Show and Tell Thursday: A Rock

Yes, yes, I know; A Rock.
Well, Babelbabe went and stole my idea. Okay, she probably had the idea first. And I'm a bit out of new ideas. And the camera with the photos of the Show & Tell Piece is at Montessori, forgotten in the mad rush to get out of there today.

Yes, it was Kindergarten graduation at Glory, Glory Montessori. With all the pomp and preparation, I fully expected the Governor to be there. Really. But I juggle two little ones' schedules every day, and can't be relied on to be anywhere at exactly 'x'. I run by 'ishy time' as in "I'll be there 11:30ish." In fact, we keep Ishy time all over the house. No Clock it set at the same time. And some are eternally a flashing 12:00. It drives my parents nuts. However, I am usually early when I need to be somewhere at a certain time. But, not today. The Pre-K didn't have a graduation ceremony, just the 5 graduating Kindergarten children got a diploma and book. I had half an hour from 10-10:30 to Do Something special for the ceremony at 11:00 (which I knew I would miss, but hey; I did not have a graduate!) so I reckoned I was putting a big entry in the Oh-Ah Ledger by showing up with 60 - count 'em, 60, large helium-filled balloons, plus 5 mylar graduate balloons. How I fit the huge bags o' balloons in the minivan is anyone's guess, but there you have it. I must've looked like a crazed clown in middle-aged-and-she-forgot-her-meds-today garb. Of course, the wind picked up when I screeched to a stop at school - with exactly 7 minutes before I needed to be at Youngest's school to pick up him and his buddy. I get as many bags in my hands as I can, and I nearly take off into the skies like Mary Poppins sans her umbrella! I did a quick Backyougo with 2 of the bags and trotted into the classroom. And was immediately attacked by 21 eager little balloon-getters. Then 2 balloons hit the popcorn ceiling and POP goes the mood of the room. Now there are Big Eyes and silence. What to do? What to do? The Montessori Director proclaimed "No Dragging The Balloons Across the Ceiling!" Great - except I had the balloon place put Extra.Long.Strings. on the fool things.

*sigh*

I dash back to the car, get the other bags, and hand them off for distribution, loftily pointing to corners 'that looked lonely' and areas 'that needed cheering up'. Okaaaaaaaaaaay. But the childrens' faces? They are grinning ear to ear. It's a veritable balloon Flood!

I speed off to get Youngest and his buddy from preschool. Make it 2 minutes late. Then get a phone call from dh; he is intending to pick up Youngest NOW to take him for a repeat Dentist visit. (The dental visit will get it's own post at some point; right now I'm still too exhausted by it to relive it.) Hmmmm - Youngest and Buddy are in the back, happily talking about what they are going to play when they get to OUR house, which now isn't going to happen; I am going to have to swing Buddy by his house and unload him to his mama, then swing Youngest home for an Oh Joy trip with his daddy to the dentist!!! Whoop-di-fuckin-wooo! Does my husband not know what a Change of Plans does to 2 little boys teeter-tottering on the always-exciting autism spectrum?! Does Buddy go catatonic when we pass our house and continue to his house? Does he then start screaming in the car seat? Does Youngest join in so I have full stereo? Do I get beaned on the head with a Hot Wheels metal car? Certainly! Yes. Yes. YES! Do I whip the car over to the bike lane (empty thank God, or I would've certainly maimed someone - scary!) and bellow "WHO THREW THAT CAR? WE DO NOT THROW CARS IN THIS CAR. OR ANYTHING. IN FACT, WE DON'T THROW FITS IN THIS CAR! UNDERSTAND?"

Silence. I put the car into drive and we drive, silently, to Buddy's house. I look in the rear-view, and Buddy has his face in his wee hands. Oh great! Now I've traumatized our darling Buddy. Who calls me Mama and hugs me. And loves me with a fierceness that amazes and delights me. And I have hurt his feelings. Badly. I have to pry him out of the car seat and hand him off to his lovely mama. I hold him and smooch him and tell him we will try again tomorrow.

Dh shows up at home eventually, and Youngest is ecstatic to go errand shopping with his daddy! "Mommy, we go furniture shopping!" he exclaims with glee. Dh and I lock eyes. HUH?! OH! We have been furniture shopping quite a bit lately, in search of media room chairs to replace the sofas that have given up the Ghost. (More on that later, too) I switch to Pig Latin and plead with dh "Ix-nay on the Ental-Day alk-tay." He says OTay - and leaves with a grinning child. He calls me 2 minutes later and I hear the screams in the background. It's Going To Be A Long Trip To That Dentist. Heh heh heh...

I jet off back to Montessori and arrive there for the party. Oldest is disappointed that I missed the ceremony, and is a bit sulky. I start scavenging food for Youngest, who will arrive after the dental appointment. I hope they don't have to sedate him, as I am counting on this for his lunch. Our schedule is That Full today. I pluck pepperoni slices off a now-cheese pizza slice, and snag a juice box. And another one. Oldest taps me and states, forlornly, "Mom, every other mom and dad was here. Mine were not. That's not right." I agreed with him. Told him I bet that made him feel badly. What I really wanted to do was run out in the alley and kick something. How could I NOT have planned this better?! It was a big deal. He wore pants that he swore made him look 'like a dink' and a crisply ironed white button down.

*sigh* The balloons did not trump the missed non-graduation. Learn this from me, my friends.

And the balloons? A Huge Hit. Preschoolers and their siblings gleefully ran around the shady playground sporting balloons on ridiculously long strings, which then proved to be hanging hazards! Keee-Rist! Then the Primary kids came out (2.5 - 4) and they all immediately wanted balloons. Major Forehead Whack~of course the little ones would join us! We needed 25 more balloons! ACK! Then the fighting started. I'm telling you; you see what folks are made of when a 3-year old goes after their child's balloon. I'm just saying - I'm glad this was a Montessori crowd. A public school crowd? Might've SHOT at each other, or something...

I eventually started to deny I was the Provider Of the Balloons. I pointed to strangers and said "Oh! Go thank HER!" Oldest's teacher went very Un-Montessori on me and gave me a pretty firm *Whack*

Oh? And May I just complain for a moment? Dh came into the schoolyard with Youngest, and I took the opportunity (remember, the balloons and lunch had to be guarded, at this point) to run back into the classroom to get the digital camera. Or so I thought. Dh bellows "I need to get going back to work!" like another 1 minute is going to get his ass canned! I Hate this. The non-primary parent does One Little Thing (okay, it was a big thing, but crikeys; it took less than an hour!) and then fling the little charges back at you, brandishing that 4-letter word "Work!" like what the primary parents does isn't work? Arggggggh - Okay, spleen vented.

Youngest chowed down at a small picnic table. He used the dinosaur he got from the dentist as a weight for his balloon, and he had a few other trophies as well. I swear, every child in there came over and pawed the merchandise! Staring intently at Youngest, who gave them Double Intent right back. You cannot stare down this child. I decide I've had it. Say to Youngest, who has a chunk of pizza left, "We're leaving. Finish your meal." And a minute later, all that was left of us was dust. I have never been so glad to get into a steaming-hot car in my life. When I hit the wall, I crash. As in, crawling out of my skin gotta get outta here crash. The boys have learned when I say "We're leaving" to grab stuff and start trotting after me. We got out of there in the nick of time. The balloon wars had started.

We get home with 15 minutes to get Oldest some actual lunch, as he doesn't like pizza or chocolate chip cookies. Ah, no - here comes the speech therapist for Youngest. So Oldest and I drive to Chik-Fil-A and he has a wrap and punch. The guys behind the counter give him some flak about not eating kiddy food. He solemnly states "I like wraps. But not the tomatoes. I wish you guys would make them without tomatoes. I like salmon, too. But you guys don't cook fish." The guys were dumbfounded. So it was just the two of us; me with a Real Coke (I have told Diet Soda "Adios"; more on that later, too) and Oldest with his Real Food. It was 30 minutes of heaven. Oldest and I de-stressed. I rarely get just one on one - the boys seem to be a pair. I need to work on that. Youngest is a mom-hog.

Then we drove home, visited with our incredibly wonderful speech therapist, and had a half an hour to Just Lounge. Did I lounge? HELL NO. I did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, etc. Then drove to TaeKwonDo and wrestled Youngest into a version of Being Quiet that wasn't too terribly loud.

And the rest of this story? Well, I must go pick up the digital camera. Which, of course, got left in the dust with our Quick Exit from Montessori.

Life in BoringVille

Lots of graduation parties (so many of my godchildren graduating this month and next). Lots of check writing. Not giving any advice, no siree; not this fairy godmother. Their mothers have all instructed them "Don't do what Ant Vickee did!" I have no secrets with these children. It's scandalous! The fact that I have been on a Very.Straight.And.Narrow.Course for 16 years seems to have no bearing in these Ancient History tales.

