slept almost through the first halftime.  By the way, hockey games take forever.  Ross said they were fast, they are not fast.  20 minutes of play, 20 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play, 18 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play.  We didn't make it for the last 20 minutes because, hello!  We arrived so early.  But, it was still fun.

On Sunday, we drove up north to the towns of Cottonwood and Prescott Valley.  Driving to Ross' parents house in PV, we were following a route outlined by google maps.  Well, that route came to a dirt road.  We paused momentarily to see if Google was serious.  She was. (can google be a girl?)  I told Ross that I thought it was a bad idea to drive on a very wet and very muddy dirt road.  He, being the man, told me we would be fine.  We maybe drove a quarter of a mile before it got really wet.  I began to plead for us to turn around.  We continued a bit more until - yes, you guessed it -we were halfway in a muddy ditch.  Yeah!  I felt justified in my "I told you so moment" but that didn't change the fact that we were stuck in the mud.

Ross got out of the rented mini van.  I climbed over to the driver's seat.  He pushed.  I floored it.  After a few intense minutes, and let's face it, many silent prayers on my part, we got out of the ditch.  But then, because I was driving, I had to do a u turn, on the slippery muddy road and drive us off that road.  Where was Ross you ask?  Well, his head, arms, and torso were inside the van.  His butt, legs and lower half were hanging out the window.  He was a wee bit muddy once we got back to the road and switched seats.  Sometimes, Google leads you astray.

The biggest screw up however was on my part.  Sunday night, while eating dinner with Ross' parents, I realized that I'd left ALL MY INSULIN in the fridge in our airbnb apartment in Phoenix.  Swear words!  I had 60 units left in my pump, enough to get me until the morning and I was panicking.  Everyone was calling or texting people who could either write me an emergency prescription or help me solve the problem.  Finally, Ross was able to talk to the small town PV Walgreens pharmacist and he was sure that they could get my prescription transferred in the morning so I could get enough insulin to get home.

It was.

I did.

The end.

Coming Home from Vacation

wood arrives for new hardwood floors.

we wait.

hardwood is installed.....s l o w l y...

installer runs out of wood and leaves.

new wood arrives.

no one comes to install.

Oven breaks.

 

The day we needed to leave on our vacation:

Annie has an early AM blood draw

Annie goes to her cousin Emily's temple sealing

Ross home with boys, mowing the lawn.

The floor guy comes to finish installing and start sanding

The oven guy comes.  He finds the problem, but doesn't have the part.

The house is chaos.

I arrive home, we hurry and pack up and leave so the floor guy can finish.

Commence vacation.

Arrive home with new, beautiful floors.  New rugs.  Kitchen in the family room.

Spend 45 minutes upon arrival trying to set up the new kitchen rug under the table.

Baseboards haven't been put back on.

Guy comes to fix the oven.  Under diagnosed the problem, need more parts.  Starting week 4 with no oven.

No baseboards.  Call Steve the floor guy repeatedly to find out why.  He doesn't know.

Baseball rain out

No baseboards another day.  Call Steve.  He tells us that we aren't supposed to put rugs or big furniture on the floor for 30 days.  Oops.  Thirty days is a LONG time.  We decide that the rug doesn't work under the kitchen table anyway, and pull it out.

Annie gets sick. (and is still sick 10 days later)

Baseball game.

We got to the zoo for our last off track activity.

Ross is supposed to go to scout camp.

Boys have 5 baseball games in less than 24 hour period (One on Friday and 4 on Saturday all at the same times); Ross decides not to go to scout camp.

Guy comes to nail baseboards back on.  doesn't caulk or cover nail holes.  We thought he should.  He says he doesn't and leaves.

All the furniture is still in the garage.

The fridge breaks on Saturday night.

Sunday morning, we take everything that can be saved and put it in the fridge in the garage.

Monday morning the boys go back to school.  The fridge also gets fixed.

Tuesday the oven gets fixed, finally, at 7:30 in the morning.  We should have baked cookies, but we didn't.

The week home from a vacation is always a little rough, isn't it.

Life is a highway, I'm gonna ride it all night long!

The last few weeks have been a blur.  There has been so much going on, that if I didn't have things written down in about 5 different places, then I'd loose my mind.  And, I am completely blown away that, minus one event, I haven't dropped the ball.  Close, but not quite.

Ross' parents have been in Utah preparing to depart on their 18 month mission.  Two boys are playing baseball.  Ross is traveling a bit more than normal for work and I've been deep in a sewing bonanza.  Add to that field trips, our wedding anniversary, preparations for impending birthdays, snow storms and rain storms and wind storms that blow your trampoline into the neighbors yard, oral surgery and all the regular "make our lives function" stuff and  boy oh boy, it's been a pretty wild ride.

Just this past week...
We had 5 baseball games: Monday, Tuesday, two on Thursday and Saturday morning.
Scouts and Mutual
Homework and spelling words and country reports
Set up, participate in, take down my booth at the Beehive Bazaar.  That meant three trips to and from Provo.
Haircuts
A Bridal Shower
Ross traveling for work

In the last three weeks, each week has looked like this with the added bonus of allergies, puking, breathing machines, emotional stress, lack of sleep in general, and sleepless kiddos at night.  The 8:30 bedtime has not been enforced and last week on Wednesday, I got a whopping 4 hours myself.  With all that's going on, I'm shocked that we are all still alive, and no brothers have been harmed at the hands of other brothers.  At least (knock on wood) we've survived these last few crazy weeks without any doctor visits.

I said to Ross on the phone, "I wish there was a pill, or a drink, or a make-up or product that I could take or use that makes me look like I haven't been hit by a bus.  Or, maybe I just need to figure out how to be a princess and have an army of people to make me look better, 10 hours after having a baby than I honestly have in my whole life.

Such injustice.  I kid....I kid....

Regardless of how fast life moves sometimes, I wouldn't trade it.  As exhausting as it is getting my boys to practices and games and late night dinners and homework sessions, the alternative, them just sitting around and picking their noses, isn't something that we do in our family.

I grew up, my boys are growing up, always moving and going and doing.  We are active and engaged and involved.  We work hard, do fun things, make the most of our time with each other and have our priorities in the right places.  I guess, really, that exhausted feeling is a pretty good one to have.

