i'm cool and also random friday

There's this thing going around called Random Tuesdays, but I'm a little slow lately, and I really don't have much to offer at the moment, so I'm having myveryown Random Friday. It's where I say random things, if you are the Sort Who Needs An Explanation.

Random Item #1: I GOT TWO AWARDS THIS WEEK!!! 

(associated random emotion: happy) 

First, from the lovely, well-read, not-a-blogger, Well Read Hostess, El Proximidade. Because I'm close to her heart, that's why. And I heart you, too, WRH!



Here are a few blogging people who are close to my heart.
Church Punk Mom, because I think we have *ahem* been around the same block.
Jill, at the Daniels 5, because she was close, but then she moved away, so now all I have is the bit that's close to my heart. (Insert pouty lip here.)
Joce, at Tillaboro Orchard, because she's just great, and I say so.
Danae, at Beauty in Distress, because I watched her transform from a kid into a woman and that is cool.
And finally? The Mister. And if you have to ask why I'd give him El Proximidade, I will roll my eyes at you.  And then I will say, he gave me el proximidade, and now I have this:



Next, the Great Buddy Award from CPM, who got it from Irish Gumbo, who got it from Mama Dawg... do you see a pattern of really fantastic, supercool peeps getting this bloggy lurve?  Please say yes.  Sometimes I get tired of explaining things.  Really.
 
I'm passing it on to mah gals WRH and The Hotfessional.  Who I will be having drinks with one of these days.  Mark. My. Words.

Random Item #2:  MY INSURANCE AGENT CALLED ME TODAY TO TELL ME MY CAR INSURANCE WAS CANCELLED DUE TO NON-PAYMENT.  

(Random associated emotion:  effing pissed off)

This is not the first time I have received this phone call.  And before you start thinking I'm just some moron who doesn't pay the bills, please let me assure you that whilst I may actually be a moron, I pay the damn bills.

The short story is this:  No bill in the mail.  No other correspondence to inform me of anything regarding car insurance.  Phone call from agent telling me I'm cancelled.  Agent calls company to get us reinstated.  And this happens every two months.

This?  Has gotten old.  

Random Item #3:  I WOKE UP AT 11:57 p.m. WEDNESDAY NIGHT AND WAS AWAKE UNTIL AFTER 9:30 p.m. THURSDAY NIGHT.  

(Random associated emotion:  exhaustion, surliness)

Also?  Nobody napped Thursday.  No-freaking-body.  And I really don't have anything much to say about that except that, yes, all of the children are alive, and no, my house is not a smoking pile of rubble.

Random Item #4:  I LOVE FRESHLY-SQUEEZED ORANGE JUICE, AND ALSO FRESHLY-SQUEEZED GRAPEFRUIT JUICE.  

(Random associated emotion:  blissful, then painful when the acid burbling kicks in.)

Random Item #5: WE ARE HAVING A PICNIC FOR DINNER TONIGHT.

 (Random associated emotion: ambivalence)

I am marinating two pork tenderloins in a soy/ginger/garlic bit of loving. There is a massive potato salad in the fridge. And there will be carrots, because the snow has melted off the garden and I will put on my big, polka-dotty boots and go pick some. The children are excited. So is the Mister's Dad, who truly believes that one of the problems with winter is that nobody makes potato salad. I believe in maintaining my elevated rank in his eyes, so I make it a point to provide him with an amazing potato salad at least once each winter. I'm almost late this year, but he hasn't seemed to notice.

And now? I will nap a little. Have a lovely weekend.

i typed the title and it made no sense so now you're stuck with this

First, I should admit that yesterday's post ought to have been titled LABOUR CHECK. Or I should have thrown that in there somewhere, but I didn't. So? Sorry to get you all wound up. But believe me, each and every one of you will be the very first to know when Sweets arrives. And by the first to know? I totally mean after The Mister, the other short people, the grandparents, various nurses and doctors... etc.

But here's a clue: when you see the guest posts start rolling in? I'll be not pregnant. And boy, there are treats for you, because I have what you might call an ALL-STAR LINE-UP. If you would like to submit an application to be a superfab guest post-er, the process is very simple. Leave a comment sayin' so. And if you'd like me to throw you a topic for your guest post, I'll be happy to do that, but pretty much we're conducting us an All-Star Free For All. Heck yeah.

Now a question.

How is it possible that one day I have 78 readers and the next day I have 2 readers? And the next day I have 28 readers? What is the dilly, Feedburner? It really puts chinks in my self-esteem when you tell me 76 people stop loving me.

Or are you all just getting tired of my whining about my sick children? And the whole Gestation Thing? Because really, I can understand that. I do understand. I am pretty effing sick of it all, too. And I would totally issue myself a moratorium on the bitching and moaning, but I would never be able to abide by that, and then I would have to kick my own pregnant ass all over the place, and my midwife told me just this morning that I need to play Couch Potato for a while, without even any S.E.X. to break the monotany. Or laundry and general Cinderella duties, but I'm really and truly okay with that.

Is that even spelled right? Monotany? I'm not looking it up. BECAUSE I'M BEING A COUCH POTATO, THAT'S WHY. So there.

In other news, Miss O finally got to go to the midweek kiddy bible study thingy event she's been begging to attend for over a month. The Mister drove her over to the Baptist church in the neighboring town, and after a while he came home, saying something about weird Christian recruiting events for children with smarmy people in charge. (Wouldn't that be super awkward if you were the person I was talking about right now?) She didn't have much to say about it when she got home. But she ate a second dinner like a good little Hobbit, and hit the sack.

I had way more questions to ask, but I've since forgotten them. Sieve brain and all.

wordless wednesday: okay, so i was a little bored. also? what don't you see?

hi! everyone's great! i'm a liar!