My sisters and parents attended many of the functions. We make ourselves generally useful and not ornamental, as we have been taught. We bring charged cameras and take many photos. We refill buffet trays and open more wine. My mother, a born storyteller, regales all with tales of her childhood. And speaks Finn to us to prove whether you are saying something kind or particularly naughty, it all sounds completely alien in Finn. (Does anyone know if Elvish in The Lord of the Rings is Finnish? I'd heard that and keep meaning to ask my mother. It did sound vaguely familiar.) Anyway, I told my mother to cut it out. The more wine she had, the nastier her phrases got! And she forgets; I know what she is saying! We should all live so long we are a problem to our children, hmmmm?

And I have been cooking. Cooking for brunches we've had here. Cooking for suppers we've had here. Cooking spicy Thai food for luncheons, cooking melt-in-your-mouth breakfast fare. With my boys at my side, fetching, setting and pronouncing failures and successes. What would I do without these beautiful boys?

Some funny things heard around the manse:

Youngest: "Quiet! I am trying to focus!

Oldest: "Mom! NOT those striped pants (seersucker)! I will look like a dink in them!"

Oldest: "I liked the baby better when she didn't talk!" (My 20 month old niece; who, being female, has quite the command of the spoken word and barks orders).

Youngest: "Please! I want a time out! Give me a time out right NOW!" (at the dentist office, where he pitched a holy-hell fit, while I am holding his baby cousin, and also trying to manhandle him into the dentist chair.)

Me: (seeing dozens of dead prairie dogs on the roads - road kill at an extreme lately) "WOW! Look at all those smooshed prairie dogs! They must all be committing 'hari prairie'!"

Youngest: (who refuses to give up his Hannah Andersson training pants and use regular boys' briefs) "No! I want my tightie whities!"

Absolutely

NOTHIN' going on here folks; move on along.

*sigh*

List Friday: Advice for college grads

From Pomegranates and Paper

Advice for College Grads:

Go to Grad School. It defers the agony of joining the Work Force a bit, and might actually be very valuable anywhere down the road.

If you binge drink, now would be a Very Excellent Time to STOP.

Floss. Every night, at least.

Delay marriage and parenting. You aren't really a grown up yet. Trust me on this one.

A Summer ROAD TRIP is a very excellent last rite of passage. But remember items 2 and 3.

Stay Safe.

Oh, I have lots more advice. But you won't listen anyway! Go out and have a great life.

I took a driving 'stroll' today with Youngest, and showed him some of Our Fair City's nicer aspects. He was Duly Impressed (or maybe just excited about the promise of Hot Cocoa afterwards, hmmmmm?) This is a large fellow we drive by every day on the way to Montessori. He has Friends (photos at a later time as I loaded a wrong picture this time, and this set-up is not re-do friendly).

I love the aubergine paint! I have witnessed the morphing of this proud little house from nuttin' to somethin'.

This is our Brand New Park. Please notice the not-so-ordinary play structure. You can tell the community is full of engineers. Kids approach the thing with question marks for eyeballs - I have fallen off this thing and Hurt. Myself. Twice. I stayed clear of the Beast today, but Youngest gave it a go.

I have always appreciated this fellow, even when it was in a sad state of disrepair. Thankfully, the newish owners have really put some work into him, and he once again commands a presence on the street.

This is a close up of the Strange Bird.

And I have been whalluped with the blog malaise. My life? No so interesting right now. It's mostly driving small fry hither and yon. Perfect weather. We have been having picnics every day. Oldest has been making huge strides in TaeKwonDo, and earned not only another stripe on his belt, but a Golden STAR on his uniform! Youngest graduated to next level in his speech therapy, which is Huge. Really. Huge. Next week, Youngest will get a trip to Target, and get to pick amongst things under $7, after he has success with his new works. Today, Oldest got the very rare trip to Target to pick something. He picked a pirate's swashbuckling sword, which features a resounding "CLANG" if you push a button. We tried it out at Target. He swashbuckled, and I d.i.e.d. A. Slow. And. Limb. Jiggling. Death.

And I have been smelling their necks alot. This was recommended by someone who now has a 12 year old. Seems the delightful fragrance of young boys melds into the musky smell of man, and this happens too soon for parents. I swear I have been smelling them so much, I have sniffed the scent right off them.

Happy Mother's Day!

To all you mothers, and your mothers, and his mother, and their mothers;

I raise my cup of hot coffee with cream, my toasted bagel with butter (just the way I like it!) and my Sunday funnies to you. This is to the hardest job on the planet, which we're all lucky enough to be doing.

Today is Our Day. May you receive lots of lovely cards, and flowers, and sweet things made by hand. May you get sticky with smooches and hugs. And may you get a nap!!

With Love,
Vickee

No time for Content - Take this test!

Your Stress Level is: 25%

You are slightly prone to stress, but generally you keep it under control. You know how to relax and take things as they come, even when your worlds seems to be falling apart. Occasionally, you do let yourself get stressed out, but you snap out of it pretty quickly.

How Stressed Are You?

Stolen from stressed-out Badger

Show and Tell Thursday: T-Shirt

Close up of my favorite t-shirt for almost 20 years, a Guatamalen-made, critter-embroidered, formerly black, now gray, rather shapeless t-shirt.

The entire pattern; I love the llama-like guys third from the top



Here it is, in all its shapeless glory. The embroidery is so well done, I've never had to repair or re-knot any of it. It goes in the washer, but not the dryer.

This shirt has been around the world. And to Chicago, many times. In case you were interested.

Wretched Pillow Post

A favorite photo from mid-summer, last year. This was supposed to be at the end, but I can never figure out the process. I gues it goes by numerical or alphabetic order? Anyway, I frequently gaze at endearing shots of our sons, to prevent infanticide.


















This is how the family room looked 7 minutes after both children were up. You will notice a good line of train track and lots of train cars, set up for sure-fire parental tripping and agonizing pain. My husband and I skirt the edges like rats to avoid the mid-section pile-ups. ALL the pillows from the living and family rooms are making a camp-out place in the wilds of the family room. (Not Shown: All their loveys. resting comfortably on the pillows. Please note the attached pillow backs on this leather furniture.























The living room, as it still looks this very instant, after I snatched the pillows off the floor in the family room and bellowed. Which caused a downward crescendo of the Mood of the Manse. I just looked behind the bamboo palm, and there are 2 Rescue Heroes, taking a siesta back there. (Again, please note the attached pillow backs. This sectional took us 2 years to find. Had to have a very firm seat for my mother to easily arise from, and the attached pillows.

And Oldest's Gem of the Day:
"I'm getting tired of always being the Nice Fellow!"

Are You Privileged?

A meme stolen from Postcards from the Mothership:

Are You Spoiled (or Privileged)?
You are if you tick 40 of the following:

Do You Have:

your own cell phone
 a television in your bedroom
an iPod or MP3
 a photo printer
 your own phone line
 TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
 a surround sound system in bedroom
 DVD player in bedroom
 at least a hundred DVDs
 a childfree bathroom
your own in-house office
a pool
 a guest house
 a game room
a queen-size bed
 a stocked bar
a working dishwasher
 an icemaker
a working washer and dryer
 more than 20 pairs of shoes
 at least ten things from a designer store
 expensive sunglasses
 framed original art (not lithographs or prints)
 Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
a multi-speed bike
a gym membership
 large exercise equipment at home
 your own set of golf clubs
 a pool table
 a tennis court
 local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
 your own pair of skis
 enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
 a boat
 a jet sk
 a neighborhood committee membership
 a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
 wealthy family members
 two or more family cars
a walk-in closet or pantry (closets)
a yard
 a hammock
 a personal trainer
good credit
expensive jewelry
 a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
 at least $100 cash in your possession right now
more than two credit cards bearing your name
 a stock portfolio
 a passport
 a horse
 a trust fund
private medical insurance
a college degree, and no outstanding student loans

Do you:
 shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics) at least once a week  do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
 pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes
go on weekend mini-vacations
 send dinners back with every flaw
 wear perfume or cologne (not body spray)
regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon
 have a job but don't need the money OR  stay at home with little financial sacrifice
 pay someone else to cook your meals
pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
 regularly pay someone else to drive you
 expect a gift after you fight with your partner

Are you:
 an only child
 married/partnered to a wealthy person
baffled/surprised when you don't get your way

Have you:
 been on a cruise
traveled out of the country
 met a celebrity
been to the Caribbean
been to Europe
 been to Hong Kong
 been to Hawaii
 been to New York
 eaten at the space needle in Seattle
 been to the Mall of America
been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
 been on the Statue of Liberty in New York
 moved more than three times because you wanted to
 dined with local political figures
been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast

Did you:
go to another country for your honeymoon
 hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
 take riding or swimming lessons as a child
 attend private school
 have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you

The 5 Senses:

Tasting: These Perfect Over-Easy eggs and wheat toast. Toast is slightly burnt. I called it "Mother's Toast" as aren't these the wedges mothers always end up with?!