When they get sick

Elliott was diagnosed with asthma when he was around two years old.  He however, minus a few seasonal coughs, never really had any severe problems and it's safe to say has outgrown any symptoms of asthma that he may have ever had when he was much younger.

Wyatt contracted RSV, we believe from a shopping cart at Wal-Mart in St. George, Utah in the early spring of 2010, when he was about 9 months old.  This illness was pretty horrible and was the spring board for his asthma diagnosis.   Since that time, the last four years, have been a roller coaster of breathing issues with this #2 child of ours.  Every change of season, we are in the doctor's office for steroids and lunch checks.  We have an asthma action plan.  He always has a cough and last fall, we broke down and just bought a nebulizer because the inhaler just couldn't do it's job.  It's hard to get a little kid to suck the medicine out of an inhaler the right way.

Luckily for us though, or luckily for Wyatt, we are good enough with his symptoms that, when the cough changes, he is on the machine and we've been able to ward off any bouts with bronchitis or any other respiratory problems for the majority of the year (knock on wood).  We aren't as good with his daily Flovent and singular treatments as we should be, but he really does alright.  If only he could learn how to clear the phlegm balls that build up in his lungs without throwing up all over the kitchen floor.  That would be a miracle.



Now, Quinn?  This kid?  I really thought that we had escaped the asthma menace with this one.  The primary reason I decided to feed him myself, and not feed him formula, was the "evidence" that nursing a baby was one of the sure-fire ways to prevent childhood asthma.  I was sold.    However, I was wrong.

On Monday last week, Ross took Wyatt and Quinn to the doctor because both seemed under the weather and with Wyatt, especially, we just cannot every be too sure that his cough isn't something more than just a cough.  Both boys checked out fine, minor colds, no problems.

On Tuesday morning of last week, when I got Quinn out of bed in the morning, he was not good.  His breathing was fast and a little erratic.  Speedy like a hummingbird bats it's wings with long pauses, like he was trying to catch his breath from breathing.  And, knowing the signs of wheezing, regardless of being able to hear his wheeze from a different room, I could see the problem.  The skin on his neck above his collarbone, as well as the skin on his belly above his ribs was completely concave every time he breathed.  With every breath, he looked like a skeleton.  It was bad and it terrified me.

I called Ross.  I called the doctors office and got him an early appointment with the nurse practitioner he had seen the day before.  When she met us in the small room, she could hear him wheeze, and said, "He did not sound like this yesterday".  "I know I said, this started in the middle of the night".  In spite of his best efforts to maim both of us with his deadly shoes and sharp finger nails, she completely her exam and I pinned him down for an albuterol treatment.  Wheezing.  Mild respiratory infection.  Albuterol with a nebulizer for 3-4 days until the cough stops.  If he gets any worse, or if the fever got worse, bring him back in.

We headed home, both exhausted, me still with shoe prints on my arms and sweat dripping down my back from the wrestling match I wasn't prepared for and we camped out for the day.  Quinn was so tired he slept through several transports in and out of the car (into the house, back to the car to get Wyatt from school, back into the house once we got Wyatt).



I thought in the next day and a half that things were on the mend, and that we were doing better.  Then came Thursday afternoon.  It was the appointment for his two year old check-up that we'd scheduled weeks ago with our regular pediatrician.  He had a slightly elevated fever and I told her about our earlier appointments in the week.  She took one look at him, got quiet, did some checks of his ears and throat and then stepped out of the office for a second.  She came back with a laminated card depicting kids with various stages of sores all over their bodies and gave me the verdict:  Hand Foot and Mouth Disease (sores all over the inside of his mouth), ear infection, respiratory infection, asthma.

I.  was.  not.  prepared.  for.  that.

Bam!

We got a prescription for the ear infection.

He ate all the dum-dum suckers in my purse to keep him from screaming.

I texted and then called Ross.

I was exhausted.  I also knew I was getting it myself (and I've spent the last three days horribly awfully miserably sick, but that's not really worth a blog post) and that I had 7-10 more days of one sick baby on my hands.

Well, he's finally feeling better.  Everyone is finally feeling better. (Except me, of course)

And, I've got another asthma baby on my hands.

I told my husband, the culprit of all this asthma crap (Ross was also a childhood asthmatic), half joking, that if I would have known what his genes would do to my children, that may have been a deal breaker.

He laughed....nervously.

Summer Vacation, Week One

Let's face it.  In a lot of ways, year round school is the pits.  We go to school all the time, and have really short vacations that do not coincide with any of our cousins or grandparents.  Honestly though, it's really only a bummer in the summer I guess.

Elliott's last day of first grade was July 3.  His first day of second grade is July 28.  Wyatt starts kindergarten on August 4.  That means we get exactly three weeks and one day for summer vacation, including two holidays (the 4th and 24th).  What it really means is that we have to cram an entire three months of summer fun with our cousins and grandma and everyone else into  21-ish days.

Week one is wrapping up and it's been a whirlwind I tell ya.  Here's a recap of some of the stuff we've been squeezing in (a few of the things happening before Elliott got out of school!)

We've had lots of cousins (all boys, except dear sweet Ashlyn, the only girl in a sea of boys!) visiting us from Arizona.  It's been awesome.
First, it was Tyler and Aiden and baby Bryce.  We went with them to the zoo (without Elliott because he was in school) and then they came to our house for dinner on a rainy night and ran around the house with guns and cars and Pokemon cards and played and laughed and had so much fun.  It was the best.




Then, we had more Arizona cousins come and visit, who are exactly the ages of my boys and it was like Forest Gump says, "we were like peas and carrots". These boys got along better than brothers (brothers that don't fight) and had so much fun. We got to play with Ashlyn, Hazen, Rigden, and baby Brock twice - once on their way through town to a family reunion and once on their way through town on their way home through the family reunion. It was so much fun to watch them play and run around the lake and just have a great time.



Dad took the boys fishing at a little pond. It was unsuccessful.....and I tagged along so it was ornery night as well. But, Quinn kept trying to fall in the stinky, dirty pond water and I was panicking so it wasn't all my fault. My boys do all have cute butts though.




We have visited cousin Natalie's classroom where she will be teaching special education in the fall.



