dandelion patch...

Drumroll, Please...

2009-11-13T16:36:00.000-08:00

This picture is specifically posted for Amy. I was about 7 months along. :)

This, my friends, is my TWO HUNDRED-FIFTIETH BLOG!

I am dedicating it to my newly born daughter...my little Lily.

I had my scheduled appointment with the CNM on Tuesday morning. She told me I was a 3, and with the ever-present sympathy in her eyes, told me that if I felt like I really, really wanted to, I could be induced at any time. I told her I would just wait...I have heard too many stories about how induced labor is HORRIBLE because the contractions come on strong and quickly. Didn't sound like fun. No thanks...I'll pass...Not that it mattered in the end anyway, but I digress...

So, I was crabby the rest of the day. I am not sure why. I was crabby at my body, I was crabby at my kids, I was crabby at YOU...well, no, I guess I wasn't, but you get the idea. By the time Jeremy came home I had tiny rain clouds following me everywhere.

We decided after dinner to go on a walk (hoping to induce labor...yeah, no.) and my crabbiness morphed into wanting to cry for no reason. Poor, poor Jeremy...

After getting home, we threw the kids in bed and plopped on the couch and stared at each other. Very boring.

"What do you want to do?"

Silence...

"Um...I guess we can just go to bed."

Silence...

"Okay."

On his way down to his pillow, Jeremy passed out, and I laid there, twiddling my thumbs. Oh the joys of pregnancy insomnia.

SYSTEMS CHECK, I said to myself.

Any contractions detected?

Negatory. Run additional analysis in 5 minutes. (By the way, did you know that "negatory" isn't a word, but "nugatory" is?? Weird.)

Moments ticked by...

SYSTEMS ALERT! Contractions immanent! BRACE FOR IMPACT!

Me: "OUCH!"

Jeremy: "ZZZZZ...?....ZZZZ"

SYSTEMS ANALYSIS. ARE CONTRACTIONS CONSISTENT?

Negatory. But they appear to be gaining in strength. Keep Yellow Alert status until further notice.

An hour later...

"What the...??!?!?!?!?"

UPGRADE TO RED ALERT!

Send message to the other contributing unit to deploy this unit to birthing facility.

Message sending, following standard procedure for when verbal communication has malfunctioned.

*SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE*

Jeremy: "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

*SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE*

Jeremy: "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

*SHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKESHAKE*

Jeremy: "...zzzz...wha...??"

Me: *whimper*

Jeremy: "OH."

SECOND UNIT DEPLOYED TO CONTACT THIRD UNIT FOR INFANTILE SURVEILLANCE. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. STAND BY FOR SITUATION UPDATES.

My contractions went from 8 minutes apart to 2 minutes apart in ten minutes. I think my body was trying to kill me.

At the hospital, I barely made it inside before I had to curl up in a fetal position in the waiting room while Jeremy talked with the receptionist.

They took me back, and due to the constant contractions, figured I was admitable, and they got everything ready while they checked me in. For some reason, the hospital thinks it necessary to play 20 questions with their in-labor patients.

"Um, okay...so, are you thinking of something animal?"

What the...?

"Okay, mineral?"

*Glaring*

"Is it blue?"

Make it stop...

"Is it in this room?"

Jeremy, read my mind and dispose of this sorry sack of a person...

After the nurse tired of this little game, they wheeled me back to the farthest room in the maternity ward, which was, at the time, 40 miles away. Later, it was about a one minute walk back to the receptionists desk.

They hooked me up to about 100 machines, making an extremely bloody mess of it, I might add, and they called the most important person in my life: The Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist (say that word five times fast).

He came in what seemed like a month after I got there, and looked at me with sleepy eyes. The only thing I noticed (besides the fact that he had no hair at all on his head) was how big his teeth were. Hey, at 12:30 AM things just stick out to you.

He swabbed my back down with what looked like concentrated horse piddle, measured my spine, poked my sides (I seriously hope he wasn't trying to make me laugh, because I didn't. I didn't think I had to humor this man.), said, "Well, here goes nothing!" and drove a steel I-beam into my spine. The result was me waiting for the pain to stop, and wondering why it wasn't. After a few moments, I meekly asked if I should be feeling anything still, and he again gave me a glimpse of his giant teeth and waved the medication at me. "I haven't put it in yet!" I grabbed him by his nose hair and screamed, "WHY THE HECK NOT!? YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?????" He then hooked me up, and quickly left the room. I sank into revere as the left side of my body started folding itself into some amazing yoga positions, if I do say so myself. The right side just gave me first hand accounts of what it would be like to be stabbed over and over again with an icepick in one spot.

The nurse, Karine, (whom I love and adore) realized that something wasn't quite right, and called Dr. Teeth back. He wandered in, and after hearing what was going on, decided he needed to redo the I-beam. I was okay with that since 90% of the area he poked was numb anyway. After getting everything situated, he gave me not just a dose but a DOUBLE dose of my epidural. And as my legs sailed off and turned into Jello, I turned to thank this man of men, and it could have been the drugs, but I swear he had a halo.

I was then instructed to sleep. Right.

Jeremy, however, had made a nest in the corner with assorted linens he had been collecting since we got there, and apparently was prepared for long term hibernation, because he curled up and in about .0000001 seconds was asleep.

Nuuu nee nuu nee nuu....

After a little while, I noticed that I could no longer hear my baby's heartbeat. The nurse came in as I prepared for a panic attack, adjusted the monitor, and I peacefully reclined back as I hummed along with the drone of the beat.

A little while after that, the heart beat got slower, and slower, and slower. Lucky for me, the nurses were in the room. And while they were attempting to be cheerful and non-threatening, there is something extremely disturbing about watching all the nurses move double time, and about Karine throwing an oxygen mask at me, hurriedly saying, "Here, put this on!" in such a way that it would have sounded more natural if she had handed me a party hat.

Apparently, Lily had descended too low and couldn't "breathe." (I am sure there is a more technical explanation, but they never gave me ANY explanation, so I had to make one up that would make sense to you, and to me.) Once they fixed whatever there was to fix, her heartbeat went back to normal, and I could breathe again.

Right after that the doctor came in (I had dilated to a 10 quickly). I think he had either just woken up, or had just gotten back from crashing a cocktail party.

"Heeeeyyyy!" he said.

He then began joking with everyone in the room between little cat naps he kept taking as he stood there.

As things progressed, it was ascertained that Lily was posterior (for those who don't know, that means she was face up. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it's not ideal. It can cause facial bruising, and is apparently extremely painful for the mother.) When the doctor observed this he said, "She's looking up! That's cool!" (Now, don't get the wrong idea. Dr. Tipsy has been practicing for 30+ years. He ain't no noob. Perhaps he is just easily entertained.) He then whipped out his salad spoons. Enough said.

Things wound up pretty quickly after that. The result was a miniature Eva. No joke. They pulled Lily out, and it was total deja vu. Only smaller. Eva was almost a whole pound bigger. So, there was my Lily! The whole 6 lbs 12 oz and 18.5 inches of her! Instant love...

Now, all of this has been rather silly, but I must assure you that as I lay in that hospital bed, in the quiet of the night, I felt heaven very near. It must be that heaven stops to watch their beloved little ones come down, and the heavens must hold their breath as life and death touch, and a miracle is performed. I was afraid I would lose my little Lily, but I truly believe that Heavenly Father heard my pleading heart as I feared her heart might stop altogether, and protected my precious daughter.

And now that she is here, I feel like she has always been a part of us. Another miracle and gift from God, I believe. It seems that the veil is thinner as these little ones enter our lives, and we remember partially what was before, and what is to come in the eternities.

Cautionary Tales from Me and Things that go BUMP in my head.

2009-11-06T13:32:00.000-08:00

I ain't drinking milk from this cow...

First things first...Soy milk tastes really gross.
Whew, got that off my chest...

(In case you want a tasty alternative to cow or soy milk, try almond milk. It tastes like candy. Of course, it could be all the evaporated cane juice they put in it. They put it in soy milk too, but for some reason it doesn't taste as good. We tried to slip some in Eva's morning milk, and, after detecting the foreign entity, she returned the partially undrunk bottle to me, telling me that she didn't like it.)