Hearing: The sounds of many mighty machines, putting in infrastructure (I HATE that word; that, along with Paradigm, Mission Statement and Haz Mat set my teeth on edge. Overused and brandished about by those with small minds in the '90's) southwest of our house
.
Seeing: A stormy-skied view off our deck. with...

Smelling: A row of flower trees that are giving off their floral perfume in wafts of delight.

Touching: The blue-black seal-slick sleek hair of Oldest. (Which could also qualify for the smelling and seeing entry, come to think of it... )

Borrowed from Pea Soup.

This was a day to remember

The boys and I went to my parents' today, about 40 minutes away. It rained hard last night, and the air was clean and heavenly, perfumed with the lilacs from my parents' yard.

The boys climbed their first tree today - an old crabapple in my parents' yard. Perfect for 4 and 5 yos - not too difficult, but plenty scary with shaky-knee descents, grabbing at twigs v. branches and windmilling to keep their balance when the twigs swung out with their pulling, and just enough altitude to keep us vigilant. A 'handy' cement bird bath placed directly under the tree gave the boys a target to avoid, should they lose their footing, but did we move it?! HELL NO! What did we yell to make sure they knew what was precious? "You fall and break that bird bath and Nana is going to be furious!"

We saw little bunnies out for their daily 'dusting'; rolling back and forth in mounds of dirt in the flowerbeds, their big thumpers flopping around, but a quick toehold always a possibility should escape become necessary. Fat robins took leisurely baths in the bird bath. The flickers and doves showed off their plumage in their sunny ascents while searching for The Perfect Twig or String for their nests. And two little boys exercised every aspect of my parents' yard; ancient 1960's swingset, hills, big patio to ride welded-together-but still-broke trike, Hopping Ball, Tony the Pony (spring horse with plenty of OOMPH left in him), and numerous games of their own invention. What might have been a quick visit for lunch turned into a wonderful, lazy afternoon.

And I got a lovely surprise at home, too; neighbors called me over to come split some vegetables (you know, you go to Costco and buy stuff, and you have plenty for 4 families). I trotted over, with a bag, and the mom and daughter were waiting with big smiles.

And this:
It's a Pashmina! After admiring Blackbird's mother's lovely blue pashmina in her shopping trip photo extravanganza a while back, I was extremely excited to receive one of my very own. And -- in a GIRLY pinky purple! My sweet neighbors said "This is for being a wonderful neighbor." Ah, they got me with that one. My eyes welled up with tears -- this was completely unexpected and very much appreciated!

And, here's my favorite shot of the day:

The boys and their PopPop. Oldest is leaning out in the glider way to the right. Youngest is on the left, and my dad is in the middle. They still ride in the baby swing, too.

My parents and I spent a wonderful day, gazing at my sons and wondering how I got so lucky. Twice.

Today was sweet. Very much to be savored and remembered.

Took a nip out of the Future Misery Bowl.

Oldest invited a school mate over yesterday. And said mate is actually 'in the hood' and will go to kindergarten this coming year at the same school. I am learning; I asked at the Montessori before I invited "and what do you think about ____ coming over for a playdate?" And got the thumbs' up. (Actually, this Old Dawg is learning; I asked Youngest' special ed teacher what summer camp she would recommend for Youngest, my short-circuiting-in-groups youngster, and was given some options back in February)

Why did I not remember that Three is the Very Worst Number for amount of children on a playdate? That one would be left out in Playdate Hell? And that one would, of course, be Youngest? Both Oldest and his friend are Oldests. They have all kinds of tricks to rid themselves of sibling baggage. Which tricks were used to their extreme yesterday, to the point I finally separated Youngest and gave him a special movie. And held him, and smooched his tears away.

Then I started spiralling with despair; is this how his school life will play out? The butt of most jokes, the game of the day "Let's Pick on Youngest!"? Luckily, a very good friend called during my darkest moment. And she pointed out how huge, how very strong Youngest is. She said, sure, he will get teased. But he definitely isn't going to get manhandled. The boy has his benefits.

And I felt better. Not that I want him to the the bruiser on the playground. But defending his psychological turf. You betcha.

An entry in the Gratitude Journal

We've got a great pediatrician. Really top-drawer. Dr. B wasn't taking any more patients when we started interviewing doctors. And she was the one who was constantly mentioned as being The One to Get from my physician friends, and friends who are particular about their medical care (and no, it isn't everybody. Some people just say "Okay" to whatever the doctor says, which is ridiculous. The name for that kind of person is Of Late).

But I can be tenacious. We had to have a doc with experience with internationally adopted children and also open to a parent with their own ideas about what was right for their child. I have extensive medical knowledge as it interests me, and have tons of reference books in the house. I have a Merck Manual by my side of the bed, okay?

I phoned a few times and finally begged Dr. B to take on our son, who was arriving from S. Korea within a month or two. She agreed. And I'm sure has been slapping her forehead for agreeing to take us on ever since. For example, Oldest was supposed to arrive in November of 2000, at almost 4 months old. We get a medical report that had scary info on it so we ran down to her office with the reports. She asked them to run some tests. Some expensive tests. I have to give the ageny is S. Korea kudos here; they ran those very expensive tests right away, no questions asked, and immediately sent her the results. I had just enough knowledge to absolutely FREAK about some of the bloodwork, not realizing that Asians being a much older race, have alot more antibodies than us AB bloodtypes have, and just what that meant. Like immunity vs. a full blown case of the deadly disease.

I drove 100 mph down to her office, screeched into the parking lot, and waited like Sylvester The Cat pondering a move to catch Tweety; pacing back and forth and muttering in the full waiting area. She came out for our second meeting, and again greeted me with the words "Would you please calm down! Hand me the paperwork; let's see what we've got here..." And I promptly burst into hysterics "I just know he's dying of 'x'!" I moaned, which caused the entire waiting area to gasp. She patted my arm and said "Oh, I don't think so, but let's go back to my office and have a good look at the test results." So then I got a lesson in reading the nuances of bloodwork. And did I get a bill for all these meetings, and faxing to Korea, and conferences on the phone? No. Not even for long distance charges. Then he had to be hospitalized in S.Korea due to a UTI. More drama, more careening to her office. Frantic, beside myself. Again, full discussion of the BW and tests, taking all the time I needed. Again, no charge.

Oldest arrived, perfect as reported. We took him in on Day 2 of being in the US. She gently took him from my arms -- and I started crying all over again! She patted me and said "Have you had any sleep, Dear?" And I leaned against her, and wailed "Nooooooooo!" And she said "Well, of course not! You are a new mother!" and with that I quit crying. Like a faucet turning off. And got on with the business of Taking Care of Baby. I cried when he got his first shots (that I had seen, anyway).

For Oldest's MMR, I insisted on unit dosed injections. She didn't believe as I did, but she gave him 3 injections, a month apart each. She read the info I had from a friend in Chicago who had spearheaded alot of research and testified before Congress about vaccines and autism (Liz Bert, who sadly passed away on Dec. 28 of last year - tragic death).

Then, we got Youngest. He arrived with raging ear infections and sick as a dawg. Head circumference off the charts. More tests, more tears. Here we were at Day 3 in the US again, this time with 2 babies in our arms; Oldest now 18 months old and Youngest at 7 months old, weighing in at 22 pounds. There were 3 of us crying in her office; me from exhaustion and fear - I was totally overwhelmed - and had gotten food poisoning on youngest's arrival day (another time for this story). Oldest was flipped out at the arrival of Youngest, and Youngest was just Plain Sick. Youngest was sick the first 3 months after he arrived. Many trips to the doctor's office. Dr. B was always compassionate and kind. Suggested soy formula, then Odwalla Milk (sadly, no longer available) and supplements. He got better. We adjusted.