And here I am, to tell you this:

THERE IS THE BARF!!!! AND I HATE THE BARF!!! AND IN MY NEXT LIFE, I HAD BETTER HAVE CHILDREN WHO DO. NOT. DO. THE. BARFING!!! OR JUST GET ME A MAID!!! OR I COULD SELL YOU MY CHILDREN.

Is there a place to send vile children until springtime comes around? Because really? I am open to the options, people, I really am. Maybe some sort of storage center for short people, where they have some sort of vastly advanced medical procedures (and vacuums for the barf) to rid the world of all the vileness?

All I can say is that I'm really glad I've started going to bed when the kids go to bed.

At 1:53 this morning, HB trotted merrily up to my bedside and said, Mama, my bed is messy. Need to clean the sheets. When I hear the word MESSY, I think POOP. So I patted his keister, and sure enough, it was damp. And then, because I'm a mom and for no other reason than that, I sniffed my hand, which was oddly fruity-smelling.

That kid is cranking out some weird poop lately. That's what I thought, mostly because at 1:53 in the morning, the analytical portion of my brain is asleep. I was not surprised by strawberry-scented poop.

So I stripped him down to clean poop, and wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles (name that musical), THERE WAS NO NASTY POOP!!!!

I was not overwhelmed by joy. In fact, there was a loud megaphone-ish voice that announced: JOY HAS LEFT THE BUILDING.

So then, blahblahblah sheets, blahblahblah blankets, blahblahblah washing machine, stupidstupidstupid sip of water, blahblahblah went back upstairs.

Upon arriving at the top of the stairs, HB poured out the contents of his stomach all over the play room. And the hall. And the bathroom. I will not take you there but to say this: Our playroom rug was a great buy. It hides the dirt as well as the barfed up refried bean burritos. And also? I picked up beans for about 40 minutes.

Moving on.

There were two additional loads of laundry, including my pants.

So it was only natural that we sat down to watch A Bug's Life at 4 am. Right? Because HB was wiggling and squirming, and I was not about to clean up more puke if I could avoid it, so we stayed up for a while. And as an added bonus, Miss O joined us, as the overwhelming odor from the playroom had saturated her bedroom and she was not going to be sleeping with that, so there.

The three of us slept in the living room, Miss O stretched out on one sofa, HB stretched out on the other sofa, and me, curled up in a tiny ball, because as you know, I'm currently super tiny, and totally haven't put on twenty pounds in the past 8.5 months because I'm with child or anything.

This has been the most ridiculous winter of my life. And yes, that's making everybody's illnesses all about me. Well, it's my blog, and I'm tired and cranky and exacerbatingly pregnant and I will make it about me if I want to so there. I am seriously going to fire the next person who comes down with the mung, because I have had enough already.

Oh, and Catherine? To answer your question, they are still laughing at me.

open letter to my family

Dear ones,

It has come to my attention that you refuse to be healthy. You turn down nutritious, tasty meals in favor of anything else you can possibly get your hands on, you will not take naps or even rest, you have your fingers up your noses for 23 hours a day, and you will not wash your hands or bathe.

There will be no more nose picking, and you can be damn sure there will be no more booger eating. Every time I see a finger up a nose, I will cut it off. There is no 1-2-3- Magic counting that will be done, I will just go ahead and snip. You can think of this as my gift to you, as you will probably not have to wash your hands after one day of the new policy taking effect.

You will not pee your pants. The person who chooses to do so will be required to wear a diaper until further notice. Be advised that I will not be purchasing large diapers to cover your large-ish bottoms, you will be wearing cloth. And you will launder the diapers regularly.

You will eat the food that is placed in front of you, or you will be hungry. If you whine about the offerings, or, well, anything for that matter? I will lock you in a tower like Rapunzel, and you may only come out when your hair is long enough for the prince to save you.

You will not associate with other vile children. I'm sorry if that means your education was cut short, or if you don't receive an education at all, but it is not cool to be a vector and to bring home samples of other children's boogers and nastiness to share with your family. That is not loving.

You will eat dirt. I hear it's good for you, and apparently you all have not been consuming enough dirt to keep you healthy. One tablespoon daily, before or after breakfast, your choice. Also? You will take your medicine, and you will not whine about any of these things, or I will lock you in a tower like Rapunzel, and you may only come out when your hair is long enough for the prince to save you.

You will drink more water. I hear it's good for you, and so you're just going to do it. Or else?  The tower.  Also, regarding water:  you will wash your hands with it and also soap, and you will bathe at least twice a week and that does include washing your hair and your butts.  Don't even argue about this.  Remember that whole tower thing I mentioned?  Yeah.  That's where you'll be.  And the orks who guard the tower will make you bathe twice a day and three times on Saturday, for good measure.

And finally, not that it has anything to do with your physical health, but hear me, and hear me clearly: YOU WILL STOP RUNNING AROUND THE HOUSE SCREAMING LIKE BANSHEES. This is not good for MY health, in fact, it is causing me to develop stress in me, and also high blood pressure, and also a permanent headache, and also an overwhelming desire to smack you. And smacking you? Not good for your physical health.

So let's all work together here, people, and maybe we can all live happily ever after.

Love,
Mama

it seems the economy is taking a toll on the girl scouts

This article on the ABC News website says that sales of Girl Scout cookies nationwide have taken a nosedive due to the situation of the economy.  It also says that people are abandoning cigarettes (*ahem*certain man I know*cough*) in favor of the more cost-effective pipe, and that sales for The Snuggie are up.  