Second thing...We went to Build-A-Bear to get baby her very own custom-made polar bear (why I think my children need stuffed animals I will never know...), and Josh and Eva FREAKED OUT that they didn't get one too--never mind the fact that they both have their own custom stuffed animals at home.... I had heard once when you are to have a new baby, that when you get something for them, you should get something for your other kids as well, so they don't feel jealous. Being a conscientious mommy, I dragged my screaming children from Build-A-Bear and into Hallmark to get them their own little animals (at a far cheaper price). That only resulted in Joshua and Eva wanting one of everything, and I left Hallmark with a little less money in my pocket, two horribly spoiled children in tow, and yet two more Beanie Babies to add to the already staggering mound at home. Why do I do this? To be "fair," of course...but I don't recommend it.

Third thought...If you are going to buy a car seat for your baby, and if you don't really like it, for heaven's sake, don't use it, let your child stain it, leave oddly shaped cereal in it, and then take it back to Wal-Mart for some poor, unknowing soul (me) to purchase, take home, install, and then step back in disgust when they realize what they have gotten into. Lacks class. Is DEVOID of class...

Fourthly, homemade poppy seed salad dressing is tasty. Homemade apple-orange salad dressing isn't. And it in no way makes spinach taste good.

Fifthly, I think that every woman who can should shave their legs frequently. I don't think men should at all. Except cyclists. Nothing more weird looking than a man in spandex with wolfman legs. Except perhaps a woman in spandex with wolfman legs.

Sixthly, I don't think telling people what is "wrong" with them is in any way useful...or nice (number three is an exception because I haven't actually said it to the person...that makes it okay, right?). All it does is make that person not like you (and I don't care if the car seat villain doesn't like me).

Seventhly (is that a word?), Albertson's makes really tasty peanut butter cookies. Don't buy them.

Eighthly (not a word either...), I really don't like pears, but I keep buying them, and forcing myself to eat them. I think I may have a mental problem.

Ninethly (should be a word), I think people would do well having microchips installed in their bodies, like they do with cats and dogs now. That way, you could never lose someone. Jeremy thinks it's a bad idea.

And finally, if listening to Christmas music makes you happy, you should be able to listen to it whenever you want without being criticized. Even if it's in June.

WARNING: TMI

2009-11-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

I went to the doctor yesterday to be...checked...

Apparently I am a 1+, 75 % effaced, and baby is "right there" as Heather, my CNM, informed me in a surprised tone (By the way...if you have a male certified nurse midwife, are they called a midwife? What do you call them?? Do they even exist???? Would they be a nurse midhusband?? Or just a male-nurse-who-does-midwifey-things? Or do they go by their other name, nurse practitioner?? Maybe that's it...).

My body liked what it heard, and went into contractions (ouch...) all day (and all night), and I felt nauseated as a consequence...or it could have been an overdose of fresh salsa. Either way, I felt pretty awful. I kept willing my water to break just so I could stop feeling rotten. No luck, as you can tell.

While I was visiting with Heather, she told me if I progress to a 2+, I could go ahead and be induced next week if I wanted. She didn't push it either way. I told her, confidently, that I wasn't in a rush, and the baby could come whenever...after yesterday afternoon/evening, I thought perhaps I was too hasty and overconfident...bleh...

It is comforting to know that at some point it will end. It's not an "if" thing. Thank heaven.

P.S. I found this on a site about the psychological effects of pain...doesn't this look like something else??? Ha ha ha ha! They are so similar...

Information Station

2009-11-02T08:48:00.000-08:00

In college, when I and my classmates had to write a paper, our teacher (of any English class, or any other class for that matter) would stand in front of us, point their intellectual guns at us, and threaten us within an inch of our lives that our sources had better be from a creditable source, ie. from a book or scholarly journal, or we would be shot and buried in the West Desert. Any information drawn from the Internet (unless it was JStore or some other electronic college journal, for which you had to have a password) was a huge no-no.

Now, that was seven years ago. And considering the garbage you can find these days on the Internet, I can't imagine that this rule has changed much (any of you currently enrolled, please let me know if this is still the policy.).

A few months back, there was a story in the news about a college student who thought he would try an experiment with Wikipedia. Wikipedia is, if you didn't know, written by the masses (hopefully the informed masses). So, if you look up "Jackelope" and there is no entry, you can write one (I don't recommend you do, unless you really are an expert on Jackelopes.). Now, Wikipedia expects their contributors to be honest. The student mentioned above decided it would be great fun to write an entry about a recently deceased composer that he made up. Within minutes, people were spreading the student's false entry on their blogs and Internet sites. I am sure it made for a great study of the power of electronic information, but when discovered, this little college student got in a lot of trouble. Now, I am sure this kind of thing is an exception, not the rule when it comes to Wikipedia (I look things up on Wikipedia, too, so I am not trying to be snobby when it comes to people looking stuff up there), but it still made me laugh when one of Jeremy's co-workers informed Jeremy that he got all of his facts from Wikipedia (of course, this is the same guy who told Jeremy that he (meaning the co-worker) discovered that he was a genius because an Internet IQ test told him so.).

It kind of makes one leery of the information readily available to us--from the Internet or a book. My American History teacher was from the South, and he told us that us "Northerners" had slanted history for years to make them look like a whole bunch of wackos.

Is it possible to be objective? I don't know if it is. I think it is a nice theory, but unless you have been living in a box your entire life, I don't know if it is possible to objective about anything. And suppose you had lived in a box your entire life. What if someone asked you what you thought of a sphere? My guess is you would prefer the box, and your judgement would be slanted that way. And who knows what living in a box might do to your psyche anyway, and how it would make you think and perceive the world?

It seems to me that we all live in our own little boxes of biases and preferences.

Think of a colony of people living in boxes. What if, one day, someone decided to peek out of the box...think of what would happen if, after peeking out, the person got OUT of the box? And suppose that person started knocking on other people's boxes, telling them that what was outside their boxes was worth seeing? How many of us would jump out of our security and join our brave friend?

God has given us the recipe for knowing if things are true: "Study it out in your mind, and ask me if it be right..." God expects us to work things out, and, with the assistance of the Spirit, we can know what is true. Thank heaven for discernment. In this world of ready information that bombards us from all sides, that is the only way to know if what is being offered to us is truth.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

2009-10-30T15:11:00.001-07:00

I am so tired.

We got to the hotel, jumped into the pool and I quickly found out that pregnant bodies are in no way aerodynamic. It wore me out in about 6 minutes. Jeremy glided gracefully through the pool beside me as I struggled to use my abdominals and ended up doggy paddling.

We curled up in our room after and discovered that there is absolutely nothing to watch on TV, and continued to watch nothing for about 2 hours.

This morning, Jeremy and I guiltily (Well, it was just me that felt guilty.) slunk home to our children, donuts and books in hand, to mollify our children. Joshua and Eva screamed and ran for the donuts and wouldn't have anything to do with us for about an hour. Naps reset everyone...

Hooray for vacations, and hooray for home!

Babymooning

2009-10-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

Remember a few months back, Jeremy and I were going to go out of town for our anniversary? And remember how I freaked out about my kids somehow getting run over by a car if I left them? (Maybe I never said it, but that was the reason I didn't want to leave them. Chalk it up to crazy pregnancy hormones.)

Well, Jeremy and I are going on a Babymoon (that's what they are calling it now when you go on a mini-trip with your spouse when you are pregnant. Whatever.)! Jeremy thought it would be good for us to get away overnight. And since I am about to pop, it's probably our last chance to do so for a while. So, we decided to head out of town to somewhere exciting and fun! We decided to go to Provo! (Jeremy didn't want to go too far. But, hey! We'll be right across the street from the movie theater!) We made reservations, and I went to bed exhilarated. Wow! A whole day with just Jeremy! Yay!

At some point in the middle of the night, I began to rethink things (I wonder if my baby has secretly wrapped tentacles around my brain and is starting a hostile takeover...). I thought, "Gee, Jeremy and I get to spend evenings together, and weekends...we really don't need to go out of town..." I then sat up, slapped myself, and told myself to stop it.

