Perchance to dream...

Lately I am just so darned tired. It is sometimes hard for me to fall asleep at night because my joints hurt, and I have to wake up early each day to get First Son off to school and tend to Paddy boy (Curly would sleep till noon most days if I let her, and even if she does wake up she's a pro with the remote control!). So, I look forward to Saturday morning as if it were a giant ribbon wrapped box under the Christmas tree. Hubby is home, and I don't have to wake up!! I am entirely too optimistic about this premise though, because both my dear Hubby and my dear First Son were born without the ability to be quiet unless they are themselves asleep, and lately sleeping late for either of them means 6:30AM.

This past Saturday I was so frustrated with the level of noise that I actually rose out of bed at approx. 7:45 to tell the entire brood how ridiculously rude and unfair they were all being. It was not pretty. Hubby tried in vain to defend himself with some lame excuse that went "I keep telling them...." but, I shot him a look of death and then wondered aloud about exactly who thought it was a good idea to turn the washing machine on at 6AM, and then run it unbalanced so that it sounds as if a Mack Truck is barrelling through the house? Hmmmm?

I went back to bed and thought with pleasure about the days coming soon when I will be sedated in a hospital bed, having just undergone major surgery, when I will actually get a chance to sleep! I mean, is that sick or what? I am looking forward to the hospital as a place of peace and quiet?? Does anyone else think something is wrong with that idea?

Well, today came a state of bliss that I thought I would never see. Since I spent 14 hours away from home yesterday travelling to and from the Papal mass at Yankee Stadium, my dear Hubby and MIL worked it out for me to be able to sleep as long as I needed in total peace and quiet! I LOVE THEM! Hubby went into work a little bit late today, and brought the cherubs to MIL at about 7:30 this morning! Except for a random door bell ring at about 7:45 (someone looking for my tenant), which wasn't even that bad as I needed to get up to use the facilities and have a drink of water anyway, I slept uninterrupted until...11AM! Wow. It felt so good. I then brewed myself a nice cup of tea and baked up some fresh cinnamon rolls while watching The View! I can't remember the last time I have been so indulgent! (for that matter, I can't imagine the next time it might even be a possibility to be so indulgent) It really made such a huge difference in my life. Just to be able to rest my tired bones and body was so refreshing to my soul!

Saturday morning I woke up snarling and snorting, Sunday I spent a day with the Pope, and next thing you know today I am sleeping like a...really tired, 9 months pregnant mother of three ( ...well, we know how babies sleep, and I certainly slept better than that!). My 14 hour pilgrimage to the Bronx yields miracles in under 24 hours! Amazing.

Seriously, thank you SO MUCH to MIL - you were a Godsend today, and everyday!

Time on my side

Time. It is infinitely finite. The days on the calendar stretch on in perpetuity, but each one comes to it's fateful end, much too soon. 24 hours really isn't enough. Each day I awake full of hope and energy, yet each evening I inevitably lay my head on the pillow, exhausted, with only a portion of my to do list completed. Am I too ambitious? Maybe. Inefficient? Only sometimes. Nine months pregnant and therefore prone to bouts of exhaustion? Definitely.

I am a glutton. Everyone who knows me, knows that my plate is full. That's the way I like it. I run one book club, am a member of another, participate in a monthly Bunco circle, just recently stopped working one day a week, chair one or two PTA committees, conduct wedding rehearsals at my church, am planning Curly's birthday, teach a 2 hour religious ed class to ten 3, 4 and 5 year olds every Friday, and try in vain to maintain several friendships and familial responsibilities. Oh yeah - and I already have three kids, a house, and a husband. Once in a while, I write a blog, but that's not so much! It's life. My life. It's just that these past few weeks have been crazy. I actually had one friend call to see if I was ok, was I in the hospital maybe?, all because I haven't posted in my blog in such a long time.

Lately I just can't seem to cross enough off of an ever growing list, and time is running out. This baby is coming, whether I am ready or not. This is the first time in four full term pregnancies that I do not yet have a hospital bag packed at 36 weeks. In the past, my bag has been at the ready, hospital earrings and all, by 30 or 32 weeks. I haven't even looked at, much less washed, a stitch of baby clothes. In fact, I haven't even bought the Dreft! The bassinet is still in the basement. In the past, I had by now, stocked my freezer with 20 homemade dinners, to insure a smooth transition after we brought the newbie home (because seriously, if dinner is on the table, then things at least seem normal). My freezer today? Well, I did recently clean it, but it's full of mostly bread and french fries (french fry sandwich, anyone?) . I recently ordered the Big Brother/Big Sister t-shirts, I just hope they arrive in time. I did also have hubby get the car seat down from the attic, so we can bring our new baby home, even if he/she is naked. At least it's spring, right? Who needs clothes, ...I bought diapers.

Today we are off for the official meeting of Baby "D" who arrived in grand style on the "day of fools", foiling his Daddy's plans to be at Yankee Stadium for the season opener; then First Son has a soccer game. After that our day is quiet. (quiet being a very subjective term). Tomorrow I am off to Yankee stadium with Aunt Tay, as we were honored to receive the golden tickets necessary for entrance to the Papal Mass, and next weekend I am escaping to a rented house on the North Fork of this Island to catch up and relax with six of my closest girlfriends. First Son is off from school this week, but he does have two dentist appointments. I also have been invited to lunch sans kiddies with my good friend SBW. I will fit it all in, I am sure. And whatever doesn't get done...well, there's always tomorrow.

It's My Blog-iversary!

That's right, hard to believe, but today marks one year since I have been a member of the blogosphere. Happy Blog-iversary to me!! As of this posting I have had almost 5700 hits - sounds like a lot right? It's just slightly more than 15 per day, but still, who would think that there are that many people out there who wanna read what I have to say? Amazing!

I am looking forward to year number two, and will be implementing some technological improvements, namely, a subscription service! Keep watching!

Thank you to my very loyal fans, you know who you are. Keep reading, and keep stroking my ego!

I am the Mom, I am the Mom, I am the Mom!

Dear Dr. Pediatrician,
I am the Mom. You are the Doctor. Sorry lady, but Mom trumps Doctor. Every time. Now I realize that you have gone through umpteen years of school and training, internships, residencies, etc. I respect that. I do. But here's the thing. While your area of expertise may be "children" my area of expertise is "my child". No one has put in more hours of research, intensive research, on this particular subject. I know this child inside and out. I know the meaning of every sniffle, cough and burp;the sound of every cry, the cause behind every bump and bruise and hive. As I said, I respect your level of training and expertise, now I demand that you respect mine. I will no longer put up with rushed appointments where you do not listen fully to my concerns, where you speak to me like I am an idiot. I am not an idiot, I am THE MOM. And you, ...are fired.
Sincerely,
The MOM

Seriously, I am so tired of my pediatrician's office. I have been saying this for months now, but it is definitely time for me to act on it and move on already. I am getting a new doctor. (Can't wait to see how my "lovely" insurance factors into this one)

I feel kind of sad, because these doctors have been with me from the very beginning. I mean, literally, Dr. S. was in the delivery room when First Son made his entrance into this world. Also, I really like the RN who works there (and yes, Aunt Mean, she is an RN), as well as the receptionist, who is the one who talked me off the ledge when the doctor I had first "hired" when I was expecting First Son turned out to be a major bone-head.
For most of the past 5 and 1/2 years I have been happy there, but lately, I just am not leaving there with a feeling of confidence. I think it is important for a pediatrician to inspire a parent's confidence, not only in the skills of the Dr, but in our own parenting skills. For the past few months I have been feeling frustration and disrespect. I feel like they are at times, pushing drugs unneccesarily, and at times witholding necessary prescriptions. (such as prophylactic antibiotiotics and nasal flu vaccines) They don't seem to want to take the time to discuss options or diagnoses. Dare I say they "blow me off"? Part of the problem, is that there are two doctors in the practice, but since they cover two offices they are never there at the same time. You never know which one you're going to get, and lately it hasn't been the good one. To be honest though, even the good one has, as of late, been a bit of a disappointment.
I am a smart Mom, thank God, and I do my research. I may have mentioned this before, but I don't take anyone's word without checking it out for myself. I walk into every appointment armed with knowledge. In 5 1/2 years I have never, not once missed an appointment. My children's immunization records read like a public health brochure. I am friendly, and polite at all times. I send Christmas cards and bring cookies. My children say please and thank you and clean up the toys they were playing with. I pay my co-pays! I am a model patient parent, but apparently not a good fit for this office. Well, some other doctor's office is going to be happy to have me and my brood, and our co-pay and cookies!