First, I'd like to address the Snuggie situation.  It's a blanket with arm holes that goes on your front.   So you can sit on your sofa and be cozy and do things like knit and sudoku.  Oh wait... that's why I wear my bathrobe!  So I can sit on my sofa and be cozy and do things like knit and sudoku.  (Have I mentioned that I am a total sudoku addict lately?  I am developing a problem.)  What ever happened to the classic bathrobe?  That's a blanket with armholes...and a belt!  And we all know (or at least you should be aware) that the belt is a key fashion element.  Not that I can actually wear a belt right now, but really.  Please.  For the love of all that is normal?  You can't even wear the Snuggie and walk at the same time.  And even if you could?  When you stand up, the whole entire backside of you gets cold, and fast, I'm ASSuming.  (Sorry, haven't said ass lately, I'm over it now.)

Wear your comfycozy old bathrobe and keep yo' ass warm all the dang time, not just when you're parked on the davenport.  Then take the $36 you'd spend (if you bought one, got one free and paid $16 shipping and handling) and buy 10.29 boxes of Girl Scout cookies.  And then, after you've eaten all 10.29 boxes of Girl Scout cookies, your backside will be even more padded and comfycozy and keep you even warmer when you're sitting on your keister in your natty old bathrobe.

And now?  GIRL SCOUTS!!!  HELLO!!!!  Pregnant lady here, just wanted you to know I have NOT purchased a Snuggie.  And whilst I don't really have $36 burning a hole in my pocket, I'm sure I could be enticed to cozy up with at least a few boxes of cookies.  I like Tagalongs and Samoas, and the short people like the Thin Mints.  You know, as an American who wants to stimulate the economy and support the children.

That's me:  I have a big appetite heart.

good to know

Miss O, HB and I were in the car, probably headed to or from an appointment with the doctor, because it's that kind of winter, that's why, when Miss O used her serious voice to get my attention.

Mom. Mom.

Not turning around (because, ummm, hello, I was driving!), I said, Yes, O?

Mom. Did you know that you can get phone service with Vonage for twenty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents a month? That's not bad for a phone company.

Alrighty then.

*Please do not assume from the content of this post that the dayton time has any opinion whatsoever about Vonage or the services it provides. However, should Vonage really, really want an honest opinion, I can be reached at thedaytontime(at)gmail(dot)com to discuss free or discounted phone service.

violence unsilenced

One of the first bloggers I discovered when I started blogging was Maggie at Okay, Fine, Dammit.  I was drawn to her writing for many reasons, but I really fell for her loving, passionate heart.

Maggie created Violence UnSilenced to give a voice to survivors of domestic violence.  To give hope to victims of domestic violence, to shine a light on a tragedy that affects one of every four women in the United States.

One in four.

How many women do you know?  The statistic becomes staggering when you begin to attach faces to numbers.  Don't think you know anyone who's been hurt by a spouse, boyfriend, partner, relative, parent?

You know me.
 
Surprised?  We don't usually talk about Things Like This.  It's embarassing.  It reminds us, and we don't need to be reminded.  We don't like to relive it.  It's not really good Sunday dinner conversation.

Here's what Maggie has to say:

My vision for this site is to bring the survivor stories of other bloggers to you with the hope that you will see yourself, or your brother, or your daughter, or your neighbor, in their words. With the hope that you will feel safe enough and inspired enough to chime in. With the hope that by the telling and the listening we will all be better people. I know what you people are capable of. I’m here to collect and disseminate your stories of abuse. I’m here to ask you to tell them, to hear them, and to spread the word.

Sure, I still want big things. I want to make a difference. I want to ‘be the change.’ I want to spark awareness and I want to reach you through your computer screen and I want to shake you and show you either that you are not alone, or that you are blind to what is all around you. I have such high hopes. But every big thing needs a beginning. This is ours.

I am sharing this with you today because it is important.  It's important to the person who needs to get out.  It's important to the person whose body and mind and spirit are broken.  It's important to the person who IS out to know she is not alone.  It's important for the person who is fortunate enough to have safe relationships to keep their eyes open to what is going on around them.  It's important to give these victims their voices back, to give them their power back.

Maggie will get a copy of my story to publish (if and when she chooses).  I urge you to read what the other survivors have written.  Link up if you're a blogger; email your contact list if you're not...or do both.  Chances are high that if you have 100 contacts in your email, 25 of their lives have been touched--no, scarred-- by domestic violence.

And most important...if you are in a situation right now where you are not safe, where your life and the lives of your children and family are at risk, please get help.
 

Contact the

 National Coalition Against Domestic Violence

1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

you think i'm taking you in one direction, and then ka-chow! i change it up and now where are we?

I'm a lifelong member of the Heterosexual Party.  And by Party, I don't mean more than one at a time (in my real life), so let's not get all excited here.  The title isn't Pamela Discusses Her Actual Rompings.  So just remember that.  My brain is all wired up to be fond of men, and that's just how it is.

Pregnancy does weird things to my brain.  I think I've mentioned that before.  Previously, pregnancy caused me to have absolutely no concept of the (horrible) things that came out of my mouth... umm, not barf, just words... I had a perpetual state of stupid, I could remember nothing.  It was all very general, day to day related stuff that was completely screwed by being knocked up.

This pregnancy is different.  People have actually said the following things to me:

Person #1:  I was really worried when I heard you were pregnant.  But you're so NICE this time.

Person #2:  I was shocked when you were pregnant.  You don't act like you like your kids most of the time.  But it seems to be going well.  That's great!

Person #3:  You're so normal this time.

Person #4:  This pregnancy seems like the pregnancy a normal person would have.

And I will admit, the Person #2 is still alive, and Person #4?  Well, that was my mother, so we're just going to leave that one alone.  Also?  We are just going to assume that they were all well-meaning, because I'm okay with being a little delusional.  If you haven't noticed.