It's that kind of thinking that produces conclusions that are completely absurd... like "Hydrogen bombs are enormous, pink water balloons" (which reminds me of my 13th birthday party, where I and some co-conspirators launched a water-filled regular balloon down the stairs into the living room, resulting in muffled giggles as Dad loudly threatened to toss my friends down the stairs and cancel the party. Which makes me think of more fun I had with stairs: The only thing that beats going down an entire flight of stairs in a cardboard box is jumping from the top of the stairs to the bottom. Try both sometime, you will see what I mean.).

This Babymoon will be good for us, and good for the kids. Nothing like getting away from people to make you like them better (like this morning when I left the kids with my Ma-in-law to go to the doctor, and when I came back an hour later, Joshua felt the need to tell me his life story, and Eva ran to me screaming "Moommmmmmmmmmmmyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" like she hadn't seen me for years.).

My only fear is that I will go into labor before Thursday. I have a feeling that my little one is a troublemaker...

Ahem...

2009-10-26T10:34:00.001-07:00

Just real quick...

If you would like your justly won surprise, please send your address to my yahoo account. Don't worry, Becky, I already have yours. I think I would be a bad sister if I didn't (Or would you rather wait until December when you come up? Or are you like me, and you love getting stuff snail mail?? Either way is fine with me.).

No protests, Leslie. I will just give it to you the next time I see you anyway. I suppose I could just send it to your parents' house...maybe I will do that if you refuse. Yeah...Good idea, brain...

I will give you yours, Tammy, on Saturday! I hope you guys all feel better by then...

Kristin, I have your address! Thank you very much! I hope you like it. Hint: Think "Where's Waldo?"

Tiffany, I would LOVE to come and see your house! I am about to hit my expiration date, but we will definitely have to get together soon.

And, Dad, sorry, virtue is its own reward. If you shared your gift, that should have made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. But rest assured that if I actually DID have some Moose Doots, I would readily hand them over to you. Hehehehe...

The prizes are waiting patiently in my closet for those *cough Bethany cough Savannah* who wish to claim them!

I hope you guys enjoy what I have for you! I have to admit, the only thing that could be called weird I gave away to Emily (it wasn't that weird, though, was it, Emily? And by the way, if you want, I can show you how I made what I gave Mom.). Everything else is pretty normal, ie. useful, decorative, or both. So, if that is what is making you hesitate, please don't worry.

This is it!

2009-10-24T12:38:00.001-07:00

Okay, peeps, one more day! There is still a chance for stragglers to get a fabulous surprise!

And by the way...

All this "I don't want a present!" stuff is silly. I WANT to!

Let me explain...

I believe people come into my life for a reason. Whether you realize it or not, God plopped you into my little piece of world, and that has made a difference. Like pieces of a puzzle, you fit perfectly, and in some way, I also fit into your jigsaw of a life. We are meant to color and enrich the lives of all those we come in contact with. And in some ways, we can't help it!

So, I have been thinking about each of you, what you mean to me, and am going to come up with some physical manifestation (and have) of my love and friendship for you. Like I said before, it's nothing fancy. Most likely something quirky. Or maybe not.

I once gave someone an avocado pit dressed as a tribal king. They in turn gave me a decapitated Ken doll. (And, no, I wasn't in high school. This happened 2 years ago.) So, expect anything. Heheheh...

I decided NOT to list prizes, because I thought it might cause problems. I don't think I could handle the "Hey, I didn't get Moose Doots on a stick!" complaints. What you get is ESPECIALLY for you, no randomness about it!

Besides, don't rob me of the joy of going to the post office!

A Big Thanks...

2009-10-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

TIME SENSITIVE BLOG!

I would like to send a big thank you out to all of you who responded so kindly to my last blog. You know your true friends when you throw a tantrum and they still like you! :)

So, because you made my heart all sunshiny, I am going to give something back! Nothing fancy, mind you, but something from the heart!

The next 20 people to leave a comment on this blog will get a special something from me (I chose that number so that every person I know plus random blog-stalkers get a chance at something.)! Don't worry, I won't send anything that explodes. Maybe something weird, but nothing that explodes. So, for those of you who don't live within 2 miles of me, please send your addresses to shydandelion2000@yahoo.com, or you can send it to my Facebook inbox. You DO need to comment before Sunday, though, so I know exactly how many I need to send out!

Good luck, my fellow bloggers!

P.S. A list of prizes is coming....

P.S.S NO CHEATING! Only one prize per person (that means YOU, Jenny!).

Okay, that's it...

2009-10-18T18:17:00.000-07:00

Update: Sorry, people...I went on a tyraid yesterday...It was induced by an over-consumption of coffee cake...If you would like to read this blog, be my guest, otherwise, ignore it and pretend that it never happened...
Updated update: Apparently I can also blame the following blog on pregnancy, so...

It's the moment of truth, people!
I need to know how many people actually read my blog. I am not going to not blog if there are only 2 people reading it, but I would like to know by show of hands how many people stop by my tiny piece of cyberspace.

I live for comments. Really. I really, really do.

I live to entertain. I work and rework my blogs to make people laugh. Sad, I know, but it's something to live for!

So, by show of hands, how many of you are there out there??
Please leave a comment! You don't have to say anything. You can just put a smiley face or whatever, just something to indicate that you are in fact a real person pit-stopping at my blog!
Yeah, yeah, you can say whatever you like about lacking faith in my readers, or being a comment hog, but the fact is EVERYBODY likes comments, and EVERYBODY likes to know that what they have to say matters to someone else! I would just like to know how many someone elses there are!
Besides, I hate it when most of the comments on a post are written by me...

P.S. Before you get all cranky at me, I KNOW there are people out there who have read my blog in the past who have commented, and I have never read or commented on their blogs. And the reason for this is because you people (you know who you are) STILL haven't invited me to your private blogs. So, if you don't have more comments, that is why. I always comment if people have commented on my blog. Just an incentive. My e-mail is shydandelion2000@yahoo.com just in case you feel like adding me...

I really don't like commenting on other people's blogs if they don't even read my blog. I take it as a kind of insult. I mean, yes, there are those of you who have commented on my blog in the past, who don't always. That is fine. But it does bother me when people invite me to read their blogs, and never read mine. It seems rude. Really. I mean, if you just wanted me to ooo and ahh over your life and you want to completely ignore mine, just say so! Don't try and fool me by popping up in my blog once and telling me that you would love for me to stop by yours. Dude. Blogs are a two way communication. You can't tell me they aren't. It's like prayer.

Can you imagine if God had a blog? Chances are, he would post something and nobody would read it, and then he would spend his time reading other people's posts, and commenting, and they would only notice him if he commented, and never think of him if he didn't. Or check his blog. I suppose you could look at the scriptures as sort of primitive blog. And that's probably why he hasn't set one up. I mean, if people aren't going to respond to paper and ink, why would they respond to text on a screen?

Have I taken this too far? I am not trying to be sacrilegious...

Something's not quite right...

2009-10-15T09:04:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to be wise with my meal choices (never mind yesterday's donut/hot chocolate dinner...).

Call me crazy, but I like counting calories. It makes me feel like I am in control of some tiny part of my life.

Now, before you barrage me with "YOU ARE PREGNANT!" keep in mind that a pregnant woman is only supposed to consume an additional 300 calories to support her growing baby. And that is the equivalent of a yogurt and an apple. So, I am not eating for two. I am eating for one and something the size of my thigh.

And I am not starving myself. When I am hungry, I eat, but I have been trying to pick good things instead of empty calorie foods. I do get a little crazy sometimes, though (and Jeremy could tell stories about how many times I have made him go on cookie runs...and taco runs...and candy runs...and icecream runs...).

A few days ago, I was sitting with Jeremy on the couch, and I had a brilliant idea!

"Hey, Jeremy!" I said, quivering with excitement. Jeremy sleepily looked at me.

"I have a great idea!"

He didn't look as excited as I'd hoped. I continued.

"We should go to Costco and get those See's Candies gift certificates and fill up two one-pound boxes and when I go into labor we can take them to the hospital and eat candy!" You see, a trip to the hospital is like going to a spa for me.