Just in case...

A few days ago a good friend of mine who has been facing some health issues, commented about the myriad of things that run through one's mind when facing your own mortality. She commented that should anything awful befall her (pthh, pthh, pthh) she would take comfort in knowing that her family would at the very least be well fed, this because of the delicious meals that showed up on her doorstep recently when she had undergone a procedure.

This has got me thinking. I have no doubt that my family would be well fed. That much I am sure they could manage on their own, as Hubby certainly knows his way around the supermarket, the kitchen, and the take-out menus. My concerns, should anything awful befall me, (pthh, pthh, pthh), have more to do with hygiene than nutrition. Will Curly Girl's hair ever be washed, conditioned and combed through properly, or will she live out the rest of her childhood with a ratty ponytail? Will Paddy boy be destined to walk around in "floods" with his belly hanging out because he has no undershirt on and his father doesn't seem to notice that it's time to move up to the next size clothes? Will First Son's nails be cut short, or will he become known as the dirty-fingernail kid? Will any of them be seen wearing shoes AND socks again? And what about Hubby? I picture lots of wrinkles and stains in his clothes, and really long, unruly eyebrows. I shudder to think what my family might become in my absence.

I have mentioned to Hubby, somewhat in jest, that I will need to make a provision in my will to make sure that these things are taken care of, but I don't actually have the means. So please, if you are my friend and you want to do something for me, promise me that in the event of tragedy (pthh, pthh, pthh) you will leave the casserole home and instead head on over with the hairbrush, the nail clippers and the iron! Oh yeah, you might want to bring a dust cloth too!

It could be a ...

If the last few days are any indication, then I must go on the record here as saying that maybe...it's a girl. And not just because I would love for Curly Girl to have a sister, although I would. I have a very scientific reason for my diagnosis (is the sex of a fetus considered a diagnosis?)...This baby is making me cranky!!
Seriously, I pity anybody who has to be around me, most especially the cherubs and Hubby. Everything irritates me lately. I irritate me. My clothes irritate me. Last night watching American Idol even the commercials were irritating me. Also, I just ate three mini chocolate bars and am considering whipping up a batch of Ghiradielli brownies -if only I can keep them a secret from the rest of the inhabitants of my domicile and eat them all myself!
I am not motivated to do anything at all that requires interaction with other people. I just want to hole up with my chocolate and surf the web for celebrity dirt.
I felt like this once before....Spring 2004. We all know what happened then. Another female Taurus? Oh boy!

Goodnight Sweet Angel

Every night before I head off to bed to go to sleep, when each of the cherubs is fast asleep and tucked away in their own beds, I sneak into their rooms and ply their faces with kisses. I have a special name for each of them, and I gently whisper my goodnight wishes. Sometimes I take a few minutes to just stare with wonder and thank God for blessing me so richly. It is one of my favorite rituals of the day.

Last night, or more accurately, very early this morning I became aware of the sensation of something very warm and soft on my face. Then, I felt the softest little kiss. (Hubby was snoring away on the other side of the bed) I opened my eyes and saw First Son standing next to me. I said "hi", and he came in for a big hug. I asked him what was wrong, fearing a nightmare or wet sheets, and he just said "I love you Mommy. Is tomorrow Friday?". Then he went back to bed. Wow. So sweet.

I figured that he had gotten up to use the bathroom and stopped by for an extra goodnight. This morning as he was getting ready for school I asked him if he remembered coming into my room last night. He said "yeah". I asked if he had gotten up to use the bathroom, and he said " No, I just wanted to say I love you."

There are some moments in my life as a mother that I would do anything to forget. Things that are messy or embarrassing or situations that I feel I have handled badly. This moment however, is one that I hope haunts me through many years of old age.

My precious First Son, My Sweet Angel, I love you too.

Deplorable

I don't like to get political but, I am a mother, and as such I have some responsibility for the world in which I am raising my children. I happened upon this on my friend Salome's blog this morning, and I was so disgusted that I felt I had to share. Please take some time and listen to this rant from Oklahoma State Legislator Sally Kern:
http://www.victoryfund.org/files/listening.html

I am a Married Catholic and Patriotic American mother of three, with one on the way, and I was brought to the verge of tears listening to this. It frightens me not only that there are people who live here among us, calling themselves Christian Americans, but it frightens me most that these people have a platform on which to stand and voice these deplorable thoughts. This woman truly believes herself to be a patriot! She is in a position to influence people. That is scary.

Here is the thing to keep in mind, we are all in a position to influence others. Especially those of us who are parents and teachers. Our world is flawed. We are not a perfect society. We must empower our children to think their own thoughts, to draw their own conclusions, to love one another and to judge not. And, we must teach them the importance of their own voice, especially when it comes to electing those individuals who are meant to represent us.

God Bless America - we certainly need it.

Seriously, What Does That Make Four??

When I started this little "column" just under a year ago, I chose the name that I felt was the most accurate commentary on my life at the time. "Three is the New Five" was born because I spent most of my days with three small children aged 4 and younger, and the reactions that I would get from people were almost always amusing. Years ago it was much more common for people to have three children, or more. These days however, you tip the scales above 2 and people look at you in a whole new way. It used to be that five children was a healthy sized "big" family, but I was finding that as I went about my business with my three in tow people would look at me with astonishment. One time I was in a store checkout and the woman in line behind me asked if I needed help getting to the car. I told her "thank you very much, but I can manage." She went on to say "but,...you have three children." Really? I hadn't noticed. Even my dear MIL will say (when I am stubbornly resisting her offer to help) "but Tricia, you don't understand, you have three children...". Oh, I understand, believe me! First son's barber continues to refer to Paddy boy as "Paddy Quits" - as in, that's it we're calling it quits now. How presumptuous!

Well anyway, now that the bulging belly makes it obvious that number four is due to arrive you can just imagine the reactions I get. Everything from a wide eyed "God Bless You!" (Thank you, I can use all the blessings you have to offer) to "Somebody needs to get snipped" (So disgusting, I don't even have a reaction for that one) to "Good Catholics" (I don't know what you mean... I eat meat on Fridays during Lent) to a simple "Wow". The other night a friend of my FIL patted my belly (a pet peeve) and then sternly announced while swiping his hand through the air, "no more!" Honestly, I could be insulted, but it's usually not worth the energy. I choose instead to be amused. Sometimes I myself don't quite know how to react to the fact that number four is on the way, so I won't hold a grudge against these people, no matter how tiring their comments may be.

Last night I was at a women's function at my church and got the best reaction yet. After a while we broke into small groups to discuss the night's topic. I was there with some friends, my sister and my MIL, but we invited one other lady into our group whom none of us knew. She was a very nice lady who kept referring to the rest of us, including MIL, as "you young ones". This nice lady looked at my belly and said sweetly "so, you're expecting a little one." I smiled and said "yes, my fourth". Of course her eyes went wide ( I think that part of people's wide eyed reaction is because I am younger). She smiled politely and asked how old my other children are. I of course answered, "Five, 3 1/2 and 15 months." She responded with... absolute, hysterical, tear inducing laughter. I mean her face was red, and she was literally wiping away tears. She kept apologizing every time she could catch her breath...but she couldn't help laughing. I thought...FINALLY... someone who gets it!

I admit, it is not easy having so many, some days it is a real challenge, but, I love each and every one of my children, and when I look at them I cannot fathom life without one of them. Each one brings something so special to our family, and was always meant to be here. I myself am one of five children, and we all maintain a close relationship as adults. My parents are long gone from this earth, and my brothers and sisters are all that I have to connect me to them. I truly believe that the best gift that I can give my children is siblings. (also, I figure that if they have to deal with me being their mother, they shouldn't have to go through it alone!)

So, if "Three is the New Five", what does that make Four? Should I change the name of my blog come May? If so, what shall I change it to? If you have any suggestions please leave a comment. Next month I will post a poll and you can all vote!