The real problem with this pregnancy is the dreams I have been having.  I am pretty sure I stopped dreaming after Miss O was born, a combination of the Mother Switch being flipped to the ON position in my brain, and also the increasingly bad snoring and sleeping activity that was going on with the person who sleeps to my right.  I just didn't get to the dreaming stage of sleeping.

But now?   Vivid.  Action-packed.  Dreams.  The kind of dreams of which you are perfectly aware, whilst dreaming, that you're dreaming, and despite all efforts, are unable to wake up.  These are some serious dreams.  Not scary, just odd.

In my dreams?  I am having crazy sex with my pregnant friends.  It's not like a pregnant lady orgy or anything, but about once a week we get. it. on.  Barry White would be impressed.  And proud.  And probably he'd be hot for the mamas.  Just guessing, there, but I'd put five dollars down on that one.

I actually apologized to someone the other day.  We were on the phone, and I just blurted it out.

Me:  I have to apologize to you because last night...
H:  STOP!  You violated me, didn't you?  In your dream?
Me:  Well, you really did enjoy yourself, so I wouldn't actually use the word...okay, pretty much.  But you returned the favour.

To make it even more weirder?  She and another friend fancy themselves engaged to me (because technically we are, because it's good to have a back-up plan, that's why), and THEY ACTUALLY HAVE CONVERSATIONS THAT GO LIKE THIS:  
H: When we're all married, I get to eat what she cooks, but you have to have sex with her.  
J: Aw, come on!  I'm so not into that!  I don't wanna!

I ask you:  Am I so like Quasi-Modo?  Unattractive?  You want the cow, but you don't want to milk the cow?  For Pete's Sake, people.  I have a back-up plan ON PURPOSE!  If you want a kitchen wench who bakes bad-ass cakes and cooks all yummy-like, you're gonna have to properly attend to your wench.  Or the wench will go on strike, and then what good is the back-up plan!

Not that it matters, really.  Because I have a real back-up plan.  And here it is:  Should The Mister kick it before me, I actually have no intention of getting married again.  Or dating.  Because dating sucked.  It was awful.  That's why me and The Mister didn't really date too much before we got married.  Dating is horrid.  So my plan is that after I get over the initial shock, and plod through the whole grieving thing?  I will just be.  And I am okay with that.

So in an effort to be as kind and considerate as possible, I am officially breaking my engagements to H and J.  I'm sorry, girls, but it's just not going to work out.  I couldn't string you along like that and keep you from whatever it was I may have been keeping you from.  

I hope we can still be friends.  

i can't decide what i think about this.

I am not an ad-clicker.  I'm just not.  Because why?  I'm not going to buy anything, and I don't want to be tempted to buy anything, and I pretty much hate ads (apologies, Stiletto Mom, I'm sure I'd like your ads if I ever met one.)

But today?  I clicked.

What was it that caught my attention?

HORIZONTAL CORDUROYS.  Cordarounds.  They make other products, not just horizontal cords, like seersucker pants and smoking jackets.  Smoking jackets?  Are hawt.  And don't even argue with me.

There is good photography.  Lots of good photography.  And for the lucky few who are citizens of Greenland?  Free shipping!  I don't know of any other company offering free shipping to Greenland, not that I've researched it, but I'm willing to make a bet that there aren't many.

I've been distracted by the photography and the free shipping to Greenland despite being a resident of New York State.*

The point here?  Horizontal?  Do I like the idea of horizontal cords?  I don't even know.  The thought of thousands of horizontal stripes going around and around my thighs and my calfs and my ass... oh dear... I hadn't thought of the roundy-round stripes circumnavigating the globes of my ass until this very minute!
 
Where are Clinton and Stacy when I need them?**

And WHY?  Why the horizontal orientation?  What is it about horizontal that makes a difference?  I should probably be sending the Cordaround fellas an email and not actually posting, but I know a few of you would be shocked and intrigued with the idea.  And far be it from me to spare you shock and intrigue.

I think I will just email the Cordaround peeps the url to this post.  Maybe they'll come around and answer all my questions.  Maybe they'll send me a pair to try, because I loves me some cords.  Maybe they'll want to send me a pair to try and a pair to give away!  Wouldn't that be fun?  Because I know we all haven't had enough giveaway action around here lately.***

* I read a blog post on the ABC News website today that quotes ourveryown New York Governor David Patterson whining about Saturday Night Live making fun of him being blind.  And it rankled me considerably.  How did he miss the part where they were making fun of him for being a bad governor with horrible ideas?  How did that not offend him?  You're a package deal, Sir, a bad governor who happens to be blind.  There's nothing you can do about being blind, maybe you should shift your focus (that was not a blind joke, I swear) to BEING A GOOD GOVERNOR AND STOP PULLING IDEAS OUT OF YOUR ASS.  Also?  SNL makes fun of everyone.  Get over it.

**This is not the first time I've needed Clinton and Stacy, and I would MOST GRACIOUSLY AND EAGERLY accept any guidance they have to offer.

***Okay, I'll admit it, we've had enough with the giveaway action this week.  But next week is completely open.  March, even, I could totally squeeze you guys into the month of March.  You don't even have to contact my people, you could just contact me.  My people are really short, and they don't negotiate well, it's all ME! ME! ME!, and that's just hard to deal with.

when the cat's away...

Talk about a stupid title.  The cats are never freaking away.  Oh, and I wish they would go to say, Zimbabwe, or maybe even China.  They're pretty fat, they'd make somebody a nice dinner.  You know, somebody who is fairly gross and has set their dietary bar wicked low, low enough to get their munch on with some cat.  

I bet cats are gamey.  Never mind, let's not go there.

Subject change, and getting to the point.