We were down to visits every other month when Oldest got horribly ill. Very ashen, sunken eyes, listless. I woke him from an early morning nap and got scared. He had gotten so much worse in that hour - he seemed to be barely breathing, wouldn't drink or even sit up. I called Dr. B in a panic, at home. The second she answered, I wailed "HE'S DYING! I THINK HE'S DYING!" She asked who I was, and who was dying. I stuttered out our names, and described his symptoms. She said "Well, I don't think he's dying, but let's meet at the hospital. I'll call in X-rays and bloodwork. Get dressed, drink some water, try to get some water down him, and I'll see you in half an hour." She met us at the hospital, and looked over all the tests. Listened to his lungs. Said to try to get some more water down him, maybe have a cup of coffee with her, stroll him around a bit, try to get even more water down him. We spent a while strolling Oldest and then she listened to his lungs again. "THERE! I thought so!" Turns out, Oldest had pneumonia. Antibiotics had him recovering quickly. Did I mention it was her day off? I found that out later that day, when I called her office to ask one more question.

Then, at Youngest's 15 month check a few months later, we went through all the usual questions; and then the red flags started waving - he was off the charts for motor skills, but not even on the charts for social or language development. She was very calm, suggested Early Intervention testing in a very non-threatening and normal way. Just some more tests, done by professionals. Made a few calls. And called me over the next few weeks to see how we were coming along. We finally got in for the EI testing. And got horrible news: He had nearly all the markers for autism, but we wouldn't know for sure for quite a while. I sat in the testing room, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face. My beautiful son. He was withdrawing more and more into a solitary place that I couldn't go. My husband held Youngest and cried too. The first person I called was Dr. B. She said "Oh gosh, why don't you come right in and we can look at the tests and talk about what to do next." The boys went home with their dad and I went into Dr. B's office. And cried like I have never cried in my life. While she held me and said nothing.

What Dr. B did in the next few weeks and months changed the course of our lives; she lined us up with the best people she knew to help us, and we've never looked back. We're still discovering what life will be for all of us, but it's a journey filled more with joy than pain.

And today? I took a big basket of gifts to her. With a note telling her what she has meant to us. Why didn't I do this sooner? I don't know. But I did it today. And she cried and said she was so grateful to have patients like us. And I knew she meant it. We needed her so desperately and we found her. Somehow, it all worked out.

Show and Tell Thursday:

My Keys and Purse. Yes, this is all I leave the house with as a purse. Burt's Bees lip shimmer tucked in one pocket, my phone in the other. The little taggy thing on the key chain is our library card. The purse holds Insurance Card, Driver's License, 2 Credit Cards, Grocery Card and a fushia card reminding me of my rights when seeking emergency medical care. For some reason, the woman who taught us infant massage insisted we keep this in our wallet at all times, and I'm not one to argue with a woman whose methods provided so much relief for our family!

Bumper Sticker of the week:

A Rind Is A Terrible Thing to Waste - Please Compost!

Knicked: Word Association

Yes, stolen from Glamorouse before you could say SURI, which means sneak thief, after all:

1. Out of place ::
2. Helicopter ::
3. Francis ::
4. Ryan ::
5. Wedding ::
6. Apalled ::
7. Historian ::
8. Powerful ::
9. Sex symbol ::
10. Uncomfortable ::

Here's My Answers:

1. Out of place :: Hair
   
2. Helicopter :: Ski move
   
3. Francis :: Bacon
   
4. Ryan :: O'Neal
   
5. Wedding :: Bells
   
6. Apalled :: At Our politics
   
7. Historian :: Winner's tale
   
8. Powerful :: Words
   
9. Sex symbol :: Angelina
   
10. Uncomfortable :: Shoes
    

Alphabet Meme: An UnOriginal Idea

Stolen from the Usual Suspects

Accent: I have an annoying habit of mimicing accents wherever I am. I lived in many different places as a child. You blend in fast if you talk like your peer group. I still do it. I have zero accent at home. Bor-Ing Bland NoWhere American.
Booze: No booze.
Chore I Hate: Vacuuming all the stairs in this house.
Dog or Cat: Neither. We cohabit with a beautiful, sweet Flemish Giant Rabbit.
Essential Electronics: Laptop.
Favorite Perfume: 'Coco' Chanel
Gold or Silver: Platinum. Looks like stainless steel.
Hometown: Nirvanaville, Colorado
Insomnia: Never.
Job Title: Hunter and Gatherer.
Kids: Two.
Living arrangements: Too much house, not enough time & money.
Most admirable traits: 'Brilliant and hilarious conversationalist, with a working knowledge of almost everything except home theatres'. Couldn't say it better than Joke, but I can't run our home theatre, so I can't claim knowledge about that. Or string theory.
Number of sexual partners: More than a few, less than many.
Overnight hospital stays: Let's see; tonsils, parotid gland removal, myomectomy, thyroid removal, 2 for Morton's Neuromas, I know I'm forgetting something.
Phobias: Vertigo. Just like the Hitchcock movie.
Quote: 'Remember, no matter where you go, there you are.' Buckaroo Bonzai
Religion: None.
Siblings: Two lovely. well adjusted sisters.
Time I wake up: Before 7, no matter what.
Unusual talent or skill: Giving speeches with no notes, no preparation.
Vegetables I love: Most. But ix-nay on okra, rutabega, lima beans. Overcooked anything.
Worst habit: Impatience.
X-rays: Zillions. I probably glow. Dental, mammograms, lungs, bones, now I'm worried.
Yummy foods I make: Baked goods. Italian. Mexican. French. I went to chef school, dammit!
Zodiac sign: Libra. I may be fair, but I can be mean about it.

Fund Raisers Can be Fun, yes indeedy.

My parents are avid supporters of a private school in our area. So avid, in fact, that they buy a table for the annual capital fund drive. Do they stop there? Spending only 4-digit sums of our inheritance? NO! They joyfully fling amazing amounts of me and my siblings' retirement money! Which is even more amazing if you knew these 2 wonderful people. They live a frugal and low-key life.

But last night. NO! Not frugal at all!

My sister and I voted to leave our spouses at home this year. The men? They always bid on weird stuff and end up winning their auctions. And hiss and give other signs of extreme discomfort when our obviously well-chosen and necessary item auction's bidding gets a bit too high, in their opinions. So, seester and I made the obvious decision to leave the pesky spouses at home. Except that, well, we arrived too late at the function to actually do any bidding! Foiled, again! And actually arrived too late to get our bidding paddles, which forced us to use our parents, much to their dismay. In fact, we got there so late, our dear Daddy and the Chairman of the Board were waiting for us and unceremoniously hauled us in, with no time for practicing the social grace of actually stopping to chat with any of the various friends we whizzed by, and plunked us at opposite sides of the table. "But, but... Nobody is actually sitting yet..." I stammered, looking up in amazement at the Big Cahuna. Did I mention that I am GodMother to this man's children? That I actually was instrumental in getting this man's children into the school in the first place? That they owe me, big time?

Suddenly everyone sits down. The seating arrangement makes sense! I am seated next to one of my best friends in the world, the Big Cahuna's wife. Mother to my GodChildren. We can't wait to start visiting. But first? I must admire her exquisite outfit! It's a skirt that amazes me with it's fit, quality of design and material. Where has she found such a thing? "Kentucky!" she gushes and I almost fall out of my chair. Her lace top with sexy, fitted underblouse that shows off her cleavage in an understated, appropriate kind of way, is equally admirable. Then we have to discuss my ensemble; a Mi Sook suit, with a beaded silk tank underneath. That I meant to tailor to make my bosom less prominent, but... instead? I spend the evening tugging it back. This week, I will take the shoulders up by 1". It will then be perfect! It's a gorgeous, fitted, pleated, darted thing. A lucky find. But not as wonderful as her outfit.

Another couple is seated at our table. They have 3 young children and an extremely successful business. Their presence at our table is not by accident; my father and the Big Cahuna have arranged the seating to have their ears, so to speak. And now the placement of my sister and I become crystal clear; they have seated my beautiful, elegant, eloquent and calm sister between the gentlemen and my father; my father is a bit deaf and she will softly translate into his ear. The Cahuna is seated next to the wife half of the power couple, and asks and answers questions. Me? I am seated where I can be the least problem - I am a known dessert-stealer and prankster at these events. I can see eyes sliding my way, waiting for something to fly up in the air or explode tableside. I swear, I do not plan these things. I think someone rigs the table. There are pratfalls, fires, exploding balloons that fly to neighboring tables causing screams and overturned glasses. This year? There was the collapsing guest at the neighboring table. I yelp for cold water and oxygen. The auctioneer yodels for "A Doctor In The House?!" over the sound system. 10 doctors rush up - they turn away the fellow with the PhD in English Literature. (Okay, bad joke) The O2 and paramedics arrive. The very embarrassed patron is carried out to applause. In my zeal to get our chairs back, I have managed to take a chair from a neighboring table. The chair-missing portly person reaches back while starting to sit down, and nearly throws her back out while contorting to straighten back up or plunk unceremoniously down on the floor. The Cahuna gets a chair under her rump, just in time. Scraping the tops of his shoes in his zealous process. I am horrified. How do these things happen? He gives me a punch on my arm, very un-Chauna-like. I punch him back, and we start a sissy-slapping war. My mother hisses at us from across the table, and we freeze. The auction has started back up, order is returned.