We spent the 4th of July swimming and barbecuing and swimming and falling asleep in the car and crying and lighting off fireworks and playing soccer at 11:00pm at night because our neighborhood was so bright with fireworks that there was enough light to play soccer. This year, Ross let Elliott light fireworks. Welcome firebug #2 to the family. The kid already has a thing for knives, and now we're letting him add fire to his repertoire. Yeah! Grandma Judy and Grandpa Karl came out to "Little Baghdad" (aka our neighborhood) to light some fireworks and watch the entire valley be light up...and of course they brought milk shakes as well.





Whether we want to our not, we are experiencing world cup fever in our house, as this week, Argentina advanced to the final game. Quinn unfortunately doesn't have his own jersey, but the boys and their dad have been in full regalia for every game.



This week, knowing that I did not want to hear the word "bored" on our short summer break, the big boys participated in the local small farm's "FARM CAMP". Monday - Thursday from 9:00 - Noon they got the dirtiest they've ever been in their lives and had maybe the time of their lives. They played with chickens and goats and pigs and bunnies and a blind sheep named scooter. They planted pumpkins, rode on tractors, jumped in pits of corn, saw a cat catch and eat a mouse, learned about vegetables and animal husbandry, and that when a chicken dies you can just throw it into the corn field. They got to see 10 hour old baby goats that had been born during the night and on the last day, took me and Quinn and my mom on a 30 minute tour of all their adventures. It was money well spent and I think that they'd even be willing to do it again next summer. And, they came home so hot and thirsty and hungry and TIRED, I might even be willing to do it again next summer.



We also started the second round of swimming lessons for Wyatt and the first for Elliott for the summer. In the afternoon, when the air at the pool is so humid it's hotter than the surface of the sun. Quinn and I roasted a bit too much yesterday so I'll need to figure out a way to cool us of for the remaining weeks. This is probably where year round school sucks the most - we have to do indoor swimming in the afternoon instead of outdoor in the morning because we just don't have enough time. Oh well, such is life. I'm just happy Wyatt finally advanced classes after 4 tries in the same group. Yeah, Wyatt!



Last night was Members Only Open Late Night at the Zoo, so as if we don't already spend enough time together, we all met up at Crown Burgers and then caravaned up to the zoo. It was cloudy and cool and getting ready to storm and a great night. Not all the animals were out, but the kids seem to be more interested in the statues anyway. And me? I really am fascinated by the lions. Particularly the female lions. They are just beautiful creatures. Wyatt always says, when we ask him what animal he would want to be, that he'd be a big cat....I think that even though I always want to be a Moose, there might be a pull to be a lioness, too.



And finally, to wrap up the first week of summer, we had our first GRANDMA CAMP. All the kiddos went - even the babies (I think that Quinn and I will skip the next outing though - my boys prefer their grandma without their mom) and we ventured out on a goose chase of sorts, all 8 of us crammed into the Grandmaflex, to gather tags for our unplugged summer lanyards. We didn't make it to far because the 2 and under crew weren't so keen on the car, but we still had a great time. And the boys have a great grandma who loves to take them on grand adventures and buy them crap, like little plastic chickens that shoot gumballs out their butts.





Phew! I'm exhausted. Did we really do all this crap this week? Apparently, I've set the bar to high and have a lot to live up to next week.

Just for documentation sake. Or, "When it rains, it pours" or #murphys law

 

Let's start with last Monday, a week ago, shall we?

Elliott had school and Ross dad offered to pick Wyatt up from school.  That left me and the little one with a day to ourselves.  I was looking forward to it until we realized our dad forgot his lunch.  We took it to him.  Quinn fell asleep in the car and woke up when we got home.  That 20 minutes was his nap for the day.  The rest of the day was, "A-hem" evil.  Worst day ever being his mom.  Crying and screaming and all around bad news.  We barely made it through the day.

Tuesday:  Killed a black widow in the garage after taking Elliott to school.  Killed it with bee spray and a shovel.  Scared and itchy all day long.  (Still won't go in the basement).  Tuesday afternoon when I took Quinn upstairs to put him down for a nap, I changed his diaper, sat in the rocking chair and SPEW!  That little kid, without warning, puked all over me.  On my chin and neck.  Down my shirt and underwear.  All over my pants.  We both had to have a bath and I had puke smell in my nose all day long.  I guess he didn't feel well.

Wednesday:  LONG day, but relatively okay.  Church Halloween carnival at night.  No one was sick.

Thursday:  There were some really great things about Thursday (I already wrote about them on my Halloween post).  But there were some bad things too.  Mostly, I lost my mind and yelled and screamed, and threw away things that were driving me crazy and made my baby cry by my craziness and my big boys ran away.  Almost took a xanex.  Made tacos and cooked a frozen pizza for dinner.  No one ate.  The boys trick or treated and the day ended.

Friday:  Early in the morning, around 1:00 am, Elliott started waking up telling us he felt like he was going to throw up.  Two hours later he did, several times.  He greeted the day with diarrhea and I didn't feel so hot myself.  (He and I both ate tacos).  By about 11:30, I'd been sick all morning with the big D myself, and once I got Quinn to sleep, I crawled into bed and left Wyatt in charge.  Ross came home for a couple of hours while I rested.  He had to go back to work, and after tearful pleadings on my part, he called his dad and his dad sat with the boys while I continued to sleep and throw up, and until Ross came home from work.  The night was supposed to be a fun one, but we barely survived.

Saturday:  Our dad left us for Poland.  Some of us still didn't feel well.  It was a good but long day.  But, Quinn woke up FIVE TIMES in the night.  I only slept about 2 hours.  Not the best welcome to Daylight Savings.

Sunday:  The big boys were good and well behaved at church.  The little brother was a menace.  After three hours I thought I was going to voluntarily get hit by a car.  But, we made it to grandma's.  Two boys fell asleep on the way home.  I got some work done on my online class.  Quinn only woke up twice in the night, both times before midnight.

Monday:  This brings us to this morning.  At 6:00 am Quinn woke up.  As I was changing his diaper, I heard the all too familiar cough of Wyatt's coming from the room next door.  If I hadn't have been so tired I would have been thinking clearly and gotten him to the bathroom in time.  Instead, I  finished with Quinn, put him back in his bed and made it to Wyatt just as he finished throwing up in his bed.  Only, it wasn't vomit, it was just his usual bad lung/phlegm ball of death.  He gets them when the air gets bad and his inhaler cannot break up the goo well enough.  He finished up in the bathroom and I got his sheets off the bed just as Elliott bolted out of the darkness of his bedroom.  Into the bathroom.  His face and hands covered in blood.  He wakes up with bloody noses every once in a while and I guess this morning was one of those mornings.