Waiting for baby "D"

This past weekend we had the baby shower for the Sunshine Girl. It was fun, the fun part for me being putting together centerpieces and favors and obsessing over details. As you may know, I live for planning a good party. For the Sunshine Girl, the fun part I am sure was visiting with her family who arrived from the Sunshine State just for the occasion, that and getting a trillion adorable baby gifts! Curly Girl had a blast, being the special helper at the shower. That girl never stopped! Her Oohs and Ahhs were right on target and never lacked enthusiasm. She helped with every single gift, and had a moment of pure ecstasy at the sight of the cake! The little girl who thought a baby shower was the funniest thing she had ever heard of, because really, babies don't take showers, they take baths; had finally come to accept and enjoy the concept of the all- girl present extravaganza! For Aunt Mean, who was the hostess, and this is the funniest part, also the grandma, he he he, I think the most fun part was when it was all over and deemed a success - boy can she stress! She was also pretty happy when the adorable car seat blanket she made was a perfect match for the car seat! It really is pretty, and now that I know about the "skills" I expect one of my own, hint, hint.

There has been quite a baby boom in the family lately. I am talking serious census skewing data. In a span of less than two years there will be no less than six new leaves on the old arbor, and depending on how deep the roots go, probably more than that. My family alone is responsible for two of them. Babies, babies, everywhere. Still, there is something different about this particular birth. With this new baby we're starting a whole new generation! I will be his great aunt, after all! (It's true, I have always been a great aunt, thanks for mentioning it) There is something so exciting about the arrival of this child that I am almost more excited to meet him than I am my own child (relax, I said almost). This is the first time in over 21 years that there is a baby being born who is my direct blood relation (excluding cousins), and I don't need to do any of the birthing! If my parents were alive today, or more accurately, this summer, they would be proud to have 9 grandchildren ranging in age from 29 to zero and 1 great-grandchild. Wow.

He'll be here in just a few short weeks. We know he's a boy - obviously, but that is all we know. We don't know his name, or when exactly he'll arrive. We're all just waiting for the phone to ring. I do know however that he will be greeted with a great big shout of joy from so many in this great big family. I for one, can't wait to meet you, baby "D".

Filfidelfia

A few weeks ago the cherubs and I took a trip to "Filfidelfia" to visit our good friends, The "DD" family who recently moved there. It was so amazingly wonderful to be in a place we've never been before, yet to feel so familiar and comfortable. Of course it's not the place that makes us feel so good, it's being with people we love. Although the four walls were foreign, it truly felt like coming home.

The kids greeted each other by running into each other's arms, full of giggles and grins, and true glee. Even little Paddy boy was thrilled to show off his new skills and toddled his own way up the walk and into his pal DD's arms. It was a happy reunion. Their new home is beautiful, if not entirely moved into. Somehow all of the toys managed to get unpacked(at least I hope those were all of the toys!) before we arrived so the kids were never at a loss for things to do. It was warm and cozy, and DD is a great cook (she did have help from 3 adorable sous- chefs) and the ultimate hostess. The kids sat up late giggling and playing, watching movies, eating ice cream and having "slumb-over" parties. DD and I sat up late, giggling, eating ice cream and catching up on our heart to hearts.

It was really a great trip, and one that I am sure was an emotional boost for everyone, especially the kids who were missing each other terribly. Now at least they can conjure in their minds some reality of their best friend's whereabouts. They got to visit her in her new school, they know what her room is like, and I have definitely noticed a change in the anxiety levels of everybody. They realize that visiting with their friend is not impossible, and we can do it again. They are having a great time sending each other mail, and chatting on the phone. Now of course, they are bugging me about when the "DD" family will be coming to play at our house. I am sure that can be arranged.

As for me, I realized too, that even though I really miss my friend, it's going to be okay. I feel as though I have turned an emotional corner since our trip. I can no longer be in denial about their departure, but I know where they are now, and I know that we can pick up right where we left off, no matter where or when that was. I really hope that as our kids grow and change and our lives become busier and busier (you mean, it can get busier?)we will always make time for each other. I am not really a very emotonally demonstrative person, at least not when it comes to being warm and fuzzy, but friendship is important, and I have a good one with dear old "DD". She is a special blessing in my life, and I am grateful!

Still, the Mets are the team to beat! LOL.

Hello Third Trimester.
Welcome, heartburn, frequent peeing and infrequent sleep.
It's good to be back.

NO shamrock?

A few months back we went to dinner with some friends at a local pub. The overall experience was pleasant enough, the waitress was as dumb as a crouton, but the food was pretty good, and the atmosphere was homey, and comfortable, important, considering we had four kids with us. There was one thing that really creeped me out though. In the whole place, there was not one stinking shamrock! Seriously, not one!

A bar, any kind of bar, without some display of a shamrock? I thought for sure that the walls around me were nothing more than a facade. Any moment and little men dressed head to toe in black with those cool walkie-talkie headphones would come out and move a few things around and suddenly I would be in George and Weesie's living room. I was actually sitting on some television set, not an actual watering hole. Although surely the union prop masters of TV land would not overlook something as basic as a shamrock in a bar? It is fundamental.

Now, luckily I was already quite pregnant, and therefore however much I was craving a pint, or even the free glass of wine that was offered with my dinner, I was abstaining. I say lucky because, in fact I cannot, in good conscience, drink in a bar which does not, in some way, shape or form, have a shamrock displayed. It's just not natural. Uncle Billy would NOT approve, and so I can't do it.

The name of this particular pub, whether it be pretension or not, I can't say, is quite genuinely Irish, which makes the absence of the green clover all that much more insulting. I don't know if the proprietors were aware that when giving their establishment a distinctly Irish moniker, they were required to give a nod to the old sod with some representation of the registered trademark of the Republic of Ireland, or if maybe they are indeed, eejits.

Anyway, I was spooked by the whole experience. I have since been assured by a certain Ignats who frequents the place and incidentally has access to some nice neon shamrocks through his employment in the distribution industry, that the oversight has been corrected. We'll see. Three more months of relative sobriety and I may give it another try.

Baby Brain

I think I have figured it out. My blogging problem, that is. I mean, I just haven't been able to post lately, and it's been bothering me. I can't seem to get the words to come together. It's frustrating to say the least. I want to post intelligent, eloquent musings, but I just can't seem to do it.

Well, tonight it dawned on me. This has happened to me before, particularly when I was expecting First Son, and probably to some degree with each subsequent pregnancy. I AM DUMB. I have "baby brain". I can barely string three words together to order a movie ticket, and here I expect myself to be able to write my "column"? I am totally sober but am acting quite inebriated most of the time. I have a total loss of words as well as a loss of concentration. This pregnancy symptom is almost as debilitating as the onslaught of exhaustion early in the pregnancy. This is not who I am. I am smart. I am literate. Really, I am. I just can't prove it these days.

On the plus side, Fetus is going to be one smart child. In the meantime, I will do my best to not sound like a rambling idiot. Please stick by me. Things should start to improve around late May, early June. That is, provided Number 4 actually leaves me with any time to blog at all!

Help a mutha out!

Sometimes, it really does take a village.

Last weekend was a whirlwind. Hubby was OOT for business, which always spells some kind of crazy trouble at home. What kind of trouble? how about: a kid overdosing on steroids; a probable miscarriage that was thankfully only a kidney stone requiring a trip to the ER, where they did NOT give me morphine, by the way, yeah, cause Tylenol might help!; a trip to the ER with a three month old, preceeded by a flat tire in a snowstorm; a car accident on the NYS Thruway, with a two year old and four month old, and yes, another trip to yet another ER, etc., etc. It's gotten to the point where some of my family and friends are petitioning for Engineer Boy to not be allowed any more travel visas. Of course, we have to pay the bills, (even if most of them are hospital visit co-pays and car repairs) so, off he goes.

Hubby's flight was scheduled to take off at 7:30 Friday night, the same time that my monthly Bunco group was scheduled to arrive at my house! (ok, so I play Bunco, I will be very popular when I move into my retirement community, so there!) I was a wreck trying to get ready for Bunco - which meant hosting 11 women at my home, feeding and watering them all, keeping track of "dues" and distributing prizes, and not to mention a little bit of pressure to have my home looking good, since I don't know many of these women very well. (thankfully, I only have to host the game once a year!) Hubby stayed home all day Friday and was a tremendous help. He really is a gem (sometimes), cleaning, organizing, lifting heavy things, killing bugs and opening jar lids!