Jeremy looked dubious, and really, really tired (I asked Jeremy not too long ago that if I died, would he marry someone more mellow. He replied that he wouldn't really know what they were like until after they were married, so...I guess he has a point. You really don't know people when you date them. It's only after years and years of hand print-leaving bottom smacking and cups of ice water being poured on you in the shower that you truly know someone.).

It was at that moment I realized that I couldn't bring chocolate to the hospital, because they wouldn't let me eat anything after I was strapped to the bed. Oh well...

Jeremy took it with grace.

Anyway, this morning I was very hungry. Perhaps it was yesterday's dinner menu...I wisely chose some fibrous cereal with banana, and I picked out a ripe pear from our fruit basket (Yes, I display my produce in baskets all over my kitchen. My theory is, if you are going to want to eat a piece of fruit, it should be put to best advantage by looking artistic (I rarely display vegetables. Vegetables should be cut up and put neatly in plastic zip-loc bags in the fridge. Fruits are ornamental; vegetables are functional.). Kind of like if you want to get your man's attention, you should slather on a couple layers of make-up and do your hair. Yes, I am the shiniest piece of fruit in the basket! Or maybe I am just a fruitcake.)

I gobbled down my cereal, and then pulled my plate of pears towards me and picked one up. Oh my...it tasted like someone had dipped it in alcohol. Now, that didn't stop me from eating it. I figured that it could only get better as I went along. It sorta did...It made me think of Leslie, how she got a funny drink on her mission made from whole oranges and the resulting intoxicated conversation she had with her zone leader. Hey, if you are going to be a drunk, be a happy one, I always say...

So, to all my readers, be careful what you eat today! And remember: If your man can't find ya handsome, at least he can find ya handy!

Piddle

2009-10-13T07:09:00.001-07:00

In October, I'll be host to witches, goblins, and a ghost.

I'll serve them chicken soup on toast.

Whoopie once, whoopie twice

Whoppie chicken soup with rice.

~Maurice Sendak

I have a wanna-be nudist.

Eva discovered a while ago that going au naturale was exciting and we have since invested in diaper pin stocks.
After a time, it seemed that she got over the desire to be naked, and we stopped pinning her clothes on. I think she was biding her time...

Last weekend, we plopped our cranky 2-year-old in her bed for a nap, closed the door, and promptly tried to forget what having a 2-year-old is like. We went about our business...and an hour later I heard the tell-tale sounds of a not-so-asleep little girl playing with her toys.

I went into her bedroom, and there, on the floor, was a diaper...with quite a few escapee poos surrounding it. Two little eyes peaked out from behind Joshua's bed. The look was a mix of pride, terror, amusement, and shame.

I quickly told her how naughty she was, slapped some clothes on her bare body, used about 80 pins to keep her clothes on, plopped her back in bed, and started to clean up the mess. And OH, what a mess it was.

The poo was easy.

The piddle...

She somehow managed to piddle into her doll's tiny shoe. A LOT.

And she desecrated about 5 books which all had to be tossed.

Among the ravaged books were two books by Maurice Sendak (one of my favorite authors) ...the new ones I bought. Sigh...
I thought to myself, "Okay, I can understand piddling on "Noah" (I mean, it makes sense), and on that dumb bunny counting book, and even the silly book with the turkey with purple socks, but why "Chicken soup with rice" and "Where the wild things are"????!!! Perhaps Eva hasn't caught the vision...kind of like I haven't caught Dad's fervor for "Lord of the Rings" (Although, I didn't go so far as to piddle on any of those. Can you say "death by extremely violent tongue-lashing"? Despite the old adage, words do hurt, especially when wielded by a pro. Dad's like the Ultimate Jedi Knight of Linguistics and words are his Light Saber.).
As a kid, I would sit in Mom's closet with the stack of Sendak books we owned and read along with the books on tape (Narrated by the talented Tammy Grimes). I have all of them memorized. Who could help it? They are catchy (and can I tell you how EXCITED I AM FOR "Where the Wild Things Are" TO COME OUT IN THEATERS?????!!!!!!). I always hoped my kids would enjoy them as well, not piddle on them.

Oh well...It's impossible to stay mad at Eva. Even while telling her how naughty she was, I just wanted to squeeze her because of the heartbroken look on her face.

Whoopie once, whoopie twice, whoopie chicken soup with rice.

Stained Glass

2009-10-11T11:42:00.000-07:00

I had a lazy morning today. I am sick (again...sheesh...) and so I decided bed is where I should stay, and not spread my disease to the rest of my ward (before you judge me, the Church has come out and said if you are sick, stay home, for heaven's sake and everyone elses.).

As I lay in my dreamy state, I cracked my eyes open and noticed the hazy morning light on my hand. It threw each detail into sharp relief. It looked like a stained glass window, perfectly organized and placed carefully.

It made me think of God and his miraculous creation of the body. Not only is it the greatest machine ever built, but it is beautiful and carefully made. Each detail was done on purpose, for a purpose, and to bring delight as well. (In like manner, our souls are like stained glass, but we are the artists. Each experience, good or ill, gives a different hue, making a beautiful masterpiece. And in the event that a pane is broken, it can be divinely repaired.)

I suppose God could have made us merely functional (and we are that), but he made us after his image, and we are thus, each one of us, beautiful beyond our own understanding.

Take a closer look at God's greatest creation, and let him show you how wondrous you are.

Pieces of Skull

2009-10-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

A month or two ago, we noticed something going on in Joshua's mouth. He had two permanent teeth growing directly behind two of his baby teeth, which were loose. Apparently, there is some shark blood in the family somewhere.

Luckily, Joshua was due for a visit to his dentist.

I love Josh's dentist. He is like a skinny, young Santa Claus. And he laughs at everything. He must really love his job...or he is sampling some of his products...

The dentist said everything was fine, and in fact, Joshua had some over-active 6-year molars trying to come up under his baby molars, as well. He told us that if Josh's loose teeth didn't come out in 6 weeks, that they would need to be extracted.

I remember being a kid, and having loose teeth. It is semi-traumatic. It didn't help that Mom tied my tooth to the doorknob in her bathroom and unsuccessfully tried to remove it.

I don't know what possesses parents to pull their children's teeth out. Latent hostility, perhaps, for all the trouble their children give them? Sort of a payback kind of thing?

Well, Josh's teeth hadn't really changed much until a few days ago when he bit into a banana and said "OUCH!" You know something bad is going to happen if a banana causes you grief. Joshua turned to me and looked out with his big, blue eyes, and started wiggling his very, very loose tooth.
"Josh!" I exclaimed. "You are going to lose your tooth! Yay!"
His wounded look turned into tear-filled horror.

"I d-d-d-on't want to lose my teeeethhhhh!"

"No! It's great! You can show Daddy, and he will be so excited! Yay! Your baby teeth need to come out so your big people teeth can grow in!"

Luckily, Joshua is still impressionable, and he was soon jumping around the room getting really excited about loosing his tooth.

I don't know what possessed me, but I continued with,

"You should pull it out, Josh!"

He then spent the next two hours trying to get it out. Unsuccessfully. And there was a lot of blood. At this point, Joshua came to me and requested that I dispatch the tooth for him. *shudder*

"Um, why don't you wait 'till Daddy gets home, and he can do it?"

He considered...

"Noooo, I will do it."

Ten minutes later he wanted me to do it.

My gag reflex was working overtime, and it didn't help that Joshua was standing right in front of me with his bloody, loose tooth dangling by a nerve.

Fortunately, Jeremy came home, and I gave it over to him. No dice. Josh wouldn't let Jeremy touch him.

We went to Wally World, and on the way, we told Josh that if he let Daddy pull his tooth out, he could get a treat. That only resulted in Joshua screaming his protestations the whole way there, and at the climax, when Jeremy tried to remove the tooth, Joshua had worked himself into hysterics that lasted the entire walk into the store. We finally convinced him that nobody was doing anything to him, and that he really ought to stop.

We got some candy for Josh, in anticipation of him relenting. I don't know why Jeremy and I were convinced he would. I mean, if someone came at you insisting on yanking your teeth out, you would probably scream too.

When we got home I told Josh he could hold the M&Ms while Daddy pulled his tooth out. Joshua gladly took the candy, but refused to open his mouth. I held him on my lap on the kitchen floor and Jeremy tried to take a non-threatening position in front of Joshua with a wad of tissues, insisting the whole time that it wouldn't hurt...much.