The bidding on the 8 or 10 Big Ticket Items begins. It is getting really late and my stomach is starting to go from a polite growl to a fierce yowling. I start in on the bread, which starts a feeding frenzy at our table. I swear we would have gnawed at the butter balls, but we ran out. The bidding starts out modestly, then accelerates. My parents bid on a few things, lose. My mother decided that she was going to win on one thing, and she did. My father was talking to my sister and said "Huh-what?!" when someone turned and congratulated him on their win. He made a move for the paddle, but my mother is much too fast for him. I notice that the paddle remained under her control for the evening. My dear friend insisted it was to whack either me or her husband with the next display of ADD behavior, "Remember the Knick, Knack Paddle Whack you got 3 years ago?" Ah, yes.

But the funniest thing? Guests are confused as to who belongs to whom. I am seated by Cahuna; they assume we are married and ask about our children. I quickly pat Mrs. Cahuna and say "This is wife to This one" (patting Cahuna) "Me and That one?" (Pointing to my sister across the table) "We are Gay Partners." The Guests faces freeze in Whatthefuck Land. Wife Guest attempts to look encouraging and nod. My Dear Friend, Mrs. Cahuna, yelps "Stop that!" at the same time the entire table breaks into vehement denial or exclamations of sisterhood. Which makes Guest couple go "Ah!" with even more confused faces. My mother says "Oh, That One is BAD!" (pointing to me) "And she is MINE. Yes my daughter. Along with that One (pointing to my sister) Who is GOOD." Guest show me their teeth with smiles, but their eyes? Still a bit concerned. So I tell them "Yes, it's true. We are sisters. And we are here to keep track of our inheritance! You see; Them? (pointing at my parents) They are spending our inheritance. We at least want to come and get a meal out of it." Which makes my mother throw up her hands in exasperation and my father burst our laughing. The Cahunas are roaring with laughter. The Guests joint them nervously at first, then thoroughly. I get a Raised Eyebrow from my mother.

Then comes a blue-sky item; a teacher-spending-time-with-student item. Serious bidding starts. Really Serious. Cahuna whispers to the beautiful young mother sitting next to him. She smiles. Whispers to her husband. His paddle is raised often, his posture intense. The bidding goes higher. The room gets quiet. The teachers are wildly ecstatic on the stage. The ballroom explodes with cheering. The bidding war escalates. Our table is the center of the universe. Suddenly, silence. 2 last bids. The beautiful young mother places her hand on her husband's arm and nods. He bids. One. Last. Time. The amount is astonishing. Our mouths are agape. The husband wins! The crowd explodes! Teachers are screaming and hugging each other on stage. The beautiful young mother runs to the stage and the teachers surround her, hugging her. Her tears of joy make her husband the proudest man in the universe. I stand up, tell him "Well Done! Well Done." He smiles, embarrassed. Our entire table stands and applauds his generosity. Then the entire room stands. His wife runs back to the table and hugs him, then gently kisses him. It was a Powerful Thing they have just experienced. I laugh, having witnessed this before. The pure joy that generosity brings. And they have young children! Many years to experience such joy.

Then the dinners arrive. Okay fare, held too long due to the medical emergency. No one complains. Then, one last opportunity to contribute to the capital fund. A dear friend of my parents is retiring from the School. The film of her life of service to the school brings many tears. My mother honors her with a bid. Others match. The bids are amazing in their amounts and frequency. She cries in unabashed emotion. It was a very sweet moment.

Then dessert arrives. Cahuna is circulating in the room, thanking the guests for their amazing generosity. His absence is taken immediate advantage of; I exchange our desserts. The generous couple's jaws drop in amazement as I also distract my dear friend The Cahuna's Wife and rob her of a portion of dessert. My sister and I then exchange bits of my father's dessert as he has foolishly left the table to circulate, leaving his dessert unprotected. My mother begs us to leave him some chocolate; we plop a good portion back on, garnish it with a generous portion of fruit, and then give up a bit more of the luscious dark chocolate banner, to boot. Cahuna and Father arrive back to the table. And sigh. It happens every year. They never learn.

This event is my parents opportunity to shine. And I wouldn't miss seeing their joy for the world. And the couple at our table? We shook hands, smooched and the husband said "Maybe we'll sit at a different table next year..." and Cahuna muttered in my ear, very quietly, "I don't think so..."

10 jobs before I die

1. CEO of any major corporation. 1st thing I'd do is cut my pay to 4 times what the top salaried person is making, and give the zillions I'm not stealing out of the company back to the workers. In-company daycares. Health benefits that include speech therapy and OT. On site Health Club. Since everyone would then want to work for me, I'd shit-can all the chaff.

2. Island Owner.

3. Astronaut.

4. Jockey.

5. Race Car Driver.

6. Presidential Muse. I'd whisper sweet somethings into the empty space between our current fearless and clueless leader's ears.

7. Cooking School instructor for the common folk. "This is how you slice an onion."

8. Home Organizer "First we make 3 piles. Then we throw almost all of it away!"

9. Clothing Designer for us Zoftig women. You know, the ones with T & A. And a teeny bit of a belly that we have earned from c-sections and bearing children. Title Nine type stuff, but lots more style.

10. Mother of at least 5 more children. But I'd need a cook and housecleaner, too.

Bloom Where you Live: Our Street

Taken from the back deck - yes, we have a skeeter breeder in back of us, which attracts lots of wildlife.
We also have a construction site in back of our house, which is endlessly thrilling for the boys. And lots of mountains and foothills, which offer an ever-changing view for all of us.

Show and Tell Thursday requested by Blackbird

Stolen from Poppy

the Wit (52% dark, 38% spontaneous, 15% vulgar)

your humor style: CLEAN | COMPLEX | DARK You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat. I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer. Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion. You probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/. PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais The 3-Variable Funny Test! - it rules - If you're interested, try my best friend's best test: The Genghis Khan Genetic Fitness Masterpiece

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 63% on darkness You scored higher than 29% on spontaneity You scored higher than 4% on vulgarity

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Life Amongst the Super Rich

or: What In The Love of Pete Are We Doing Here?
Vail offered a glimpse into a world the normal joes of the planet don't usually see; how the super wealthy live.
Our suite of rooms had a bathroom larger than many bedrooms in sluburbia; a tub so huge - Hello? Water Conservation? Ever heard of this? And walls of mirrors. A shower completely encased in glass, that you could dance in if the mood struck you. Huge, thick, pure white Turkish towels. Heated limestone tile flooring.
Our bedroom? Comfy, plush mattresses with high-end cotton linens, chocolate brown and pink bed covers and huge billows of ceiling to floors drapes on the many huge windows. Our living room? The most comfortable sueded chairs with an ottoman that was comfortable for a long time while we watched Mrs. Henderson Presents on the fancy tv. A gas-log fireplace that would have been utilized except that
It. Was. Hot. In. The. Room. We opened windows and turned the HVAC to it's coldest setting, the fan on Blast-Off setting. Still, the room was a bit too warmish for me to sleep well. Luckily, it was a gorgeous suite to be reading and not sleeping in, if one must.
And while we weren't sleeping? Or trying to sleep? We were eating. Scrumptious snacks swirled by on gleaming silver platters. Glasses of wine or soda that magically refilled. Yummy meals cooked to perfection by Swiss chefs, served by smiling, athletic, gorgeous people. Never-ending breakfast buffets with the flakiest of pastries, the Most New-Yorkiest of Bagels, the sweetest butters and jams, the most-vegetabled of scrambles, the thickest & meatiest of bacons, the most steel-cuttiest of oatmeals swimming in cream and butter. Excuse me while I emitted the most unladylikiest of *belches* while pausing inbetween courses. While reading the New York Times. And sitting in the most beautiful of breakfast porches, while the dappled sun shone, a perfect breeze occasionally wafted by, and the perkiest of birds chirped.
We walked in downtown Vail, which was enjoying 60+ degree weather. People were enjoying the last weekend of skiing, in $10,000's worth of outfits and equipment. Whole families decked out in amazing get-ups, happy and smiling. Conquering the mountain. We heard so many different languages. And enjoyed the sun, the fresh pine-scented air, and the sights of a posh resort.
And I missed two little boys, who were taking care of their Daddy for me. While I lived a most unusual 24 hours among the rich and famous enjoying Spring Skiing. Wonderful Food. And looking at Beautiful People.

I'm Off! And I leave you w/TenRandom (4 below)

What are Your Ten Random? -Idea wilfully pilfered from Suse

Secret Language of Sleep: What's Your Pose?