Let me just say that the women that I play Bunco with are...crazy! I refer to them as the real desperate housewives of Suffolk County. It just is not safe for husband or child to be around while they are. With Hubby leaving town, I was left with the situation of needing to find a farm willing to take in three extra grazing lambs - overnight! Not always an easy task. Thankfully, Grandma was on board all along to take care of Paddy Boy, so that was one down. Luckily for all of us Aunt Tay was well rested and had recently stocked up on Cheez Doodles, Ice Cream and Cap'n Crunch, so she was prepared to take First Son and Curly Girl. Phew! I was safe. My house was clean (at least the first floor...including, and this is the impressive part, the kitchen floor!), I had a wonderful menu prepared, and the beer was on ice - Bunco would happen. Most importantly, the cherubs were safe from all the mayhem.

We played Bunco. Everyone enjoyed the food, complimented me on my lovely home, helped to clean up and, this is the best part - left at a respectable hour. I didn't win rolling the dice, but I didn't really lose either. Best of all, I had the whole big bed to myself, and there was nobody home to wake me up in the morning! I actually slept uninterrupted (ok, there was one pee break...I couldn't exactly farm out the Fetus!) until after 9AM! To top it off..I had a whole roll of Pillsbury Cinnabon Cinnamon rolls in the fridge just waiting for me to bake and spread with gooey frosting. Life was good Saturday morning!

Well, that was Saturday morning. Life WAS good. That is, until Aunt Tay returned her charges. As First Son walked his way to the front door, Aunt Tay stood behind him slowly and deliberately mouthing the words "cran-ky pants!" Hmmm.. I thought that maybe he just didn't sleep well, being in a different house and all, and sleeping on the floor in his sleeping bag. I asked him if he had had fun, he said "Yes". I asked him if he had slept well, and he snapped at me "I didn't sleep at all!" ( he often says this when he has a sleepover - he convinces himself that he stays awake all night, in spite of videoptaped images of him snoring away that would stand up in a court of law as evidence of the contrary). He then said that his "throat hurt". I figured that maybe Aunt Tay kept her apartment warmer, and therefore drier than we do at home, and that might have made his throat sore. So, I didn't think much about it.

We all sat down to indulge in my cinnamon rolls. First Son took only a few bites before he disappeared. Aunt Tay then mentioned that he hadn't really eaten much at her house, not even the Cap'n Crunch (since his usual cereal choice is either Cheerios or Raisin Bran, it is odd that he would pass up a contraband sugar choice!). I found him lying on the couch, with three blankets piled on top of him. Say it with me..."uh oh." He said he was "FREEZING". Time to get the thermometer. It was about 100', under his arm. Not terribly high, OK, some Motrin and off to bed. I still thought that maybe he was just exhausted. He slept for three hours. When he woke up he was fine. He was torturing his little sister, annoying me, he was definitely back to normal. To quote Suzy Mac, "Hooray, I'm saved". I was planning to leave the cherubs with a teenage babysitter that night and go out for a little while to help my niece celebrate her big "2-5". For a while there I thought I was going to have to scrap those plans.

Paddy boy went down for his afternoon nap, and I pulled out some fun art supplies, including, the much coveted, most fun art supply of all: glitter, and set to work with the kids making our own valentines. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, I almost had myself fooled. Suddenly I looked up to find the project First Son was working on, lonely little glue dots around a heart cut-out, just waiting for embellishment, but First Son was nowhere to be found. He had abandoned his Valentine! I called up the stairs and he replied that he was in his bed because "it's not cold in my bed" I had spoken too soon. Up I went with the thermometer in hand. Once again, 100'. More Motrin, and a call to the babysitter - no night out for Mom!

Ok, truly, in the grand scheme of things, this is not so bad. I wasn't having to go to the ER, I just had a kid home with a bug, and anyway, I was still kind of tired. I didn't really need to go out. I have dealt with much worse while Hubby has been away. In truth, I was getting off easy this time. As long as I kept First Son on Motrin he was in good spirits. We ordered a pizza and a movie. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.

And then...we went upstairs to get ready for bed when First Son announced that his "throat hurt". Crap. He has never in his life complained of a sore throat before. Other than a fever, he had no other symptoms. My gut was telling me that this was not good. I got out Hubby's Super Duty flashlight and made the kid say "ahh". Red. Definitely bright red, and possibly a few white spots. Strep Throat. Double Crap. I gave him some Tylenol and sent him off to bed.

I then proceeded to make the first of about 50 phone calls. You see, I work on Sundays. I work for the nicest people in the world, in a very small coffee shop that absolutely relies on their Sunday take to pay their bills. If I don't come to work they have to close shop for the day. I couldn't do that to them. However, it was really important that I get First Son to a Dr the next day. Strep Throat can be dangerous if it is not treated, and unfortunately First Son falls into a category that is "high risk". He was a cherub in need of an antibiotic. I was a Mom in need of a favor or two.

My first call was to my sister, known around here as "Aunt Mean" - which isn't always a comment on her personality. She's an RN, who has already raised four kids of her own, and is the only person other than Hubby who I would trust to take First Son to the pediatrician in place of myself. Of course, I kept getting her voicemail. Since she wasn't stuck at home with a sick cherub she had indeed gone out to celebrate the birth of my niece, her daughter, 25 years earlier. I then tried every other cell phone number of the people who I knew would be out with her. Either the bar they were in was really LOUD, or there was no cell service - surely they couldn't all be ignoring me! After about 15 tries, I finally had both the Sunshine girl and Ignats, my 21yr old godson, calling me back at the same time. Finally - I got to talk to a person! Ignats put his mother on the phone so I could ask for her help but...she gave me some line about a bunch of premature babies in some intensive care unit that she was previously engaged to take care of the next day. Whatever...like that's important, I needed to pour coffee and sling eggs for crying out loud! Crap.

Next I placed my call to the "Chef" - I asked him to please, please, make some calls and try to find someone to cover for me the next day, even if it would only be for a few hours. I explained the whole situation with OOT Hubby and sickly First Son. He suggested closing the restaurant the next day, but I resisted. That would mean him taking a really big hit in the wallet. He said he would start dialing and call me back.

As I sat waiting for some enlightenment, some sloution to my problem, the phone rang. It was Ignats. He offered to take First Son to the Doc for me, since he had no plans the next day. Well, that is a nice offer, but....First Son is a bit wimpy, and knowing that they would be doing a throat culture, shoving a stick down his throat, I didn't really think that Ignats was the best person for the job, a definite Mommy job. Thanks, but no thanks. Then I started thinking...Ignats has some experience is the food service industry...maybe he could come to the Coffee Shop and relieve me for a few hours so that I could get First son his prescription. Yeah...that's the ticket!

So that's what we did. I loaded First son up on Motrin at 7:30 AM (his temp was now 102' and he was miserable), left him and the other cherubs in the capable hands of Grandma and then headed off to work. At 10:00 Ignats arrived, got a quick tutorial and my best wishes for luck pouring coffee and slinging eggs, and I was off to bring First Son to the Doc. As expected, he was diagnosed with Strep, given a prescription for 8 days of Amoxicillan, and ordered to spend the next day home from school. I returned him to Grandma and headed back to work. When I got there there were three people doing my job, and "Chef" was overjoyed to see me, as were my regular customers. I take my hat off to all "working mothers" - again, a whole 'nother post.

By the time I got home, around 5PM everyone was relaxing peacefully. Hubby had returned on an afternoon flight, and just can't seem to understand what was so tough. Hmmph. I need to get myself a job that requires "travel". Perhaps I could start writing a column focused on the best "spas" in the country...then we'll let him give it a whirl!

I know, I haven't posted in a long time. I know, I am disappointing many of you. I promise, I am trying! Sometimes, when I don't post for a while, it isn't because I don't have anything to say. Quite the opposite. There are actually so many things going on in my head that I can't seem to settle my mind and focus on writing about just one. Lately, there has been: my trip to "Filfadelfia" - so fun; dining alone with children outside the Tristate area a.ka. "I didn't want honey mustard on my cheeseburger!"; Girl Friendships - so important!; OOT Hubby; the Big Fat Bigots in my town; and even some personal commentary on the Presidential campaign. If you could see the list of posts I have started and haven't yet finished...
Seriously, my brain is a busy place, and it is hard to know which window I should open first and let you see into. As I said, I am trying. I promise to post about some, if not all of the above topics soon - before anything else happens! Stay tuned...please!