We begged, cajoled, threatened, and finally gave up. Joshua was hyperventilating. He twisted that poor, innocent bag of M&Ms so hard that I swear I could hear it crying.

My last attempt to get it out was right before bed, after Joshua had accepted my apology for being crabby. I tried to brush his teeth really hard. Yeah, that didn't work. I think Joshua willed that tooth to stay in forever.

So, Jeremy and I decided that eventually the tooth would come out, in spite of us, so we shouldn't worry about it.

The next day, Joshua asked me to pull it out.
"Really? You really want me to pull it out?" I had steeled myself to do it, if that is how he wanted it.
He backed away shyly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Well, this morning, I handed my boy a banana on our way out to the doctor's office. As we walked to the car, Joshua bounced around as usual, but then stopped.

I could hear him spitting.

"There is a rock in my mouth, yuck!"
Uh, oh...

I examined Joshua's mouth, and sure enough, there was a little hole in his mouth.

"Uh, Josh? That wasn't a rock. Your tooth came out!"
He then showed me where he spat it out, and I carefully threw the piece of skull into the front seat cup holder. Bleh.

I have never seen anybody so excited about a piece of their head falling out. It was a good lesson, though. I couldn't have imagined a better way for Josh to loose his tooth, and I didn't have to do anything! I just hope he doesn't end up swallowing more "rocks" in the next couple weeks.

Hooked on Phonics

2009-10-05T09:25:00.000-07:00

I love the English language. To be able to express yourself clearly, cleverly, and completely is a joy.
There are some issues, though...
I don't know why, but I was thinking about the word "cough" the other day (probably because everyone around me is impolitely coughing on me with their tiny, pink tongues sticking out.) which made me think of the word "photography."
I thought to myself, "Okay, I can sorta understand why "ph" makes the "fffff" sound, but where they HECK did they come up with "ffff" out of "gh"???!!!
Yeah, I know...You probably wouldn't like being in my head for more than about 5 minutes what with the oh-so-riviting conversations that go on in my brain.
It's no wonder that non-English speakers find English so boggling.
Since there really aren't any rules to English, can you imagine some poor, little student of English trying to make heads or tails out of the gh-ph problem?
"I would like everyone to write a 100 word essay on photography, due on Friday."
"Ohkey-dohkey," thick with foreign accent.
"Ghotograghy was devheloped (ha ha! I make joke!) by Sir John Herschel in 1839, but primitive camerhas, called pinhole camerhas, were described by Ahristotle, U-qlid, and Moe Tee, a Chinese ghilosogher ( See Wikipeedeah). I, myself, ham an hamature ghotogragher..."
See?
Or suppose they were interchangeable? "Ghotography." "Photograghy."
Or suppose they meant different things if spelled differently?
Photography: from the Greek words 'photos' - meaning light and 'graphein' - to draw.
Ghotograghy: from the Xlieitheaihneneeese words 'ghoto' - meaning manure and 'graghein' - to lick.
That's the problem with stealing words from every other language on the planet. I am surprised anybody can make any sense.

Eh?

2009-10-02T13:37:00.000-07:00

Communication is one of the necessities of marriage (I could be wrong, I suppose, but I really don't think I am...Feel free to argue.). Well, I take it back...GOOD communication is one of the necessities of marriage (Feel free to argue that, too.). You can have a lot of communication in marriage that can hurt the other, that can keep the other informed of facts, or that is just plain stupid. But, stupid communication is okay if it lends itself to amusing your spouse, and laughter is good, right??

I am semi-deaf in one ear. It's not bad, but if I am, say, lying on my side and you start talking, I don't get much. I'll just smile and nod a lot. I suppose this is a dangerous position to take, since who knows what I might be agreeing to. Which is probably why I am about to have another baby.

Jeremy has selective hearing, and that's just about as bad as being semi-deaf--and it doesn't help that I have a quiet voice. You pop that boy in front of a movie and he is gone. He can't hear a thing. Even if he has watched the movie 100 times. Even if it's something mind-numbing, like Lady and the Tramp. It's like his brain is teleported into space and his body is left behind. (I suppose I do that sometimes. Mostly my brain tends to filter out the incessant high-pitched whining that goes on around here and I only "come to" when the pitch is lowered and the speaker starts going, "mommymommymommymommymommy" at which point I turn and say, exasperated and startled, "WHHHAAAAATTT????!!!!!" It's like being woken up in the middle of the night by a racoon jumping on your face.)

The result of our union is a lot of nonsense going back and forth.

Today, as we stood in the kitchen putting away groceries, Jeremy gazed out the window (he has a tendency to peek through the shades all sneaky-like when people walk by. I can totally see him as one of those neighbors people think are weird. I can't get him to stop.), and said (names have been changed),

"Hey! There is Sister...um...Sister Coffee...you know who I am talking about??"

"Maxwell."

"Yeah!"

At this point I turned to put something away.

"I believe she is segmented like an ant," Jeremy commented.

I started laughing.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I believe she served a mission."

"That's not what I heard..."

Ah, what would life be like with perfect hearing? I am glad I don't. I think God gave me my ears the way they are because he knew I would find it funny.

October

2009-10-01T09:12:00.000-07:00

Boo to you, out there in Blogland!

Does anyone even read my blog anymore? I think I will take a blog hiatus...

Fruit in the Middle of the Night

2009-09-29T11:58:00.000-07:00

My prego body woke me up several times last night. It was lonely and wanted somebody to talk to. I would like to think I am nice and somewhat accommodating, so I sat up with my body and we chatted.

My brain was going a million miles an hour, and no matter how many times I rolled back and forth, I couldn't sleep. My body told me I should read something to help me feel more tired. So, I grappled for the lamp's on switch and fried my poor retinas.

On my night stand, with the offending lamp, are my scriptures. I love reading them in the morning before the kids get up, and was in a pretty good routine and then last week I got off track. So, I reached for them and pulled them into my bed. I love them! Not only for what is inside, but also because they were a gift from Mom when I turned eight. They have been through a lot, and are a little care-worn, but I love them the more so because they have experienced life. It's fun to go through them and see what I thought eons ago when I brought them to seminary, or to read through the underlined passages and remember what I was feeling or going through when I underlined them.

Part of my efforts with my study is to make a thorough trek through the Old and New Testament. I did it in high school, and perhaps I am taking more interest in them because of the wealth of knowledge that Dad has managed to wring from them over the years. Yes, I admit it. I have gospel knowledge envy.

It has been enlightening to read through the ancient prophets, and then to zoom forward centuries and read the Savior's teachings, and then zoom back into the ancient Americas, and then fast forward to the restoration of the gospel. It has amazed me again and again how they are intertwined, almost inseparable, and how they become deeper in meaning when you have greater insight into the will and power of God.

This morning, at 5:30 AM, I read through some Leviticus, and later in Nephi and the Doctrine and Covenants. I find Leviticus a tad perplexing at times, but wade my way through, reaching back into the distant crevices of my mind to what I learned from teachers years ago. I have read the Book of Mormon many times, and I am trying not to just bounce lightly over the top of the verses, but make them more meaningful. The Doctrine and Covenants holds a vast amount of truth and light that I have, for some reason, neglected.

I truly enjoy reading the word of God. And this morning, by listening to whatever it was that was speaking to me, I was rewarded with a truly priceless jewel.

I was reading in John 15 (like I said, I haven't read through the entire New Testament since high school, and as a result have read Matthew multiple times, but scarcely have ventured past his gospel into Mark, or Luke, much less John. Hooray for me!). In verse two, the Savior says this:

"Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he (referring to God) taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit."

My mind immediately turned to think of God's faithful servants everywhere. They bring forth excellent fruit, serving faithfully, and God sees fit to try them at times, that by so doing they may produce even greater things, and draw closer to him.

It alarmed me a little--and I wondered if it was a message of things which are to come, or a reminder of what things have been. I saw the goodness of God and his love for his children, and why these things must be. But, I thought to myself, what must those trials be? And if I am faithful, surely I must be "purged," perhaps many times.