All this happened in 15 minutes.

But, everything (knock on wood) seems okay now.

It cannot get much worse.  Right?  RIGHT?

Foodie Sunday

I may get struck down by lightning for saying this, but I do not like General Conference Sunday.  I am a creature of habit and routine.  A day where everyone is sitting around without routine, in their jammies just doesn't work for me.  My boys are crazy like caged tigers, fighting and yelling and burping and farting and throwing and crying.  My husband just wants to watch football all day.  I do not like sitting at home and being required to watch church on tv.  I would rather go to three hours of church instead.  In our house, the television is hardly every on and yesterday it didn't get turned off.  I guess to most it's not a big deal, but yesterday I felt like I was in the eye of a tornado hurling me towards a sever panic attack.

But, we had good food.  I figured that since we were going to be home all day and since my mom wouldn't be holding our weekly Sunday dinner that we at least should eat well.  And well we did eat.

On Saturday I made caramel popcorn with one of our new favorite recipes and Ross, Elliott and I devoured nearly three microwave bags worth of the delicious corn in a matter of minutes.

For Sunday, we decided to do a brunch of liege waffles.  These bad boys are my new obsession and we've had them two weeks in a row.  They are so filling and yummy and absolutely rich and decadent that I think I'm good for a month or two.

 

Wyatt and I had ours with Nutella and berries and whipped cream.  Ross had his with fresh peaches and cream.  Even though Elliott loves them, he chose not to eat his yesterday and starved until dinner.  

For dinner, we had another one of our favorites.  It's a copycat recipe for the California Pizza Kitchen Lime-Tequila pasta.  It's also absolutely rich and decadent and I ate so much I got a bit of a stomach ache after.  But, when you only eat it 3 or 4 times a year, it's okay to indulge.

Yes, our day was spent in heavy cream calorie heaven. Almost makes up for the tornado.

Definitely NOT your typical Sunday morning at home.

We attend our church meetings at 1:00 pm.  It's a rough time to go to church for all of us.  It means that the boys who rise so early in the morning have almost an entire day of doing not much of anything, just waiting to go to church where they are expected to be quiet and well behaved for three solid hours.

In our house, we general have pretty good mornings waiting around to go to church.  The boys play, the parents drink a lot of diet cokes, and we try to get that crazy little baby to get one good nap in for the day.  But, today was not one of those days.  For some reason, today was pretty stressful from the start.

Maybe it was because the guy who fixed our sprinklers months ago decided to come early this morning to finish the job?  Maybe it was because we did too many loads of laundry and windexed too many windows when we should have been contemplating our salvation or something?  Maybe it was just dumb luck, but for a short period of time today, our little world was sucked into a bit of a black hole.

It all started with a tooth.  Elliott's 6th loose tooth.  The big one in front dangling by a thread.  It was driving us parental units crazy and it was grossing me out.  I had hoped that the tooth would have made it's exit on Saturday night at grandma and grandpa's in an ear of corn but no such luck.  So, with about 30 minutes or so to go before leaving for church, I decided I'd had enough and that the tooth was coming out now!  The details are like the details of every single other tooth extraction - crying and tears; hysterics; kicking and screaming.  This one was a bit more dramatic though because it required mom and dad pinning down a remarkably strong 6.5 year old to get that nasty tooth out.  Two flicks and it was gone and Ross had to rescue it from being swallowed by said boy.  He immediately ran away and the next time I saw him, still red faced and gasping for air, we took his picture and he was fine.

See?  Fine.

 

After this however, the details get more fuzzy and the panic more intense.  It was time to go.  Ross walked the boys out to the car while I was finishing packing diaper and snack bags.  He gave the boys their seating assignments (because of course they fight EVERY SINGLE SUNDAY about who sits where for the 2 minute drive to church) and walked back in the house to get the baby.

Next thing we know, the screamer #2 child is screaming that horrible awful scream as I walk outside, not 30 seconds after the boys headed out themselves.  I walked around the car and saw Wyatt splayed out on the ground like a homicide chalk drawing.  Elliott was sitting in the middle seat, holding Wyatt's booster.  I, not so calmly, asked what had happened and Elliott told me that Wyatt was mad and threw his booster at him and then fell.

He was still "fallen" when I set down all my stuff, squeezed past his open door and picked him up by the shoulders.  I immediately knew something was pretty wrong with his left arm because of the way it was dangling.  When Ross came out with Quinn and shouted, "What is going on out here!" I replied simply, "I don't really know, but I think Wyatt's arm is broken."

After a quick assessment and discussion, Ross decided to stay home with Wyatt and ice his arm and the other boys and I went to church.  About 15 minutes later I got a text that they were going to the hospital because Wyatt couldn't make a fist or wiggle his fingers.

Later, I got this picture.

Long story short?  After almost three hours at the Primary Children's instacare, he came home with his arm in a splint, a sling, and a photocopy of his x-ray.  Small fracture in his ulna, near the elbow.  A splint for a couple of days until the swelling goes down, and then a cast for three to four weeks.

The other boys and I got home from church to a stone faced and silent middle brother surrounded by pillows on the couch watching "Rise of the Guardians" with his very weary looking dad.  He didn't want us to talk to him or to touch him.

He was apparently very brave at the doctor.  After a few minutes of us being home, he decided that he still wanted to go to grandma's house for Sunday dinner.  And, after his regular dinner of pizza and jello, he was looking and feeling pretty good.  Well, as good as a little boy can who, in a rage, broke his arm four hours before.

  

Weighing in...

 

While at my parents house after Sunday dinner a few weeks ago, we were getting ready for Willie's seminary graduation in the same way we got ready for stuff when we were kids.  Me, Haley and Willie (and a few of the little chilluns) were sitting on the bed or bench in my parent's room, watching my mom comb her hair and put on her makeup.  Some things never change.  While watching her get ready, I said to my mom and siblings something to the effect of, "Is it okay that lately, I don't feel as fat as I know that I am?"  Willie gave me a look of pure dorkdom and Haley shrugged her shoulders.  About the response I'd expected.