Sick Day

A Mom doesn't ever get a day off, and she certainly doesn't get any sick time, which unfortunately, is not to say that she doesn't get sick.

Yesterday, First son was home in honor of MLK, Jr. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not the esteemed civil rights leader was indeed a member of a royal family, we decided to embark on some important errands which are most easily accomplished with First Son home from school. Namely, a haircut, lunch with my niece (a teacher, and therefore also off from work), and a trip to the eyeglass store to mend the twisted arm of the famed spectacles.

About a half an hour before we were set to leave the house I was hit by a wave of acute melancholy. This feeling came over me, and I suddenly didn't want to go out. I didn't want to meet my niece for lunch, I didn't want to do anything but crawl into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and maybe...cry. I thought the sudden onset a bit strange but otherwise I figured it was a touch of depression, something which I simply cannot submit to, but which occasionally rears its ugly head. I decided to ignore the feeling as best as I could, and so I laced up my sneakers, made sure all of the cherubs had warm hats and mittens and we headed out the door.

Sitting in the barber shop watching as First Son lost most of his overgrown locks to a #3, #4 buzz combination, I felt myself sighing heavily. Curly girl was talking to me, being as charming as ever, and I had to make a gargantuan effort to stay focused and involved. I was zoning out big time.

My niece and I decided to head to Panera Bread for lunch, since it is a favorite, and conveniently located at the mall, the site of my final eyeglass errand. We sat at the table with scrumptious soups and salads and amazing chewy breads before us - and I just couldn't bring myself to eat any of it. I forced a few bites, but I just wasn't interested. This was strange for sure, because as I said, Panera is a favorite, and lack of appetite never seems to be a symptom of my moodiness. Nevertheless, I asked for my food to be packed up "to go". I mentioned to my niece that I didn't feel good, but I couldn't explain anymore than that. I just didn't feel right. I mean, my head didn't hurt, my throat wasn't sore, I wasn't nauseated or crampy, I just felt this overwhelming need to go home and get in bed. I decided to give in this one time, forgo the eyeglass store, and just head home. Boy am I glad I did.

We were just a few blocks from the mall when I needed to pull over to the side of the road and...get sick. That makes it sound a lot more neat and compartmentalized than the reality was, but I won't go into gory details. We all have our own data bank of personal experience with the stomach flu on which we can draw to fill in whatever colorful aspects of this story I might leave out. Suffice it to say that it was gross, and painful, and not a little bit scary for the three small people seated behind me. (Well, two of them anyway, Paddy boy was oblivious to what was happening, as he was entertaining himself by pulling his hat down over his eyes and laughing hysterically). At one point it became quite frightening as I took my foot off of the brake pedal for a moment only to realize that I had never had the chance to put the car into park, luckily I found the brake again, just before we crashed into a tree.

Curly girl announced that as soon as we got home I was to go straight to bed and let her take care of me. She then wondered aloud about exactly who was going to drive us home, as clearly I was in no condition and her feet don't quite reach the pedals. First Son helped out by locating the roll of paper towels that I always keep in my car for emergencies. Thankfully, I pulled myself together and was able to get us all home safely. I got Paddy boy into his crib and turned on a movie (Thank God for Baby Neptune) while the other two played nicely in the boys' room. I called hubby and begged him to come home from work and then I crawled into my bed and vowed to stay there. That lasted until about 1 AM, when Paddy boy started puking...followed by First Son at 5:30AM. Hubby has since spent almost the entire day either on the porcelain throne or passed out on the couch. Curly girl? Well, someone's got to take care of the rest of us.

All in all I am thankful that it was just a stomach virus. As much as it sucks to be taken down by a bout of violent vomit, there is a definite end, you know it won't, it can't, go on forever. Depression is much more daunting, and I have had enough of it. If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing a serious case of the blues, now you can imagine...it's kind of like the feeling you get right before you puke.

The weather here this morning was not so great, kind of like a monsoon. A good morning for sleeping in. Curly and I spent a good long while in the most delicious snuggle. We were wrapped up in down covers, entwined in a full body double hug. We laid there for quite a while just enjoying each other's company. I said to my Curly girl "do you know what I am?" She shook her head yes, so I said "what?" She answered "A genius!" I laughed and pulled her close as she went on, "a genius, and so pretty". I was going to say I was the luckiest Mommy in the world...

A big deep sigh....

Thank you so much to all of my friends who either commented, e-mailed or called with words of encouragement. Thank you to those of you who thought happy thoughts and said silent prayers, you are very much appreciated today. Ok, so I am definitely more at peace now than I was yesterday. I have had my sonogram, I have seen my baby, and I had a lengthy chat with a smart doctor. I feel much better.
I am glad I took that class in statistics in college, cause we sure talked a lot of numbers today. For the record, my brain doesn't work in numbers, it works much better in words, but I managed to comprehend pretty well without engineer boy (a.k.a. Hubby) having to explain much. I credit this to all of the "words" that I have been reading on this subject lately. Here's the deal:
Nobody can tell me with absolute certainty that my baby does not have Downs Syndrome. They can't tell you that yours doesn't either. The tests that I have had are only screenings, and calculate nothing more than "risk" or probability. So, the earliest test, the "ultrascreen" said that my risk was even lower than average for my age, about 1 in 600. The second test, the AFP test said that my risk was much higher than average for my age, about 1 in 250. They did a third "analysis" called an "integrated analysis" which looks closely at the results of both tests and produces a third number, this time 1 in 800. This third test however is not so much scientific as it is statistic, and it hasn't been around long enough to be sure of its validity. Ok...so what next? Today's sonogram showed no additional markers for Down's Syndrome, or any other abnormality. Again, not a definite, but a probably. Most importantly, the baby's heart looked like it is developing normally. Often children with Down's Syndrome suffer from heart problems.
My concern with having a child with Down's Syndrome, well, my biggest concern anyway, would be making sure that any special medical needs could be easily met in the hospital where I deliver. This is the one thing that would make me consider an amniocentesis, because my usual hospital does not have a high level Neo-natal intensive care unit. The closest one can come to a sure answer about Down's Syndrome is to have an amniocentesis where they use a needle to extract some genetic information. However, this is a test which carries a 1 in 200 risk of miscarriage. This test can tell you if your child does have Down's Syndrome, with about 98% accuracy. Since the overall "statistics" show me at low risk, and the sonogram shows no signs of developmental issues, I am comfortable proceeding without the risky amnio and delivering as planned.
I would also just like to state that I love NSUH. It is far. It is really inconvenient, but it is so worth it. I have had sonograms done in other facilities, and it just doesn't compare. I take into account the fact that my friend works there as a sono tech, but even beyond that, even if I didn't know anyone there, I would still make the 37 mile trek, pay for parking, and deal with all of the "north shore" types and their Mercedes' and BMWs. There are many reasons I like NSUH, the comfy "beds" that I lie on while having the procedure, the big screen monitor positioned on the wall for me to see, so I don't have to crane my neck trying to look where the tech is looking, but most importantly to me, is the access to doctors! The sono techs are friendly (you'd think that would be a given, but trust me, it isn't) and clearly know what they are doing. They take their time and answer your questions, but then, when they are finished, you get to see a real doctor. The place where I used to go to have sonograms done never gave any indication that there was even a doctor present, much less willing to come in the room and talk to you! Today my doctor came in, spent almost as much time with the sono-wand in her hand as the tech did, and answered all of my questions, never once acted like I was just a dumb patient who should take her word as Gospel, and absolutely helped to set my mind at ease.
When all was said and done, and hubby and I were alone in the room, I sighed a big sigh of relief, and I even shed a few tears. The stress of this situation had built up over the last few days and weeks, and it was such a relief to be able to just let it all go. Thank you God. Of course, only time will tell for sure, but I am okay with that.

Anxiety returns...