Looking back, I recalled those refining times, and how in the end, I was grateful for it, and better for it. It made me think of the blessing I received from a Patriarch years ago that said I would not suffer anything that would not bless me. I sometimes look sideways at that, wondering what I will suffer, and how much, and what I will lose. And then I think that I have to, I must, trust in God and have faith that no matter what may befall me, God is the Husbandman who tenderly and lovingly prunes his garden, and he knows best which parts must be purged, and what fruits must be gathered.

Cracker

2009-09-28T11:36:00.001-07:00

Every morning, Eva runs to the pantry and says "Cracker! Cookie! Cracker!" Some times she gets more specific and says "fish," but most of the time, it's just the generic cry for processed goodies.

It's super cute to watch, but it's a tad disturbing to me. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if she and Josh ate normal whole foods, but since we have any number of "bad" foods lying around, that's all they want. And trying to explain to a 2- and 4-year old that, no, they can't have the entire box of Teddy Grahms is like telling them that eternity is one long time out.

So, I came to a decision last Saturday. It all had to go.

Jeremy protested. Mostly because of how expensive Cheez-its are. He didn't want me to throw it all away, and as we sat there eating as many cookies as we could before we got rid of them, I agreed. Although, in my mind, nobody should be eating this junk.

So, I cleaned everything out of our pantry, put it in a grocery bag, and put it on top of the fridge. When Eva woke up from her nap and ran to the pantry asking for cookies/crackers I said, honestly (because they weren't "ours" anymore), "We don't have any!"

She was perturbed for a minute, and then consented to some cereal--whole wheat squares. Oh yeah, baby! (On Sunday, instead of the fishy crackers we usually give her, we filled the container with Cinnamon Harvest and Honey Sunshine from Kashi. As Eva and Joshua munched the stuff and sprayed shredded wheat particles all over the pew, I leaned over to Jeremy and said "The best part is that they think they are having a treat! HA HA HA!")

Saturday night, after putting the kids in bed, I toted my bag of baddies to the car and drove to Mom and Dad's house. I quietly opened the door, snuck into the kitchen, and stuffed the entire contents of the bag into their cupboard. Ha ha ha! The only thing that didn't fit were the cookies, and I kept those on the counter as a "treat" I brought. Sneaky, huh?

C is for Cookie!

2009-09-25T00:01:00.001-07:00

Every month, I go to the doctor...sometimes because I am klutzy, or sick, but mostly because my OB-GYN likes to check up on me and make sure I am still pregnant.

There are three people in the group I see: one very young doctor whom I am a little leery of (I think he is younger than me...I can't tell. Freaks me out.), one very nice nurse practitioner, who has a perpetual sympathetic look on her face (she gives me hugs all the time), and a Veteran Baby-Catcher (I believe he has eight children).

The reason I bring this up is because my pregnancy book says that I should not be alarmed (I think that is code for "offended.") if my doctor brings up my weight.

None of them ever have...until today.

As I was shooting the breeze with Dr. VBC, he looked at my chart and said,

"Your weight gain has been really good this pregnancy. Good job!"
I grimaced, and nodded.

I wish he hadn't said that. I mean, really...weight isn't something you throw around lightly with a pregnant lady. It's like when I see those ads that bombard you with blinking words that say things like "DO YOU HAVE EXCESS BELLY FAT??!!?!??!" Yes, yes, I know it is baby, but still...

I went home and proceeded to reward myself by eating a candy bar. And some cookies. And some cheesy crackers.

Then I thought,
"Gee, I think I am too tired to make dinner, and since I have been doing so well, heck! Let's go to Taco Bell!"

I suppose I could have chosen a worse place to go.

But did it stop there? Oh, no, no, no, my friends!

Since Thursdays are Jeremy's Fridays, he asked me if I wanted to rent a movie (We watched "Duplicity." WATCH IT!). I said sure, and he then asked me to look up what was at Red Box, and I replied weakly,

"Why don't you just go to Albertson's and look? You can pick up some cookies while you are there..."

Needless to say, at some point I was only eating cookies on principle, not because they actually tasted good.
I feel like a whale. Bleh...

Immune

2009-09-20T15:54:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, I would like to say that I truly, deeply, totally love my husband. That being said...

When I was a kid, we went on all sorts of road trips. We went up and down California (and commenced upon Milt, if only in spirit...hehehe! In case you didn't get that, it was a reference to the Donner Party, and Milt was one of the popsicles buried underneath the cabin. ANYWAY...), Idaho (YOUdaho!), Mexico ("What kind of king lives next to the rail road tracks??!!") and Utah. At least, those are the places I remember. On one of our trips up to Utah, we went to visit Jenny at her house in Salt Lake City. Now, rooming with that many people yields special problems. Namely, sleeping in the same room with my Dad.
A number of people on this trip ended up throwing things, kicking the floor, and yelling "SHUT UP!" which only resulted in making Mom mad. She, in turn, placed a gentle hand on Dad's shoulder and he silently rolled over and peace descended on the neighborhood. Albeit a short peace. But, hey, at 2 AM everything is annoying.

Now, I got married (SURPRISE!) and suddenly had to adapt to sleeping next to another body. It took some time, but Jeremy mostly has adapted to my porcupine tendencies. The times I actually do snuggle, he holds on with a death grip when I try to pull away. But this blog isn't about snuggling. I already did a blog about that.

Jeremy and Dad have something in common. But I won't say it aloud, because that is like saying something embarrassing in front of a lot of people, and that's not nice.

In the beginning, I would do the Mom thing, and gently tip Jeremy over and I could get back to sleep. Over time, the gentle push turned into several not-so-gentle pushes, and then mutated into multiple violent shakes. Those stopped working, so I tried a gentle leg push, which morphed into an abrupt kick, and at that point when it didn't work I figured the best thing to do was to just leave. And that wakes him up. Every time.

He is immune to night violence.

On top of that, Jeremy sleep talks when I attempt to get him to stop chipper-shredding logs.
"What...?"
"Roll over..."
"...Why...?"
"SNARRRLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
"I love you so much..."
"Just roll over..."
"I just want to snuggle."
"JEREMY, I can't sleep!"
Wounded, "Okay..."

The next day:

"Why am I so tired??"
"Probably because I was kicking you all night."
"Oh, that makes sense..."
"You don't remember? You were talking to me."
"Nope."

It has only gotten worse since I have pregnant insomnia. But, I figure it is just helping me get ready to be up every 2 hours. And babies are cuter than adults, so that will help. Maybe we should try those nose strip thingies and see if they work...?

P.S. Since writing the above, apparently the Fates decided I was too cocky, and had Jeremy keep me awake this morning at 4 AM. Between his snuggling and coughing, I had to move to the couch, where the Mickey Mouse song kept playing through my head...I suppose I deserved it.

Deprived

2009-09-16T08:07:00.000-07:00

Over a year ago, I accidentally broke our TV antenna and we no longer had our fuzzy 4 1/2 local channels. We never have had cable. Of all the things in the world to "afford," TV isn't one of them. Sorry, folks, but it's the truth. W-O-T, as Mom would say. WASTE OF TIME!

Jeremy and I weren't too heartbroken. After watching an "educational" show, we decided the world was deprived of morals. I mean, really, come ON, PBS! Full frontal nudity is STILL nudity, even if it is "educational."

All of the sudden, we had all this time to spend together. It was weird.

Well, we have successfully adapted back to how people surely interacted before Philo T. Farnsworth started meddling. And it's amazing how free you are when you aren't tied to the dumb machine every Tuesday night during prime time. I admit I was a "Gilmore Girls" junkie (and felt totally robbed when they ended the series), and have had my close encounters with the various CSI shows. I now content myself with BBC miniseries on DVD, that I can turn off whenever I feel like, and I am not worried I will miss anything (HEY! Don't give me all that T-VO crap. It's just another invention to get you to sit on your bottom all the time and worship the great and spacious boob-tube.)

Furthermore, I have noticed a change in attitude. Instead of finding my husband boring because he lacked a laugh-track, we actually enjoy each other's company in the evenings.