You see, lately I haven't felt like I normally do.  Yes, I still feel stressed and beaten down; over worked and underpaid; lucky to be home with my boys and aching for a little bit of freedom all at the same time.  But, I guess I've felt a little bit lighter on my feet.  Mentally anyway.

In February I joined a gym.  Since then it's been my goal to try and go at least twice a week for an our each time.  You'd think that twice a week would be a piece of cake but, shock, it isn't.  In fact, it's pretty hard and there are a lot of weeks I don't go at all and a lot of weeks where I've gone twice, hoping for a third or fourth and it just doesn't happen.  When you don't leave the house to go and exercise until 9:00 or 9:30 at night, it's hard to find the motivation.  But, I've been trying.

As part of my efforts to get my butt active, I signed up to do a 5k, The Color Run, with my brother in August.  I am not a runner and have no intentions of being a runner.  But, I am competitive (it's genetic) and don't want to look like a fool in front of my very fit brother.  So, running on the treadmill, twice a week, is my new routine.  I'm far from being able to run 3.1 miles, but I have a plan, besides not fainting or throwing up in front of said little brother, I'm giving myself a big window, 2.75 months to get ready.  And, I'm making progress.  Four weeks ago, I could not run a mile on a treadmill.  In fact, I could walk a mile faster than I could walk/trot a mile.  How pathetic is that?

But, on Tuesday this week, I set my best time.  I ran a mile in 13:13.  Yes, as my brother would say, it's as pathetic as a 7th grade gym class, but it's a start.  And, I can run (slowly) on a treadmill for thirty straight minutes, getting myself to a whopping 2.1 miles - one mile away from a 5k.

Progress.  It's slow, but it's progress.

My efforts are also two part - one, be able to actually run the 5k.  Two, tighten myself up.  Long gone are the days where I think about being skinny or cute...now are the days to be healthy and fit.  Very different goals.  Part of that though, is to lose weight, if I were to be so lucky.  It's not a must, but it's an added benefit of my exercise attempts.

The last four weeks I've really made an effort - eating less sugar and bread, minimal treats and as little eating out as possible.  That, with the sweatier efforts at the gym (30 minutes on the treadmill and 20 on weights), I've started to see a change.  Not as much sag and jiggle.  Not as much moping and pouting.  But, I hadn't really been friends with the scale.

I know what I weigh.  I know what I used to weigh.  I know that since Quinn was born, once I hit 6 weeks postpartum, I'd lost all but about 12 of the pounds that I gained in 38 weeks, but that even if I lost those 12, I'm still far from a weight I want to weigh.

Anyway -this is getting so long now, isn't it.

Point is, I got on the scale this week.  It said that in the last four weeks I lost 6 pounds.

What?

Stop the train!

Yeah!

The next day I went to my diabetes doctor.  I was down even one more pound on her scale.

Can you say seven pounds lost in four weeks?

I can.

I was so happy.

And, for the first time in a long time, my diabetes feels "under control."  Ahhhhh, so nice to say that.  It seems that it's so under control that I don't have to go back for 6 months, instead of the usual three.  Even better.

SO, to sum it all up?

I do not like to exercise but I like the way I feel after I exercise.

I do not like to run, but I like feeling like I accomplished something and am one step closer to not having my little brother run circles around me on August 24th.

I do not like to get on a scale, but feel so great that the little big of effort I've made so far has been rewarded.

I do like rewards.

The end and amen!

at least it happened on a saturday

I ditched church today, but for good reason.

Yesterday morning, around 3:00 am I got up to help Ross with Quinn.  Changed the diaper, sucked the boogers and sent them and a bottle on their way.  I however, didn't feel so hot.  I came downstairs to check my blood sugar, a little high for the middle of the night, and got a drink of chocolate milk, my midnight snack of choice.  I then marched back upstairs and put my giant butt back into bed, only I noticed something wasn't right.  My tummy wasn't happy.

But, I fell asleep to wake at 6:00 am to a jabbering baby and a tired husband in bed with me.  After about 3 minutes I knew I was in trouble and headed downstairs to the bathroom.  I spent the next two hours in the bathroom and when I finally thought I was okay it was time to shower, put some finishing touches on some cupcakes I'd make for my cousin's baby shower and head to my sister's to car pool to Roy.

I should have realized when I got on the scale after the shower and it said I'd lost 9 whole pounds in two hours that I was in for trouble.  Instead, I grabbed a sprite zero and some crackers and headed out the door.  The 45 minute drive was okay until the last 10 minutes or so when things started to get a little sketchy and lets just say I barely made it to my aunts house in time.

Thank heavens she has a bathroom in the basement tucked away from all civility.

After a few minutes (maybe 15?) I thought I was okay (again) and marched upstairs to ask my aunt for a diet coke.  She had ONE.  She told me it was over a month old and they were saving it for an emergency.  I declared I was the emergency, popped the top and found a seat.  After about 3 sips I knew that this time I was in trouble and that this time, the trouble wouldn't have me sitting on the toilet, but kneeling at the porcelain throne instead.

I rushed back to that downstairs bathroom.  Set my drink on the counter.  Hurriedly took off my jacket and got the toilet seat up just in time for the flood gates to open.  And, open they did.  Honestly, it was the most sick I'd been in 4 years - when I got cafe rio food poisoning - and it was bad.  You should have seen my flushed face and smeared make-up once it was all over.  And, as if it was just for me, there was a giant bottle of mouth wash in that bathroom and after I fixed up my face with some tissues, I gargled my puke away and headed back upstairs.

There were no more incidents during the shower and as soon as the last present was opened my sister and her kids and I left.  We stopped for a drink and then she flew me home.  Ross was kept up-to-date on my situation the entire afternoon and was waiting for me....from a distance...when I returned home.  Immediately I ran upstairs, took off my nice clothes, threw on a grubby t-shirt and climbed into bed.  Where I slept for about 2 hours until around 4:30, it all started again.  The most violent and horrendous sickness maybe of my entire life.  I couldn't catch my breath.  I couldn't open my eyes.  I was puking and crying and moaning.  I slammed my head onto the open toilet seats.

It was awful.