Tonight I spoke to my sister on the phone, a call whose purpose was to go over the practical details of her babysitting duties for tomorrow, when she mentioned that they prayed for me in church today. For some reason when she said "they" I automatically understood that she meant the congregation, not just her and my BIL. "Huh?" I asked. I was very confused, we don't attend the same parish, I am not part of any Diocesan group at the moment, I couldn't figure out what she meant. Why would a parish 20 miles away from my own be praying for me? Who am I? She went on to explain that during the Prayer of the Faithful, in her quaint little country church, they allow members to voice their own prayers of petition. She said that she was quietly thinking to herself about me (she would never, ever ,dare to speak aloud) when another woman asked to pray for "all pregnant mothers". She thought it more than just a coincidence. I don't know what to think of it, except to try to take some comfort from it, and to add my own prayer along with it, an addendum, if you will. I would like to offer a prayer for all pregnant mothers who are at this moment, scared out of their minds, for peace in their hearts. Lord knows I need it, and I am pretty sure I am not alone.

Okay, so remember how I said so bravely and somewhat arrogantly that I am just not going to worry about this Down Syndrome thing? Well, I kind of lied. Actually, I didn't exactly lie, I really meant it when I said it. I guess "failed" is a more accurate term because, despite my efforts, here I am, sitting in my bed worrying. Tomorrow (Monday) I have an appointment for my level II sonogram which will shed a whole lot more light on the situation. I guess what I am afraid of is, what if I am just so arrogant, that I gave this particular blood test no credence whatsoever, because I am just so sure that God will give me yet another healthy baby - that I find out ...I am wrong, and there is something wrong with my child? What then?

When I play out the scenario in my head, I have the exam and they all pronounce that everything about my baby appears perfectly healthy. Visualization as an anxiety reduction technique. (of course, there's another scenario that is running on limited release, where they tell me that there are two babies in my belly, which is what has thrown off the bloodwork - of course that scenario ends with me in a straight jacket and therefore doesn't fall under the heading of "anxiety reduction") While it is working somewhat, I still can't shake the idea that something is wrong. Otherwise, why would that stupid test have come back with a positive result??

I can be so rational sometimes. I do research, and draw my own conclusions about everything. I really don't take anyone's word, without some sort of verification of my own. I am not wishy washy, I make decisions and stick to them, but I am also not afraid to admit when I am wrong. I made my decision about this, so why then, with no further data, am I being so wishy washy? It's fine! It's Not! It's fine! It's not! Argh. I am torturing myself.

Tomorrow, I will meet up with Hubby and we will spend the afternoon, or at least part of it, looking at black and white images of our newest little cherub as he/she dances away on a flat screen monitor. Hubby will hold my hand, and let me squeeze his as tight as I need to. I am sure there will be some tears, I just am not sure what for. I love this little baby, and I will, no matter what. I hope to return home with some peace tomorrow. So, if you're the praying type, say one for me, and my baby, please.

Goodbye 2007, Hello 2008!

So, Happy New Year. Another holiday that fails to top my list of favorites, but one which is completely inescapable. We "celebrated" by having some friends over for "fancy pizza", Disney DVD bingo, S'mores making and eventually, the ruthless public beating of some kitchen paraphernalia . We had been invited to what I am sure was a totally fun party by Mom2Two, but I really dread going out on 12/31, and she lives a good hour away. Amazingly, we made it all the way to midnight. We had a contingency plan to fake the kids out by doing a countdown early, since they don't totally get the concept of either telling time, or New Year's Eve celebrations. However, they all played together nicely, for the most part, and so, we counted down to 2008 with Dick Clark (poor, poor, soul). Curly girl didn't quite make it to midnight, she was last seen at about 11:40, when Hubby brought her upstairs to get "jammied up", but she never made it back down. Just as well, she's got plenty of time to get crazy on New Year's Eves to come.

I myself was quite glad to see 2007 go. It was a hard year for me, at least the last half. I have been dealing with lots of emotions, and not a little bit of an identity crisis now that First Son has started Kindergarten. One of my best friends and my kids' best friend moved away, in a slow and painful manner. That experience was like taking a band aid off by pulling one hair at a time. I have this unplanned pregnancy to deal with, and I have been finding it difficult to muster up enthusiasm for much of anything lately. So, I am very much looking forward to a bright and happy 2008. I have decided to recognize that I do have some control over my emotions. As my dear Hubby pointed out, I don't need to be so negative, I can try to embrace the positive in life. (not that I plan on sweeping my negative emotions under any carpets, mind you, if something ticks me off you can bet you'll hear about it, or at least hubby will!) I am putting 2007 to rest, and embracing 2008 with a big fat phony smile. I am going to fake it, until I make it. I am going to do away with the things in my life that do not bring me joy, and I am going to try not to be so serious about myself. I am going to try to live by my heart and not be concerned about social circles, or any other nonsense that drains the joy from me. I am starting this new year with a new outlook. I really hope it works.

Ancient "Korean" Secret

I love my OB. I really do. He is the 4th OB I've had over the course of my motherhood, and this pregnancy marks the first time that two of my babies will be delivered by the same doctor, so that says a lot about how much I like him. He is an older gentleman, a native of Korea. He has a thick accent, but a dry wit, and we always manage a playful banter. A lot of his patients do not speak English, and he does not speak Spanish, so he employs almost all bi-lingual Spanish speakers to help him translate. I think he really appreciates that he can have intelligent conversations one on one with me, so we get along really well.

Lately I have been having a lot of trouble with my sinuses and a bad cough. My last two pregnancies I was plagued by a terrible cough that went on for months. My family doctor at the time determined that I have a pregnancy- induced asthma, and put me on steroids to help me breathe. (Steroids in-utero, maybe that explains why both Curly and Paddy are out of their minds?) This time around I thought I would be proactive, and take myself to the Dr. before my lungs got so bad that I need steroids again. So I went on Friday. It has been a nightmare. Thanks to lovely insurance changes I now have a new family practitioner, and he seems to think the problem is my sinuses, and that we need to treat "the nose" to cure "the cough". The problem is that most sinus medications are not safe to use in pregnancy. There is one formula which is considered safe, however, my lovely insurance of course, does not cover it. So, I spent much of my day yesterday on the phone with the pharmacy and trying to get past the sphincter police manning the front desk at the Dr's office, in order to get a pre-approval from the lovely insurance people. (by the way, "lovely" is just another term for "evil, greedy bastards")

At some point yesterday, I decided to call my OB and get his expertise. No sphincter police in his office, within 5 minutes of dialing I was on the phone speaking with my real, live doctor - amazing! So anyway I was explaining the problem, when he asked if I had tried
"Lovishun, cough syrup".
"What?'
"Lovishun"
"Huh?"
"Lovishun, cough syrup."
So I said no, I hadn't tried cough syrup. I explained what the fam. Doc said about "treating the nose"...etc. So my OB asked what is the biggest problem, my nose or my cough? I told him that it was definitely the cough, I feel as though my ribs are about to break.
He said "ok, I want you to try Lovishun"
I said "ok, what is that?"
"Lovishun, lovishun"
I said "I don't know what that is, is it a prescription?"
"No, you buy it over the counter, Lovishun"
I said, "I am sorry, I've never heard of it, I'll have to write it down, Lovishun?"
"Yes, Lovishun"
"with an 'L'?"
"No, an "R, Lovishun"
"...you mean...Robitussin?"
"Yes, that's what I said, Lovishun"
So... maybe we don't communicate so well.

Anyway, my cough has slightly improved thanks to the "cough syrup". I am still waiting for the lovely insurance people to be big about this and agree to pay for the one medication that has NOT been shown to cause harm to a fetus....but that paperwork will probably take about 9 months! In the meantime I will be throwing back 2tsp of "Lovishun" every four hours!

A lovely, Barbie-Free Day

Curly girl, her Damnma (Grandma) and I had a lovely day today. I planned a trip for a group of us to head down to our local town hall auditorium to see a local production of "The Nutcracker". You see, Curly Girl goes to "banarina school" and she loves it. I found out that if I could round up a group of at least 10 people, I could take her to see REAL ballerinas for just $5 a pop! ($26 if you don't have 9 friends!) I called just about everyone I know that has little girls with ballerina and/or princess leanings, and soon I had a group of 15. I planned the outing for Wednesday, so that we could go right after "banarina school" (what can I say, I'm into themes!)

Curly girl was so excited, sitting in her leotard and tutu just waiting for the curtain to rise. (ok, so it didn't actually rise, it moved slowly across the proscenium on a rope, but you get the picture!) At first when I told her about the outing to see ballerinas, she thought that it would be a movie, however when she spotted one of the costumed dancers in the hallway pre-show, she was beside herself with anticipation. I was loving every minute of her awe and wonderment, and I think her Grandma was too. Finally the performance started, and she was mesmerized. She sat so quietly, watching every move the dancers made. When she saw a part she really liked, her eyes grew as wide as her smile and her hands clasped each other with glee. Oh, to be three and a half!