It has been a bit of a trial with Josh, however. He didn't care what he was watching on TV, just that he was watching SOMETHING. So, instead of watching a half-hour of "Super Y," he was watching 2 hours of whatever Disney movie he chose. And when I got pregnant, he would watch several movies a day. The result was one crabby little boy who wouldn't listen to a word I said and would cry himself into a puddle of unexpelled energy. We now have "movie day" once a week (sometimes on Sundays, too, if I need a nap). Can we say serenity?? Try it some time. It will amaze you how calm your children are if you give them something to do with their minds. I would love to kiss the inventor of Playdo and Legos.

Life has been good...but from time to time, I have felt a slight longing for brainless television.

Well, I have to admit, I got sucked into the whole VMA Taylor Swift-Kanye West scandal via Comcast's news stream, and thought to myself, "well, I wonder if any of those videos are any good??" So, I wandered over to MTV.COM and looked up the winners and their videos. I have to say, Taylor Swift is a cutie patootie. As for everyone else...

I was blasted by not semi-questionable imagery, or "art," as they call it. Oh, no no no...And it wasn't even semi-pornographic. It was full-BLOWN pornography! I didn't even know you COULD have naked people on TV! And this wasn't "educational" by any means...unless you really needed to have that much detail in anatomy.

I came away feeling like I had just jumped into a giant pile of poo and had swallowed some of it. I was severely disturbed. I suddenly remembered why TV wasn't missed. I went to bed and had a dream...

In my dream, I was walking in some place. I had a book in my hands, and while all I could see was a picture, I knew this book was telling me that what I was seeing was dangerous, and I should stay away from it. The picture I looked at was a beautiful, striped tiger. As I gazed at the image, noting that I should avoid this beautiful, yet dangerous beast, I looked up and noticed that the very tiger in my book was lying in the grass not 3-feet away from me. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were attentive and wide-open. Now, I am not stupid, so I veered away from the tiger. What was impressed on my mind was that even though I was wise in moving away from the tiger, I had come way, WAY too close, and at any moment, the seemingly lethargic beast could jump up and have a tasty meal.

I woke up and reflected on my dream. I immediately knew what everything in my dream represented. I took it as a friendly, even loving, warning.
How grateful I am to have the means to know how to identify evil. Heavenly Father is the same yesterday, today and forever. Evil is the same yesterday, today and forever. Thank heaven revelation is for all times. Ancient through modern prophets have sounded the same warnings. It is too easy to be mesmerized by the beautiful stripes, and, as we gaze and are drawn closer, are devoured by a cruel-hearted beast.

Trouble

2009-09-14T09:00:00.001-07:00

I feel kinda bad for Josh. Being my first child, he gets to experience all of the growing I am doing as a parent. And since I have already gone through his various stages, Eva gets the good end of the deal, since I have learned to mellow out about 2-year-old quirkiness.

Yesterday, I made cupcakes for Eva's early birthday party, and put them on top of the microwave to keep them safe from Joshua's wandering hands, and plopped myself on my bed for some early-afternoon reading.

Twenty minutes went by, and Joshua wandered into my room with a big, cheesy grin on his face. I knew something was up.

"What did you do?" I asked warily.

He smiled bigger.

"Nothing..."

I started to get crabby.

"WHAT did you DO?"

Again, he grinned.

"Nothing..."

I took his face between my hands and said, a little too loudly,

"WHAT DID YOU DO????!!!"

He began to cry and managed to eek out,

"I didn't lick anything!"

Oh boy...

Unfortunately, a freshly-baked, naked cupcake can give no tell-tale signs it has been violated. I glanced at the cupcakes, and gave it up for lost. At least he didn't peel the tops off of them like LAST year. In both cases, it was my fault for leaving such a temptation within 500 square miles of Joshua.

So, for those of you, my dear family, who came to our little party, one of you (or maybe ALL of you) may have swapped some spit with Josh, unknowingly. Hehehehe...Hey, at least he isn't sick!

POP! SPLOP! KERPLOP!

2009-09-08T17:59:00.001-07:00

The evidence...

So, yesterday was a day from...well, I won't say it, but you get my drift... *cough*

I have a routine. And I try to stick to it for sanity's sake. My morning routine is to make sure the house is all tidy, and as a direct result, my brain and spirit are tidy. Yesterday, Jeremy was home for the holiday, and when he is home I try desperately to stick to my routine! It hasn't always been easy. It is easier to lay in bed next to him and enjoy the fact that I am not the only person over 5 feet tall in the house. But, as it was, we had to get out of bed at some point, and make sure the house was in order before we ran around doing fun stuff.

Bed made? CHECK!

Kids' Beds made? CHECK!

Kids dressed? CHECK!

House clean? Almost check...dishes to do...

So, I steered Jeremy towards the closet so he would get the hint that pajamas weren't appropriate outside of the house, and I dug into our pile of dishes...no problem...By the time Jeremy was ready, I had a few dishes on the rinse side, and he was quickly putting them out to dry...all except a tall glass...that darn, stupid glass...

The top of the glass was a little difficult to squeeze my hand into, and I had failed to completely wash the inside (This happens a lot, and I look forward to the day when I have a dishwasher.). I sighed, Jeremy smiled, and I plunged my hand into the cup and started to scrub. All of the sudden, POP! Broken glass, blood, and one freaked out husband running around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do. I stood there calmly looking at my hand while it bled, and Jeremy was frantically trying to assist.
"WHAT DO YOU NEED??????"
"Um, let's see...some water..." so I turned on the faucet and put my hand under it.

He then grabbed a dish cloth (A new one...oh well. They were cheap. Burlington coat factory sells them by sixes for $4.99!) and wrapped it around my hand and said very sternly that I needed to put pressure on it.
I stared at him blankly.

"Okay."

After making phone calls so people could watch our children (THANK YOU, BEN! YOU ARE A LIFESAVER! An honorable mention goes to Tara, who stood in our kitchen for 15 seconds while we gathered ourselves together before Ben zoomed into the parking lot.), he began running around in circles with the phone book to find numbers of doctors and clinics that were open. I didn't want to go to the hospital...been there, done that, got charged a HUGE amount of money for flu symptoms, an antibiotic and a two-hour sit in the emergency room....Jeremy's mom told us about InstaCare, so Jeremy called them up and when Ben arrived (and deftly saran wrapped my hand) we rushed out the door.
As we raced down the street, I was getting nervous...

"Uh, Jeremy? Could you slow down? I don't want to have to get more stitches..."
"WHAT??! OH, SORRY. I AM JUST A LITTLE TENSE..."
"It's okay, I just want to make there...alive..."

By this point I was starting to get giddy. This happens every time I have a major injury. Everything gets really, really funny.

We drove into InstaCare's parking lot, and Jeremy attempted to toss me out the door so I could "get in line." I gave him a look, and then he parked, and we quietly walked inside. Get in line...sheesh...heheheh...

It was pretty empty, but then again, it was 9:45 in the morning. Still plenty of time for people to hurt themselves on that bright and glorious holiday (and by the time we left, some other poor soul was being led back to where we had come from with a very bloody hand. Must be catching.).

We were told to fill out some paper work.
"Don't worry, Dara!" Jeremy said heroically. "I will do it!"

"Um, yeah...hehehehe..."

He then proceeded to forget my birthday and write it down wrong twice, then started to panic that he didn't have my social security number memorized (even though we didn't need it), and seemed to be struggling to focus.

"Duuuude, relllaaaaaaxxxx, ha ha ha!"

"Hey, I bet if you went into labor they could deliver you while they sew up your hand!" He laughed.

"HAHAHAHAHAH!"

After going through all the technicalities, I was commanded at the bottom of the paper to sign.
"Um, yeah, that's not gonna happen...HAHAHA! You can sign it for me, Jeremy. But make sure it is pretty...HA HA HA HA HA!"

He then screwed up his face and attempted to sign my name. It looked awful.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"

At that point, we were called to the front desk.

"He signed for me...hahahah!"
The receptionist wasn't amused.
"Ha ha. He can't do that."
Jeremy and I looked sheepishly at each other.

I signed with my left hand and, after filling out my family's medical history (WHOA! I never realized how many problems we had until I noticed how many of those boxes I had to check!), they led me back to the examination room.