The Mister is working stupid hours this week.  And by stupid I mean he's workingworkingworking, and then the working is punctuated by BRIEF! EXCLAMATION! POINTS! OF! NAPPING!  And those brief moments are followed by more working.  Yesterday, for example, he went to work at six (yes, a.m.), came home at 3:30, took a shower barely long enough to make him smell nice(ish), took a 20 second nap, ate some mac and cheese, and went back to work.  He got home sometime after midnight, spent a little time eating and unwinding, went to sleep SITTING UP ON THE SOFA (oh yes he did), and got a phone call 45 minutes later asking him to come into work to plow snow.  So he slept a little longer, and then went to plow snow.

Because a sleepy man?  Behind the wheel of a plow truck?  Is prudent.  Uh-huh and mmmhmmm.

And then, whilst plowing whilst asleep, the generator that powers the ENTIRE MADRE EFFING HOSPITAL?  Blows. Up. Kablooey.

Guess who's the house electrician?

DINGDINGDING!!!!!  You, in the back, with your hand waving... was that you who guessed The Mister is the house electrician?  You're right!  You win!

So with less than two hours of sleep in 36 hours, The Mister had to figure out how to fix that big clustereff.  Because without all the power it's supposed to have, the hospital can pretty much turn on a couple of lights and keep the patients who are hooked up to machines alive and that is all.  No surgery, no baby delivery (not sure how that requires electricity, exactly, but whatever, that must be why I'm not doctor material), no laboratory services, no lunch, no coffee... things were bad.

He was at the hospital until 5-ish, and then he went to run sound on the show he has been doing since, I don't know, forever already.  And he'll come home sometime, and he will go to bed.  

I've given him some directions about TURNING HIS PHONE OFF COMPLETELY, and I'm going to wake him up about half an hour before he has to leave to go do the two performances of the show that are happening tomorrow.  

So what do WE do when The Mister is gone?  Well, Miss O is sullen and mopey, and whines excessively.  She also gets a stomach ache and a headache, which makes me sad for her (as opposed to the sullen/mopey/whining which makes me want to... well, never mind.)  Wee Man is a bit more aggressive than is normal, and also cries and cries at pretty much every possible opportunity.  And HB?  Well, for the past three days he's been telling me, Daddy uz comin' home soon, and nods emphatically, as if by convincing me, then Daddy will come home soon.

Tonight we got a pizza and some wings and popscicles and store-bought chocolate milk (and donuts for breakfast) and rented some movies (two thumbs down each for Barbie and the Diamond Castle and Bob the Builder Saves the Day, for the record.  Would have given more thumbs down if I actually had more thumbs.) and picnicked in the living room.  We watched Bob "I don't know how he's still alive being as dumb as he is in his chosen field" the Builder first.

Then it got really good.  We pulled out the sleeper sofa, made the bed up, and tucked Miss O and Wee Man in.  They watched Barbie and the Diamond Castle (really, trim your fingernails first if you ever have the misfortune to watch this bunghole of a film; you won't be as tempted to scratch your own eyes out... also you might want to start drinking hours in advance of watching this, because maybe that would help.  But then again, it's possible that there is nothing that could better that experience.) 

When the movie ended, they laughed and joked, sang each other songs, ran to the kitchen to rummage for food and drink, and were generally silly babes.

And now?  They are curled up together, sweet cherubs that they are, dreaming of who knows what.  But they are camping out in the living room.  And they have been looking forward to this all week.

Really, though, they are looking forward to Monday when they get their Daddy back.  They just don't know it yet.

the giveaway is ended! no more sticky post!

My OWOH giveaway is officially ended.

To keep track of things, I used my least favorite Microsoft program (Excel). Every comment was recorded in order, from 1 to 225. Then I went to random.org, and the smartypants computer told me myveryown random integer was number 63. I headed back to my excel spreadsheet, and looked up lucky number 63, whose name is Brother Snipes Mama.

How funny is it that out of 225 entrants, I knew about 6 of them, and someone from my own town is the winner? It seems the world is much smaller than I thought!

So, congrats, Brother Snipes Mama. You're the lucky random integer of the day! Pamela's Pickle Package of Love is coming soon, personally delivered to your door!

fatty pants mcgee

Y'all are really sweet to say such nice things about my baby belly.  Good work, keep it coming, it's going to be a long seven plus weeks.  And this is why.

The Kindly Ultrasound Lady measured Fatty Pants McGee to be weighing between 4.5 pounds and 6 pounds (yes, there's a big difference there, I know, ultrasound isn't perfect).

And that weight?  Translates into an 11 - 13 pound baby.

ELEVEN TO THIRTEEN POUNDS.

I am a little hurting now just thinking about that.

On the upside, I probably would never have to stop what I was doing to use the bathroom ever again.

wordless wednesday: belly belly belly

a break in the weather

it was at least 50 degrees outside today.

the children romped in the yard.

they played on the swingset.

they climbed on the big plastic cube o' fun.

they clomped around the garden.

they visited bandit, the black terrier who lives behind us.

(not the hateful neighbors' dog)

we dug through layers and layers of rotten leaves...

and the best part of it all?

fresh from the garden carrots for dinner tonight.

(with a little fresh thyme for the pork chops tomorrow.)

yum.  yum.  extra yum.

did i mention i broke my camera?

It's been quite the sore subject around here, because I generally like to fancy myself NOT AN ASS.  However, I do have the occasional moment, which this time involved a backpack, my dSLR, and a water bottle I've had for years that had apparently cracked.
 
Twenty ounces did it in.

Because of the health situation around here lately, I have had neither the time nor energy to look into getting the thing fixed.  But yesterday, after HB had not touched me for 48.3 minutes, I decided the time had come.  I called Sony, makers of my beloved.  I told the customer service guy I thought the battery had shorted.  He kept me on the phone for an hour, telling me every third minute that this was going really quickly and we'd be done soon (pointer:  don't do that, customer service guy!  it's really annoying! and you are slower than molasses!), and finally I had all my info.  