I looked around me and noticed most of the other kids watching just as intently. Then, I heard one child nearby whisper not so quietly to her Mom, "I guess, Barbie isn't coming?". Huh? I had heard other whisperings of the name Barbie before the show started, but I didn't really pay much attention to it, considering the crowd I was with. Apparently there is a Barbie Nutcracker movie, and a lot of these kids were expecting to see not "Clara's Dream", but "Barbie's." I was proud at that moment that thus far I have kept my Curly-girl Barbie-free, and therefore preserved a little bit of the innocence of her childhood. I don't exactly forbid Barbie, I just forbid anyone from buying her for my daughter. I am not a feminist taking a stance on this issue, not at all, Curly girl is a princess of her own choosing. I just don't like the doll much. I had some when I was a kid, and I didn't have much interest in playing with them. However, if the time comes that my Curly girl expresses an independent interest in the Mattel wonder woman, I will concede because it will have been her choice.
The funny thing is, if you've ever really looked at a real ballet dancer there are some distinctive physical characteristics. Let's just say, Barbie would never fit into the Sugarplum Fairy costume, her cup would runneth over!

Daily challenge:

Think you're smart? Try this:

Teach a stubborn, snot nosed five year old to "BLOW your FREAKIN NOSE ALREADY!"

If anyone can do this, I wll give you Ten Bucks!

Unnecessary Anxiety

I am getting soft in my old age. And because in this particular post it is relevant, I must state: I AM NOT OLD. I have a strong personality. Some people would use other, "stronger" words to describe me, but we won't go there right now. That would be a tangent.

So, this is my fifth pregnancy. I am quite familiar with all of the usual testing and what not. I know what to expect for the most part, and I am rather educated on the pros and cons of each test, as I did a lot of reading during my first pregnancy and have continued to do so with each subsequent pregnancy. There are two screening tests that are done fairly early on in the pregnancy. During my first pregnancy I was only offered one, the AFP or Triple Screen. It is a blood test that is used to determine risk of having a child with abnormalities, namely Down Syndrome. As I said, I have done my research. This test is not conclusive, it only assesses risk, and further more, it has a high rate of false positive results. In other words, very often they tell you that you may be at high risk, but upon further testing and eventual birth you find that you have a blessedly, perfectly healthy child. Since this test only measures risk, a "positive" result is an indication for further testing, such as an amniocentesis, a test which is in itself risky. So, during both my first and second pregnancies, I refused this test. Hubby and I decided that the potential anxiety this test might cause, just wasn't worth it.

My third pregnancy didn't last long enough for this, or any other test to be done, as I sadly miscarried at 12 weeks. My fourth pregnancy came very quickly after the devastating miscarriage. As you might imagine, I was a nervous wreck! During this pregnancy they offered me another test called an "Ultrascreen". It is a combination of a blood test and a sonogram. I jumped at the opportunity to have this test done, not because I had any anxiety whatsoever about having a child with Down's Syndrome or any other type of disease or birth defect, but because it was an opportunity to have an extra sonogram, a chance to see my baby alive inside of me! It helped to ease my mind a little, to know that he was ok, to see him with my own two eyes. So, I said yes, sign me up!

During this pregnancy, #5, I once again had the Ulrascreen test. It was a joy to see this new person, although getting my finger pinched to draw blood was not that much fun. The Drs assured me that the sono looked great, everything normal. Fabulous news, and I got a lovely picture of the newest family member to post on my bulletin board!

At my most recent OB appointment, I was 15 weeks, and the Dr. mentioned that I would need some blood work. "Why?" I asked. I have bad veins, drawing blood is a really unpleasant experience for me and whatever nurse or phlebotomist has the pleasure of poking me. The Dr. said, oh just routine stuff, AFP, and some other regular things. Now as I stated at the beginning of this post, I must be getting soft. I adore my Dr, and although I do normally ask a lot of questions and demand explanations, I trust him. On this particular Friday morning I just rolled up my sleeves and said "okay." Why? Why? Why?

The Dr. called me this Friday morning to let me know that he got the results from my AFP test. (Can't be good if you're calling, right?) Apparently, normal risk for someone my age (again, I am Not OLD!) having a child with Down's Syndrome is 1 in 500. According to this blood test my risk is double, at 1 in 250. He went on to say that he is about 98% sure my baby will be fine. He suggests we wait for the 20 week sonogram and see what that shows. Then, if we are very nervous, we can do an amniocenteses, which is the only conclusive test for Down's. Holy Crap! All this crap is now on my shoulders just because I decided to be soft one Friday morning! Ugh. I could kick myself for not refusing that test!

Here's the thing, I know that it is a crappy test. I believe that for me, the risks of amnio are just too high. If God decides to give me a child with Down's Syndrome, or anything else, I will accept it. No matter what, I will always choose life. Even if the Dr told me, and showed me evidence that a child I was carrying would have no chance of survival outside the womb, would die in my arms minutes after birth, I would have that child. I believe in God. I believe that He has a plan for me, and I trust in Him above anyone else. Now, I do know that there is a school of thought which says that even if you would never terminate a pregnancy, it is still better to know what a child's difficulties may be before birth, so that the family and medical providers can be better prepared. I understand that. I am choosing not to worry about this though. Odds of 1 in 250? Those aren't the greatest odds. I have a much higher chance of developing Breast Cancer in my life. I will worry about that instead, or better yet, I will put my life, and my baby's in God's hands and not worry at all. However, if there is a next time, I will remember not to be soft, and to refuse the AFP test!

Season's Greetings!

One of my most favorite guilty pleasures of the Christmas season is probably seen by some as trivial, but I proudly pledge my allegiance to...the Christmas Card. I love Christmas Cards, both sending them and receiving them. Hubby knows that for the month of December, he had better just hand over the mail because all Christmas correspondence must come through me first! My own card list is topping out at around 100 this year, and I keep a sophisticated spreadsheet where I keep track of who I sent a card to as well as whom I received one from. If I don't receive a card from you for at least two years straight then you're cut off, removed from my mailing list, excommunicated from my church of the Most Holy Christmas Greeting. I spend hours torturing my children to get the picture just right, then I spend several more hours agonizing over just the right way to present it.

Each day I anxiously await the arrival of the postman, (you know, while I am eating my bon bons and watching my telenovas) I toss bills and sales circulars to the wind and rejoice at the sight of each envelope with an actual 41cent stamp and handwritten address block.

The most coveted of Christmas cards is of course the photo card. Send me pictures of your little cuties all snuggled up in candy cane striped jammies, or decked out in frills by the tree, and I am your devoted fan for life (or as long as you keep them coming!) I proudly display the photo cards I receive like they are limited edition Donruss baseball cards! It's crazy the things that get me high!

Of course, not everyone has a cute cherub to snap a picture of and send in a Christmas card. That's ok. That's what Hallmark and American Greetings are for, and I love receiving the funny cards, the religious cards and even the ambiguous cards almost as much as the photo cards. Trust me, you are appreciated in your own special way.

There is only one kind of Christmas card that...irks me. The non-photo card from a family with at least one cherub. Why go to the trouble and expense of sending a card, even and especially a cheap card? You know that as soon as I see your return address I am going to get myself all excited anticipating tearing into that beautiful envelope so that I can feast my eyes upon...some Currier & Ives print? Really? Are you trying to hurt me? I am sorry to sound rude or ungrateful, but your "Merry Christmas" or heaven forbid, "Season's Greetings" (your ambiguity pisses me off) falls pretty flat when you neglect to send me a picture of your Christmas Joy. I mean, come on, Christmas is the season of giving, so please, don't be greedy, don't keep your cutie all to yourself, SEND ME HIS PICTURE!!