Find your own pose!

Stolen from Defective Yeti

Show and Tell Thursday: Daily Look

This is what I look like, nearly every day. Shorts in summer, but same Keen shoes, polo, omit the jacket. But the jacket? It's washable, yes machine washable and dryerable, skin of the piggy. The polos hang hopefully in my closet, each yelling "PICK ME! PICK ME!"

I never wear socks. Well, only with Birkenstocks, she yodels.

TEN RANDOM - Footloose and Fancy Free:

Knicked from Suse

1. Breakie was a lovely cranberry walnut scone, served on my lovely Noritake Royal Orchard everyday Spring/Summer china. I. Love. This. China. The Civilized Breakfast, Above. Made from the contents of that Full-to-Bursting refrigerator. Again, Above.

2. Our crabapple tree is fixin' to pop!

3. Two neighborhood teenagers are 'solving the pigeon problem' *ahem* (but with their parents' knowledge and approval - the pigeons are plague-ing the entire neighborhood)

4. Yesterday was Official Nap Day. Oldest was sobbing in the car while fastening his 5 pt harness. We were supposedly trotting off to TaeKwonDo. I offered him 2 choices 1) TKD or 2) Nap. I have never seen a child shed a uniform faster, scoot up the stairs and pick 2 books for his prior-to-snooze read. Youngest kept insisting I'M NOT SWEEPY so the babysitter laid on the couch with him. She slept, he didn't. I tried to nap, but instead...

5. Took a quick trip to the Post Office and posted 3 things that have been lurking in the corners, waiting for shipment: 1) a present to my friend Liz who's got a brand new baby girl, 2) a diaper case box full of previously-loved boys' clothing, paired shirts to trousers; flying its way to New Zealand to my wonderful friend Kathryn and her 3 gorgeous boys (I LOVE seeing our boys' duds on her boys!) and 3) a letter to a friend. Why not email? Cuz sometimes you've just got to set pen to paper.

6. A looooooong soak in the hot tub at the club, followed by a loooooooooooong shower, while the boys took their swimming lessons.

7. A trip to TarGet to look at birthday presents for Girls for an upcoming party. Which The Dad will be taking the boys to because I'll be at

8. THE SONNENALP!!! Am I packing? Yes!

9. 80 degree days. And No WIND!

10. Bioidentical Hormone Replacement Therapy. I am so happy. So normal. So Un-Weepy. So Un-Screamy. The fact that I am also so bleedy every 28 days is a small price to pay.

What about You?!

The best outfit in the house as at 4/18/06

I think this was the Best Outfit In the House this past week. Oldest is sporting a Gap polo shirt, with a #12 applique that was rescued from his most favorite pj's in the world and sewn on the shirt 2 days ago. The crisp ankle-zip athletic trousers feature a matching zip-front jacket which I would have posed with him dangling it over a shoulder, but I was doing good to catch him this still. Newish Buster Brown's, triple-roll, non-skid socks (these boys of mine have teeny feet - so the non-skid socks still work well) and a watch from good old TarJay complete the ensemble.

I would dress the boys in polos and nice trousers every day. But they? Prefer the gaudiest, cheapest clothing on the planet. Give them a shirt with a big corvette and the words "Wrap Your Ass In Fiberglass" on it, and they'd be happier than pigs in mud. Gone are the days when they would wear sweet animal shirts, plain shirts, polo shirts. They want Power Rangers, Star Wars and Spiderman. Nevermind that they have seen none of these shows; their friends talk about them and that's enough. The consumeristic lemming march has begun.

But, for today, I have held Hollywood at bay; and my son was dressed in a downright sporting outfit.

Requested by Blackbird for Deb.

Is capping pigeons at 5:22 a.m. bad neighborly?

We now have a flock of pigeons (gaggle? covey? SHITLOAD?) roosting on our roof eaves, cooing and scrabbling on the tile, at the crack of dawnish every morning. Why the sudden interest in our roof? Our Clueless Neighbors To the North, legendary in the neighborhood for their insensitivity and self-centered lifestyle, have managed to completely stun the neighborhood once again - they have put up 7 birdfeeders on the One Little Tiny Tree in their miniscule front lawn. Which attracts all manner of birds, including the much sought after and rarely seen (yes, I am joking here) PIGEON. First it was just a few; gosh, aren't they pretty? Ah, NO! Now it's lots. As in, we've got a situation here.

Since shooting them off the roof is probably forbidden in the HOA rules, I'm going to get a couple of owls and put them on the roof. Or possible a big stuffed bob cat - now wouldn't that make our house look special?

And I won't even get started about the 6 cars, the teen parties while the parents are away, the trash that they let fly all over the neighborhood - grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

But WAIT; There's MORE!

I'm in a Popeil Dream - There's More To the Deal!

An email from Sherry:


Can you go this weekend? There is a cocktail reception at 5:00 p.m. on
Saturday night and a breakfast on Sunday morning. If you want to get a
massage, it is 25% -- probably need to make a reservation now for ideal
time.

If you can't make it, don't worry at all. I can go by myself. I have a
lot of reading to do for PeaceJam training.

As in, Two Free Meals, and 25% off Spa Services. YAHOOOO!!!

Tuesday's Future Fun Post::

I had a phone call yesterday from my best friend, Sherry. We go back a looooong way, almost 35 years. I love her. She is the mother of my goddaughter, and a major source of inspiration to me. Sherry is beautiful, chic, loving, tolerant and has raised her daughter by herself.

Sherry has invited me to go to Vail with her -- and stay at the very wonderful Sonnenalp resort! http://www.sonnenalp.com
To say I'm excited would be majorly understating my emotional state right now.
No Boys!
No cooking 3 hot meals a day that someone is certain to express less than great zeal over!
NO LAUNDRY!
And she's an event planner, so NO ROOM CHARGE!
Vail has great restaurants. Great Shopping. Great Body Work people. I sense a massage in my future.

The sound you hear is my heels clicking together. And I may also be whistling Zippity Doo Da out my arsehole.

Monday Musings, but I'm not calling them Confessions!

Kim and Suse (if I could do the highlighted links, I would. But the technology isn't obvious to me.) have recently posted (as have others, I'm sure) their guilt about their special needs sons.
I don't often cry, but I did reading both their posts. I live their guilt. I cry their tears of hopelessness and hopefulness at times.

Oldest is almost 6; is ahead of the curve for reading, writing and empathy. He seems light years older than some of his contemporaries. And also 'school of hard knocks' younger. We have chosen to let our sons live a more gentle life and have controlled their tv viewing, peer group and outside influences. We have elected to delay their entry into primary education by one year, each. They are summer birthday boys, so we feel well within our rights. As a result, they are both very gentle, kind, loving little boys. They are also pretty quiet, as boys go.

Youngest is almost 5; and he is way ahead of the curve in math and numerical skills. But very much at the bottom of the rung for speech, interaction and social skills. He arrived at 7 months of age to our family; and he was very ill with ear infections for the first 7 months he was with us. He also was a very needy child; very clingy to me to the point that I had to run out of the house to escape; screamed if he couldn't see me, and wouldn't tolerate variations in any part of his routine. Didn't he UNDERSTAND that there were 2 babies in the house (Oldest is not quite 11 months older)? That I was flipped out by 2 babies in 2 years? That K's job still meant 60-70 hours of week a week, even though he tried to work less? That I didn't know he was a different baby, and needed so much more of me? I look at photos of our family back in the early days of being the Four of Us, and want to sob. Youngest looks bewildered, sad and lost. I look the same, frequently. In some of them, I am tearing Youngest's hands off me; I simply couldn't take one more minute of his clinging, pinching grasp. In some of the photos, Oldest is trying to comfort Youngest, which really makes me sob; the Baby is trying to comfort the Baby. Why didn't I see then that Youngest was different, that he needed some professional help? Why did it take friends of mine saying "Hey, he should be doing "x" by now - do you think you should have him evaluated?" and then finally getting the appointment, but then it took Four More Months to get him in? Then putting up with what was 'offered' vs. 'demanding' what he should have gotten, early on? How much time have we lost because I was too scared, too much in denial, too LAZY to do more research? How much have I set him back permanently due to being angry with him most of his very young life, parking him in front of videos to get a break, feeding him the wrong food, not getting intervention sooner?

But, I have forgiven myself, mostly. I did the best I could. His skills fooled me into thinking he was ahead of himself. He walked at 9 months, ran actually. He could count to 30 when he was 19 months old - nevermind that was the only talking he was doing. He didn't make eye contact with us, but he was avidly taking apart things and putting them back together - isn't he gifted?