But I really didn't want to send my battery and charger in to Sony for a few weeks, and then have them send it back and tell me to send in my beloved for a few weeks...because of this mathematical equation:

FEW WEEKS + FEW WEEKS = NEW BABY IS HERE

And really?  You need to have a camera in the house to capture all the beautiful moments of bringing home a new baby...the dark circles that encompass the entire face, the haven't-showered-in-a-week hair, the sweet pictures of the older children poking the baby's eyes out and jumping on his chest... There's so much you need to preserve for blackmail posterity.

Oh, and Sony needed a copy of the receipt.  And while I thought I had put the receipt in the camera box with all the camera paperwork?  It seems I had not.  No receipt.

So we drove to the big city to the most reliable camera shop EVAH, Continental Camera, and those nice guys put my battery through a battery of tests and determined that it was Beloved Camera with the issues.  The Continental Camera guys offered to send my camera to Sony, but it was going to be crazy expensive... deposits, shipping, cost of repair... it was a little daunting.

Mer.

But then-- in a fit of brilliance-- I called Best Buy to ask if they could reprint a receipt from last May.  And in a fit of brilliance?  The nice Geek Squad Boy said they could!  And they DID!  And in another fit of brilliance?  The Geek asked me why I needed my receipt.  I told him the camera wasn't working, and I needed to send it to Sony.  

THEN THE GEEK TOLD ME I PURCHASED THE GO- AHEAD- ABUSE- THE- CAMERA- WE'LL- FIX- IT- WARRANTY!!!!!!!!

All I had to do was drive over there and drop it off.  

And I will have my beloved returned to me by next weekend.  And it will be repaired.  Or brand new.  And it will be free.

And I have two years and two months left on my amazing $45 warranty.

The End.

awash.

So, in addition to nearly dying at the hands of a light fixture, having two fairly sick children for the last seven days, seeing my husband for a grand total of 59 minutes in the last eight days, with a projected time of 73 minutes in his presence for the coming week (and that's if the weather is good), my nose is running away from me.  And it is disgusting.

Turns out HB's health issue may or may not be RSV.  Because he doesn't have any other health concerns, the doctor decided to not test him.  Also, about half of the kids she's been testing have it, and half don't, and the treatment isn't all that different, so we just hopped on the nebulizer express and were done with it.  Except by done with it, I don't really mean done.  He's not feeling better at all.

The poor kid clings to me constantly.  In the past 24 hours, for example, he wasn't touching me for approximately one hour and 10 minutes.  When we're not camped out on the sofa, he's walking behind me sobbing, MOMMY!!!! MAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAA!!!!  HOLD ME!!!!  Also, he grunts and gestures wildly which makes my head pop and go splat.  Oh, and do not think that the following and crying is limited to one mommy, one maaaaaaamaaaaa, and one hold me.... he carries on, broken-record style until I stop what I'm doing and hold him some more.  BECAUSE THERE IS NO IGNORING THIS.

Last night was superfun, oh no it wasn't.  I gave him a nebulizer treatment hours before bed, because it's my understanding that the albuterol can make the children a little nutso.  Well, hours AFTER bedtime, HB was sitting on my bed, reading books happily (and loudly) to himself and me, and the cats, and his Moosey.  I was trying not to poke my eyes out with the pencil I'd been using to be a Sudoku whiz.  Finally, he climbed up on my head and fell asleep.

No, really.  He climbed up on my head and went to sleep.  And yes, it was very weird.*

When I was sure my neck would break if he stayed there any longer HB was sound asleep, I remedied the situation and put him in his own bed, figuring I could get at least a few hours sleep without his sweaty, germy little body being up in my space.

The Mister got home from the show a short time later, and came upstairs which coincided with HB waking up to the realization he was no longer sleeping on my head. So The Mister kindly put him back in our bed, really, it was kind to the sick child, and HB promptly climbed back up on my head and remained there until 7:13 a.m.

It was a long night.

And now I have the respiratory mung. And Wee Man is acting like he's about to get the mung. And Miss O, who missed every day of school last week, is still not feeling well. And if we are unwell, we won't be going to visit Uncle Josh and Auntie Teff and the nephews. And that blows.

Nose. It blows nose, okay?

And as much as I have enjoyed this 30 minutes of sitting in a chair, all alone, with nobody touching me, I really need to go to bed.  

I'll be back around the next time nobody's touching me.

*Clarification:  I was not sitting bolt upright in bed, I was lying down, head and shoulders propped up on two pillows, bathrobe slightly open, revealing my decolletage**

**Okay, not so much with the bathrobe, but the rest is pretty much true.

everybody should get some women like this in their life. but you can't have mine. so back off.

For this whole entire week, my short people have been sick.  And my tall counterpart has been working stupidcrazyinsane hours.  Consequently, I am exhausted and have had it up to here with the needy people in my life.  Also, the cats are living on borrowed time.  I'm not sure who they keep borrowing this time from, but there aren't that many people left in this world who like them, so I'm certain I'll be able to kill them soon.

Today went a little something like this:
7:42 a.m.  Woke up to Wee Man shouting at me that Daddy didn't go to work....HOOWAY!!!!
7:42:03 a.m.  Ran to see what was the matter with The Mister that he didn't go to work.  Turns out?  He actually does need to sleep more then four hours a night, and he is just plain worn out.  He ended up taking the day off (except for the musical), and it all was very nice.

Enough with the time thingy.  I sat on the floor of the boys' room, HB glaring me down in some sort of Diaper Stand Off.  He didn't want me to take his nicey diaper off, and I really did want to take it off because he stunk like yesterday's pee, and eventually the impasse was over and I sat on him and I am the winner nanny-nanny-boo-boo.  Ha.  