I spent the entire day in bed, sleeping most of the afternoon and evening away.  Ross took such good care of the boys while I was on my death bed.  Around 6:00 pm, after 12 hours of being being brutally sick I told him that I though I needed to go to the emergency room.  Before that though - I contacted the resident nurse, and texted my mom, who was on a plane from New Orleans a pathetic and sad text.  After my phone calls, and a lot of dry heaving in the bathroom, I decided that it was best to wait it out at home, but have my dad come to help Ross give me a blessing.

I couldn't sit up in the chair, and don't remember what was said, but I believe in blessings.  I don't ask for them often, if ever...only when I've been having babies...but last night I needed one.  After, my good dad stayed to entertain the big boys while Ross got the baby to sleep.

I remember nothing else from the evening except that at 4:00 am I woke up, brushed my teeth and washed my face.

Today, my body feels like it does the day after a c-section when my babies have been born.  Completely broken.  But, I've eaten, and drinken (I know, not a real word) and just a little bit ago, showered and put on new clothes.

No idea what I got zapped with, or why it picked me.  I'm just happy that I didn't die, and that it happened on a Saturday.

I never thought puke would stop grossing me out

This boy of mine has thrown up 3 times in the last 7 days.

Last Tuesday night, at my moms.  He got off of the couch, walked into the kitchen and *BLAMMO* all over the floor before I picked him up and got him to the kitchen sink.  Once it was over, he skipped over to my mom's lap for a hug and asked for a treat.

Monday morning.  He was eating cinnamon crumb cake.  I was sitting next to him.  He gave me the look, I told him to get to the garbage and he tossed his cookies.  I was nervous that he shouldn't go to school and called the dad.  The dad said, "if it were any other kid, I'd say he couldn't go to school but, it's Wyatt.  He throws up all the time and is fine.  Send him."

He's right, and I did.

Later I asked him why he puked.  He said because there wasn't enough crumble on the piece of cake he put in his mouth.

Last night was the giant mother freaking holy cow tantrum of all tantrums.  It started because it wasn't his turn for a bath.  Then he lost the game they were playing.  Then he hit is brother one too many times for my liking so I kindly lifted him into bed and walked away.  The screaming got louder and louder and more phlegmy and more gaggy and just as I stormed into his room yelling, "Stop it or your going to thr....."

He did.  

Into his hands.

I grabbed a towel that we keep in his room and rushed him to the bathroom.

Round one was giant balls of phlegm.

He said he was finished.

I knew he wasn't.

Another 3 minutes of waiting and the kid sold his buick, and a few others too.

After he was finished (he screamed at me I'M DONE PUKING NOW!), he brushed his teeth.  I threw the toothbrush away.  He apologized for being a monster turd, grabbed a pillow, laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

I knew he was tired.

Honestly, there isn't another kid in the whole world who throws up all the time like it's no big deal and then continues about his business.  Even asks for food immediately after puking.

Kid grosses me out.

He is so strange.

But, at 34.75 years old, it no longer makes me quease.  Well, not as bad.

Not sure what kind of message that is sending, but.....

Grandpa and I have told him there is no puking at Disneyland.

It's against the rules.

he's promised he wont or were feeding him to the Matterhorn Yettie.

Solicitors

When we first moved into "the Truman Show" almost nine years ago, we were bombarded with solicitors.  Foreign kids selling "their artwork".  People wanting to maintain our grass, our water, our lives.  Spiritual beings bringing us messages of salvation.  Individuals who thought we needed magazines, peepholes in our doors, and windshields replaced on the front drive.  Even though we had a huge no soliciting sign on our front door, there were days, always in the summer, where we'd have three or four of these types in a day.  It got to be exhausting making small talk, listening to the smooth talked message, and then declining the service.  Because of the soliciting, we just quit answering the door and kept the blinds closed a lot.  There is always so much confrontation with solicitors, when they know the "no" is coming and it makes me uncomfortable.  Gives me a stomach ache.  Stresses me out.

In the new house, I can't block us off from the world.  The front door is all windows and glass.  And whats worse?  My children are like little dogs...when they hear a knock or a doorbell ring, they race to the door because it's got to be something awesome waiting for them.  Now, most of the time it's a neighbor or the UPS man, but  a lot of the time it isn't.

Last fall, as I walked out to get the mail, I counted four different solicitors making their way around my street.  I raced into the house, headed upstairs and grabbed a piece of paper.  In all CAPITAL LETTERS I wrote a quick note, "NO SOLICITING.  Thank you!" and taped it to the window right by the door bell.

For the most part, it works.  People either read the sign and leave us alone, we aren't home, or I'm able to yell at the dogs stop the boys before they open the door and let the strangers in for a drink and some cookies.  Please know that this is an issue we work on daily - the whole door thing.  They are getting better and haven't actually opened the door for someone for a long time.  They do though, still rush the door to see who it is and then if they don't know, they run away, thus, requiring me to answer the door and see what someone wants to sell.

Anyway, flash forward to this afternoon.  We had just had a UPS delivery - new shoes for Disneyland - and were watching Star Wars Clone Wars.  The boys were a little pumped up.  Just as I walked into the bathroom to use the facilities the doorbell rang.  I heard the rush of their little, new shoe wearing, light saber wielding feet rush to the door.  I yelled at them from the bathroom "DON"T ANSWER THE DOOR" and finished what I was doing.

I suppose I could have just ignored the fact that the doorbell rang.  I'm not sure which is more rude.  Ignoring the door after my boys have made it obvious that we are home or saying "no thank you" several times, some forcefully to the solicitor.

Today our friendly neighborhood door knocker was Carl.  He was large and in charge and a smooth talker.  He talked a lot about "pay it forward" so much so that I thought that was the organization he was representing.  He started off nice enough, asking me about my life and stuff....the usual.  The he pulled out a giant bill-fold of little packets.  The first one he wanted me to write my name and that he was courteous.  Sure, I could do that but there was a catch.  If I signed, I had to buy magazines.  Now, the magazines were for me and would be sent to the homeless shelter and the Ronald McDonald house.  Um...okay.  I continued to listen and then told him that I wasn't interested in giving him $60 for magazines that I didn't want or need.

The next billfold came out to tell me that for a smaller donation, I could send magazines to charities and not get any for myself.  I declined.