But the one thing that I did, the deal that I made with the Devil that I will never forgive myself for, was having surgery on his foot to correct Syndactyly - connected toes. The surgery was successful, but who knew about Asians and Keloids? That a keloid on the foot would be a horrible, terrible thing? That it would be inoperable to repair, and would continue to grow, as that's what keloids do? That it would mean he could not walk properly, as putting pressure on that huge keloid causes him great pain? That it would affect him for quite probably, the rest of his life? This is the biggest grief that I carry. That it was elective surgery, and I made the election for him when he was too young to vote. And it may hurt him forever. All the other things I can forgive myself for, but for this surgery, I cannot. I think I have forgiven myself, and then he limps towards me, and I die. A. Thousand. Times.

"I", meme

I AM: Astonished at the beauty of my sons, and their peaceful, loving selves;
I WANT: My sons to know joy and love all their lives;
I WISH: For World Peace, but would settle for an end to World Hunger;
I HATE: mean kids, and the parents who won't parent them;
I MISS: Adult vacations where we could spend hours in the Louvre, etc.
I FEAR: Dying before my sons are adults
I HEAR: The sounds of 2 sons negotiating through their world;
I WONDER: What it would be like if we had not declared war on Iraq;
I REGRET: Very little
I AM NOT: Quiet, unemotional or sad;
I DANCE: Not Nearly Enough;
I SING: Not very well, but often;
I CRY: Seldom
I AM NOT ALWAYS: Kind or patient;
I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: Wonderful food, good things to wear, decor for our home, wild gestures;
I WRITE: Because it's a Gift that gets better with use;
I CONFUSE: Many with the speed at which I speak;
I NEED: To read more;
I SHOULD: Stretch more;
I START: Way too much, and with good intention;
I FINISH: most, but not usually with the initial grandiose plans;
I TAG: Lazy Cow, Blackbird and anyone who cares to Bare Soul.

Yes, our friends prepared all this luscious food, and more. All home made, plus they had crafts!
Oldest, K, and Youngest, decorating Easter eggs on t-shirts. The children also got goody bags from the hostess and her mother.
But before the mid-day brunch, we fixed our traditional Sunday meal - Daddy's Waffles!
K makes them with pecans - they are yummy! Oldest, me and Youngest, getting ready to wolf them down. I love waffles, but they don't stick to my ribs. I am ravenous an hour after eating an entire waffle.
Amazingly, the boys slept in until 7:30. I heard oldest shriek "Mommy! The easter bunny left a jelly bean trail! And I already found the baskets! Hurry!" While we were eating waffles, our favorite neighbors hid a bunch of eggs in the front yard. The boys were ecstatic to run outside and find all the eggs, loaded with more candy.

So, the boys essentially got 4 easter baskets today. A ridiculous amount of candy -- and guess who's eating most of it? I'm actually nauseous! Baaaaaaaaaaad mommy.

Hope you all had great holidays. And are having better luck staying out of the kids' goodies than I am!

Blogging Family Tree Meme

The first blog I found was a foodie blog, but I cannot remember who it was - it was a couple of years' back. I found Threadbared through Sewing Commons boards over a year ago. I had a brief flirtation reading alot of sewing and knitting blogs, but I just Didn't Have The Love. I then found Finslippy through weirdbabe (1/2 of Threadbared), and I must've found blackbird through a link in Finslippy links, and then a bunch of youse through say la vee. I found out that a few of my friends have Blogs, too. And some people I know have no idea what a Blog is.

It took me a looooooong time to start up my blog. I wasn't kidding when I said in my Sunday Confessions a while back that I thought you had to have intense intestinal troubles to Blog. I reckoned no one would be interested in my daily triumphs on the toilet.

Then my mostly normal bowel habits friend Karen started one on Blogspot, so I decided to try it. And left my innards totally out of it.

Oh, I found this idea for my first meme from Sarah Louise, who is pink sneakers n'at, after all.

Lamb for Passover, anyone?

I come from Irish/Finnish ancestry. Catholics and Calvinists. Just so you can comprehend the amount of guilt that went into my upbringing.

Occasionally, I just have to inadventantly give my very religious parents the Faithless Middle Finger. Let me take a bit of your time and set this up for you:

I was trolling through Costco with the children this past week. They were cooking Austrailian lamb, and the boys asked me to stop to let them try a sample. I was surprised that Youngest eagerly held out a paw; he is a notoriously picky eater. They not only wolfed down one sample - they each wanted another! And another! A leg of lamb quickly found its way into our buggy. I can't remember the last time I cooked lamb - I am married to a vegetarian. (He is also half Jewish-this will apply further on in this tale.) I decide when we get home to invite my parents over for dinner the evening that I cook the lamb as my father loves lamb and my mother won't cook it. Hey! How about Saturday? Since it's a 5 pound leg 'o, I invite my sister and bil, too.

We got an invitation to attend an Easter brunch at friends' with children, so of course we jump at the opportunity. This is my most crafty friend. She will have crafts! T-shirt to adorn! Cookies to decorate! Wonderful Food! I'm bagging my extended family for Easter day festivities - this is way too good an opportunity to pass up.

A friend whom I've known Forever calls and we talk about future plans. I mention what K, the boys and I are doing for Easter. She says "You aren't having your family over?!"

You must understand, I always host the festivities. My mother's kitchen is an original 1956 General Electric Profile appliance special - and those suckers are worn out. As in she has 2 burners that kind of work on her flip-down burner units, and one oven still works - well, sort of, etc. One day 10 years ago my older sister and I were buzzing around my parent's kitchen, trying to get a brunch on the table for 2 priests, 5 nuns, and 7 of us. After repeating 'Try this one burner - oh you have to jiggle the switch' and 'that oven isn't working and the other one cooks low - add 25 degrees to the temp' and then realizing that mom's toaster and blender were iffy, and that her coffee maker was an 8-cup v. a 12-cup - are you beginning to get the picture? And everyone was out on the patio visiting and sipping juice and cocktails, while my sister and I were Keystone-Copping It around this dysfunctional, ancient kitchen. I looked over at my sister and she had Sweat. Running. Down. Her. Nose. I yelped out "The only thing working in this Fucking Kitchen is the two of us!"

The sliding glass door to the patio is whisked shut. I clap a hand over my mouth, and my sister and I look at each with The Big Eyes. The crowd is silent for maybe 10 seconds, then everyone starts talking again. I see my mother's face in the kitchen window, sporting her Angry Eyes and Skinny Lips. My sister and I are leaning on the counters, roaring with laughter. Then we get back to work. And continue to double over in laughter for the rest of the morning.

So, you can see why no one is anxious to host festivities at the parents' house. This was 10 years ago, and things have only gone downhill over there since. We have the biggest house, the house that is kid-proofed; we have the Beer On Tap.

Anyway, back to the conversation about hosting Easter Dinner. Nope. Not doing it. I then mention the lamb that we are having Saturday. The side dishes. The dessert. Friend is silent for a few seconds. Then she states "You do realize you are fixing a classic Passover dinner?" I am silent for a few seconds. Then we both ROAR with laughter. I am going to be laughing while I cook tomorrow, and especially when we all sit down to enjoy our Classic Passover meal. Noodle Kugle, anyone?

Show and Tell Thursday: Junk Drawer

This is the primary junk drawer. (They are ALL junk drawers, however. )
We seem to have an extraordinary amount of flashlights, stamps and homeopathic remedies.
Another drawer was all batteries, all the time.
But the true junk area was purged last week. It's a counter in the mud room that gets everything dumped on it. Teeny pieces of supposedly important slips of paper; many different diaper bags, purses, computer carriers and briefcases. NONE of them in use, of course. I cleared it off this past week and shredded all the old receipts. Happily put the diaper bags away. Yahoo; we are done with that. Until, God Forbid, one of us starts wearing Depends...

Feeling Stuck, or something

The Blogger's Blank that has been going around has struck me something fierce. I read alot of great Blogs and think "My life is so BLAH. I have nothing interesting to say." What am I going to write about: Ovulating at my age? Oldest's TaeKwonDo feats? Youngest's swimming insecurities? Fund Raisers? The fact that suddenly, this very week, my feet look fucking old?!"

It's a tenuous place; I am the new kid on the block of blogs. I read your blogs with great interest almost every day. You guys are interesting, you guys are cooking new and great stuff; hell - you guys are acquiring great purses and shoes! Me? Pulling out the old trusty capris and polos from the closet. Running two little boys here and there. I swear, it's the same stuff you're doing, but your stuff sounds fun!

Has this happened to you too? Or am I truly Just Boring?!