HB followed me everywhere I went for the rest of the daylight hours, whining and using his arms to indicate he wanted me to pick him up.  Except I am really not a subscriber to the "pick up the verbal child who is whining and grunting" school of thought, so for the rest of the daylight hours, I said, Use your words, Ork.  Tell me what you want.  No bloody whining.  Ach, that noise...it's making my head explode.  Talk.  Use. Your. Freaking. Words. Already.

Also I said: GO AWAY. And I meant it.

During the times I was not vertical, for example, mealtime, bathroom breaks, sitting on the couch with my other sick short person, and my sadly neglected short person, HB was considerate to climb all over me like a rabid mountain goat.  

And this, people?  Is just today.  This is a tiny little snapshot of my week.  And yes, I know that this is what I signed up for, I really do, because, ummm, hi, this is my life I'm talking about here, and this is only one of the flavours of crazy we serve up here.

But tonight?  The babysitter came.  And even though she made about ninety-five self-depricating comments about being stupid (this is me, suggesting to prospective sitters that this is, in fact, NOT a good choice of topic the second time you are in charge of the lives of my babies), I left my children with her and each other, and went to spend some time with The Natty Moms.

And can I just say?  I love those women.  True, I'm engaged to two of them at the moment, but I love the rest of them.  

We learned about essential oils, which is a whole 'nother topic for a whole 'nother day, but it is fascinating.  And we sat around talking about hilarious conversations our short people have with one another, and about whether or not our boy short people are circumcised or not...and also our husbands...and we share cases of raw honey and talk about disinfecting our cloth diapers in the dishwasher (after they've been washed in the washer, for the record), and our various methods of schooling our babies, and when to talk to our short people about S-E-X (it seems earlier is less, ummm, weird and gross for everyone involved), and about when our newest babies are due, and on and on and on and on.

We are all totally different from each other, we have all different numbers of short people in our houses, some of us really like our husbands, some don't.  We don't all worship the same Fella in the same way.  Some are completely loud and some speak so softly you need to lean in to catch what is being said.  Some of the families are much more well-off than others.  Some of the women seem to really have their stuff together, some of us don't.  Some are crafty and artistic, some are more of the engineer/accountant type.

It just works, all of us, all together, listening and laughing, and, well, sometimes not laughing.  I can't really explain the dynamic.  It just works.

And tonight, it worked its magic on my worn-out, tapped-out, all-done-giving self.  So when I wake up tomorrow with someone shouting at my eyelids and a stinky diapered butt in my right ear?  I will be able to deal.

And that is what it's all about.

what's up, pussycat?

What's up?  The price of gas is up, as is the acid that used to hang out peacefully in my stomach, except now it's almost in my mouth.  YUM-O!  The short people's fevers are not up, they have gone back to the nearly normal range.  The cats are not up, they are snoring and farting themselves into oblivion on the sofa.  Oh, and that pesky light fixture which used to reside above my kitchen table, that's totally not up.

In one of the most spectacular cases of PAMELA, IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY, REALLY IT IS, the heavy-as-a-lead-balloon glass globe on our ancient kitchen fixture crashed at my place on the kitchen table just seconds after I got up from dinner and walked (or waddled, possibly I waddled) into the living room.

There was an amazingly loud crash, the sound of breaking glass splintered the short people's fighting into a deafening silence.  I ran to the kitchen.  (Yes, ran.  And yes, it probably was funny to watch.)

I looked around.  The stove was as I left it.  The counters were as I left them.  The kitchen table was littered with dinner dishes.  The only noticeable thing out of place?  A spatula was on the floor.  

I took a stocking-footed step forward.   WHATTHE?????  It was as if I had stepped on a bazillion tiny pieces of broken glass.  Oh wait.  That's exactly what I had done.

I looked around again.  It. Was. Ev.Ree.Whar.  Not only had the sky fallen and broken into a bazillion pieces, it landed on drinking glasses, and plates, and bowls, and serving dishes.    I will be honest with you, as I always am, my first thought after Oh Lord MY FOOT IS BLEEDING, was, THE FRENCH PRESS WAS ON THE TABLE!!!!  NO!!!! NOT THE FRENCH PRESS!!!!

The Mister had brewed some lovely coffee before he left me for Mel Brooks.  Was it?  Could it have fallen on my beloved?  Tears came to my eyes as I scanned the carnage for a sign of my lover, my friend, my French press coffee pot.   I gasped....there it was, a fraction of an inch from where the largest piece of the light sat.  

Unscathed.

Thank.God.

I caught my breath, and began to clean up.  Half a set of dishes in the trash can.  At least four glasses.  One soup bowl?  Broken into many pieces, the largest of which was resting comfortably on a high chair.   There was a quarter-sized chunk taken out of my oak table.  Millions, and I do mean millions, of tiny shards of glass stood upright in the table.  And equal number were all over the floor.

I called in the cavalry (my mother-in-law, of course) because the short people refused to stay out of the freaking kitchen whilst I cleaned.  I figured if there were another adult in the house, they would be rendered totally disinterested in rolling around in shards of glass...you know, Murphy's Law.  And also if the shorties left me (us) alone, maybe she'd help me clean up.

And she did.

We scrubbed and swept and mopped and threw away broken glass for over an hour.

Just as I was having a vague memory of a tall man with a beard *cough*The Mister *cough* adjusting the glass light fixture right before dinner, my phone beeped a text message alert.  Oddly enough, it was a text message from a tall man with a beard.  Big Boss just called.  Sounds like he wants me to be in charge of a project for the next 4-6 months.
 