Then the next billfold came out for me to give him a cash donation.  Here's the thing.  My husband and I donate 10 percent of our income to our church and that money is used all over the world to help people in need.  I give money to St. Jude's children's hospital and the disabled American veterans regularly because they send me address labels and cute little notebooks with teddy bears on them.  I donate to food drives whenever I know of one.  I tip generously every where I go.  I do my best to be charitable and generous.

Ross bought magazines from a lady last November because he thought she was nice.  We've never ever received one of those magazines.

I was not going to buy magazines from Carl.  When I told him this, he got a little angry and challenged me, asking if I believed in giving people an opportunity, in "Pay int forward", and why was I making him go back to his hotel room to tell his son he didn't make any money today.

Holy guilt trip batman.

It didn't work.

I didn't buy.

He yelled "God Bless" as he stomped off my porch.

My sign told him not to ring the bell.

FIrst World Problems

For years, my husband, when completely annoyed with someone complaining about something that isn't really something to complain about, in frustration says to me later, "First World Problems".  You know, those things we take for granted that we feel, as Americans, we are entitled to complain about.

Like, health care (at least we have it), the ac going out (as if!), McDonald's making you fat (no one made you go through the drive through), that sort of thing.  Well, guess what!?  I have some of my own first world things to complain about....and be grateful for at the same time.

First?  I have had a cold for three weeks.  I thought I kicked it, but it's come back with a vengeance and is attacking my eye.  Red, swollen, icky and sealed shut with boogers for the last three mornings.  But, it's just a cold.  I could have malaria or something so I won't complain too much.  I just wish I had darker sunglasses.

Second?  We've lived in our new house getting close to two years with inherited appliances.  The appliances are not the quality we had in our last home and are kind of a pain in the butt, especially the dishwasher.  It's been serviced.  It's been finicky.  It quit washing dishes.  Everything had to be washed twice, washed by hand after a cycle, or left with a grimy coating of soap and cooties.  I mean seriously.  A dishwasher not working!  Oh the humanity.

Last Wednesday, after it hadn't cleaned the dishes when we ran it over night, and it hadn't cleaned the dishes when run again in the morning I texted Ross and said I was done and that the dishwasher had to go.  And, I'm not even the one who deals with the dishes regularly.  Loading and unloading is a husbandly job if I ever saw one.  

Thank heavens for hard working, agreeable, bonus check earning husbands!  In less than two hours Ross bought a new dishwasher (over the phone), paid for it (over the phone), and arranged for a delivery and installation (over the phone).  Dave, the handyman brought the machine to my house promptly at noon last Friday and had it installed in 45 minutes.  

Heaven.  That's how awesome it is.  Ross was so excited that he did four loads of dishes on Friday night alone.

Third?  My husband is on a quick work trip spanning the hours of four days, but the timeline of 5 days. He is in Geneva, Switzerland with a 4 hour tourist layover in Paris yesterday, on Sunday.  I know that he really likes the amazing travel opportunities he's had in the last year and a half.  Australia, Chile, Argentina, Paris, and Geneva; not bad for a year and a half.  I also know that he misses us.  I also know that four days is a drop in the bucket.  My cousin's husband has been gone for two weeks of an 8 month Navy reserve deployment to Afghanistan.  One of my neighbors home schools her kids and is alone every single week while her husband travels for work.

Four days is nothing.  But holy cow.  Four days is hard.  I'm lucky that I've got my parentals to hang out with.  I'm lucky that my brother rode to and from a family party last night to help me with the boys. I'm lucky that my boys are so good and that it's really not that big of a deal.  I'm lucky that we have enough going on during the day to keep us busy.

But, absence does make the heart fonder and I miss my husband.  I miss what a good baby holder he is.  I miss how helpful he is on Sunday with the boys.  I miss talking to him at night before I fall asleep to the glow of my sister wife in his hand.

Like I said though.  First world problems.  I can deal and roll and all that jazz.

Where's Perry?

My brother is taking a "Humanities" class this semester.  It seems to be pretty dumb with absolutely no rhyme or reason to the curriculum.  The class came with a huge binder and two weeks ago an in class discussion about the appropriateness of breast feeding in public.

Just what a bunch of high school kids want to talk about, right?

Well, as part of the disjointed curriculum, Willie was assigned to make a paper mache mask.  Why you ask?  Maybe because as a humanities theme they would be discussing Greek tragedies, John Paul Sartre and satire or something along those lines?

Nope.  They were just supposed to make a mask.  And the instructions wanted the kids to first build their mask by applying wet duck tape to their faces and then using a paper mache technique to finish them up.

Double dumb.

Being the arts and crafts member of the family, Willie asked me if I would help make his mask, a Perry the Platypus mask.  I was totally up for the challenge, the creative outlet, and the mess so last week on Thursday night, after consuming mass quantities of pizza, we set to work building a platypus out of a milk jug, a cardboard egg, and lots and lots of paper and glue.  We, well I, put the finishing touches on the mask on Sunday night after dinner while Willie splayed his upper body on the kitchen table lamenting calculus and the essay he was supposed to write (for Humanities no less) on marginalized members of society.

Say what?

Anyway, the platypus turned out pretty stinking cool.














And, as a side note, I really like it when my brother comes to chill at my abode.  When I was a little girl, my mom's brothers would come to my house so she could do their homework for them while they tormented my sister and me.  They would mess up our stuffed animals, tease us, pin us to the ground and dangle loogies from their mouths over our faces.  All sorts of good uncle things while my mom wrote all their essays.  Good times they were.  It's really pretty fun, and cool, that while I was up to my elbows in diluted glue, my brother and a very good uncle, was reading books to my boys, playing with googly eyes, and in general, just being pretty awesome with two little boys who adore him.

In a nutshell....

My kid is getting really good at writing stories. We have kindergarten parent teacher conferences this week.

Went to parent teacher conferences for Mr. Personality. His preschool teacher loves him, he can write his name all by himself at school (for mom he will only write the "TT" at the end), and he is the only kid in his class who knows the days of the week, the months of the year, and can count to 20 without skipping a number.

My sister's brother-in-law got married this weekend. She wanted to do a favor for the luncheon and I insisted on cake pops. We made 160 or so, bagged and labeled them all in one night thanks to the extra helping hands of my Aunt Karen.