We chit-chatted with the medical assistant, and then waited for the doctor to come in. I suddenly got really, really paranoid about my breath. I pounced on my purse and found my tic-tacs..ah..okay, now I won't offend him...hahahaha!
The doctor came in and seriously, it was like he has just been transported off of Vulcan. A true-blue, cynically cold but maniacal Vulcan.

"That's illogical," He stated.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, sorry..."

He then explained to me that I could either wait for the numbing gel to kick in (in a half an hour) or I could endure 10 seconds of burning from the local anaesthetic. He sorta grinned as he mentioned the latter option.

"Um, give me 10 seconds of burning, please. Ha ha ha!"

"Okay...hold still..."

"OW!"

He just giggled and poked me again.
"OWW!"

It all went numb at that point...ahhh...

He then pulled out some long, metal object and said, licking his lips,

"I need to check for glass...it makes a nice noise against the metal...hehehe..."

He began digging and I was really REALLY glad I couldn't feel anything, and I tried not to look just in case my imagination filled in the pain that was missing. Lucky for me, I have a big ol' belly and it blocked my view of what he was doing. I could feel liquid dribbling down my hand, and every once in a while the doctor would mop something up. I don't think it was koolaid.

Jeremy's face this whole time was locked in complete morbid disgust and fascination.
"STOP THAT!" I squealed. "You are making me nervous!"

The doctor began sewing me up, and explained that I had come really close to cutting my tendon. I was really lucky, he said.

Thank heaven for small favors. I started to get queasy at this point. It wasn't as funny as it was before. And it didn't help that Dr. Demento and Jeremy were talking about how nifty the sewing needles were, and how they resembled fish hooks, and MAN they can go through ANYTHING.

At last, he was done, and I got a look at my hand. Ew. I looked like a miniature horror flick. Or a badly stitched football. Either way...

The victim...

We wobbled out of the office, and passed by the front desk. It was obvious the receptionist still wasn't amused by our antics, because when I asked her if we were all done, she said, "I don't know. ARE you?" I must have looked hurt because she faintly smiled and said, "Yes, you are done." Sheesh... SOMEBODY woke up on the wrong side of the bed...

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. We went to the mall with Ben and Emily, and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I mean, WOW! My hand didn't hurt AT ALL! Life was good...until the local wore off. Then it was "What the...AAARRRGGGG!!!!"

It was like death was taking a vacation on my hand.

I was consoled by the knowledge we had a free dinner coming at Sizzler (Although, that free dinner offered by Tara was pretty tempting! Thank you! I will have to feign sickness one of these days just so I can get that meal...).

We had a nice time at dinner (except Joshua had long reached his expiration date and had completely lost self-control. It was like trying to manage a pile of warm Jello.) Eva was enjoying herself, however, and was tasting everything, and seemed to have a real good time. We ran out of Sizzler so we could make it to Emily's birthday party, and about half way down the road, Eva started to scream...and Scream...and SCREAM. Jeremy tried to figure out what was wrong, and she kept pointing at her tummy. He decided that perhaps her pants were too tight, and loosened them, and the result was, as we drove into Mom and Dad's subdivision, a pink and orange extremely moist projectile from my tiny daughter. SPLOP! All over the car. And it smelled. BAD. And she did it TWICE. And she didn't stop screaming.

And the screaming was only augmented because she was suddenly terrified of everyone. I pulled her downstairs to the basement tub, and Ben, being the helpful sort, was trying to help me because I was one-handed. Jeremy was attempting to hose down the car seat outside at my request and I had gone in alone.

Ben filled the tub, and then tried to help Eva, who was screaming and trying to spread the joy of her explosion all over my pants by grabbing onto me with her soiled hands. I don't blame her. I mean, if I had thrown up and was dragged down two flights of stairs, and my uncle started to pull off my pants, I would be screaming too. Jeremy came to our rescue and I went upstairs to deal with the mess in the car.

After that was all taken care of, and Eva had mellowed out, we all sang happy birthday to Emily, had cake (YUMMY), and relaxed for a few moments. I was pretty shell-shocked at that point. The reality of the day was closing in on me, and suddenly everything wasn't funny anymore, and I wanted to cry.

We took the kids home, threw them in bed, and Jeremy and I landed *kerplop* on our bed. I didn't want to move. Jeremy offered to sponge bath my make-up off, but I decided that would be too messy, and we got ourselves ready for bed.

As I lay there in the dark and closed my eyes, I kept reliving my injury in extreme detail. It was awful. I snuggled up to Jeremy, and that helped ease my mind. Jeremy prayed for my hand, and I did the same, and I fell asleep...REBOOT!

This morning was a bright new day. Thank heaven!

This afternoon, after viewing my stitched up hand, with a slightly crazy-eyed, toothy grin, Tara offered to remove my stitches...I think there is something wrong with those in the medical profession... :)

Quest Jar Plus Project Pics!

2009-09-06T11:54:00.001-07:00

I love quests.

"Go here...do this....go here...do this!"

It's one of the reasons I love RPGs (though I haven't played one for quite some time. The last one I played was a huge disappointment because it was obvious the game's creators were just trying to make money, not provide a quality game. But whatever. I am not here to talk about RPGs.).

A while ago, Emily told me that she had a jar filled with story ideas and when she had a hankering to write, she would pull one out and try and work on it. I liked that idea, but I didn't have a whole lot of writing projects. I just had a lot of projects.

So, taking a leaf out of Emily's book, I made my own little jar for my various projects. My very own Quest Jar.

I typed up all my projects, cut them into little strips, folded them, and then put them in my little jar! It made it more exciting.

I have completed quite a few quests from my jar. It gives me no small amount of joy thinking about it! At first I liked to be "surprised" by the task, but now I just pick which one I feel like doing. And as a result, the harder ones are left. Bleh. Oh well.

Here is my list of things, in case you are curious:

1. Make a rag quilt for Baby. CHECK! (Which incidentally led me to make one for Joshua. All needs to be fair and equal...I mean, Eva has one I made for her, so not making Josh one would seem like I favor my daughters. I don't want people to KNOW I do, so you know..avoid the appearance of favoritism... JUST KIDDING!)

2. Make a baby afghan for Baby. CHECK!

3. Make a polar fleece blanket for Baby. CHECK!

4. Make jean blanket out of massive pile of old jeans in my closet. 99.999999999999% done (You know what is sad? I got 15-20 8X8 squares from every pair of Jeremy's pants, and got like 8 out of mine. I should stop wearing tight pants...especially since most of the jeans that were mine had splits from being too snug in the hind quarters...ahem...)

5. Mend pile of clothes that I haven't worn forever and is sitting in my closet just looking sad. CHECK!

6. Make full afghan for Baby.

7. Make full afghan for Eva. (I have started this afghan 3 times, and now have 1/13 of it done. Bleh...But it will be pretty when it's finished. "Raining Violets"...ahh...it just sounds pretty...)

8. Make full afghan for Joshua. (He is particularly attached to his "blue hug" that Becky made. Unfortunately, Blue Hug the First was unravelled by Joshua's over-enthusiastic love for it, so I had to make a sad replica. Definitely not County Fair 1st prize stuff.)

*I have this hope that I will furnish my children with all sorts of stuff they can take with them into the world when they grow up and get married. I think I am paranoid about it because when Robert found out I was getting married, he quipped to me that I wasn't bringing ANYTHING material into my marriage. Sniff...*

9. Make full afghan for me and Jeremy. (Trust me, I am not making one because we have a shortage of afghans in my house. Between my grandmother and Becky, we have enough wool to clothe an entire flock of sheep.)

10. Make 5 ridiculously time-consuming and taxing Bucilla applique flannel stockings. (I have made ONE, people. ONE. And that took me a MONTH. Sheesh...And here I thought they would be all cute and easy. NoooOOOOOOOooooOOOooo! So, if I EVER end up making them all, I'll probably have a bonfire in the front yard and burn them. Feel free to bring marshmallows.)

11. Finish Swedish Weaving project. 50% done. If you want a project that is quick, easy and extremely satisfying, try Swedish weaving. It is SOO MUCH FUN!
12. Make apron for Baby. (Again, all is fair. Everyone else has one, including me.)

So, there you go. If you would like instructions for anything, let me know.