Jingle Bells

Let me say this first, I adore Christmas. I am only too happy that I now have children with whom I can act like a little kid over the whole month of December. Santa on a fire engine, gingerbread houses, Christmas carols, popcorn balls, tree decorating...I love it all. That said, allow me a moment to Scrooge here, but Jingle Bells may be the most tiring, overplayed, easily annoying Christmas song there is. ("shoes" is a whole 'nother post) It has been used as a parody tune left and right, "Batman smells" - seriously? I mean, the most creative anyone has gotten with this song in a long time was to have a bunch of dogs sing it.
Last Saturday I loaded Rosie up with the fam, and headed down to our church for their annual Santa Breakfast, followed by the town's annual Santa Parade later in the afternoon. It is one of the "funnest" days of the year in my opinion. We got to the breakfast as Santa was arriving, and soon thereafter began a Christmas Carol sing-along. First Son was excited to go gather around the tree, but then was hesitant because Curly was insistent on finishing her pancakes first ( the girl has priorities). I tried to encourage First Son to go, and even offered to go with him (not that sharing my voice spreads Christmas cheer to anyone...but if it made my kid happy, then what the heck!) First Son says that maybe he will go IF...they play his favorite song. "What's your favorite song?" you guessed it..."Jingle Bells". I thought, "sure, that's just the only song you know the name of", but wouldn't you know, seconds later the teenage elf with the microphone announces "now, let's sing Jingle Bells" and zoom, First Son uncharacteristically takes off on his own and joins the group to sing along. Amazing.
Maybe, it really is his favorite song after all. I mean, he only has a little more than five years on this planet, that's just 5 Christmases under his belt compared to my 32! Maybe he hasn't had a chance yet to become annoyed by the trite refrain "jingle all the waaay". Maybe it is also because the song is so simple, it is so easily learned (and therefore stuck in your head), that it becomes a childhood favorite much like the ABC song and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (the difference being that those two songs pretty much stay in childhood, that is, until parenthood, while Jingle Bells reappears annually).
This evening, First Son and I were driving together to our local CVS to purchase some items for a care package that his kindergarten class is sending to the troops in Iraq. The entire ride, First Son kept singing Jingle bells, Jingle Bells...he was so proud of himself when he got the part about the "one horse open sleigh" right. I was not complaining, but it was starting to grate on my nerves. I turned on the radio, hoping to distract him. What came on, but some jazzed up version of his favorite holiday tune. I couldn't escape it, so we sat in the parking lot of CVS listening to the radio drone on, well, I was listening to the radio drone on, First Son was rocking out in the back seat! When the song was finally over, I let my too cynical self smile, thinking about the innocence of childhood, and then we started on our way into the store.
The story, or should I say, the song, however doesn't end there. We had to park pretty far from the entrance and walk, (as it is December and all the little elves decided to head to CVS tonight, the coldest night of the year so far, to gather up all their stocking stuffs) and First Son sang the entire way. At the top of his lungs, and without the slightest hint of self-awareness either. He certainly wasn't aware of the sly smiles that he was getting from every passerby we met. What is this...people are smiling at Jingle Bells? It's a revolution!
My Jingle Bell experience made me think of another Christmas song, this one a little more contemporary, "Christmas Through Your Eyes" by Gloria Estefan. I think that tonight First Son may have given a few people, myself included a little dose of just what Christmas is through the eyes of a child. A wonderful, perfect, not yet cynical, beautiful, off-key child!

I hear you!!

I have been told that I suck at blogging. It's true. I mean, Nov. 12th? Come on! What is it today, the 4th of December? So much for my new laptop being the only thing standing between me and a daily post. Several of my readers are up in arms about it, threatening even. It's not as though there hasn't been plenty to blog about since 11/12. I mean, there was Thanksgiving, and Paddy boy's party (you can read one version of that story over at http://ataleoftwobabies.blogspot.com/), the Announcement and subsequent details from Mickey D and the Sunshine Girl, and most recently, Paddy boy's birthday. There's the whole Season of Giving thing - and giving, and giving and giving, and being taken; there's plenty to write about Kindergarten and pie, the fetus, and all sorts of things. Also, there's the imminent departure of the DD family - now there's a post. Maybe I just have too much to write about. Has anybody considered that? Have any of you people offered to come and take over my domestic duties while I massage my inner muse? No. So, what do you want from me? A post? Oh, is that all? Fine. I will deliver a new post by the end of the day...HOWEVER...would it be too much for me to ask in return for a few freakin comments?? Thank you.

In response to #8....NO!

Have you seen this show on TLC called "Kids by the Dozen"? Each episode they feature a different family with, you guessed it - a dozen or more kids. I watch it every so often when there's nothing better to do, and, I admit, with the hope that I might learn something useful . In truth the show is really quite contrived, they focus on just one or two of the children, and rather than touching on the day to day lives of each tribe, they instead show the family involved in some monumental task or event, and the events leading up to it. For instance building a barn AND opening a store AND making (not buying) all of the inventory for said store, all within one week. Yeah, OK, that might happen in real life. Nevertheless, I watch.
Well, last week I watched an episode in which the family had 13 children and one on the way. So, what I have determined to be the difference between myself and these people who are oh so fruitful and multiplying, is that they must be missing some important nerve endings. How this woman could keep up with 13 rambunctious children, a husband, a house, be pregnant AND allow TV cameras to follow her around is beyond me, way beyond me. I can barely keep up with three! I mean, she appeared to be happy and alert, she was up and dressed, her house was pretty well put together and she never once even looked like she had considered yelling at any of her bratty little kids. I on the other hand spend most of my days in my bathrobe, wading through the sea of Cheerios and heaven knows what else that has become my kitchen floor, trying to avoid eye contact with the gaggle of people who keep calling me "Mommy". As I said, the show is quite contrived. Either that or I need a therapist.

Thirteen Responses to my Announcement

in no particular order... 1. "I'm going to get another drink..." 2. "You're some woman for one woman." 3. "Are you out of your cotton pickin' mind?" 4. "Wow" 5. "You psychotic Irish woman!" 6. disbelieving laughter..."that's funny" 7. "what the heck?!" 8. "are you trying to be like those people on TV with 16 kids?" 9. " I knew it!" 10. "knocked up again, huh?" 11. "No!" 12. " You're such a good Mom, if anyone can do it it's you!" 13. " I love you." Links to other Thursday Thirteens!1. (leave your link in comments, I’ll add you here!)

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Bottom of my tops, top of my bottoms

Let me preface this post by saying, I am not a vain person. Not really. I am in to hygiene (under which heading falls my bi-weekly pedicure), and I do get a haircut every six weeks, but make-up is for special occasions, and I am just fine with the fact that most of my clothes come from Target and Old Navy. That said...
Ugh. It has started, the expanding that is inevitable with my condition. It creeps up on me, but there is no more denying it. It started one day 2 weeks ago when, after a few hours in my regular jeans I realized that I was extremely uncomfortable and needed to change. So, I pulled out one pair of comfy and somewhat "cool" preggo jeans. OK, I could deal because, really what we were talking about is comfort. Comfort is a good thing. And, I could still wear my regular tops, I was just upgrading my comfort level a little bit by introducing an elastic waistband on my jeans. Now, not so much. I got dressed this morning, pulled on my preggo jeans and topped them off with a stylish brown ribbed turtleneck - a nice casual look. Very versatile - will take me from my Dr's appt. today right through my glamorous PTA meeting this evening, right? NO. Almost immediately the bottom of my top (there's an interesting phrase) started creeping up. After the walk from the kitchen to the front stoop on the way to the bus stop, the entire blue cotton panel at the top of my bottoms (I can't help myself) was showing! I had to quickly pull my coat closed, and assume unfriendly body language. When hubby gets home this afternoon I am going to have him pull out the entire bucket o' prego clothes. At least we know right where it is, since we only just put it away last week! Argh.

No More Excuses!

Ok, so I am now 32 years and 7 days old. My husband, who is usually a mediocre gift giver at best (he has been known to do most of his shopping at either Pathmark or Target the night before or day of...) has miraculously given me a fabulous gift for my big 3-2! Of course, I now have pretty much no excuse for lagging behind on my blog entries. I have my own laptop, AND wireless internet! I actually cried when I opened the package. I have wanted a laptop for a really long time, but it has never been in the budget. I am not really sure it's in the budget now, but I don't care. I am sitting on my sofa right now with a warm and toasty throw over my lap typing away. This is bliss, but it is also pressure. Now, I have to blog regularly, no excuses. I have my own computer, no one to have to take turns with, and I can take it with me wherever I go. I will do my best to keep you all entertained, but, I do still have three small children, a husband, a house, a fetus, etc, but alas, no more excuses.