Valentine's day was, as always a bust. I ate the cupcakes I bought for myself, but my boys had a great day. VD is almost as big of a candy haul as Halloween.  Totally crazy.  And, why I have expectations, anticipations, interpretations, aspirations, or genuine hope for a romantic gesture on this day I don't know. Like my husband told his mother when she asked what he got me, "Nothing. She's used to disappointment". But, I guess I really ought to be grateful that my vacuum is back from the shop and works good as new. Even though that does not count as a gift.

There was some blue sky this past week. Hallelujah and praise the Lord. If only it were here to stay. I don't even care if it continues to be butt cold....I just want some blue sky and some sunshine.

Friday night was my brother's last home game as a high school athlete. It was a nail biter to the end and an awesome win to end his home court career on. Only one more region game and then it's off to the playoffs. I'm excited.

Yeah I guess that sums it up.

Thank heavens it's almost over....

 

 I think that, collectively, all the people around the world could do without January.  I mean, it's only 31 days, we could divide those up right?  Give April an extra week, maybe June or September a week or two because January?  You totally suck.

If it weren't for my sweet boy having a birthday in January, I could totally and completely get rid of this icky month.  What a crappy way to start the new year.  But, then again, maybe it stinks to help us appreciate the rest of the year.

Why so down on January?  Because, in the last few weeks:

the breaks on my car squeak so loud when I'm backing out of my driveway it's like there is a humpback whale beached in the snow.

my dishwasher no longer washes dishes.  It seems to just sprinkle them with water.

my dryer, unless loaded with a perfectly medium load, bounces all over my laundry room as if it's alive and coming to get me.  We just recently had it balanced by a professional, but it didn't help.

my very nice, very expensive vacuum is broken.

the extra fridge/freezer in garage stopped working and I had to throw away a ton of thawed out, "frozen" food.  Then, it started working again.  Then it stopped.  Then it started.  Then it stopped.

Inversion.

My kids are sick.

I am sick.

My niece is sick.

My brother is sick.

The snow is cold.

Putting away clothes is really hard work.

I may or may not have found fecal matter belonging to a rodent in my basement.

But, there is always  a light at the end of the tunnel.  It cannot get much colder.  I feel spring coming in my bones (oh wait, that's arthritis!).  And, at the end of March we are going to Disneyland with my family.  That may be the only thing getting us through the bleak.

Disneyland.....

Disneyland....

DISNEYLAND!!!!!

Let the anxiety begin....

Tomorrow night is Ross' company dinner in Park City.  There aren't a lot of instructions about the dress, but I figured it was one step above church, but limited on the number of sequins per outfit.  A tough road for me to haul considering my entire day, every day is spent in jeans and a stripped t-shirt.  Or jeans and a stripped sweater.  I own a lot of stripes.

Business causal?  Semi-formal?  Sunday dress?  Semi-formal?  I cannot figure any of this stuff out.

Anyway, thanks to my in-laws right after Thanksgiving I had a couple of hours to myself, which never usually happens, so I went shopping for something to wear.  Since then, I've tried the outfit on several times, not sure if it really works.  On Monday I purchased my first pair of Spanx to make the outfit fit a little bit better.   Still not sure.  I bought some new shoes, but fear the heel is too tall and I'll be towering over my husband.  I mean, I'm a bit of an amazon in my regular life, do I really need shoes with a heel?

I had a baby three months ago and I'm super jiggly and my hair is really short.  I pretty much feel like Fiona the Ogre from Shrek every where I go.  Jeans and stripped t-shirts and a little big of make-up to make life bearable every day do not a fancy night out on the company dollar make.

Today, the anxiety has hit.  Maybe if I don't wear the skirt?  Maybe if I find a different sweater?  Maybe if I go to another store to look for shoes?  Who is going to talk to me?  Who am I going to let make me feel like a dork because I'm a stay at home mom who they think doesn't have anything to talk about?  Who is going to say something to me that will make me feel stupid?  What happens if someone does try to talk to me but I get nervous and freeze like I did as a little girl and just stare like a spaz?

You get the point?  I can confidently teach a lesson to a ballroom of people no sweat.  I can host a small party with people I know at my house.  I cannot make small talk with strangers.  I cannot remember peoples names.  I cannot go find someone to talk to.  I can sweat and stutter and look like a dork.  New social situations paralyze me, let alone having to talk to someone while I'm eating.

So, I've been sick to my stomach all morning fretting over something totally insignificant (first world problems, I know.).  Okay, more than fretting.  Sweating and nauseous.  I've held my skirt in my hand.  I've looked at all my shoe options.  I've held the sweater up to other skirts in my closet.

I might cry.

Imagine how I'll be tomorrow.  When I actually have to get dressed.  When I have to comb my short hair in a way that I don't look like a boy.  When I have to put on a little bit more make-up than my everyday barely there, but I don't really know how to wear make-up.

I might need to call in sick.

While were off track....

It's been 11 full days of off track life.  We are nearly halfway through.

Yeah!

My ever demanding boys have been ever demanding these days.  It seems that they are no longer cutting me any slack as the mom with a baby.  They are in full demand of projects, and arts and crafts, and popcorn.  Lots and lots of popcorn.

Here's just a little taste of what we've been up to.

They swiffered yesterday for 20 minutes each. The cleanest my kitchen floor has been in ages.

They camped out to watch, "The brave little toaster" one of the most mindnumbingly boring children's movies ever...except "Totoro". They were however, completely silent and glued to the television for almost 90 minutes. For that, thank you brave little toaster.

Spiderman is ready for the holiday. The boys are super into superheroes lately. But, they both cannot be a super hero at the same time. One of them will be, oh, superman and the other? He must be scooby doo. Have you ever seen Scooby shoot out webs and fly between buildings? I have.

Checked air pressure.

Selling t-shirts for a basketball fundraiser at the home games. They are pretty persuasive little sells people.

Loving on that sweet baby brother of theirs.

We've also seen the return of the summer failure: Mom School. Yes, my 5 year old is so desperate for kindergarten that we've broken out all our workbooks, lined paper, left-handed scissors and gotten to work. We've done hard math problems and read lots and lots of books. It's been awesome.

And, we've done some super cool and easy art projects. This one only took some milk, food coloring and some dish soap. It kept us busy off and on for the entire day.