Sunday Confessions

Today is Palm Sunday. My parents gave the boys palms. My children don't even know who Jesus is. They know about God, I think. I myself am a recovering Catholic. I do not feel the need to go to Church. Around here, the ministers are frustrated LA actor types; flowing hair, beards, a What's Happenin' Now? kind of feel-good singing and dancing type of preaching dude, pretty much doing a LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME routine. *yawn* For those of you that go to church and get something really good out of it, that's great.

I have not done Pilates for 10 years now. We have a Reformer in the lower level, but I don't use it. And the only mammal on the treadmill is the rabbit - he likes to sun on it. We belong to a very nice club, and I sometimes take the children to the very good daycare, go do a sauna and hot tub, get a massage, take a long shower and then go pick up the kids. Work out? Nah.

I eat chocolate every day. Dark chocolate.

I don't pay as much attention to our sons as I should. They entertain themselves. I may regret this when they get a bit older and don't want to have much to do with me.

I worry about weird stuff. Not things I should worry about. Right now, we've had a way-above-average snowpack for the winter. I am worried about flooding when them thar hills start doing their annual thaw - nobody else is. Yet, I should be doing more for my health. Dropping dead of a heart attack is alot bigger risk for me than flooding, yet do I worry about leaving my children motherless? Yeah, okay; I do worry about that. But not as much as the flooding.

Care to see a photo of me?

This is not a bad job to have, not at all. Dressed in jeans and Life Is Good t-shirts, beautiful boys close by, frequently in the kitchen. I'm a lucky woman.

Oh for GOSH SAKE! I told K I was purging! Gees!

Please, no more phone calls begging me to 'Be Kind to K". He knows I am doing this.
Yes, he is afraid he will come home to find the house plucked bare.
But he has faith.
He also knows there is so much stuff, I will barely make a dent. Plus, there are 2 little boys who have been trained in the Value of Daddy's Stuff. They are plucking things back out of piles, saying "Oh, Mommy. This is NOT trash. This is a Good Thing." Martha Would Not Agree. I will have to do this after they are in bed. As fast as I make piles, the piles they get rearranged.

The 3 of us are exhausted. Even the BunSter is tired. I started in my sewing room, which is the Bun's home, after all. He had to smell everything, and ran around with his pile of towels in his teeth, fairly hollering "But Not THIS, Mommy. THIS is my crib. It's my life!" He's pretty spry for an old rabbit. He growled at me when I moved his poof!

I am meeting my sister D for some dinner. Boys are at Parents' Night Out. I had to bribe them with an Odwalla bar to get into the car! They were afraid I was going to start throwing out their toys. ACK! Pack Rats, the lot of them! I promised I would not touch one of their toys. We shook on it.

Darn it.

Mornings are The Best

I love early mornings. The boys wake up (one early, one later) and come and crawl in bed with us. Youngest is always first to throw open his door, trot down the hall and worm his way into the middle of the pack and under the covers. He brings his 'baby' (a My First Pony) and gets his baby comfy, too. His lovely little body is mostly roasty-toasty, mostly. I bury my nose in his bushy little noggin and breathe, and then gasp - the little devil has parked his chilly bits on me! Every morning, I get sucker punched. Two icy little feet find the warmest spots on my legs, and get firmly planted. YEEEEOW! I am instantly wide awake. And now that he has my attention, he puts in his breakfast order; "Waffles, Mommy!" After I agree on his breakfast choice, he occasionally goes back to sleep.

Then in comes Oldest. Repeats the parking of chilly bits and the breakfast order. Youngest barks out his previous order. Oldest occasionally brings in his babies (a hippo and a zebra), and we all play babies for awhile.

Sometimes the best part of my day is being the bologna in a boy sandwich.

Will Not Pass My Lips:

Friday List: Things I Will Not Eat:

1. Liver or any organ or innards. Ew.
2. Spam. Again, Ew.
3. Cheese that smells like somethin' died.
4. Sea Urchin at Sushi Joints.
5. Chocolate-covered insects.
6. Any kind of okra that isn't pickled. (But love Talk O Texas pickled Okra)
7. Cantalope. It makes my throat close. I am not kidding.

Spring Flinging

My husband is leaving town tonight (at 1 a.m. God what we have to do to use frequent flyer miles these days) for a few days. You know what that means, don't you?

YES! More of his pack rat piles are going into recycling, charity and the trash heap! *backflip, limping back to computer*

When we moved into this BIGGER house 3 years ago, he had loaded up his SUV with piles of metal that I thought were headed to the big recycling center. (Do not ask why we have piles of metal; no go ahead and ask. HE IS A SCROUNGER. And he is not old! If there is a pile of stuff in the "Take Me" pile in his campus at work, he lovingly goes through it and then takes stuff. It is disgusting. He comes home with 'found treasures'.) Anyway, I have the SUV on one trip back and forth, and note that I could stop at the recycling and have lots more room for actual valuable stuff next trip, no? Makes sense to me.

A large portion of the stuff was rather large chunks of pure aluminum that is used at his job to create 'stuff' (I could tell ya but I'd have to shoot ya, blah blah). Odd sized sharp pointy chunks, big wedges, weird shapes obviously scrap stuff, but big pieces. These things weighed a TON. Before I can get to those piles, I notice that there's alot of old cast iron pipe resting on them. I got to javelin one into the huge container-sized dumpster, and this voice bellows "VICKEE! Hold On!" I think, SHIT, who can this be? Turns out it was a contractor whom I'd recommended to some clients - one of the really good ones. He wanted the old pipe as he needs it during remodels, etc. Okaaaaaaaaaay...into his truck goes the pipe. We are catching up about mutual acquaintances, and I start to grunt and lob the pieces of aluminum into the dumpster container. With this, 3 guys come racing over from recycling paper and cardboard and yell "Aluminium?" I say "Yes..." but before I can answer further, my cell phone rings. It's my husband, asking what's taking me. I tell him I'm at the recycling place, recycling the metal. Big Pause. WHAT metal? Well, the pipe and the big pieces and the aluminum... "THE ALUMINUM?! NO WAY! GET IT BACK! I'm going to MAKE SOMETHING with it!" Huh?!

The 3 guys are now IN the SUV, looking over stuff but not touching anything. They are speaking Spanish, and I can tell they want that aluminum badly. I say "OOPS - that was my husband. Turns out he wants the aluminum..." and with that, they jump into this huge dumpster and haul every piece out that has made it in there, and run away with it, back to their vehicle, and go screeching and careening off.

I blink and look at the contractor - he says "Well, don't you think it's worth alot at an aluminum recycling center?" D-oh!

I got back to my house and there is the husband, fairly wringing his paws and looking worried. No smooch for me; just flings open the trunk (tail gate?) and says "Oh, thank God! There is some left!" My parents are there, and they give me questioning looks. He quickly starts stacking the metal into a section of the garage, safe from my careless toss. My parents and I go back into the house and they sigh and say "Were you able to throw anything away?" Yes, he is legendary in our family.

However, that's changing this weekend. I am going through Stuff. We have bank statements, statements from old stores, long closed; stuff that goes back 25 years. What for?! Then there's 4 sizes of pants (yes, the man has some 30's in the very back of his closet!), 2 sizes of which might ever fit. And piles and piles of junk. I will have pity on some of the piles, but the paperwork is getting shredded. He is incapable of throwing anything away. And the clothing? It's going to charity. He is taking up 2 full closets, and impinging on one of the boys' closets as well. We have under-bed boxes of too-small clothes. I doubt he even remembers any of this stuff.

This house is obscenely large, and it is junked out. Well, starting this weekend, we are putting an end to it. I am woman, watch me PURGE. (and lots of my stuff is going as well. And the boys old toys too. Maybe even some of the bunny's toys.)

Ah, this feels good!

What's your Lucky Underwear Color?

Your Lucky Underwear Is Red

You're confident and bold, and your lucky red underwear will only make you more sure of yourself. You have a great zest for life, and you tend to take on impossible goals - and succeed. When it comes to love, it's hard for you to take the time to open up. You're too busy conquering the world. So if you're looking for a little more romance, put on your red underpants. And see where their passion takes you!

What Color Is Your Lucky Underwear?

Sunday Confessions

Sunday Confessions borrowed from http://www.glamorouse.blogspot.com

1. I do not suffer from constipation. It took me a long time to blog because of this. I thought severe constipation was a requirement.

2. I am way older than most bloggers with preschool age children.

3. I am hair inept. It ridiculous for me to spend good money on haircuts, as I never fix my hair.

4. Carrying heavy toddlers has wrecked my back. I should quit carrying my sons, but I continue.

5. I watched a few minutes of Gray's Anatomy for the 2nd time tonight, and was crying so hard at the mother who was dying of cancer talking to her daughter end scene that it alarmed my husband.