My reply?  Hope he doesn't want you to hang light fixtures. *, **

This stuff doesn't happen to the Duggars.

*In his defense, he had worked the previous day from 6 am until midnight, and that day he was called to work at 4 am to pretend to plow snow, and had just completed that twelve hour shift on less than 4 hours sleep.

**In my defense, I had worked the previous day from 7 am until 10 pm, with three highly annoying short people, who, if I had been paying attention, were showing signs of being sick.  And that day, I was called to work an additional three hours in the middle of the night (probably the ones he slept) dealing with high fevers and the relentless coughing up of lungs.  Said fevers and coughing up of lungs continued for the remainder of the day, with the addition of interminable whining and refusal to a) drink anything, b) eat anything, and c) take any tylenol or motrin; also the addition of one thirty-pound two year-old to my person, a child who does not yet grasp the concept of pregnant women needing to use the potty every fifteen minutes.

even my conservative crunchy friends can get behind this

The Washington Post printed an article this morning referencing an interview of President Obama by Matt Lauer regarding the Food and Drug Administration.  President Obama was quite critical of the FDA's total miss on the recent Salmonella In The Peanut Butter Event based in a Georgia processing plant...also the Great Spinach Crisis of '08, as well as the Poison The Babies With Nasty Formula Campaign, and Oh Wait, Let's Kill Puppies, Too, While We're At It.

The New York Times also had some great articles about the whole Salmonella In The Peanut Butter Event, but for some reason freaking Firefox hates me this morning. If it starts playing nice, I'll update later.

One of the NYT articles was about how federal regulators had to ask the peanut plant's permission before declaring a recall on the tainted products. Are these people kidding us? Kids are very sick and dying and the PEANUT PEOPLE GET TO DECIDE IF THERE'S A RECALL????? I don't think so, Tim.  Why should a federal agency, charged with policing the safety of food (and drugs, but that's a whole 'nother kettle for a whole 'nother day) have to NEGOTIATE RECALLS WITH MANUFACTURERS?  It's wrong.  

Hopefully this will start a "from the top" look into the non-credibility of the FDA and also re-evaluate the function and capacity in which the FDA operates...less lobbying, more usefulness.  We can only hope.

subs and waving where no one has waved before

First of all?  I was completely unaware that Sunday was *THAT* Sunday, you know, the one where the pigskin worship occurs?   The Youth Group at church had their annual Super Bowl Sunday Sub Sale (points for the mad alliteration, yo), and even when filling out the form last week, I didn't make the connection.  And then, when the teen boy stood up to announce the subs were ready and good and there were extras to be bought, and that, for the record, the Cardinals were going to win the big game, I wasn't even all Big game?  Huh-Whaaa?  What is this child speaking of?  I was all, Mmmmmm, SUBS!!!!!

Excuse me while I head back to the rock under which I live.

What?  I LIKE IT THERE.

We came home from church, heavy laden with yummy subby goodness, and sat down to eat, but the thing is, I am so tired all the way inside my bones, it wore me out to put the mayo on my sub.  Actually, it was the Miracle Whip Replacement from Aldi, because I was too tired to get up to get the mayo and mustard out of the fridge.  But the point is, it was all I could do to slap a little of that stuff on the bread, and then I went above and beyond my capabilities to cut the sub in half and pick it up and take a bite and I had to go take a nap.  

Really.

A little later, The Mister left me alone with the rambunctious faction that is our boy shorties, and went to load in the show.  Sometime later than that, I dragged myself up to put them down for a nap.  Then there was some sort of a time warp, and then I made soup and we had dinner.

And then Sweets, the currently unnamed shortest person of them all, decided he was bored and needed to cause a ruckus.  So he did a handstand and tried to cram his wee pattys through my cervix.  I am not kidding, I think I could have shaken his hand if I  a)  tried; or b) was interested in touching myveryown cervix.  Seriously Sweets?  Waving at me from my own vagina is NOT CUTE.  Nor is it in any way, shape, or form, an appropriate method of getting your mother's attention.  I would never wave at my mother in such a fashion.

He's since decided not to climb out hands first (thanks for that, little fella!).  But the rest of my bits are still a little upset from the, umm, disruption he was attempting earlier, so it's been a fun couple of hours of wickedevilpainful contractions every five minutes.  RAWK!!!!  I know!!!

I remarked to The Mister that I was checking myself out in the mirror today, and from the front I hardly look pregnant at all, and that from the back, I look only slightly more bootylicious than I used to be.  But I walked past the television today, and I looked like I was wearing a beach ball under my sweatshirt.  It was then that he laughed at me and told me I looked good (he's really no fool, that one), and informed me that the television had a roundish screen which would make me seem way rounder.  Awesome.  I'm faux round and stupid.

I am sort of feeling like I should warn you that I might just end up bitching about being pregnant for the next nine to eleven weeks. Unless, you know, Sweets decides to pull some more of those vajayjay waving shenanigans and arrives much sooner, thereby ending everyone's misery.  

a few things for a sunday

You may have seen Brother Snipes Mama hanging out in the comment section every now and again. She's one of the irl peeps I know who swings by to have a chuckle every now and again. She's also Jill's and twentysomething's auntie. Also? She's in the hospital. They're trying to figure out what her deal is, and the doctors are leaning toward some sort of cardiac issue. And people, if we know anything, we know we need to have a functional heart. So send some prayers up for her today and, well, until further notice.

Brother Snipes Mama's nephew, who is twentysomething's little brother, Justin, has pneumonia. And that is in addition to four arms-lengths of medical problems he was born with. You can pray for him, too.

And the gal I wrote about in this here post is going through some major transition. She and her daughter are moved in with her parents, and there are lots of doctors appointments happening. I know there are a lot of you who are praying for her already, so keep it up.